#(kinda...? i dunno. they got a grip on my brain)

[echoheart0324]

Right in front of my Nintendo DS???

[darkdemeter]

ONE AND THE SAME, LONELY AND AFRAID

— BUCKY BARNES COLUMN (ONESHOT)

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

—- not my gifs, found on pinterest, credit to original posters! -—

| A/N | DISCRETION |

I dunno what to really say about this piece, brain just switched into angsty, (kinda fluffy?) writing mode and I went with it.

Therapy — angst — hurt comfort? — (introverted) reader — insecurity warning — semi-established mutual pining/interest — strong language — socially awkward bean reader — basically reader has a lot of reservations about things that involve other people, more of a self isolated type — self sabotage — we got a mutual-semi happy ending — I think that's it?

| SUMMARY |

You've always opted to be alone. Recent visits to Dr Raynor, however, work to bring down those walls you hold up. Little are you aware that someone you're talking to is very much the same as you. Lonely and afraid.

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7.6K(words)

| M-LIST | TAGLIST:

@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @mostlymarvelgirl

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 “Have you been keeping up with the exercises I gave you?” 

  Already she knows the answer. Not even three seconds can you maintain eye contact, eyes feeling glassy each time you near the braving point. It’s futile. People can hear what you’re saying right? Why the need to have your eyes glued to them?

  Your shoulders shove up weakly and Dr Raynor rhythmically paces the pen’s butt against her notebook. 

  “That’s a no,” she sighs, “I gave you those exercises to help you. Eye contact, let’s start with that again: what do you find so intimidating about it?”

  The air is so silent you could hear a pin drop. Your gaze is still glued to a random place on the wall behind her. That is the closest you can give her today. 

  Her lips push together and her eyes thin in that way you assumed all of these doctors do, a tactic to unnerve you into squeezing out the details. To weed out the problems. You don’t like it. Your fingers are crushed in the grip of your other hand sitting in your lap idly. 

  Again, you shrug. “Just that. Intimidating. It’s… a lot.”

  “There’s more to it for you. And I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that, it terrifies you when someone looks at you. Focuses their attention on you.”

  “Maybe it’s something like that…” You tilt your head slightly. “Maybe it’s not.”

  I don’t like being here. I just wanna go. I still have fifteen minutes. 

  “Your family is worried about you. You have a tendency to be self isolating. Reserved. They’re concerned that you’ve been alone.” She’s spitting words at you. Family concerns have always been the bane of your lonely ways. Their constant insistence to put yourself out there, to go out on at least one date. 

  Try to talk you into meeting people they know, saying that they will be good for you. All because they’ve grown far too comfortable with being with someone, that they can’t stand to be alone themselves. And then, they have to project that onto you. 

  “It’s a choice.”

  “What can you tell me about your intimate life? Partners, significant others.” 

  The jutting of your pouty lip is any indication that a cheeky remark is right on the edge of your tongue. She stops you right before you can say a word. 

  “Stuff toys and pets do not count.”

  “But they’re companions. You wanna know about my companion life, right?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  It takes another five minutes. Pure and slow in time, each waver of the ticking hands beats another seconds off the appointment. But it’s not fast enough for your liking. Tongue tracing the curves of your gums and teeth, you contemplate. 

  Dr. Raynor says your name to draw your attention back - escaped into the cosmos - now forced right back into the couch in her office. 

  “Seeing someone? Talking to anyone?”

  “Sure.”

  “Anything else?” She raises a gesturing hand, a silent command for you to speak further. To give her further information. Personal information that’s yours. Safe in your head. There’s no point giving that out to others.

  “Just talking to him is all.”

  “So neither of you have met in person before?”

  Lips rolling inward, thinning, you shake your head. “No.”

  Your name is drawn from her lips as a low sigh. She scrawls something down in her notebook, albeit a little aggressively. 

  “Money is being wasted each and every time you come in here, sit on this couch and say nothing. Resolve nothing. Time is being wasted, time you could be spending out there, actually bonding with someone who you may call a friend or a significant other.”

  “I never wanted to be here in the first place.”

  Her eyes roll up to meet yours, the split second you manage to meet her eyes, you see the scrutiny. The disdaining judgement and patience that wanes thin for every drop of time in the remaining minutes left. 

  “That wasn’t even two proper seconds,” she notes, “and yet, you come to your sessions each time.”

  “Because if I don’t, then that same concerned family chews my ear off about it.”

  Another two minutes pass by. You count the ticking hands slowly. Far too slow. When will this fucking nightmare end? Dr. Raynor continues to pounce her pen on the pad’s paper, the sound a distant, drumming beat. 

  “From what I’ve gathered, your siblings all have partners of their own, some of them beginning to grow their families. Am I correct?”

  You nod as your teeth sink into the inside of your lip. “Right in the ballpark.”

  “And you are so comfortable with being alone because it’s all you know. You’re afraid of letting someone in. You rather keep your guard up than ever risk giving someone a chance to love and accept you. I have another patient just like that. Shut off from the world and distrusting.”

  It’s like she read your mind. You almost applaud her for her scooby doo investigation. “Wow, way to keep the confidentiality, Doctor,” you breeze through a forced, tight smile, eyes still cast to somewhere else in the room. “It’s better to keep people at arms length. Easier to detach from.”

  “And is that what you’re doing with this guy? Keeping him at arm’s length?”

  “Sure. I guess.”

Three minutes remaining. You breathe a sigh of relief. 

It’s almost over. 

Then it lingers on your mind… “Tell me because I’m curious, but why are people obsessed with the idea that being alone is such a bad thing?”

It’s closing in on one minute. A single minute she has to deliver you an answer. Of course, usually she disregards questions like this. But today, she indulges. Maybe, just maybe, this is your way of breaking through to her. To finally and truly give her something to work with.

  “I will tell you what I told another patient of mine. Being alone is the most quietest and personal hell someone can endure.”

The chiming of the appointment’s bell signifies its end. You’re eager to stand up from the couch but Dr. Raynor holds a hand up. “Before you go running off back to your lonely hell, I want you to perform at least one exercise.”

  At first, you mean to brush her off, your eyes refuse to meet the piercing stare you know is burrowing into your soul, seeking you out in the darkness of your reservations. “Alright. Sure…”

  “If you’re interested in this guy, I want you to make the first move and ask to meet up with him. Begin to lower your walls.”

  You’ve done it. Just as she asked of you. In hindsight, you should have just ignored her. In honesty, it’s been a while since your heart has bruised your ribs with such intensity in its anxious rage. What if he said no? Neither of you had ever really flirted heavily or indicated that you were head over heels, eager to see each other. 

  As if you both just knew, you were each settled comfortably in this mutual exchange of words. No video, no voice messages or calls. Just words. Conversations about work, some random things happening during the week and other topics people chat about. 

  You were meant to feel brave in that moment. To feel invigorated as you take that daring leap of faith outside the comfort of your own space. A safety net you had taken great care to curate, to save yourself from ever falling to the ground with no will to get back up. 

  In your mind, you’ve seen your siblings go through enough failed relationships that it in some strange way, you’ve experienced it on some outside level. You’ve gained the knowledge that if you let someone - a stranger - in then they will find a way to hurt you one way or another. 

  But what about that lucky person? That destined soulmate everyone raves on about. Could you really stand going through failure after failure, after seeing the damage it caused your loved ones? 

  Why risk it? I’m just putting a target on my heart that says “hurt me, please!”.

  However, with the following silence after, you believe you had your answer. He wasn’t interested in you. He just wants to remain mutuals. You understand that, you accept it wholeheartedly. It saves you from getting hurt, from him getting hurt and that’s all that matters.

  Having your heart broken because you allowed love to blind you to rational thought isn’t something you’re wanting to bring to one of your appointments. 

  Around ten minutes later he responded. His answer leaves you in a state on the bathroom floor, on your arse, back pressed against the sink cabinets and your chest heaving for any amount of oxygen. The world’s closing in around you, it’s turning against you. Eyes watering until your waterline is drowning and blurry, your hands rake through your hair and grasp at the roots.

  The olive branch you extended is received by him whilst your mind spirals into the pools of doubt and sabotage. He’s accepted your bold invitation.

  How can I go on a date? I can’t keep eye contact, I don’t know how to act or what to say! 

  What do we talk about in person? How much is too much?

  Maybe it was a mistake. Would it be rude if you pretended it was a joke? You think it over once, then twice. It plays on repeat what you plan to say to get out of this ordeal you’ve now thrown yourself into. You get another notification that lights up your phone screen. 

    Be nice to finally meet you     7 tomorrow night sound good? ┗ 

    Sure! 7 sounds good heh ┗ 

   there’s a place not far from where I live I like to go to.. unless there’s somewhere else you wanna go ┗ 

Ugh, why does that sound so… so… desperate? I should probably call it off right now before this gets out of hand. 

   I’ll see you there Doll just name it ┗ 

  Your heart flutters at the nickname. It makes you feel childish and you cringe that you find yourself swooning over it, but every time he uses it, there’s something that makes you feel special. Like you’re the only one he calls that. After you text him the address, you pass the phone away, leaving it to sit on the sink’s edge. Hands cupping your face, the tears still seeping along the rim of your eyes with a fighting intent to be free. For so long you have kept them bottled up. 

  And now to be faced with this. You don’t feel ready to be doing this. Your fingers had been hovering over the keys, mind already texting that you had made a silly joke just to see how he’d react. But Dr. Raynor’s words from earlier that day crept into the forefront of your mind, stopping you in your tracks.

  ‘Being alone is the most quietest and personal hell someone can endure.’

“You haven’t been having nightmares lately. That’s good,” Dr. Raynor says, notebook sitting in absence on her folded leg, pen loose between her fingers. So far, she hasn’t had to write much. A few notes, a sentence or two. Overall, she sees a little more progress. Even if it’s just a little.

  “And the girl you’re talking with. Have you two been communicating much lately? Do you think that, maybe, she could be a benefiting factor?”

  “We’ve been talking,” Bucky answers with a nod, voice rumbly. “I don’t know.”

  “Your nightmares stem from the decades of trauma that still need to be thinned out of your system. And there are outlets that can help with the healing process. Nurturing relationships is one of them.”

  As if he hasn’t heard that line before. Being told to nurture his relationships.

  “Tell me more about her. What’s been going on between you both?” For a moment, Bucky remains quiet. His teeth roll his bottom lip, biting down before his lips part. Gaze once settled elsewhere, his eyes find hers with firm contact. 

  The type of contact she wishes she can see from you.

  “She’s asked to meet up. I’m seeing her tonight.”

  “I understand you two have been talking for a while. Around three months now, correct?”

  “Yeah.”

   “And… How does that make you feel? You finally have a chance to meet someone face to face and take this relationship to the next stage.”

  The question had come right out of the blue for Bucky. After a day out in the field with Sam, all he wanted to do was shower, have a beer and see if you had messaged him. And the conversation had carried out like normal with asking about each other’s day, followed by some playful banter. And then, Bucky was faced with the one topic that had been on his mind for the past few weeks, plaguing him with the idea of possibly meeting each other after all this time, to put a face to a name. 

  But to think that this could bridge into something further. Something far more intimate. Bucky’s shoulders push up with a heavy sigh. 

  “I dunno, Doc. I’ve been thinking about meeting her. But being by myself for so long now, it’s normal for me.”

  Dr. Raynor squares her shoulders, eyes staring point blank like the barrel of a gun at her patient. “A hurdler doesn’t avoid the obstacles. You have to take that leap, James, and explore these new possibilities before they slip through your fingers. From what you’ve told me, she sounds similar to you.”

  “And if things don’t go as I hope? If she pulls away?”

  “Then pull her closer. And give her the chance to pull you closer. Start to trust in someone outside of those walls.”

  You pace back and forth along the wide strip sidewalk, the night’s air chills you through your clothing. But at this point that could just be the nerves. Why did you have to be bold, why did you have to actually listen to Dr. Raynor? Arriving just a little before the agreed time, you took the time to rehearse things over. Maybe squeeze in a little practice before you make a complete idiotic display of yourself. 

  By now, you guess it’s just past 7. How the hell are you supposed to know who he is if you’ve never seen one another before? Man, now that you think about it, you really didn’t think this through. 

  Last time I do any of these fucking exercises…

  Quickly stealing a glance down at your phone to get a read on the time, you see you’ve received no message yet. 

  Maybe he… changed his mind last minute?

  Well that really makes you look like an idiot. Shit, you really could slap yourself into tomorrow for getting baited into your own doings. You barely register the thrumming heart of a motorcycle’s engine roaring down the street beside you, purring lowly to a stop. 

  You shrug to yourself suddenly, the leaping of your heart coaxing your anxiety to grow further, as doubt shrouds over. Your feet shuffle to carry you back in the direction of your favourite ice cream joint. Might as well pick up a little frosty snack on the way back home.

  “Okay, I’m stupid. He’s not— oop–!” Someone is the poor victim of your distracted escape, their body is large and broad, arms circling around you to catch you from tripping onto the hard concrete. 

  “Oh, shit! Sorry!” you groan, eyes quick to seek out a face only to glimpse away as soon as you note the intensity of bright blue; gaze focused solely on you as if you were the only thing that existed. 

  “All good,” he says. His voice only brings to shake you, slightly husky and the oh so perfect pitch. You do your best to straighten yourself and from his hold, out of habit, you’d grown used to not being touched unless you were the one to initiate it. A skill - or rather lack thereof - you’re not very proud of. Not that members of your family made it any easier whenever they pointed it out. 

  Distant. Closed off. Stiff. 

  “You okay?” he asks. 

  “Yeah, yeah, I was… just uh, was meeting up with a guy.”

  “Hmph, me too,” he breezes with a deep exhale. You try to ignore the way your peripheral picks up on his body’s outline moving. “She wanted to meet here.” 

  “Huh, good spot. One of my small hang out spots.” Your balled fists only curl tighter into the pockets of your jacket as another chilling wind attacks your body. Maybe you should settle on a hot beverage instead of some ice cream. 

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Really nice.”

  You both stand idle by one another, the air beginning to lace heavily with the tension of your interaction, both awkward in your butting spaces. Bucky spares a more studying glance at you. A sleeveless, cropped turtleneck with a leather, hooded jacket layering over, you opted to keep the palette simple with your dark, skinny jeans and heeled boots. 

  You looked dressed up to be on some casual date. Whoever it was you were waiting on was a lucky guy, Bucky thought. In no disrespect to the girl he was messaging, but he figured he would have shot his shot with you had it not been for this mystery girl. 

  “You hang around here a lot?” he questions to come off as casual and laid back as possible. 

  “Oh, sure. Yeah… I like it here.”

  Bucky finds himself smiling at your response. Strange, he figures, how you seem familiar. Still, he catches on that he hasn’t gotten a proper look at your face. It’s like you're purposefully avoiding looking at him. Did you know him? The aided curse of his sensitive hearing allows him to hear the rapid racing of your heartbeat, like a poor hamster terrified out of its mind. 

  You can feel him staring at you with the occasional glimpse down at his phone, held in his gloved hand. 

  “Goodluckwithyourdate. Bye.” You say it far too quickly, it takes Bucky a moment to decipher what you’ve said. His head snaps back and forth in a double take, catching you already walking down the sidewalk, huddled in close to shield yourself. How he knows that feeling internally. 

  Now you’ve gained his full attention. For Bucky, there was some missing piece to all this. He’s quick to type. Just a little experiment…

   Here, Doll, just waiting on you  ┗ 

His jaw tightens, teeth clenching in his observation. You stop when your phone buzzes to life in your pocket. Retrieving it, you read the message. Bucky only has to wait for about a minute before he sees the message. 

   Ha, I was here first. Where are you?? ┗ 

   You tell me Doll…  ┗

    you don’t happen to be wearing knitted gloves, right? ┗  

  Your brows furrow for a moment. How could he know, you haven’t even–

  Slowly, you lift your eyes from the blaring screen of your text messages. He now knew it and to think he’s the guy you were waiting on. If anything, this is some fortunate, golden strike. 

  As your gaze moves to fall over your half turned shoulder that faces back towards him, he manages to catch half of your visage and the radiant haven of your eyes, what little you allow to show. 

  “I take it you’re Y/N.” He smiles a toothy smile. With any luck, his attempt to charm will work. 

  “And you’re Bucky?”

  He nods in response and you let yourself wander forwards, phone tucked away and your arms folded together. 

  “I–I, uh… wow, this is embarrassing ,” you all but mutter to yourself with a roll of your eyes.

  “How so?”

  “I suck at meeting people,” you utter a little louder. Your shoulders shrug with the motion of your confession. You only dread the look in those blue eyes that you can’t bring yourself to glance up into. What if you see something that gives away his intentions? What if you give away what’s going on in your own mind to him, for him to see all the fear right there like an open book to be read. Knowledge to be obtained and used against you. 

  “Maybe if you looked at people once and a while,” he chuckles. 

  Oh… he likes someone who can maintain eye contact. 

  “Yeah, what a shame. Oh well, nice meeting you.” 

  The abruptness cuts him. Wounds him like a dark chill that runs his spine. His shoulders straighten then and the bevel between his brows grows in depth, the puzzlement of his confusion evident on his face that you don’t take the time to read. Not when he can easily catch contact with your now glossy eyes. 

  Again, you’re making off in a hurry. 

  Pull her closer, it’s the only thought that crosses his mind. 

  “Wait, wait up!” he calls out quickly, voice sharp that he sees your entire body flinch at the command, but you carry on. He doesn’t want to scare you away. His gloved hand cups over your elbow. 

  “I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he says with a sigh, “I’m bad at meeting people at times too.”

  “Really?” You don’t mean to sound distrusting, if he interpreted it that way, each to their own at the end of the day. 

  “Yeah, that whole… dating scene is crazy these days.”

  You cannot find yourself more inclined to agree with that. Seeing how much the world has changed around you, and you’re only in your twenties. Plenty of more room to change. Thinking about the future is what you consider an anxiety inducing pass time, one you try not to get carried away with. 

  “Tell me ‘bout it,’ you huff. You flex your ankle, the heel scuffing softly against the pavement, hopefully grinding some form of inspiration to make you less awkward. Though you fear the damage has been done. 

  He chuckles. “Glad we’re agreeable in person. C’mon, mind giving me a tour of your little hang out?”

  “Sure,” you agree with a small smile, brushing aside a stray wisp of hair, “I know a little place up this way.”

  “I like your gloves,” Bucky says, clicking his tongue, when spared a moment he glances off to the side in his miserable cringe, what the hell was that move?

  But he didn’t expect for your chin to be raised a little higher and a much warmer smile to grace your lips. Wow, he still couldn’t get over it. A cute, beautiful girl like yourself happening to be the one he’s been communicating with all this time. 

  “Thanks.” You suppress a giggle, the sound small in your throat. “Look. Glove twins.”

  Seeing you raise your gloved hand up, he saves you from any further embarrassment and meets yours almost immediately, palms straight and pressed together in a mockery to a high five. 

  “Well, look at that.” His lips tug into an amused grin.

  For a second you meet his gaze, but as quick as anything, the connection is lost. As you drop your hand back to your side, you feel warmth creep into your cheeks. How your lack of eye contact can be a burden at times. All you want to do is look at this guy, get a read of him without the need to sneak fleeting glances whenever you could. 

  All you can settle on now is that he’s down right cute. Handsome. 

  No way this guy is single. How some chick could just give him a false number. My number. 

  You wander further down the street together, side by side, occasionally arms brushing against one another before you stop and jab a thumb at the small bar. “Here it is. Heh, quaint place. I, uh… like coming here. Obviously.”

  While he’s distracted with his observation, you take a few seconds to actually look at him.

  Casually dressed, so much like yourself. Chiselled features, intense yet stunning eyes you believe you’ve ever seen, and broad. Damn well towering high above you. Next to him, you feel like a gummy bear. Why that comparison, you have no idea, but you find it fitting. 

  Thus so far he doesn’t put himself as intentionally dangerous or harmful, not towards you anyway. You’d bet all that’s in your wallet he’d cause some serious damage if he wanted to. 

  “Nice little joint.” You hum softly and nod in agreement, eyes sinking low to instead scan the fabric of his jacket instead of his reaction when you know his gaze is on you. 

  You bob your head in the direction of the door, indicating him to follow you inside. But Bucky, if anything, was raised in the century of etiquette and manners. Especially in the company of a woman. Your smaller, gloved hand reaches for the door until his own comes forward, pulling the door open for you. 

  “After you, Doll.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  Again, that warm crimson settles in your cheeks, causing the rest of your body to heat up, soon enough you won’t need the gloves and jacket to keep you warm. 

You lead him over to a window booth, sliding in over the overworn cushions and he takes the one opposite you. Not too soon after does the regular waitress greet you with a pearly smile, blonde hair tied back into a ponytail. 

  “Y/N!” she gasps widely, “So good to see you. What can I get you and your man tonight?” She flashes a wink down towards you both. Out of sheer interest, Bucky’s eyes drift to land on you, the corner of his lips turned up slightly into a smirk. 

  “Wh– he, oh no, he’s not– we’re not… just the regular, thanks.”

  Tongue tied. You fucking hate situations that plant you on the spot, on your arse. Like an ungraceful landing after jumping the wagon. Fuck, you’re making yourself look even more weird in front of him. Why this sudden need to act like a normal human being around him is present, you find it confusing. But from trial and error, you’ve always somehow managed to mark yourself as a strange one. 

  It was better to keep things short between interactions. But with Bucky, something has come over you that makes you want to trust him. Be open with him. But you know you can’t. People can hide their true nature for lengths at a time that they deem necessary. You’re not about to give this guy a loaded gun to turn on you. 

  With a nod, the waitress nods and writes down in her notepad, she looks to Bucky expectantly. 

  “I’ll have what she’s having and can we get two beers with the order.” 

  “Can do. That will be with you both shortly.” With an affirmative nod, the waitress heads off to deliver the new order. 

  “If you just want to dip any time during… this, then I understand.” For the second time tonight, Bucky’s face contorts with deeply rooted confusion. His smile is the product of his being unsure whether you’re serious or joking. “Why would I do that?”

  Your shoulders move up sharply with a shrug. 

  Because you don’t want to be around me. 

  “I’m not leaving you by yourself. You asked to meet up and I’m here.” 

  Touching words that you wish to believe in them wholeheartedly. Surely though, he’s only saying that out of courtesy. 

  “I tend to stay out pretty late towards the weekend.”

 Now it’s his turn to shrug. “So do I.”

  Once the food and beers arrived, you found it easier to distract yourself, able to roll the bottle between your hands, feeding off of your meal bit by bit throughout conversation. 

  “Like I said before, don’t feel obligated to stay out late. Don’t want to keep your girl waiting.” A small tactic, albeit you disbelieve that it’s very discreet, it’s an obvious tell that you want to know if he’s single or not. You’re no expert in the dating pool but that just has to be right up there in some top ten listed prompts.

 “Not leaving you. I don’t have a girl waiting on me, don’t worry, Doll.” You almost choke on your next bite, drowning it down your throat with a gulp of beer. You almost meet his eyes, opting to focus just below them. There is absolutely no way in hell this guy is single. 

  Bucky figures he’d shoot his shot, now that the identity of mystery girl and you were one and the same. 

  “Hope your boyfriend doesn’t mind I’m stealing you for the night.”

   Why did he word it like that?!

  “Ha. Boyfriend,” you sigh, mouth pinching towards the side. Briefly, you notice the furrow in his brows. 

  Dammit, why is he so fucking cute?

  “No boyfriend,” he drawls lowly over the rim of his bottle. 

  You shake your head. “Nope.” 

  He can tell by the way you roll the singular word, emphasising the p with a sharp popping sound. Bitterness. 

  “Why?” He watches you intently as he takes a drink of his beer, meanwhile, you're turning your bottle left and right, like trying to crack the code to some safe. 

  Didn’t want to risk getting hurt. 

  “Just…” You pause with a heavy sigh, heat covers your eyes that you now direct to stare down at the table. “Never made the effort, if I’m honest.”

  “You like being alone.”

  “Prefer it, actually. Easier that way.”

  Of that, Bucky completely understands. After everything he’s been through, being alone has just made things simple. Lonely but simpler. He notices the many couples and maybe it would be nice to have someone there. But how can he find normalcy after everything he’s done? Is he deserving of it?

  He wants peace. Dr. Raynor believes that’s bullshit but she can’t understand that he wants peace for himself. To feel comfortable. Accepted. Perhaps loved, if any deity or supernatural entity from above condones it.

  But then, why are you so comfortable in your loneliness? He wonders about it.

  “My doctor keeps telling me to try and engage with people. Open up. That sort of shit.” 

  “Mine too.”

  Another funny coincidence you both find in each other. During your time talking over text, you both managed to find out you attended doctor appointments. Therapy and not by your own choice either. By some other force that dictated you needed help. 

  “People are so afraid of being alone these days. World’s dangerous, sure, but so are the people you thought you could trust. But people are desperate, I guess. They’ll risk it.”

    Bucky cannot help the way the corner of his eyes curl slightly, lips stretching into a pursed smile to contain his amusement as much as possible. 

  “What?” you ask, head tilting slightly, your eyes having now settled on the booth’s texture right over his shoulder. 

  He shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “You often on the defensive when it comes to people?”

  “Have to be. Don’t know their intentions. Could be anything.”

  “And what about me?”

  You shrug again, gaze torn between meeting his and keeping it far, far away. “Like you said before, if I looked at people once and a while. But I can’t. So I’ll never know, I guess.”

  He frowns slightly at this. If your body language is telling him anything right now is that his question pushed you into a corner. You felt trapped when confronted by his curiosity. You didn’t answer him, not exactly, but if your response did anything it’s that you tend to avoid answering when you get pushed. 

  You don’t seem to be the overly aggressive type up front. But if backed into that corner, that is when you may very well lash out. A defensive tactic. A once victim tactic. 

  Both of you are pulled from the thicket of your scattered thoughts and silence when the waitress returns with the check. You begin to shuffle around in your pocket, obtaining your half of the meal when Bucky stops you. 

  “My treat,” he says and hands his money to the blonde worker. 

  “N-no, that’s okay. I’m fine with paying my side.”

  He tuts you with a shake of his head, eyes penetrating your very soul for the moment you meet it. 

  Don’t look at me like that please… heart’s going too fast. Just let me pay for my food. 

  “I was born and raised in a time that I pay for the date. Let me cover it.” 

  Not that you have much choice to argue. He’d already handed off the money and the waitress took away your finished plates and beers. 

  Your bottom lip curls outwards into a pout. You feel bad that he felt like he had to do that. For him to pay out more than what was required. 

  In that regard, he leans back slightly, chin held higher a little more. He believes he’s won this round. But if anything, you’re adamant to pay him back.

  “Here.” You slide the bill towards him, ignoring the way his eyes narrow slightly to your challenge. “Just accept it, please? I’ll feel better knowing I didn’t waste your money.”

  Reluctantly, he nods and accepts the money and you mumble a soft thanks. 

    Time flew by as you both wandered together, giving him a general tour of the area. Small bouts of banter passed between you both, and general topics of discussion like work and time passers were made to fill the void of silence. Even still, you kept everything at surface level, never really exploring any deeper thoughts, much like him. But those very rare glimpses were only brief glimpses into one another’s life. 

  At least you both could report to your respective doctors that you tried, still in the dark that Dr. Raynor was the host of your separate appointments. 

  Coming through the way you came you reach your initial meeting spot, the sidewalk more open with people now on their way back home at the later hour. 

  “No, Sam just talks too much,” Bucky grumbles in his chuckle, an amused grin forming on your lips. He could just make out the rows of teeth. 

  “Sounds like a fun guy.”

  “Definitely.” You hear the grumbling breathlessness in his tone. When he glimpses to his side he finds your eyes, quick to steal whatever he can get of those capturing colours that are far too swift to avert. 

  Fuck. Can’t even make it to five seconds. I’m getting nowhere with this eye contact exercise.

Following him, he leads you over to his bike and your eyes narrow curiously. So it was him that owned the motorcycle you heard earlier that evening. 

  “I guess this is where we part ways for the night.” You bounce your head in the direction of your place. “Was good finally meeting you, Bucky.”

  That didn’t sit well with him. A lot can happen on the walk back to your place and he didn’t feel completely ready to let you go for the night. Eyes tearing between you and his bike with quick thinking, he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. He hoists a leg over his bike, straddling the seat and rolling his arm to beckon you closer. 

  “Why don’t we go for a quick ride? Then I’ll drop you home.”

  “Nah, besides I’ve never… I-I’m good. I like the walk home.”

  Bucky is quickly picking up a sort of pattern. Still, he can’t shake the need to just hang around you a little longer, nor the guilt he’d have for just leaving you. Chivalry at its finest, he shakes his head sternly, dismounting the bike, you see the way his body moves fluently with the action.

  Fucking stop doing that!

  Your mind is dancing two different dances. Rational thought and that bubbly, giddiness that often leads swooning victims into blinded trouble. 

  “Alright, we’ll walk together then.” 

  “Wait– you can’t just leave your–”

  He begins to lead you off in the direction you’d motioned to before. “I’ll come back for it.”

  “Bucky.” He sees the defiant pout and crossing of your arms. Indeed, a cute sight to behold.

  He smirks, and shit, you couldn’t meet anything above the bridge of his nose then, but did you admire what you could. 

  “It’s your call. We can either walk or take the bike.”

  He’s played a few rounds of this game already with you. Numerous times you’ve had to choose between one option or the other, a few of those being a tad embarrassing, but his assurance provided some semblance of comfort. 

  But what felt like a game before now feels like more than that now. Before it was fun, easy and not serious. This, however, was not a round you can simply forfeit from. It’s either option one or two. 

  Your chest expands with a large inhale. Blinking, you contemplate and weigh the options. “We’ll take the bike.” 

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make a rider out of you, Doll.” It didn’t help the flush that scorches and freezes your body simultaneously when he adds a wink to his witty flirtations. 

  You try to not let it get to you. Not to let goosebumps riddle your skin and send your nerves endings aflame. But he’s making it hard. He leads you back towards the bike and he grabs the helmet. 

  “Here, you can use this.” 

  You focus on the protective helm and though you mean to protest, worried about what he’d do about himself, he’s already tucking your head in. 

  You make a small noise as he wriggles it in place and through the visor, you can finally meet his eyes. 

  With the blacked out visor to shield your eyes, you finally and truly admire the - unfortunately muted - hue of blue that entrances you, intense as the hottest levelled flame. He’s smiling down at you.

  “How’s it fit?”

  “Good!” you call, giving him a thumbs up. He nods with that assurance and directs you to mount the bike behind him. But you’re going shy on him and he cocks his head slightly, brows knitted in their concern. 

  Even when you preferred to be the one to initiate contact, that didn’t mean you were used to or fond of it. What if you held him too tightly, or what if you touched him somewhere he wasn’t comfortable with.

  Mounting the bike behind him, you at first put about an inch or two of space between you both. “Get on closer.” 

  You fail to hide the mousey squeak when his hands pull at your thighs, tugging them forward until they rest against him, your hands find purchase on the broad space of his shoulders. 

  He does it cautiously, he seeks out your wrists when they slide down the scape of his back, and you - warily - let him pull them around his torso. He exhales slowly, giving himself a second to comprehend having your hold around him. Why does he feel this way? Now that he has you like this, he can’t bear to think about losing it.

  “Hold on tight now,” he instructs and with a heavy bob of your head, thanks to the helmet, he lets the engine purr to life and he feels your arms grow a little tighter. 

  Rolling the bike back a little, he lets a car pass by before he speeds off down the way, the bike’s roar pulses through your entire body until for sure you’ve gone numb and you only hold onto Bucky tighter. 

  The surge of adrenaline fills you until you’re on high, blood boiling hot in your veins as he flies through the traffic. For taking things usually at your own pace, it felt good to have a little speed kick in. 

  Taking a sudden turn to the left would have made you question your decision to take the bike - should have scared you - but it didn’t. Not with Bucky. For what feels like ages now, you feel that you can trust him.

  “How you doing back there?” he asks, straining his voice to yell over the bike’s power. You doubt very much he’d be able to hear you, not when you only just managed to hear him, you opt to nod your head vigorously. He feels it against the muscles of his back and his lips tug upwards. 

  Accelerating slightly more, he feels your body grow giddy, jostling a little as you laugh behind him while he weaves through traffic. It really shows that you’ve never been on a bike before now. And since that’s the case, he’s determined to make it an unforgettable experience. 

  With any wishful thinking, you’ll want to go for another ride with him. 

  Bucky puts the now overwhelmed engine to rest for a little while, all thanks to his plan to impress you. “Here we are.” He lets his eyes rake over the few story building, a little settlement of apartments, currently parked round back that shows a short paved walkway to your backdoor. Going through the front door was usually hectic with your neighbours, good people honestly, but after a tiring day it could get a bit much.

  This way, you could be left alone. 

  “This is me,” your voice says through the helmet. You dismount before him and unlike Bucky, your movements aren’t as well versed. But for him, that just adds to your charm. 

  You let him stand close to you as he retrieves his helmet, being gentle to pry it off. 

 Once that visor is gone, so too does your resolve to look into his eyes, the connection lost with the helmet’s absence.

  “Thanks for driving me home. I… had a good time.”

  “You’re welcome.” Bucky’s lips thin into a smile. This was it then, the end of your little outing together. He doesn’t want to come off strong but how can he be so sure that you’ll be so bold again? How long would he have to wait?

  That’s why he’s pulling you closer again. It may be scary but at this point, he’s willing to risk it, if it means to have another meeting with you. To see you again.

  “Well, goodnight Bucky. I’ll talk to you—” You’d only begun to turn towards the narrow walkway when you’re stopped. Pulled back until you’re practically flushed against Bucky’s front. He’s pressing something into the palm of your hand. Thin, like paper. Peering down, you see the bill you’d given him. 

  However, you don’t have any other choice when his other hand tilts your chin up. 

  Oh no.

  “Give me five seconds,” he breathes out, voice hopeful. Your chin trembles, only just able to look at him through your lashes, but even then your focus dives downward, but his fingers remain to keep your head from bowing. 

  “I-I can’t…”

  “You can. Take your time.”

  Why he’s doing this, you have no clue, and why he’s willing to be patient; it’s just downright confusing. Who in their right mind would have time for this? At times, you barely have enough time to deal with your own shit.

  To save himself from waiting for a literal eternity, you rip the bandaid, and you meet his eyes. No visor, no secretive glimpses here and there stolen. You stare straight up, right into those blues that can very well drown you. 

  Your lungs tighten and struggle to maintain a steady pattern, you feel the welling of tears glass over your eyes with each second you count. Slowly. 

  One… two… 

  His eyes remain gentle with you. Tender and kind. You’re not seeing anything… bad, like he wants to hurt you. he could be hiding it really well. But for yourself, you’re sure he can see every single rational and irrational fear, every painful memory in your teary eyes. Your vision begins to cloud, like the fight to stay above the crashing waves. 

  Three… four…

  Buck’s hand lowers slowly but you don’t register it. You can’t. It’s something that occurs in the background, unattuned to it. You see in those wonderfully coloured hues that he's just as haunted as you are or even more. 

  He’s lonely as you are. Afraid as you are. Shadows of his own past, you can see them. Made him into the person he is in front of you. And you can’t blame him, no matter what it is that haunts him. 

  You see a once victim in him just as much as you see in the mirror every morning. 

  “Same time next Friday?” he asks, his voice is low, almost a whisper. His chest expands as he holds his breath. 

  “Sure.” You share a smile between you two, cheeks glowing warm and bright red. 

  “I’ll pick you up.” 

  Him leaving the proximity of your personal space leaves you gasping for air, blinking the tears in your eyes rapidly, you watch him retreat to his bike. Until next Friday, you’d wait to see him then. 

  “Talk soon, Doll,” he calls out with a wave once he’s atop his vehicle. Looking at it now, you can still feel the vibrations in your legs. 

  “Mhm. Until then.” 

  You take your leave then, entering your apartment and shutting the door behind you in tandem with him riding off into the night. Planting your back against the door to ground you does little to affect, still you’re floating. 

  This new feeling welling inside your chest, a flutter in your stomach… It scares you. Is this feeling why people are afraid to be alone? You don’t know what to think. 

  All you do know is that you gave him ten seconds.

[lanadelnegan]

My Past, My Future - Part 5 (Final part)

Negan x Reader x Daryl

part four here / part one here

Warnings: 18+, smut, angst

Note: I'm sorry this took so long for me to post. Been kinda out of it lately, but probably gonna start posting regularly again.

Red = Negan / Blue = Daryl / Pink - Reader

"Negan..." Your jaw lowers slightly in disbelief as you look up into his tired eyes. Before your brain has time to stop you, you lunge forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and inhaling the familiar smell of him. "God I am so glad you're okay." A tear falls from your cheek as he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck and holds you tight.

Pulling back slightly after a moment too long, you clear your throat awkwardly and drop your hands to your sides. You quickly wipe the tear slipping down your cheek as Negan tilts his head at you empathetically. "Baby.."

"No..." You shake your head, remembering how Negan left you - alone and worried to death. "Negan, I - I don't understand. Why? Why did you leave?" You ramble, letting the hurt and anger wash over you all over again. "I looked for you for three weeks straight. I didn't eat.. didn't sleep.. just cried until I couldn't anymore."

"I saw you two.. kissing.. I thought -"

"You thought wrong, Negan. I wanted it to be you. I told Daryl that after the kiss. I came back to Alexandria that night to tell you, and you - you were gone. How could you do that to me? Just leave and not even look back like I never meant anything to you?"

"C'mon, You know that's not true... Was I supposed to just stay there and fuckin' watch you be with him?!"

Before you can respond, the front door swings open behind you and Daryl quickly appears at your side, wrapping his arm protectively around your waist.

Negan scoffs, glancing down at Daryl's hand gripping you possessively. "Seriously? You two are a thing now, huh? And you expect me to believe you were gonna fuckin' choose me?"

"Believe what you want. It's the truth. Not that it matters anymore. You left. You made your decision."

"Yeah." Negan nods. "I guess you did too."

"You dunno what the hell you're talkin' about. Got no right to talk to her like that when you just up and left." Daryl's jaw clenches as he glares at Negan.

"Seems like it worked out for you. I dunno why you're fuckin' complainin'."

"Cuz I'm not selfish. I wanted her to by happy."

"And I'm selfish? For leaving behind the love of my fucking life just so I wouldn't get in the way of her and another man!? If anyone's selfish it's you! Throwing a fit because the girl you were too scared to admit your feelings to wanted me and not you."

You grab Daryl's wrist, pulling him back as he lunges forward at Negan. "Enough! This is too much. I can't - I can't deal with this right now." You cry as both men reach out to comfort you.

Negan lets out a long sigh. "Look, it's getting dark. And I know you're tired. Let's call it a night and sort this out tomorrow."

Daryl hesitantly nods, accepting Negan's offer when you look to him for an answer and you both follow Negan into the house. It's old and wooden and Negan's smell fills the air. Your heart aches at the thought of Negan here by himself all this time... he is here by himself right?

"Do you.. live here alone?" You ask, looking around for any signs of other company.

"Nah. Girlfriend should be back any minute."

You roll your eyes at the teasing tone of his voice, trying to hide your smile when he winks at you.

"Hungry?" He points behind himself to the kitchen.

"No.. thanks. Just tired."

"You two can take the bedroom.. I'll sleep out here on the couch. Just let me clean up and change first." Negan says before heading to his bedroom. "Make yourselves at home." He calls out before shutting his door.

Six months ago you were confessing your love for each other and having sex on your couch. Now he's offering up his bed to you and another man? Daryl rests his hand on your lower back and you turn around to hug him, laying your head on his chest.

"Daryl.. I want you to know you have nothing to worry about. We'll leave in the morning."

"Not worried." He reassures you by planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. He knows he is, but the last thing he wants is to put more stress and pressure on you right now.

Negan enters the room again, announcing his presence with an awkward clearing of his throat. "Room's ready. Changed the sheets."

Daryl leads the way, bumping past Negan rudely as he disappears into the master bathroom. You walk past Negan, brushing your hand against his before he gently wraps his hand around your wrist and looks down at you. "The idea of you in my bed with another man fucking infuriates me. Everything I do.. everything I did.. was for your happiness. Not mine... Just so you know." His hazel eyes fall to your lips for a moment before he slowly looks back up into your eyes. You restrain yourself from kissing him, remembering the way his soft lips felt against yours as his stubble pricked at your face. You can't deny you miss kissing him. Having long deep conversations with him.. Fucking him. All your memories together flow through your mind as you stare up at him.

"Are you happy with him, y/n?" Negan's eyes dart back and forth between yours.

"...Yes."

"Good..." He nods before walking away and you watch him sink to the couch as you enter his bedroom. You find Daryl already laying in bed and immediately climb in the bed behind him to comfort him. You know this must be difficult for him. You nuzzle your face into the back of his neck. "Baby.. I told you not to worry."

He doesn't say anything as you run your fingers comfortingly through his thick strands of hair. "I love you, Daryl."

"You love him too." He says matter-of-factly.

You don't respond, knowing you'd be lying if you tried to argue with him. So instead, you wrap your arm around him and settle into the sheets. The pillowcase smells like Negan as you shut your eyes and drift off quickly, dreaming of a world where you don't have to choose between the two men you'd die for.

As soon as Daryl hears your light snore, he slips out of bed, quietly finding his way into the living room where Negan is wide awake on the couch staring at the ceiling.

"We need to talk."

Negan's chest rises and falls as he lets out a long sigh. "Nothin' to say."

"Oh.. now you wanna stay quiet?"

"Now you wanna fuckin' talk?"

Daryl ignores Negan's comeback, sitting in a chair across from the couch. A long moment passes before Daryl finally speaks again.

"I know you love y/n. I know you've changed. But I'll never forget what you've done. When we came back to Alexandria and realized you were gone... I hoped you'd never come back."

Negan huffs, leaning back further into the couch before Daryl continues.

"Until I saw how much it broke her. She wouldn't eat. Wouldn't sleep. Unless I made her. Was so worried about her I couldn't let her outta my sight. You did that to her."

Negan gulps down, fighting back tears as he hears how much he hurt you.

"And for some stupid reason.. she still loves you."

Negan scoffs, shaking his head slightly before gazing back up at the ceiling. "...When Lucille passed, I knew I wouldn't be able to love anyone the way I loved her. Lucille was.. my everything. Hell, named a fuckin' baseball bat after her just so I wouldn't have to say goodbye... You know where that bat is now?"

Daryl grunts, waiting for Negan's answer. Negan's head nods towards the fireplace, as they watch the wood crack underneath the flames for awhile.

"I said goodbye to Lucille that day because I finally found someone I could be happy with again... When I made the decision to leave, that was for y/n. Not for me. I knew you'd be there to take my place, and I thought that's what she fuckin' wanted. But me? I didn't eat either. Didn't sleep. Worried about her every day. Still fuckin' do."

Daryl's head drops forward as his elbows rest on his knees, carefully taking in Negan's words.

"She misses you."

"Why are you tellin' me this?"

"Cause I want the same thing as you. Just want her to be happy."

"So what? You're.. giving her back to me?" Negan's head shakes sarcastically, mocking the idea.

"In your dreams.... What I'm sayin' is, we love her and she loves us. Why make her choose?"

Negan's nose scrunches as he looks to Daryl, sitting up now and leaning forward. "Wait, wait, wait. You're not serious. Are you seriously suggesting a... throuple?"

"Nah. I ain't gay." Daryl grunts. "It's not about me and you. Just her."

"Too bad. Thought you were finally comin' around." Negan raises his brows suggestively, making Daryl stand and roll his eyes annoyed. He stops at the bedroom door, looking back to Negan expectantly. "You comin'?"

They both quietly enter the bedroom and slide in bed on either side of you. Still asleep, you snuggle against the warm body in front of you, roaming your hand along his stomach before stopping suddenly, realizing it's not Daryl. Your eyes jolt open to meet Negan's gaze in the dim lit room as he smirks down at you.

"Wha-"

"It's okay, babe." Daryl whispers in your ear from behind.

"You still love me, baby?" Negan asks, tilting your chin up and hovering his lips over yours.

You answer him by pressing your lips to his, closing the small gap. You can't help the involuntary moan that escapes your mouth as you taste him again for the first time in so long.

Negan's hand cups the back of your neck, bringing you closer as he deepens the kiss and flicks his tongue against yours. His mouth opens slightly as a throaty groan escapes and you almost whimper at how turned on you are. Finally turning your attention to Daryl behind you, your arm reaches behind you to grip his hair and pull him in for a kiss. He kisses you back hungrily as his rough hand glides down the side of your body, tracing your curves before reaching your ass and firmly squeezing.

After a moment, you pull away from his mouth to adjust yourself, leaning up for a moment to remove your shirt and bra before laying flat on your back between the two of them.

You stare vacantly at the ceiling, blinking a few times as you attempt to wake yourself from the obvious dream you must be having. But to no avail, your men remain pressed against your body as they nip at your skin and tease you with their fingers.

Shifting lower in the bed, they both take a hardened nipple into their mouth, making your head push into the pillow below you as you bite your lip to suppress your moan.

Negan flicks his tongue lightly over the sensitive bud, while Daryl's lips suction around the other, sucking over and over. You can't hide your noises anymore as you let them hear what they are doing to you. "Ohh my god. Fuck... that feels good."

Negan grins, letting his teeth gently squeeze your nipple before lowering his hand. He easily pops open the button on your jeans before roughly pushing them down your legs. Daryl raises to his knees, helping you get your pants and underwear off your ankles until you're completely bare in front of them.

You've been with them both one on one on multiple occasions, but this feels.. much more intense with both of them at the same time.

As Daryl bends down, getting ready to position himself to eat your pussy, Negan stops him. "Look man, not tryna be selfish here. But I've been deprived of that pussy for way too long. So please, allow me." He pleads.

Daryl glares at Negan for a moment before finally moving out of his way and letting him devour your cunt. Negan's face is buried between your legs the second Daryl gives him the go ahead and your jaw lowers as you make an o-shape with your lips at how good his mouth feels. His stubble tickles your inner thighs while his tongue repeatedly flicks deep inside of you.

"Fuck!" He comes up for air, before pressing his nose to your hole and inhaling the smell of you. "Goddamn I missed this sweet pussy."

"Move." Daryl demands, taking Negan's place and tossing your legs over his shoulders. His fingers spread your pussy lips apart, allowing him better access to your clit and sucking it harshly, urging you to orgasm.

Your gaze is focused on Negan as he stands by the bed, quickly discarding his clothes.

"Daryl!" You moan his name as your orgasm rushes through you, letting your eyes stay locked on Negan's, hoping to bring out his possessive side. A smirk appears on Negan's face as he chuckles darkly, knowing you're trying to make him jealous.

Just as Daryl comes up for air, wiping your juices from his chin, the bed dips as Negan crawls over you, taking your lips in his.

"You tryin' to tease me, baby? Cause it's fuckin' working."

He kisses you rhythmically before pulling on your lower lip with teeth and grinning at you. While you're busy locking tongues with Negan, Daryl positions himself on his back beside you. "Come mere baby. Need you."

You roll over on top of Daryl, letting your knees rest on either side of him as you hover your wet opening over his hard length and slide down slowly and completely, filling your cunt to the brim as your head falls back in pleasure.

Negan settles in behind you, bumping his hard cock against your ass. His hand wraps around your long strands of hair as he pulls, bringing your head back further and exposing the front of your neck.

Chills run down your spine when Negan whispers throatily in your ear. "Think you can take us both sweetheart?"

You answer him with a frantic nod and he chuckles, biting at the sensitive spot behind your ear and making chills spread over your arms.

"Fuck. Bend over him. Now." Negan grunts, pushing your back until you're laying over Daryl with his cock still inside you.

Negan's hand spreads one of your ass cheeks as he leans back slightly, watching you slide up and down on Daryl's cock. "Goddamn. You are creaming all over his fuckin' dick, darlin'." Negan's thumb reaches out, gathering a line of your juices from Daryl's shaft and bringing it to his mouth. He groans at the taste, eyes rolling in the back of his head as he sucks his own thumb. "Fuck." He whispers, dropping his thumb to your tight asshole now and circling it slowly. "Where do you want me baby?" He asks, pushing this thumb through your tightness. You cry out at the unfamiliar feeling.

"In.. in my pussy." You whine.

"Yeah? Such a big girl, so confident that you can take two big cocks in your little cunt at the same time." Negan chuckles darkly, pulling his finger out of your ass and rubbing his tip through your folds from behind as Daryl's breathes loud and heavy while you ride him.

Negan's hand grips your waist tightly, holding you in place as he guides his cock to your already filled hole. He slides his tip along Daryl's length before ultimately pushing through and burying himself deep inside you. Daryl grunts, adjusting slightly at the feeling of Negan's dick against his own.

You cry out as your walls are stretched further than they've ever been, and the thought of your men rubbing their cocks together inside of you makes your stomach flutter.

"Oh my goddd." You cry, overwhelmed at the intensity of being so full. Not only are your walls stretched to their limit, but both of them are painfully deep. Pressure and heat build in your abdomen as you feel yourself embarrassingly close to coming already.

“Holy shit, feels so fuckin’ good.” Negan whimpers, dropping his head back heavily as he thrusts into you.

Daryl’s jaw clenches as he stares up at you through glazed over eyes. “Is it too much babe? Tell us to stop if you need-“

“No. Please. Please don’t stop.” You beg, crashing your lips against Daryl’s as you moan into his mouth. Negan brings his hand down roughly, smacking your ass cheek and making you yelp into Daryl’s mouth.

Negan grunts, grabbing the back of your hair possessively and pulling your back against his chest. Your head turns as he kisses your lips sloppily from the side, bringing his hand around to wrap firmly around your throat as his throaty whisper flows in your ear. “I might be willing to share, but kissing another man when I’m balls deep in this cunt? Not gonna fuckin’ happen, doll.”

From this angle, one of their tips press repeatedly into just the right spot, making your cheeks burn hot. And Negan’s filthy words are just what you need to send you over the edge.

"Daryl! ... Negan! Fuuuck." You scream out, feeling warm liquid rush out of you. Both men groan at the feeling of you soaking their cocks as Negan's moans become faster and louder and Daryl grows quieter - an indicator that he's close.

"Come in me..Please.” You breathe out.

"Who?" Both men say in unison.

"..Both."

"Can't hold it anymore. I'm comin' baby. I'm fuckin' coming. Ahhh, fuuuuck." He lets out a long groan, spilling deep inside of you.

Daryl groans at the intense feeling of yours and Negan’s warm liquids surrounding his cock. He bites his bottom lip as he shoots his load in you, following each pulse of his dick with a mix of raspy whimpers and moans.

Negan slides out of you as you lift yourself off Daryl, falling to the bed next to him. When Negan joins you on the other side, you lace your fingers in both of their hands as you lay there out of breath.

"What the hell just happened?" You chuckle, not able to hide the ridiculous smile on your face.

"We don't wanna make you choose. Just want you to be happy. If you want us both, you've got us."

"But.. that's.."

Negan leans in, kissing your cheek before settling into the sheets and closing his eyes. "There's no rules in the apocalypse, baby. Shoulda learned that a long time ago."

tagging my babies: @loganlostitall @chaospossum @negansbabydoll66 @redqueenphoenix @n3g5nx @crustyweirdo @youngpersonaathletebear @sadgirlzluvdilfs @ilovebill-and-gustav @neganscumbucket @manipulatorpoem @im-a-goddamn-cat @raininhell @mahogany-cherry-wine @daryldixmedown@munsonslovergirl @sanctuaryforthelost @thelauraborealis @carlgrimesbbg @c3linesworld @blueheisenbergtragedy @dekuumademecumm @midnight-dixon @arthi-s

[misc-obeyme]

I think Barb is a master at giving oral with thode two other hands on top of his head....................................

NSFW MDNI

My brain is instantly like, how does this work? What are the logistics?? If Barb's got his face between your legs, where exactly do his horns end up? And if they can move of their own volition? What's he doing with them? Imagine those hands like... grabbing at your thighs. Or if they extend far enough, you might find yourself getting fingered and tongued at the same time, you know what I'm saying??

Now I'm thinking about those hands... they're kinda bony, right? And the tips look like they'd be sharp... so imagine them gripping your thighs and just kinda... digging in a bit. He's so lost in what he's doing, he doesn't even notice. They draw a little bit of blood. Leave lengthy scratch marks along your skin.

Oh no I better stop thinking about this right now.

ANYWAY I have to agree with you on this one, anon. I feel like I gotta go think about something really dull for a minute now. Like I dunno... baseball or something.

[onbearfeet]

Whump Wheel request for our favorite werewolf!

✨ High fever ✨

but he's ambulatory somehow

"Sit your stupid ass down," Bucky snarled.

Jack shook his head, more slowly than usual. "I'm fine," he insisted, and it would even have been convincing if he'd managed to avoid slurring the second word.

"You are not fine," Elsa snapped from where she was fiddling with what she claimed was a ghoul gate but that Bucky could have sworn was a garden-variety pipe bomb with funny writing on it. "You're running a temperature of forty degrees, according to Barnes' arm sensors." She rolled her eyes. "A hundred and four in idiot units."

"Hey," Bucky warned her, then returned his attention to Jack, who had begun methodically pulling books off the shelves of the Newport mansion in which they'd gotten themselves trapped. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, stalking over to where his prey had managed to escape. "Do you wanna cook your brain or something?"

"I dunno, would it help?" Jack's eyes were glassy as he flipped pages without appearing to read. His cheeks and forehead were flushed with fever.

"What kinda stupid question is--hey!" Bucky grabbed Jack by his bicep and spun him in place so the werewolf had no choice but to face him. "Listen to me!"

"'m lissning," Jack slurred, staring at a point in space that seemed to be just off the end of Bucky's nose.

Bucky brought his metal palm up to press against Jack's cheek. Jack leaned into the cool touch with a barely suppressed moan.

"Hey," Bucky said, more gently this time. "You need to rest. You're sick."

"Don' get sick." Jack sounded offended at the very thought.

"He's right," Elsa put in. "Werewolves are immune to just about everything humans can catch." She paused. "Everything other humans can catch," she corrected.

"So what?" Bucky shot back. "Maybe he's got parvo or something!"

"Tha's racist," Jack informed him, swaying on his feet.

Bucky closed his eyes and silently counted to five thousand. Then he reopened then.

"Jack," he said, watching the werewolf's head wobble in response. "You want some water?"

Wobbly nod.

"Yeah, something to drink probably sounds good right about now. But you gotta sit down to drink your water, okay?"

Scowl. Wobble-nod.

"Good man." He gently guided the swaying man over to a chair near the cold fireplace. Jack didn't sit so much as collapse into it like his strings had been cut, but his head didn't hit anything on the way down, which was a win in Bucky's book.

"Try the drinks cabinet," Elsa suggested, still fiddling with her definitely-not-a-pipe-bomb.

Bucky grunted acknowledgment and headed for it. He'd give Jack alcohol if he had to--fluids were fluids, right?--but he wanted to find something low-proof if he could.

Good thing every rich evil bastard he'd ever net had kept the good stuff locked up and left the watered-down shit where guests and tippling servants could find it.

"Are you planning to blow us up with that thing?" he called to Elsa as he rummaged through the cabinet.

"If I can disable the sigils," she replied distractedly, "I can turn it from a ghoul gate into a perfectly ordinary explosive to use on the door."

The bottles were what he expected. Shit bourbon, shit scotch, fake cognac, real vodka... "Do you know how to disable the sigils?" he asked.

"Not as such, no."

Bucky paused, his metal fingers wrapped around a bottle of bitters. "Then should you be fucking with it?"

"Only if we don't want Jack to die."

The bottle shattered in his grip. He thought vaguely that he was going to have to clean the plates in his hand later.

"What?!" he yelped.

"Nobody gets a high fever in ten minutes flat," Elsa snarled. "It's a curse. Probably attached to this bloody gate. Jack knows more about most curses and sigils than I do, Barnes. He's had centuries to learn, and my education was rather more specialized. And now the curse is cooking his brain before he can break it!"

Bucky glanced over at Jack, who was slumped in his chair. "Fuck. I think he passed out."

"Bastards. Time for plan B." Elsa bit the fingertip of her left glove, tugged it off, and spat the glove aside. Then she bit the cuticle on her thumb, hard.

"What are you doing?" Bucky asked, in a higher register than he'd intended.

"Duct tape for curses."

"What?"

"Duct tape fixes everything, right? Most curses break with either blood or true love's kiss. Do you see any true lovers in here?" She squeezed her index finger against the wound in her thumb and began smearing blood across the definitely-a-bomb-now. "Get Jack behind the davenport."

"The what?!"

"The couch, Barnes!"

The oh-shit-that's-just-a-bomb began to beep.

Bucky lunged for Jack, scooped his limp body up, and was up and over the dav--couch, it was a goddamn couch--in seconds.

Elsa landed beside them just as the beeping stopped and the world went white.

[tassodelmiele]

Noisy little mess

Hi cutie!

I've, incredibly, keep on writing the same fic for one time in my life, so i'm posting the second part of the first part (obviously) of the whatever i've wrote.

I like writing. It's a little difficult switch from my italian kinda writing skill to the english language.

I feel less poetic in english. More...meh. Dunno.

Anyway, we do not have that much of a smut content in here, just...talking. A lot of talking. I like dialogues.

Sorry for every incorrect grammatical things, i hope i haven't made a complete mess.

DISCLAIMERS: not that much of a smut thing, anyway is GhostxReader, arguing, terrible nicknames, gym, blame shifting, not having breakfast, recalling of behaviours that shouldn't belong to a military base but oh well.

..................................................

First part is here:

https://www.tumblr.com/tassodelmiele/746173281244151808/noisy-little-mess?source=share

..................................................

Next day, you skip breakfast.

Your ass hurts like hell, you've got bruises on your neck and it seems like you've gone through a fight with the full cast of a Jason Statam's kinda film.

You rush through all the damn base like crazy, avoiding smiles and greetings, in search for that goddamn man who has to give you explanations.

'Cause that sort of thing doesn't happen between two who barely speak at breakfast. 

'Cause you may find muscles attractive, but you've never told him you like him in particular.

'Cause he almost ravaged you, without even saying "goodnight".

And 'cause you've liked it. But that's not necessarily to be known.

You're about to go straight to the training camp (you've seen Soap nearby, and he's Ghost's shadow), when the wanted finds the detective: a door suddenly opens, and you bump into his goddamn big chest, almost drowning your nose in that rock solid-muscle softness pile.

Ghost looks at you like he's just stepped on a candy wrapper. You open your mouth, ready to yell:

«ok, now you're going to tell me, sir, what in the actual fu-»

Then, Price gets out of the office too. And your face blushes with the brightest red.

«…sorry»

«'s nothing. We've finished»

It seems like Ghost's trying to make you comfortable, and that just gets on your nerves. You look at the captain walking away, and before having the opportunity to speak again, the lieutenant has grabbed you by the shoulder and pushed you in his office.

You do your best not to trip over your feet, almost making a pirouette to face him as he closes the door. You open your mouth, prepare your lungs to yell like a fucking eagle…and he stops you, cupping your face with all of the grace he's capable of, looking at you through his goddamn scary skull mask and spells:

«I'm sorry»

And your brain goes blank. 

You squeeze your eyes; you weren't ready for this. For a scold; for a joke, for him to make fun of you, for you to break his terrible per holder on his face…but not for this.

«…what?»

«I'm sorry. Fucking sorry, ok?»

«Yeah, yeah» you scroll his hands away from your face. «I'm sorry too for having my ass burnt and my fucking neck disassembled, that's not the point»

«I was just saying-»

«You were saying nothing»

«If you-»

«Sorry for what? For your kinks, or your lack of asking consent? Go on, i'm listen-»

And he ends up squeezing your face in his hand, glaring at you while you just stay still with your cheeks pressed together and your arms crossed, raising an eyebrow.

He sigh.

«You've caught me off guard»

You muffle, widening your eyes, about to try to say something but his grips tighten a little.

«Let me fucking finish! Bloody hell, you weren't so noisy yesterday! My god…look, 's not a great time to restrain instinct, ok? I'm not saying that you've…awakened something. You're not my type, anyway»

You start to move again in his grip, trying to punch him, but it's so easy for him to stop you.

«I just want to apologize 'cause i've acted by instinct, and is no good. And 'cause I've hurt you, of course»

He stares at you for five seconds before releasing his grip, and the first thing you say is:

«…not your type? Seriously?»

His eyes widen under the mask.

«You…is this really what you're interested in? Out of everything I've told you?»

«You haven't told me that much»

«What the hell-»

«And you're lucky i've liked it, otherwise i would have smash the whole set of weight on your face»

«Yeah, Yeah, sure, a gnome like you»

«I'm a gnome in berserk armor»

«Still a gnome»

«Fight me»

«I'm not wasting my time in a prison for your dead body»

«...weak»

«…don't you dare, rookie»

«Rookie a pair of nuts»

«Watch you fucking mouth»

«I can't do it, there's no mirror in here»

«…ok, maybe your murder is worth a life in prison»

«You're eating away your guts just 'cause i'm having the final say»

«No, but i'm going to eat your guts anytime soon» 

«Try me! Fight that fucking gnome! Then, you're gonna make better apologies»

«My apologies were flawless»

«You said i'm not your type! After…after making a mess out of me!»

«I've said, if you would have listen, that I was lead by my goddamn instinct»

«Yeah, and since when instinct tells you to ravage alone girls in the gym?»

«Since when i've heard you-»

He suddenly stops. Your mouth is still open, ready to talk back, when he starts to push you by the shoulder in order to get you out of his office immediately.

«Time is finished» he says as he tries to get rid of your presence.

But you're not ok with him.

«Nonononono, don't you even-»

«I've told you everything i had to»

«Fuck your excuses! You didn't even make me come!»

That wasn't a challenge. But somehow Ghost's brain classified it as such.

And the same night, in the gym, different machines…you spot him looking at you.

And your panties get instantly wet.

«No» you suddenly say. He gets closer.

«"No" what?»

«No. I won't»

«What?»

«Don't tease, you know "what"»

He doesn't listen to you, and starts a whole different topic: 

«Wanna know something fun, kitty?»

«Can you find another nickname, please?»

Ghost's eyes make a turn under the eyelids, as he repeats: «Wanna know something fun, gnome?»

You make a pout, and he goes on:

«you've been the only one with enough guts to yell at me since fucking forever»

«Well, you've been the only one to touch my panties since…fucking forever. We're fair»

«…you mean it?»

«What?»

«No boyfriend? No sex? Never?»

«Never. Don't make fun of me»

«Why should i?»

«Dunno. An almost thirty years old is suppose to have made something in her life»

«You're working. And living. That's enough»

You're about to grab a weight, but you leave it there, looking at Ghost through the mirror.

«…oh»

He raises an eyebrow.

«…oh? That's the most sensible thought you've got?»

«It's just…i've thought…well…»

«What? What was that little brain of your thinking?»

Your face blush like hell as he comes closer, every step of him is a skipped heartbeat for you.

«I-i've just…i've thought that someone like you may be more…demanding?»

«You don't know me» he towers you in all of his highs «little gnome. 'S dangerous making assumptions on your enemy without collecting intel, don't ya know?»

«You're not an enemy». You swallow, finding yourself hesitate. «…i believe»

«You don't seem so sure about it»

And then he gives you the most threatening, close up encounter with his mask, leaning on you like an eagle on a mouse.

«How come, little gnome?»

You swallow. Than you remember he's your fucking lieutenant, and you're in the base gym, and there shouldn't be nothing to worry about, really. And you feel like an idiot, blushing and lowering your eyes. You decide to use his weapons against him:

«…it's dangerous making assumptions on your allies without collecting intel»

And he stares at you, seeming happy with your answer.

«You do are a brat, don't you?»

«I'm the cutest rookie in the entire base»

«Someone's going to make ya eat that goddamn tongue of you»

«They're just jealous»

«'s not like that»

«…No? Than w-»

«You can't talk back to your superior. You'll end up getting in trouble»

You instantly blush, blowing your cheeks.

«I've never-»

«You're doing it right now»

You blush more, become as red as the goddamn Snow White's apple. Your mouth is finally shutted, and he seems proud of his work. You try to make a step back, gaining some distance between you and his massive body…but he follows you. He follows you and he gets closer, trapping you between him and the weights rack.

«I…don't think i like brats that much» 

Ghost is not touching you, but somehow you shiver under his voice as he's drilling your ears.  

«I like you more with your little mouth shut»

The last word is perfectly underlined by his voice; another shiver down your spine, and you try to fill the silence to not explode under his presence:

«I'm afraid i'm not that good at staying silent, sir»

And he grabs you by the cheeks, squeezing them in one hand without effort, leaning on you as his gaze catches your red face:

«You did a great job yesterday, kitty»

And you melt in your panties. You do it with a little bit of regret just 'cause you'd rather endure a little bit more. You're about to say something, even if you know that as soon as you open your mouth the only thing that'll come out is a moan, and…

He releases you, so suddenly you've to concentrate not to lose balance, stumbling on your feet. He grabs a weight, announcing dramatically:

«But i've seen you've got your mouth fucking open the 90% of the time. That's why you're not my type, little gnome»

«But…you've searched for me»

He stops, holding the weights silently; he's not looking at you, but you know he's waiting for you to keep on with the speech. You swallow again, your throat is almost dry now.

«I know you've heard me. That night. You've heard me…touching. And-»

«So what? You were loud»

«Not that much- anyway, you've come in the gym just for me, i know it»

«No way»

«None come to the gym that late»

«But you were there»

«I'd a busy day- but that's not the point! I wasn't even watching you!»

He hiss a: «liar» in the middle of a curl. You cross your arms.

«…ok. Ok, MAYBE i was, but just for one goddamn sec-»

«So you do like me»

«FOR GODDAMN-»

You shut your mouth, biting your lips before saying something that could cost you way worse than a scolding by your superior. Your feet stomp till the biggest weights you can lift, and you start your rdl sets, knowing you're gonna hurt your back.

But he's looking. He's looking through the mirrors (too many goddamn mirrors in this gym) and it hurts your pride how he's acting like he doesn't care that much. So you take a deep breath, and while resting after the first set you spit it out:

«So you've touched me just 'cause you've felt like discharging some frustration?»

His arms suddenly stop moving. He turns his gaze at you, watching you directly this time, as you keep on:

«'cause, you know, since i'm not your type i can't find other reasons why you should've come to do those things. My appearance doesn't turn you on, so you've just found the first random person to use»

You lift the weights again, ready to release your bomb:

«So childish. It's not that mature for someone in your position»

You have no time to get aware of him who's just thrown his weights on the floor, reached you in two big steps, and now he's taking your weights from your hands like they're light butterflies, also throwing them on the floor.

He's towering you again, fists clench and hazel eyes on you.

«…it's your fault»

Your eyes widen. You've expected something different.

«Uhm…what?»

«That's why my apologies were good enough for you. 'S just your fault»

«What the hell of a fault did i-»

«You did it on purpose. Those…those fucking sounds of yours, your bloody behave, everything. Goddamn. Everything»

«How?? How could-»

«I don't know, you bloody witch!»

«So learn to know yourself better!»

«Maybe you could behave like a normal human being!»

«I was!»

«Liar. Bloody liar, you've spent the most of the time jerking on every fucking chair you were touching»

«You're hallucinating»

«And you've walked with closed eyes if ya didn't even notice what the hell you were doing»

«I'm not some animal in heat!»

«You looked so!»

«You could've just asked me to stop instead of wetting your hands in my panties!»

«I-»

This is his time to bite his lips, choking words behind the mask. He stares at you, and you return the glare, arms crossed and ice cold eyes on him, pretending not to feel the wetness in your underwear.

He sighs.

«I could crush you with my bare hands»

You stay still, eyes wide open, hands buried in your sweatshirt, asking yourself why the hell does he seem so embarrassed out of nowhere. Ghost sighs again, louder, blowing hot air away as if he's trying to discharge his lungs from something heavy. 

«It's been days you walk everywhere with those goddamn swallowed eyes of yours, adjusting your panties under the uniform, trembling at the tiniest touch…what the hell did you expect? To not be noticed? You, a little whimpering knot tied on itself?»

Your mind gets blind for a second.

You listen with your eyelid twitching. It is…unreal. He's not describing you, that's what you try to get in your brain, convincing yourself that you've not behaved as he's saying. 

You start to mutter through your teeth: «…but…no, no way, i'm not that-»

«Shameless? Dunno, have you ever tried looking at your fucking face in a mirror?»

«I-»

«Look little one, if you don't believe me, just ask someone else. Everyone have noticed»

«But-»

«'s not that i'm scolding you 'cause of your hormones. I'm just explaining myself»

«You…you're not explaining shit!»

«I am»

And he leaves you like this, curled on yourself, insecure and embarrassed. He turn on his heels, sending you a few last words:

«Ask the others 'bout it. The answer will surprise you»

......................................

[random-person10]

Heartbreak High

The new one, not the old one.

This show has always managed to confuse me and I don't know if it's an Australian thing or a writer's thing. I'm pretty sure it's the former coz it happens every time I watch anything Australian.

But this season was even more confusing than the first. Like in the first season, it was chaotic to me how everyone ended up fucking almost everyone, I could not guess who was going to get together at fucking all. All it took is for these fuckers to make 4-second eye-contact and BAM sex, get a grip. Ig teenagers are actually like that and I'm just a loser. Anywho, this season, the only thing that confused me was Rowan's whole character arc.

Let me break this down:

He said that when he came to Hartley High, he was just ready to move on from his brother's death, or maybe he wanted to move on in Dubbo, I dunno I kind of didn't pay attention. But like, he started killing birds and terrorizing Amerie with them on the first fucking day of being there, because she didn't remember him?

This motherfucker went into the forest, while Ant was busy threatening to cut his dick off, killed a bird, and put it on her bag? Sorry but how fast does this man act? What a machine.

Then he dated her ex-boyfriend? For what reason? Was it strategic? I still haven't figured that one out yet. Like sure it'll make Amerie jealous but he seemed genuinely into him so I don't think that's it. Actually, thinking about it now, Malakai is hot and Rowan was all "forget Amerie" or whatever so that bit does make sense tbh. I cried when they broke up go away, imagine the person you're dating calls u by their ex's name? ugh sad

Then after breaking up with Malakai and getting his heart savagely broken, he just starts dating Amerie? At first, I assumed that was because he planned to hurt her emotions, but he literally spoke about her to 'Jett' like he was into her, so that confused me. I thought he hated her?

Like bro seemed to not have a plan. I know he's not mentally stable and all that but like what was going on in his mind? He's trying to ruin her life, but also likes her, but also thinks she murdered his brother.

And why did he tell Malakai to fuck off when he started dating Amerie? Like was that genuine possessiveness or was that part of the plan? (My little brain was like "awe he wants to protect Malakai from whatever he has planned at that dance so he's telling him to go away, cutee he still likes him" but I'm delulu so ignore that)

AND TO TOP IT ALL OFF

His delusions just vanished with Amerie saying: "he died because he loved you" and a clip of Jett not being a part of Rowan's hallucination anymore... like excuse me, I need a clip of this man going to a therapist and actually acknowledging his schizophrenia, not whatever this form of fucking 'closure' is.

It was so half-arsed, it made me mad.

Man, I genuinely liked the guy, but it seemed like they created his plot 4 episodes into the season. Nothing linked.

Still was very obsessed with the show tho. The sarcasm and the sibling vibes were very entertaining. STILL THE PLOT MAKES VERY LITTLE SENSE. But, again I'm very bad at paying attention so I might've got it all wrong.

Side note: the principal's dog (Joan of Arc) with her little fuchsia-coloured vest were the highlight of this show for me, isn't that kinda sad? There is a scene where the principal is talking to Cash, and Joan is facing the opposite direction and I laughed at that for like 30 minutes, tragic.

[authoressofdarkness]

Summer Bingo Fill: Public Claiming @starkerfestivals

A little twist on this prompt born from seeing this idek how old post from @monster-cock69 this morning and frantically writing this in less than 30 minutes. This is completely unbetaed and straight from the dredges of my brain, fair warning.

Idk if anyone has written anything based off of it yet but still, I hope they (and all of you) enjoy it! (Mafia typical violence here, but nothing too graphic!)

~~~

Peter thanks every being in the universe that his jacket is still on as he rounds the corner, stumbling. It does nothing for the cold that seems to come from somewhere inside him right now, but there's another reason he is glad he has it, right?

He's lost a lot of blood – just enough for the world to feel fuzzy around the edges. There's a shallow slice on his throat that is weeping small tears of blood from where he very narrowly avoided having his throat cut a few minutes ago, and a split above his eyebrow from hitting his face on… something, he doesn't remember. It's all kind of a blur, now, and all he remembers is the gleam of metal, the way the turned down lights reflected off of it just right, and the punishing grip on his thighs.

He can't remember how he escaped or even how he got here, only that he'd ran and now he's here, however many blocks away from the club where he'd started and he's probably still being pursued. He needs to hide. No, he needs help.

But who would come running for someone like him? Not the police. The club hasn't stopped those people from coming in with the weapons, had escorted them to a private room, might have known–

Take this, sweetheart. Just in case.

Peter's hand goes to the breast pocket of his poor excuse for a jacket at the memory. Everyone knew who Tony Stark was. Peter isn't oblivious to who his regular customers are, though he would never dare even make eye contact with a man like that outside of work, especially not if they were a client. Rules and such.

The criminal had tucked the card in his pocket at the end of their last little tryst, and Peter had let him, though he had no intention of ever using it. But now… 

Shouting in the distance breaks through the fog making its way across Peter's brain, kicking him into action. Now isn't the time to be indecisive. And worrying about his life or his job after this was moot if he didn't survive.

He finds the nearest dumpster and crawls behind it, trying not to gag at the smell. His phone is somehow still tucked in the band of his fishnets, probably kept in place by the silky scarf tied around his hips. He pulls it out with shaking hands, retrieves Stark's card, and waits.

It cuts off after the second ring. Peter thinks he's been hung up on for a moment until a voice snaps into the silence, "Speak."

"Mr. Stark?" Oh God, he sounds like a literal child. If he even recognizes him—

"Peter?" The ice melts out of Stark's voice immediately, replaced with something like urgency. "What's wrong?"

"I–" The sob sticks in his throat, and the words stop. He can't summarize the horrors of what just happened, and the reality of how cold he is and the voices getting nearer is starting to set in. "They tried to–" His voice falters again.

Stark doesn't push him for the details. He hears the rustling on the other line, and something that might have been a door slamming. "Who?"

"I don't know– 'm cold, Mr. Stark, and I don't really remember– just ran–"

"It's okay, I'll take care of it, Peter. You did good to get away. Where are you now?"

"Dunno– went out the back door and kinda ran–"

"The back door of the club?" 

"Yeah–"

"We'll find you. Are you safe now?"

Peter stops to listen. "I'm not sure, I think someone followed me– I'm hiding, but–" 

"Stay hidden. We'll find you."

The line goes dead.

Peter stares at the phone in his hand, wondering for a second if this was even real. His vision is swimming, and the sounds of pursuit that seemed so close a minute ago are hard for him to grasp now. He looks down and realizes there's blood coming from somewhere on his torso, another wound he must not have noticed, wasn't feeling because of the adrenaline rush, but– oh, it's a lot of blood, no wonder he feels like this.

Eventually the voices get close enough that they start to penetrate the fog on his mind again, but Peter is barely holding on to consciousness and any sense of fear or urgency is not quite tangible enough to make him move.

Someone hauls him out from behind the dumpster. Peter struggles, but there's no strength left behind the movement. A kick to the ribs sends him to the ground, sprawled face down on the concrete.

Words float to him as if in a dream.

"Move, Stark, and I'll blow his brains out right in front of you."

"You and I both know you intend to kill him anyway."

"True. But you're not going to get your gun up quick enough to kill me first."

Peter raises his head a little. Mr. Stark is there, maybe twenty feet away, silhouetted by the street lights on either end of the alley like some dark angel. The man's eyes are on Peter, and his lips turn up in a little smirk.

"I don't have to. You'll never touch anything that belongs to me again."

The gunshot that follows makes Peter jump. Which is good, because if he can jump, then he's not dead, which means it wasn't directed at him. He prefers being startled any day.

"About goddamn time, Happy, what took you so long–"

"Things at the club were messy, boss, you're not gonna like this one–"

The words turn into a droning background noise when Stark appears in front of him, kneeling to his level. "Peter, focus up, doll. Are you alright?"

 Peter tries to nod, but his head just falls against Stark's foot limply. He's so tired. And cold, and–

"Peter." Stark sounds more frantic now. "Happy, find me a medic, now–"

"Everyone's a little busy right now–"

"I don't give a flying fuck– Peter, don't you dare go to sleep."

The words are directed at him. Somehow, Peter recognizes that much. Normally he wouldn't dare to disobey an order from Tony Stark, especially with that tone. But the frizzle of fear that runs down his spine isn't enough to stop him. His eyes are so heavy. He closes them before he can realize it. 

The last thing he hears is Tony Stark swearing above him.

~~~

It's also the first thing he hears when he comes to, just briefly, while they're working on him. The stinging in his side while they stitch him up – that has to be what they're doing, though the pain is dulled so much it's hard to be sure – is enough to pull him towards the surface of consciousness. 

Peter thinks he's in a vehicle, if the subtle thrum of the engine is anything to go off of. But he's laid out comfortably on something soft, and there's something warm under his head, and the hands that are prodding at him are gentle and surprisingly steady.

"He was in shock by the time you got to him. You're lucky he's alive."

Another voice, the one from the alley. Happy? "I can't believe he is. I can't believe he got away in that state."

Fingers card through his hair. Stark's voice, thoughtful, but tired, strained in a way he'd never heard it. "He was out of it, even when he called me. But he didn't say anything— nothing that indicated we were going to walk into a situation like that. He said they tried to do something to him, but couldn't tell me what. I thought someone raped him, not tried to slit his fucking throat. Nothing could have prepared me for that." 

"I wonder who orchestrated that kind of hit. It's so random…" 

"Unless they had some kind of clue…"

"Next time it won't be taken as random. We made our claim pretty clear."

The conversation devolves from there, but Stark's hand in his hair stays consistent. Peter never opens his eyes, finding them far too heavy and himself too tired to even try. The hand in his hair is just the right mix of possessive and comforting. As soon as the dull pain in his side fades, Peter is gone again, too.

~~~

The next time Peter wakes up, he's in bed. 

Well, someone else's bed. Not his.

For a moment, he wonders if everything was a dream. The card, the attack, the phone call, all of it. But then he tried to roll over and pain sparks through his side, and he realizes it was all very real.

"Take it easy, Peter."

Peter jumps a little and looks up, and yeah, that's Tony Stark on the other side of the bed. He wets his lips. "'M… sorry, Mr. Stark."

The elder man looks down at him, raising an eyebrow. "You've been awake for thirty seconds and you're already sorry for something? I just don't want you to hurt yourself more than you are, kid."

Peter flushes, mind flitting to all the other times Stark had called him kid when they were alone for just a second before reeling himself back in. "I– thank you, Mr. Stark. Not just for that, but for… saving me, and everything."

Stark turns to face him more fully. "Well, when my favorite boy calls for help, of course I'm going to be there." His fingers find Peter's hair again, and Peter tilts his head into the touch almost automatically. "It was a bit more of an undertaking than I had imagined, admittedly, but I would do it again, if you needed me to."

"I'm your favorite boy?" Peter's cheeks turn even redder as he looks up at Stark through his lashes.

"Do you think I give my personal number out to just anybody, you silly thing? Of course you're my favorite." Tony runs a thumb over Peter's bottom lip. "And you're my only, now. Would be a shame to keep you here and not utilize your services, wouldn't it?"

"You're going to keep me here?" Old fear sets in with a vengeance, but Tony grips his hair before Peter can pull away and leans over him.

"Shh, don't be like that. You don't have to be afraid." Tony sighs a little, stroking the boy's cheek. "I don't want to hurt you, sweetheart. But I made a very public claim on you by showing up last night. We killed… oh, at least eight people, and left the club in shambles. It's not going to take very long for word to spread." 

"You killed eight people? Because of me?" Peter hadn't been with it enough to have any understanding of that, but it was the logical explanation. He suddenly remembers the gunshot right above him and feels a bit queasy.

"I kill people all the time, sweetheart. Eight is nothing. Especially when they were putting their hands on my property."

My property. Peter is Tony Stark's property. A shiver goes through him.

Tony notices, and he offers him a small smile. "I killed the owner too, you know. Your handler is dead. Your contract is with me, now."

Peter swallows thickly. His contract is gone, too — but he doesn't allow himself to savor the freedom too much, not yet. "And how am I to work that off?"

Tony's eyes are bright and wicked. "I think you know, puppy."

Peter barely bites back the whimper that rises in his throat at Stark's pet name for him, and he raises his head before he's even conscious of the decision to do so, kissing him.

Mr. Stark kisses back, the hand still tight in his hair, keeping him right where he wants him as his tongue slides against Peter's, dipping into his mouth for a moment before pulling back. "Right answer," he murmurs, kissing him again, chastely this time. "But not now. You need to rest. I want you to enjoy it when I take you apart, Peter, not just be pushing through because you think you owe me."

Peter watches him sit up, breathing still a little shaky. "Don't I, though?"

"I suppose you do, but I'll take my repayment when and how I please. This isn't it." Stark stretches. "I'm going to get us some food. Stay there. Rest. I mean it."

There is nothing for Peter to do but comply.

[mang0-after-dark]

Ninety-nine × Fem!Reader

NSFW Drabble.

Notes: A nice balance of poorly written smut and dumb crack that intruded on my brain mid writing. Not much to really give warnings for other than NSFW content, guess maybe some light exhibitionism and uhh… kinda rough. I dunno.

Words: 919

She's going to break you, you just know it. Mind and body, both torn apart under the searing heat of her touch.

Normally she is much more gentle, almost doting any time she thinks she put a small bruise on you. Normally she prefers to have you hold onto her arm rather than to hold you in her clawed hands. Pressing her lips against the top of your head as she pulls you into her lap during meals. Ninety-nine ignores the relentless teasing from Hella, but you would only light up with cheeks as red as your girlfriend's eyes.

But normally she is not growling like a beast and staring down at you with a more ravenous hunger then you'd ever seen. Normally she doesn't have your legs spread wide for her and wrapped around her hips. Normally she doesn't burn a strap-on cock into you with all the desperation of if it were real.

Spread out over the small bed of her cell, the torn up shreds of your work uniform scatter the floor like confetti. Her body pins you down under her, one of her clawed hands holds both of your up out of the way, her other wrapped around your torso, pressing your body up against hers as her hips beat down on you.

Her head remains firmly pressed into the nape of your neck, taking deep inhales of your scent with each breath. Growling hungrily, and scraping her teeth against your soft skin. Her hips crash down on you over and over, little rhythm present in her thrusts, just force and desperation.

"Mine." She growls occasionally, punctuating each repeat of the word with a hard bite at your neck.

Her teeth dig into you again, you scream out at the feeling, long past caring if other residents can hear you. "Ninety! Baby! S-slow do- ah fuck- down!" You plea, voice hoarse and barely legible between cried moans.

Again she only answers in a possessive growl. Her grip on you heats up, her body is so hot it could leave burn marks on your skin. Her eyes burning bright as they take on a glow but no hint of the malice that normally causes it, Ninety-nine stares at you with only adoration, she has a terrible hunger that even after using you so much already, still has yet to be sated.

You hear noise from outside the cell, footsteps and voice. There's shouting, who they are you can't tell, how many there are is also lost on you. Your senses can only focus on one thing, one person, and that's Ninety-nine, your girlfriend as she sates herself on you. As the rubber cock she's kept buried in your cunt pounds you closer and closer to yet another release.

~~~~~

"So why did you call me down here to help? You've got enough guards already!" Hella complains, her metal pipe thrown over her shoulder.

"Y/n went to handle the in person monitoring of Ninety-nine, but she hasn't come back for hours and our calls have gone straight to voicemail." The Chief states, eyes locked on the hallway in front of them as the clatter of numerous boots echoes off the walls.

"We assumed that you would be able to help pacify her if things are amiss." Nightingale cuts in.

"What? No way Ninety-nine would do anything to Y/n! She's more like a puppy around that girl than any kind of monsters I've seen before." Hella laughs for a moment, a loud echoing scream wrenching through the halls. Bouncing off the walls deafeningly, coming from the direction of Ninety-nine's cell.

Hella takes off running in an instant, pipe ready to swing at whatever she may come across. Anything that it may take to snap Ninety-nine out of whatever rage she's fallen into before she can hurt Y/n. The sound of the Chief and other Bureau guards not far behind her.

The screams grow louder, nearer and nearer they sprint to the cell where Y/n had been trapped with a raging Ninety-nine.

Hella skids to a halt in front of the cell, shouting to try and pull the red eyed woman's attention. "Ninety-nine! Wait, you know you don't want to hurt- Jesus fucking!-" Hella sharply turns back towards the Chief, arms thrown out "stop don't come closer!" Her voice cracks.

Nightingale and the Chief both skid to a halt, the pair staring at the short woman confused by her sudden flushed expression.

"Uh, Hella, move we need to-" the Chief starts.

Hella shifts to stop them from moving around her, "no you don't!"

Scoffing Nightingale attempts to pass the smaller woman,"we do, we have to subdue Ninety-nine before she-" being stopped by Hella holding her pipe out in front of her.

"Ninety-nine's fine! They're both fine! Don't come closer!" Hella dances between stopping Nightingale and the Chief.

A loud screamed moan echoes from the cell, the Chief pushing past Hella to see past the bars. "Y/n is everythiii-" their voice trails off, furious red overtaking their features as they quickly pivot to face the collection of guards, "yep! Everyone leave! Things are fine! We have to go."

"What's going on?" Nightingale scans over the pair now blocking the hall.

"Nothing! Nothing we need to be seeing. Let's go." The Chief signals for the guards to leave, and with Hella's help, corrals the group away from the cell.

Another of Y/n's screams echoes through the halls as the elevator doors close the group off.

[gaybananabread]

TickleTober Day 4 - Weak Spot

DON’T EVEN START I know this is kinda cringe. I’ve been watching SWAT again recently and it’s got a decent vice grip on my brain. This number just screamed Hondo at me, and who better to get his ass than his loving partner? There is a total LACK of anything tk-related for this show, so Imma fix that. It was so painfully fun writing this, I don’t even know anymore. Sorta angsty at the start because I need help- Don’t make fun of me/j, and Enjoy!

Lee: Hondo

Ler: Nichelle

Summary: Hondo is talking about his day, feeling a bit down after some heavy stuff went down. Nichelle tries to cheer him up, exploiting her favorite of her man’s few weaknesses.

Warnings: SWAT spoilers ig, death. This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!

“This is 20 David, all suspects are down. We’re Code 4.”

Hondo’s thoughts that day had been swirling, running back the calls he had made over and over again. They had stopped the drug deal, sure, but what about the casualties? That woman… yeah, she was aiming a gun at them, but still. She was so young…he’ll never fully get over it when things end like that with women, especially younger ones. She could have only been, what, 19? Damn…

Nichelle walked in on his brooding, her smile softening the moment she saw the look on his face. She made her way over to him, knocking on the table before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Hey Hondo. You wanna talk about it?” She didn’t even ask if he was okay, she could tell the answer was no.

“How d’you do that, woman?” He chuckled, though the sound was more tired than amused. Hondo leaned back into her, allowing himself that bit of comfort for the moment. Nichelle had been working on getting him to open up. He was still holding back, but small comforts like asking for hugs or cuddles were coming along.

She pecked his cheek, moving her hands up to his shoulders. "One of my special talents." Her fingers worked into his shoulder muscles, finding many knots and sore spots. "Baby, you've got knots on top 'a knots. You gonna tell me what happened, or do I have to convince you?"

Hondo sighed, almost melting into the touch. He really didn't want to just dump what happened onto Nichelle. She had always had the biggest heart, it's one of the many reasons why he loves her. What if he upset her by sharing? "It's…it's pretty heavy, baby. I dunno if it's something you're gonna want to hear."

She walked around the chair, her hands never leaving his shoulders. Soon enough, they were eye-level, Nichelle's lips pursed in concern and thought. "Daniel, whatever it is, I can handle it. If it's bothering you this much, it'll probably help to talk it out. I promise, you're never gonna scare me off by being honest about this stuff."

Yeah…yeah. She was right. He needed to talk about it, and Nichelle is probably the only one he'd be able to open up to with stuff like that. Taking a deep breath, he recounted the day's op. His calls, the drugs, the suspects, how things ended with the young woman. 

Nichelle silently listened the entire time. She kept her reactions in check, trying to only convey support and sympathy. Still, when she heard about the young woman, she bit her cheek a bit harder than she liked. She knew Hondo's job was a hard one, and that meant doing whatever it took to protect innocent people. Such a young age to get wrapped in that stuff, though. The girl would've shot someone if they hadn't done what they did, but that doesn't make it any easier to handle.

Once he finished, and her thoughts were collected, she spoke with the softest and most sympathetic tone she could manage.

"Oh baby…you know that wasn't your fault. You can't control what people do, how they act, what they get mixed up in and when. I know this is a tough pill to swallow, but you have to accept that there's nothing else you could do. She made her choice before you even called for the shot. It sounds like she wasn't planning on ever leaving there. I'm here, for whatever you need."

Okay, that almost got him. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting himself fully melt into Nichelle’s affection. He loved that woman, before they split, before they got back together. He just hadn’t realized it yet. She slowly climbed onto the chair with him, sitting in his lap and pressing small kisses to his cheeks and neck. Her main goal was to be there for him, just like he always was for her. 

What she wasn’t expecting was the small, poorly-repressed giggle one of the neck kisses caused. She repeated the action, getting similar results. A memory popped up in her mind, one from snuggling in bed after a night together. She had been rubbing his sides, but had accidentally tickled him. Things got giggly after that. Hondo paid her back in full, with interest, but it had been worth it to hear him laugh like that. Something he could really use right then. 

“Hey, Sargent Harrelson. I think I’ve got a way to cheer you up, if you’ll let me try it.” Nichelle pulled her face away from his neck, now cupping his cheek and smirking at him. He quirked an eyebrow, his features slowly taking on the signature “huh?” look. He rolled his shoulder, trying to find the hidden meaning behind her words. “You only call me Sargent Harrelson when you’re up to something.”

She laughed softly, gently tracing her fingers along his jawline. “I just told you, babe. I’m gonna cheer you up, if you promise to let me.” Her eyes were mostly innocent, though he detected a bit of mischief in her tone. He had already disregarded the small neck kisses, more focused on her than his own sensitivity. Hondo had finished a very rough day on SWAT. He could use some help cheering up, whatever her undoubtedly devious plan to do so may be.

“Al’ight, fine. I promise I’ll let you try this plan a’ yours to cheer me up.” He chuckled, turning his head to kiss her palm. Nichelle just smirked, adjusting her position on his lap so she had better access to his spots. She sat eye-level with him, resting her hands on his sides. It took him a second to realize her plan, but when he did, he immediately protested. 

“Hey, Nichelle, hold up-” She cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. The look she got was priceless, though she’d have to marvel in her brilliancy later. “At-tat-ta. You promised, remember? And, last I checked, the honorable Hondo never goes back on his word.” She drummed her fingers against his ribs, smirking as he figured her out. He needed to de-stress, and laughter is one of the best ways to do so. She hosts a stand-up comedy night for some of the older people at the Community Center every now and then. This is pretty much the same, only she isn’t telling any jokes.

At that point, Hondo was already squirming a bit, trying to keep his reactions in check. “I- that- ugh… Hate it when you’re right sometimes, you know that?” In all honesty, he wouldn’t mind it all that much if she went through with it. It felt good to laugh, though his pride would take a small hit. 

Nichelle just laughed, leaning in closer to peck his cheek. “Oh, trust me. I know.” Then, not hearing a “no” or “don’t”, she began to spider her hands along his sides. Hondo held his breath, not wanting to crumble so quickly at the goofy affection. It was a nice change, the somber mood from before fading to a warm comfort he never wanted to leave. 

That just wouldn’t do. Going for the kill, Nichelle darted her fingers down to his hips, kneading the small amount of squishy, protective skin along the bones. No matter how often he worked out, he could never loose the soft areas Nichelle loves to run her fingers across. 

His reaction was instant. Hondo snorted, his suppressed reactions powering through as he began to laugh. “B-BAhAbyhyhy! Why thehe hihiHIhIHIPs?!” It was quite the sight, seeing such a stoic and intimidating man laugh like that. Nichelle was loving every second of it, enjoying the rare display of her fiance’s softer side. He needed to show it more often.

“One, they’re my favorite and you know it. Two, you need to laugh. Is this not getting to you?” She smirked, knowing good and well just how much it was getting to him. Hondo tried not to writhe under her nails, his fitting white t-shirt and flannel not doing much to protect him from her nails. He almost regretted getting her that spa day…

He grabbed her wrists, though he didn’t push them away. He kinda couldn’t; Hondo had promised to let her “cheer him up,” no matter what it was. Still, his hands needed somewhere to go, and his woman’s wrists were as good a place as any. 

Said woman tried not to coo at his reactions, knowing it would only make his inevitable revenge all the more evil. He might have been a good guy, but when it came to getting her, he showed no mercy. Still didn’t stop her from teasing him, though. “I gotta say, I love your weak spots. Especially this one.” 

Hondo was…well, he wasn’t hating it. The thoughts of that day’s raid were almost forgotten, distant thoughts in the back of his head. He never truly forgot anyone the trigger got pulled on, be it by his hand or his orders. Still, he didn’t deserve to beat himself down over the decisions of bad people. They were given many chances to put their weapons down. The fact that they didn’t…they knew the choice they were making. In Nichelle’s opinion, he never deserved to be haunted by their choices. She reminded him of it every day, though not always with tickles. 

She toyed with the soft skin of his hips and waistline, skittering her nails and drilling into the sensitive spots. Hondo’s laughter jumped all over the place, the deep sounds rumbling in his chest before tumbling out into the room. He was loving the affection part of it, but the tickles on his hips were starting to get to him. “NIHIHIhichelle! IHI- Ihi’m smihihilin’ agahain! Youhuhu cahan stohOHOP!”

Nichelle didn’t stop, though she did switch spots. She had messed with his weak spot enough for one night. Her nails traveled down, gently scritching the tops of his thighs. His loud laughter melted down to low, airy giggles. Hondo’s thighs were just ticklish enough to get a reaction out of him, making them the perfect final destination. His knee’s bounced, trying and failing to dilute the ticklish buzzing to his nervous system. He could handle a bit more; she was set on getting him to nap after this.

The very faint tint of a blush could be seen on his dark cheeks, making the moment all the sweeter. Hondo had always kept his emotions to himself, putting everything else before himself. Ever since him and Nichelle had gotten back together, though, he’d been trying to take care of himself. Not stopping her, letting that happen, was just one step of many he’d taken to help himself even a fraction as much as he’d helped others. 

“Oho- okahahay! Noho mohohore!” Nichelle stopped tickling him, switching to gentle rubs along the lengths of his thighs. And, just to be nice, she leaned in and kissed her man. He was still laughing softly, smiling into the kiss. His hands wrapped around her midsection, pulling her against him. Hondo, once he regained his breath, whispered softly into her ear. “Don’t think I’m letting that slide…but thanks, baby.”

She chuckled, though couldn’t help but feel her cheeks heat up at his words. She knew that was no empty threat; sometime over the next few days, he was gonna get her. But right then, Nichelle didn’t need to worry. Her man was sleepy, cuddly and ready for a nice nap after a long day. She hummed out a question, placing another small kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Bedroom?”

He chuckled, feeling the smile he’d had since she started turn to a smirk. “Bedroom. C’mon, beautiful.” Hondo hooked his hands under her thighs, not bothering to reposition her before standing up and carrying her towards the bedroom. Some snuggles with the woman he loves were always the perfect way to end a long day, however mischievous she may be. 

He laid her down, quickly joining her as he pulled his shirt off. Hondo’s strong arms wrapped around her, pulling his love against his chest before the warm wave of tiredness washed over him. His eyes drifted shut, the last thing he saw before dozing off Nichelle’s warm and loving smile. He was so lucky…

[omegasmileyface]

The Forest, the Trees, the Fire I: CATALYST

Chapter 3

woawoawoa chapter 3 :) this chapter more than doubles the word count of the story thus far! Authors: @ectolemonades, me, @attackradish. Artist: @/crunchysart

For the full characters list, word count, content warning, and a directory to all the currently available chapters and related content, see the Table of Contents!

full summary: The world outside of Amity Park has learned about the existence of ghosts, and the time for first impressions has arrived. The delicate public consciousness could be disrupted by the slightest ripple. Danny Fenton is being ripped apart from all sides, and when he finally breaks, the ripples will be very big indeed.

warnings: self-worth issues, small meltdowns, that kinda thing

words: 3388

AO3 link

first chapter

previous chapter

next chapter

===

October 6, 2006

Danny tried to find a way to rest his head without the school bus vibrating his brains out. They’d left city limits forever ago, and the excitement that gripped everyone this morning had died down. Sitting next to Tucker had fought off the boredom for most of the trip, but conversation ran dry a couple miles back. Even the back of the bus had gotten quiet. There’s only so many unique 'would you rather?' scenarios that a group of teenagers who already see each other every week for football anyway can think up.

Danny leaned his head against the seat in front of him, the bitter bus seat smell prickling his nostrils. Gravity dragged his body into an increasingly uncomfortable slouch, the vinyl clinging to his forehead and stretching his facial features upwards until his skin stung. Bone ground against bone as his vertebrae tried to accommodate the unnatural arch his neck had been forced into. Eventually the discomfort won over the exhaustion, and Danny sat up straight again, unsatisfied and unchanged. Bound to do it again. Like Sisyphus.

They had to have been on this bus for AT LEAST, like, half an hour.

“You’d think they’d build a laser tag place a little closer to the city. You know, so people could actually go there,” Tucker remarked. 

“Well, isn't this some GIW thing? I bet they saw one of those dilapidated roadside fun-whatevers and just said ‘kids like these, right?’ and nabbed it without thinking.”

“Well, they’d be right. Laser tag rules." Tucker slid off his headphones. "Really, how badly could they ruin something like laser tag?“

“It’s the GIW. They’ll find a way.” 

“C’mon, Danny. A year ago you woulda been even more excited for this trip than me! Even if it is about hunting ghosts, it’s not like we haven’t done that before." Tucker rubbed his shoulder against Danny's and adopted his best 'cheer up, Sport, we're on our way to Disney as we speak!' voice. "Could be fun!”

As patronizing as he was being (and Danny immediately got him back for that shoulder rub), Tucker was right. Spending half the school day at a laser tag place should have been a dream come true! Maybe he could let himself enjoy this. 

“Tell you what," Danny said. "I will keep myself open to the possibility of having fun! Whether it happens or not is none of my business."

“That’s more like it! I was beginning to worry Sam’s goth spores finally took over your frontal lobe.”

“Not yet, Tuck. I haven’t fallen that far.”

“I dunno, you seem pretty close,” he teased. 

“Am not!”

“I’m gonna come to class one day and I’ll see you in a long sleeved striped shirt and guyliner.” 

“That’s emo, not goth.”

“A-HA! And since when do you care about that distinction, my friend who totally isn’t infested with spores?” 

“Shut up!” Danny shoved him playfully.  

“You’re just saying that because…”

“HEY! I THINK I SEE IT!” shouted Mikey from the front of the bus. Conversation burst from its grave as the students clamored to catch a glimpse of their destination.

“Alright, everyone, settle down! We’re almost there, but let’s stay professional and orderly.” Mr. Lancer shakily stood up at the head of the bus. “What did I say about opening windows? Mr. Baxter! Stay on your side of the aisle.” He plopped down again.

“Hey, Danny, what do you see?” asked Tucker.

Braving the buzz of the glass, Danny pressed against the window for the widest view ahead. Amid the fields of soybeans and rotting grain elevators stood a warehouse with a highlighter-colored wall and a parking lot. Out front was a sign in an inscrutable font on an impressive pole. He couldn’t read it at all through the vibrations. 

“Well?”

“It’s big. I think the front is spray painted or something.”

“Oh, maybe the building’s an independent thing. You know how the government is about spray paint.”

“Let’s hope,” Danny sighed. 

They lurched around in their seats as the bus slowed and veered into the parking lot, where another bus was already unloading. Danny waved when he saw Sam in the crowd, but she didn’t look over. The bus parked, and Mr Lancer rose to block the front.

“Okay! Just a reminder that we are not going to be rushing inside right off the bat! We are going to gather by the front of the bus and then go in in an orderly fashion.”

Danny and Tucker stayed in their seats as the A-listers barged to the front of the bus. They only followed once they were urged to hurry up. 

When Danny got a better look at the spray paint mural, disappointment settled on his shoulders. It was covered in gross-looking cartoon ghosts getting shot at by some guy in sunglasses. Sighing, he braced for the ectophobic propaganda that was undoubtedly going to be inside. Damn. Right after he got his hopes up. 

There was way more going on in the foyer than he expected. It wasn’t just a tight room with a front counter; there were a couple arcade machines and quite a few benches. They seemed to be prepped for larger crowds, at least for Amity. Plastered on the walls were some “informative” posters about ghosts and what to do if you see one. Guides on how to support the GIW in your community and bullshit like that. There was also a sorry-looking ball pit in the corner. 

Mr. Lancer and Ms. Driftwind, the bio teacher, had ganged up on some of the staff. They were all huddled around a clipboard and pointing at students intermittently. 

“C’mon, Danny. I see Sam brooding near the ball pit. Whatever we're waiting for, it’s gonna take a while, so we might as well hang out.” Tucker gestured for him to follow with a jerk of his chin.

Sam started talking without even looking up at them. "Do you think they have a snack bar here?"

Danny looked around. "I don't see any."

"Me neither. But it would be weird not to have one, right? At an entertainment center?"

Tucker boldly stuck his feet in the ball pit without even looking. "Maybe they can't get catering all the way out here?"

"You don't get catering for a snack bar. You just get ingredients shipped."

Danny grabbed a ball out of the pit and ignored the way Sam recoiled in disgust. "If the GIW owns the whole building, it's probably weird. Maybe they have a sketchy cafeteria in the back. 'Hello, hip kids! Come on back for a radical snack! We have hot dogs, and they're made out of normal meat.'"

His friends laughed. Somehow, they ended up talking about how weird American commercials for Japanese video games were, and before they knew it they were all in the ball pit, passionately pelting each other with plastic while doing impressions of overly-enthusiastic TV gamers. Danny went wide with a ball aimed at Tucker, and it hit Mr. Lancer in the side. He glared. Whoops.

Ms. Driftwood clapped her hands rhythmically to get the scattered teenagers' attention. "Ravens! A third of you will be heading in to hear the rules now. If and when we call your name, please group up neatly by this door."

Before long, Dash's wish had come true and they were both in the first group together. Better yet, Danny's friends weren't joining them. Joyous day.

"Alright, kids! Have fun!"

As they passed through the door, someone yelled "kill somebody, Baxter!" and Danny felt the weight of an omen there.

As soon as he could, he got out of Dash's line of sight and to the back of the line. He knew he'd be found eventually, but at least for now there were a couple other A-listers in the group, and they were too busy hyping each other up to even look in his direction. When the door opened, they were the first through it. 

As the rest of the students filed in, he saw a few people’s shirts light up, and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. Years ago, he’d begged his parents to take him to a local rock show when he’d heard there was a meteorite, and while he was there he saw some rocks that fluoresced under UV light. 

He wondered if ghosts were fluorescent. Crap. What if he was fluorescent? He couldn’t just step out of line, everyone would notice and there would be questions. The door was several steps away. Ancients, what if this was the end? Shit shit shit shit. Shit!

Ghosts do not fluoresce under UV light. 

Danny relaxed his shoulders. He hated being this paranoid about everything. It was over, he was okay, that’s what mattered. Breathing as deeply as he could without getting stares, he waited for the blacklights to start being fun again. They didn’t.

“So. Who here has played laser tag before?” asked a laser room employee. Several hands shot up.

“Okay, cool, cool. So you know how this is going to go. Everyone else, this is for you. See the vests and blasters against the wall? You’re going to need to put the vests on, making sure the big triangle is centered on your chest.”

There were students suiting up before the instructor had finished talking. Danny subconsciously calculated how long he should wait until grabbing a vest of his own to draw the least attention. 

“Ok, everyone is doing good so far! Now, as some of you have already heard, this is going to be a little different than usual laser tag. You’re going to be taking the role of GIW operatives, fighting against ghosts hidden in the maze. Fake ones, of course.” The instructor chuckled at his own joke.

“There’s a variety of targets hidden in the maze, some ghostly and some harmless. The more ghosts you shoot, the more points you get! If you shoot a civilian target, you lose points. And it’s not just a glorified shooting range, you gotta be careful and have sharp reflexes. If you don’t shoot the ghost within a few seconds after it jumps out at you, you lose a life. Everyone got that?” 

The group nodded and murmured with agreement. 

“Are you guys ready to kick some slimy ghost butt?”

A halfhearted “yeah” rippled through the room. 

“Alright, we can do better than that! Are you guys ready?” 

A “yeah” that was equal parts excited and begrudging rang out. Danny wished he could melt people with his mind. First they desecrate laser tag and blacklights, then they talk about how he’s less than human and deserves to fucking die, and they stick him in a confined space with his bully and demand that he play enthusiastic? Fuck you.

The instructor seemed appeased.  

“Alright then, soldiers, let’s go go go!” He swung open the doors to the course and the crowd bolted out, with Danny caught in the flow. The techno music hit him like a wall. He didn’t see Dash, and he didn’t want to. He’d already turned a corner by the time he called out.

“Hey, where’s Fenton? I need him to watch my six.”

Danny unwound his shoulders a little. That wasn’t a problem he’d have to deal with for a while.

Turning another corner, he nearly slammed face first into a fluorescent green cutout. He shoved down his instinctual response to go ghost, instead swinging his gun up and shooting at the little black thing in its chest. His gun flashed and made an approving noise, and the cutout folded back against the wall.

As Danny made his way deeper into the maze, his mood brightened. Not by much, but… noticeably. The beat got his blood pumping, he was waist deep in fog, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t shot ghosts before. Even the blacklights were regaining some appeal. 

The next cutout was of the Box Ghost, who he happily gunned down. A shoddy representation of Technus swung out behind him, and was taken down just as fast. It felt good. Pretty much all the ghosts here were either perfectly generic or ones he had grudges against. They even had that jerk with the red eyes and the memory powers, who Danny took out with a masterful 360 no-scope. Not that his gun had a scope, but it was still cool. 

His spirits dropped when he turned a corner and saw Dash Baxter in the middle of the path. He was looking down another hallway, and hadn’t noticed him yet. 

Dash lowered his gun, smiling like he’d cleverly avoided a trap. A second later, his vest buzzed violently. 

“Hey, what’s the big idea?“

Curiosity got the better of Danny, and he jogged over to see what had Dash worked up. It was a cutout of him. Well, of Phantom. Dash’s vest buzzed again. 

“I’m not shooting Phantom!” Dash threw down his gun with a loud clatter. “This thing’s freaking busted.”

His vest buzzed a third time, and a loud recording rang out overhead. “Player sixteen: eliminated.”

“No, some genius set up the course wrong! I’d better get a second round after this.”

A tinny laser sound rang out, and the cutout sprung shut. 

“Phantom’s a ghost, idiot,” said Elliot, before running off to score more points. 

“Idiot?! You think I'M the idiot here?! He's on our side!” Dash’s nose crinkled into a full snarl, and his eyes flashed in Danny’s direction.

“I bet you feel the same way, Mr. Fenton Works! Huh?” Dash marched up and seized him by the shoulder straps. “Bet you’d shoot him down while he was distracted saving someone, or some shit, because… I don’t know, there’s something fuckin' wrong with you or something!” Dash threw him aside.

The commotion was drawing a crowd. There were two students behind Dash, and Danny heard footsteps behind him. He wasn’t getting a chance to appease Dash, not that he wanted that asshole to think they were on the same side of anything. 

“Fact, we all got saved by Phantom just a couple weeks ago when that weirdo meat lady attacked at Star's birthday party!"

“Dash, Phantom’s putting on an act. We all know that,” said Valerie.

“What act? You think he’d be risking his life every night saving people from ghosts if it was all an act? If he wanted us dead he’d let us freaking die!”

Liam scoffed. “He wants us to think ghosts can be trusted, duh. And it looks like it’s working. Why do you care? Do you have a crush on him or something?”

The tensed muscles in Dash’s neck spelled death. “Why you little—!” Dash lunged forward. A hand seized his arm. 

“Hey!" One of the staff materialized from the shadows. "That kind of behavior isn’t going to fly here. Mr. Baxter, right? You’ll be coming with me.” 

“Hell no! Why don’t you explain why Phantom’s set up as an enemy? Trying to get us to turn on our local hero? Thinning out the competition?”

“You’re coming with me, this isn’t a request. We’ll talk about this later.” 

“Make me!” Dash squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. 

The staff member shrugged. “You look like you play sports. Think for a moment. You’re at a school-sponsored event. Wanna bet that there won’t be consequences?”

Dash scowled, then his shoulders sunk. He sulked after the agent, leaving awkward silence in his wake. Danny just stood there. You don’t just start playing again after something like that.

===

In time, the round was officially over, and Danny went back into the lobby without looking at the leaderboard. 

“Man, Danny, you look almost as bad coming out as you did going in. Was it really that bad?” Tucker asked. 

Danny blew through his teeth. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Sam’s fork foraged through the green stuff she brought from home. “Does it have something to do with whatever Dash did that got him escorted outside?” 

“In fact, it has everything to do with what Dash did.” Danny scowled.

“Well, don’t leave us hanging, what did he do?”

“Must’ve been something pretty bad. He never gets more than a slap on the wrist.”

“He decided to make a big old scene about Phantom being a hero, how he saved our lives and shouldn’t be hated like other ghosts and whatever.”

Tucker glanced around, then leaned in close. 

“Isn’t that… a good thing, though?” he whispered. 

“No,” Danny hissed. “I’m not letting myself be endorsed by Dash fucking Baxter. He's the worst bully at Casper, he doesn’t get to like Phantom.”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe this could be to our advantage. He might leave you alone if he thinks you’re on the same side.”  

“Maybe!” Danny cursed himself and lowered his voice. “It might’ve been nice to catch a bit of slack. But I’m not gonna degrade myself by walking up to him and telling him he’s not alone, that I care about Phantom too and no hard feelings and we can help him together and it’s all going to be ok. I’m past groveling for his approval.” 

“…Are you past buying dumb tracksuits too?” asked Sam dryly. 

An icy shock stabbed through Danny's chest. It was just a joke. He knew it was a joke, they teased each other like this all the time. This was stupid. It’s no big deal. It’s not like he didn’t deserve it.

The shock faded into a buzzing ball of dread and weight. Tucker’s concerned face had been replaced with a lighthearted smile, and the corners of Sam’s lips were turned subtly upwards. They didn’t mean anything by it, on any other day he’d have laughed and quipped right back. 

He stood up. Everything was just a bit too much. Tucker said something, but Danny was already on his way to the front doors. 

Fresh air filled his lungs. He hadn’t realized how much the echoing cacophony was getting to him. Out here, every sound was clear and distinct. Bits of gravel left over from snow season crunched under his feet. Cars occasionally whooshed past on the highway. Getting caught out here could mean trouble, but he doubted anyone would come out. Eventually settling for a yellow parking bumper near the corner of the building, he sat down and braced his elbows on his knees. 

Right as his shoulders were relaxing, he heard the weather stripping of the front doors scrape across the concrete. He bolted out of sight. 

“Mr. Lancer, I think you know what I brought you out here to discuss.”

Danny’s ears perked up. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into him. He’s a good kid, best quarterback we’ve had in years.” 

“I’m sure he is, he didn’t strike me as a delinquent. Neat hair, strong posture, and as you said a football player. Good all-American young man. But that boy’s been exposed to some dangerous ideas, and it seems like some of them have begun to take root.”

Mr. Lancer sighed, with a  concern that Danny wasn’t used to hearing. “Is he going to be put on a watchlist?” 

“No, nothing that drastic. He’s a teenager, he’s bound to make some stupid mistakes. The government understands that. But to make sure nothing worse comes of this, it would be a good idea to sign him up for some mandatory counseling sessions on ghosts and respecting authorities.”   

“I’ll make sure that happens. Thank you for being so understanding.” 

“Of course. The GIW is here to keep you safe, not to bring down the hammer on impressionable teenagers.” 

Danny sneered at that last sentence. As if. 

“Thank you again, regardless.” 

He heard them go back inside. Knowing that they had just used the front door made getting back in unnoticed suddenly feel a lot more daunting. Maybe he’d just wait around for the trip to end and merge in with the rest of the students as they lined up for the bus. Look for ladybugs in the grass or something. And he wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of bailing on Sam and Tucker either. He could just wait until they forgot or it got too awkward to mention so they wouldn’t try to apologize to him even though he was the one in the wrong.

That’s what he’d do. It was gonna be a long wait.

[system-society]

(cw for fusion talk) hey, i dunno if this is the place for this sort of question, but we have an issue with one of our headmates. they're a previous host who wasn't suited to the role, kinda shoved into it during a bad period of time, and during that time they lost connection to the rest of the system and essentially became a singlet for a little bit before rediscovering the system; that was a long time ago at this point, but one issue that they kept having was feeling like they were taking fronting time away from everyone else, since it was just them alone most of the time while we were still trying to repair our switching and communication functions. after a while we got more people into our fronting rotation and eventually they stepped down as host and stopped fronting super frequently. but they still, even as recent as yesterday, feel guilty for fronting literally ever because they feel like they're taking time away from everyone else. they didn't realise that they haven't fronted in over a month and yet still left front very quickly because of the guilt.

this has led to,, we think they're starting to fuse into the rest of the system? which is absolutely terrifying to us- the feeling of fully losing a headmate in the system, where they're gone and cannot be reached again, freaks us the hell out. other headmates, some who have been around unchanged for a while, are suddenly and randomly picking up traits that they didn't have before, ones that were very distinct to this headmate. when they front they're much less distinct, they're losing a lot of the grip they had over a lot of the system functions that are typically easy for us. one way we differentiate between people in-sys is their relationships and emotions about other people in the sys, and any relationship "threads" that might still be connected on one end are just blank on theirs. as if the information that was there is just Gone- there is just zero emotion on their end and it's very disorientating. which is further contributing to their guilt as it leads to them just not having any motivation to interact with anyone else in the sys, even people they were very deeply in love with, and they feel like they've ruined all their relationships with this self-destructive spiral.

usually we try to solve this stuff internally as we're pretty good at solving things like this, but it's been months and we don't really know what to do. we noticed this process happening back in may, and thought if we focused enough on it we'd be able to fix it, but it hasn't stopped. it's been a very gradual process- that feels normal for this headmate, it took over six months for them to form initially- but the gaps between them showing up in front are getting longer and the space they occupy in headspace is feeling emptier by the day.

we don't want to lose this headmate, as a huge amount of us care about them very deeply. but also losing this headmate might damage our functions a lot. they were one of the absolute best at managing and navigating the system, taking on the role of archivist after host. we have other archivists, but this headmate's connections to so many others made it a lot easier for them to have access to almost the whole system, which is something we struggle with as a very large system with a ton of barriers between sidesystems. we're already sort of struggling to keep our current fronting group together, as they were sort of the "glue" that kept all our mostly-disconnected groups together.

sorry if this is a lot. we're just very worried, and we don't know why this is happening or what we can do about it.

Hey there anon, I totally get your worry and concern. My best advice? Take a deep breath, and try to hold on to them best you can. Find ways to ground them in the inner and outerworld. Sometimes, there’s not much you can do against the brain, so plan contingencies, okay? But best of luck to you.

[bigolgay]

Okay sooooooooo

Here’s the thing.

I’m a little bit obsessed with a girl that works at tesco…

I went to tesco a week or 2 ago and I was buying an energy drink and she came over to check my ID (baby face tings). And I don’t remember what I said but I said something and it made her laugh and then she touched my upper arm (thanking genetics and the gym for blessing me with nice arms🙏). Cue my brain blanking and it just turning to white noise. We talked a bit more as I pulled my card out to pay and then I left…

And then a couple days later I go back and I see her again, and she sees me. So I wave and give her a smile… AND THEN SHE WINKS AT ME *gay panic*.

AND THEN TODAY. I GO TO TESCO. TO GET SNACKS. AND SHES THERE. AND SHE WAS RESTOCKING SHELVES OR SOMETHING I DUNNO I WAS BUSY LOOKING AT HER BECAUSE WOW SHES PRETTY. But she saw me and said hi and I was like ‘…let’s go try and make conversation’, so I walk over and say say hi and ask how she is. She says she’s been good but that she hadn’t seen me for a while (it had been like a week but okay. I guess that says how often I go to tesco…). So I’m like… feeling confident today, so I say something cheesy like ‘you been missing me or something?’ And added a wink in there because SHE DID IT FIRST AND ITS PAYBACK. AND SHE SAID “maybe a little” AND WINKED AT ME AGAIN. And then we have a bit of back and forth banter (flirty????) and we continue to talk as she does her thing in the aisles.

WE TALKED. LIKE PROPER TALKED. WE TALKED FOR LIKE 15 MINUTES. LIKE FULL CONVERSATIONS.

And I feel like it was flirty?? And I was making her laugh a lot??? And at one point she laughed and she seems to be one of those people who when they laugh a bit hard they kinda lose control of their limbs a bit🤣so she threw her head back (…😳🫣) and laughed and she like gripped my forearm?? I… guys she’s for real beautiful. Like I could NOT take my eyes off her.

BUT HERES THE THING.

MY GAYDAR IS NOT DETECTING SHIT ON HER. I have no clue. Most of my… “relationships” have been with people I’ve met in queer places, or people I’ve known prior and already know their sexualities… oh or they approach me first and very boldly flirt with me. BUT BEFORE TODAY I DIDNT EVEN KNOW HER NAME. SO I HAVE NO CLUE OF HER SEXUALITY. WHAT IF SHES STRAIGHT? AND IM OBSESSING OVER A STRAIGHT GIRL?

Which… knowing my luck, I probably am. I seem to only like girls who are either straight, emotionally unavailable or entirely uninterested in me. 

I was a bit concerned she maybe thought I was a boy but NO. SHE KNOWS IM A GIRL. She did say that the first time she saw me she did think I was a boy for a second, but she realised pretty quick that I wasn’t. ALSOALSOALSOALSO ALSO SHE HAD SEEN ME AROUND BEFORE WE SPOKE FOR THE FIRST TIME. AND THAT SHE HAD WANTED TO SAY HI BEFORE BUT SHE WAS ALWAYS WORKING IN THE AISLES AND DIDNT GET THE CHANCE *passes out*.

Anyway… yes I’m planning our wedding in my head and what our future together will look like, yes you’re all invited, no I am not okay.

I need you to understand how rare this is. I don’t get this obsessed with people often. And like it’s nice feeling this way finally after being basically madly in love with the same person for like… almost a year? And my feelings for her have been sort of fading for the last couple months finally (my brain must’ve finally caught on to the fact that she’s uninterested💪). AND NOW I LIKE TESCO GIRL. AND SHES SO LOVELY.

She’s beautiful. Genuinely. And she’s got the best laugh. And she’s so quick witted??? And conversation with her just sucks me in. And oh god. Guys. Her eyes. Omg. Her eyes. Holy poop. Call the coroner. I just died. But make a religion centred around me because I just came back to life just so I have the slightest chance to talk to her again.

Oh god she’s totally gonna end up being straight. Or uninterested in me. I’ll just have to try and be really charismatic around her, because what I lack in looks, I make up for in good chat and charm. I’m gonna have to plan my tesco trips around my good days when I’m feeling confident and chatty. She’s totally gonna be straight right?

Anyway. I’m a little obsessed with her. Just in case you missed it.

[nadianova]

hey so i just played through hopeless junction and absolutely loved it. everything about it gripped me fiercely and i've been dying to infodump to friends about it. what i actually meant to ask is if it's okay to use the art of chandra's face as a profile icon on discord? i kinda see bits of myself in all the characters and just. iunno!! i just really really love them and i'm excited to start thinking about like. what could come after the story. (specifically not including anything that happens in the game so people potentially seeing this on your blog wont get spoiler-ed) and i guess as like a final little thing i just. really really. i felt almost mad? about how good it was at points because i knew vaguely how long itd be with the "1 week" time frame? and every time i finished a day i just kept wanting more. i couldnt put it down even after day 3 because everytime i wished for more, it really became MORE. it really felt like you *get* your target audience in a way. which maybe sunds silly but. i mean seriously. i dont think ive ever been as invested in any story as i was in hopelss junction. thank you so much for making this :3 (and also hit me up if you ever wanna see a character of yours drawn maybe uWu) [[[big apologies if any of this is overly familiar or tone deaf or I DUNNO!!! any of those things. i wanna be as respectful as i can given the subject matter and life experiences that lead to this specific niche of sisterloving trauma-centric writing]]] much love!!!

thank you thank you im happy you enjoyed my story and my little guys so much c: youre free to use my chars and my art as avatars idm (this also applies to everyone)

i think i got some wires crossed in my brain and i make games about that ahaha

fanart is good to makes me excited just tag me or something so i can get to see it ^^

[jonesatheart]

Miscommunication

Unsure how this will fit into anything, it's just a plot bunny I had after my friend shared a bunch of trans!Leo art with me and after telling my dog that I was unable to run around with him because my binder wasn't suitable for exercising. That said this is largely unedited from the initial impulse writing, we die like confused genderfluid people.

"Ya good, Case-man?" Raph asked and trotted over to his friend who was hunched over on his knees.  

"Jus' sec," Casey groaned, clutching his chest, without getting up. "Geeze, that guy got me good."  

"Ya need Don to check ya out?" Raph knelt next to Casey and gripped his shoulder. 

Casey shook his head. "Just need to catch my breath."  

"Hey, sit up, alright? Let ya lungs- Casey, what the shell?" Raph demanded when he spotted bandages wrapped around Casey's chest under the torn cloth of his shirt. 

Casey's eyes went wide and he pulled his arms in to cover himself. "Raph, I can explain-" 

"Explain? Case, that's not good for your ribs!"  

"I know, but I didn't know what else to use." 

Raph shook his head. "We don't use anything for rib injuries anymore, ya putz."  

"What?"  

"Why didn't you tell me ya were hurt? C'mon, let's get ya to the lair so Don can take a look atcha." Raph hauled him to his feet. 

"Raph, I didn't hurt my ribs at least not before that last fight. 

"Then what's with the bandages? What, ya goin' for apocalyptic chic? How the shell are you supposed to breathe like that?"  

"Look, I'll explain later, but I really don't wanna be havin' this conversation in front of these guys," Casey gestured at the Purple Dragons that were beginning to stir. 

"Fine. If ya sure ya not hurt. And no runnin'! Not till ya get those things off."  

"In that case we better head to my place." 

"Nuh-uh. Lair's closer."  

Casey sighed, not wanting to argue. "Alright." 

--- 

"Hey, Don," Raph called.  

"Raph-"  

"Who's hurt?" Don called back, not lookin up from his computer.  

"I'm fine," Casey insisted. "Not even hardly sore anymore."  

"Glad ya think so. Go let Don check ya out. I'll grab ya a shirt."  

"Can I at least get a hoodie with it?" Casey asked, resigned to his situation.  

"Sure thing."  

"Thanks," he sighed and met Don in the medbay. "Hey-" 

"Please tell me those aren't ace bandages." Don said when he saw the tears in Casey's shirt." 

"Don-" 

"Did you go out injured?" He demanded. 

"No! Will one'a you, please, just listen'a me?" He growled and dropped onto the cot, dropping his head into his hands. 

Don blinked, taken aback by the sudden outburst. He sat beside Casey, hand rested on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," Don answered calmly. "You just had us concerned. I don't know if you've noticed, but we did grow up pretty sheltered. It makes us tight knit and protective. I know you're not used to that. Are you okay with explaining why you're wearing bandages if you're not hurt?"  

"Don't interrupt me, okay?" 

Don's brow furrowed. "Okay?"  

Casey sighed. "I'm not...actually a guy. I started binding my chest before goin' out as a kinda protection, y'know? Made me less of a target durin' the day if they thought they were lookin' for a guy, and made me less of a target for...other stuff if they didn't know I was woman. And I just...noticed it felt like it fit better, y'know? It made more sense in my brain when I heard people talkin' about me like I was a guy. So. I started bindin' all the time. Started bein' a guy durin' the day when I could too. That's why the bandages." 

"Thank you for trusting me with that, Casey," Don replied. "I'm glad to know you're not hurt. Unfortunately, that doesn't make wearing ace bandages around your chest any healthier."  

"I know," he moaned. "I mean, I've got some good sports bras, but...I dunno. I started hangin' out with you guys and I just...was afraid to get caught, I guess, so I kept using the bandages cause it seemed like it gave a better illusion of what I was supposed to look like."  

"Casey, you're really well built. It's normal for muscular guys to have noticeable pectoral muscles."  

"Yeah?" He asked, his voice hopefully.  

"Yeah," Don promised. "I'll help you do some more research about safer alternatives, but for now please just use the sports bras?"  

"Hey, here's ya clothes," Raph cut in, his voice flat as he tossed a t shirt and hoodie at Casey. "I'm goin' back out." 

"Raph-" 

"On my own. I need to clear my head." He walked away before anyone could answer. 

Casey grimaced. "I think he's mad at me."  

"I love my brother, but it's not hard to do. Go ahead and change." Don patted his shoulder.  

--- 

"What's going on with Raph and Casey?" Leo questioned when Don came out of the medbay. 

"Just a bit of misunderstanding," Don replied and headed toward the kitchen.  

"About?"  

"It's not really my place to say. And do not corner Casey about it. I'll talk to Raph if I need to." 

"So he's not hurt then?"  

"Leo-"  

"I just want to know what's going on." 

"I know. But...I don't think Casey was really ready to talk about it and...Raph accidentally backed him into it. I don't want to do that to him again. He just needs some space about it, alright?" 

Leo sighed. "Alright. I'll trust you on this one."  

--- 

Casey tapped tentatively on the wall outside Raph's door. It had been a few days since they'd last gone on patrol together. Casey had simply stayed away, both to give Raph time to cool down and to psych himself up to being around the guys for the first time without the protection of the bandages. Even in the bulky hoodie, he felt like the difference was obvious. 

"Hey, uh, brought back those clothes ya let me borrow. Washed 'em and all that."  

"Just toss 'em on my hammock is  fine," Raph answered without looking up from the laptop, Casey assumed Donny had built for him. 

He set the small stack of clothes on the pillow and shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. "Raph?"  

"What's up?"  

"Are we good?"  

Raphael clossd his laptop with a sigh and finally turned toward Casey. "Look, maybe I'm bein' selfish here, but I'm not gonna lie, I feel kinda lied to and I know that not what it is. I know bein' trans isn't lyin'-" 

"There's a name for it?"  

Raph blinked. "Casey, what kinda rock you been livin' under? I had to look it up, cause I live in the actual sewer, what's your excuse?"  

Casey shrugged self-consciously. "It ain't like I had the biggest friend group growin' up. Spent most'a my summers on the farm, remember?"  

"...Ya makin' it really hard to stay mad at you, ya know that?" 

"Sorry."  

"That's not- You really never thought about lookin' into why ya preferred bein' seen as a guy?"  

He shrugged again, staring at his shoes. "No. Just thought it was cause'a the autism or something. Too many concussions playin' hockey." 

"I mean, ya probably do got some brain damage, but that's doesn't have anythin' to do with bein' trans. Guess I can't really be mad atcha for not trustin' me anymore either." 

"Sorry."  

"Case. Ya don't gotta keep apologizin', man. My feelin's about the whole thing are mine to figure out, okay? They're not your fault. I mean, it would'a been good to know ahead time in case something came up and we had to cut those bandages off of ya, just so we could.have something else to cover you up or didn't have an immediate heart attack from shock. Ya didn't actually lie to me. You're a guy, it's not your fault genetics didn't get the memo. And yeah, I feel kinda hurt cause it feels like ya didn't trust me when if anybody's gonna know what it feels like to be afraid of gettin' caught it's gonna be me. You didn't owe me that information though. And the other is just kinda me makin' an assumption that ya didn't trust me." 

Casey quickly wiped his cheek. "When'd you go to therapy?" He grumbled. 

Raph chuckled. "The other night when Don dragged me back home and explained everything to me. So, yeah, we're good. Just no more scarrin' me with random bandages, okay? And do me a favor-" he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled our a soft tape measure, tossing it to Casey"-take some measurements. Bust, under bust, shoulders, and waist, got it?"  

"Why?" 

"Cause I said so. Do it in here or the bathroom, I don't care, but I need those numbers." 

[filthy-gorgeous]

How to even social, past, feelings of inadequacy and health rantings.

On the one hand, an old friend (kinda ex friend, we drifted apart our final year of school) is wanting to meet up - which, her family are still local so it'd be nice to see someone in person with any regularity. But also, it's my past? And short of getting out of the area, I've done a really good job of chopping off all my past that involves ex.

Suppose moving out of ma's would be the final step - just need to get a fucking grip and save enough to do it. Or successfully get the damn disability benefits (especially since it'll all be tied together soon so rather than losing out on money I'm technically eligible for, it'll be that plus halving what I currently get... Which means no chance of surviving alone here.) ... FFS, oh to be well and just get a fucking job. 😮‍💨

Know there's gonna be folk in my ask box getting pissy about that statement - usually along the lines of it must be nice not to work, or questioning if I'm really that sick cause I got turned down for PIP. Believe me I'd much rather have never gotten ill - I worked myself to the bone for that place at uni and.. frankly, I'd rather be working at a supermarket anywhere but here and standing on my own feet. But shit hit the fan so now I'm living with my ma and sometimes so tired that even breathing is exhausting.

Anyway, old friend wants to reconnect and meet up and I'm considering it once it's cooler outside so I don't have to worry about the lightheadedness making a tit of myself. But I don't want to leave it too late cause it still needs to be okay outside cause I'd like to take the dog along for support - cause otherwise I have to be alone in a public place and dbajaksofhsbs.

I dunno. My poor brain is a mess today.

Y'know, in a perfect world, I'd love to make enough from book sales to not be on benefits. Like, imagine, 700 a month because I make something that others enjoy? That's the fuckin' dream, man.