#me thinking is your problem now so deal with it

[warrior-of-storms]

This makes such a good point actually; for as little of their relationship as we're shown, Dick has an almost surprisingly severe reaction to Jason's death. A much closer relationship is implied than we actually get to see. Still, the little we do get to see is really sweet.

(Batman (1940) #416)

Dick spent a decent chunk of this issue yelling at Bruce about how he has a serious problem (because he does, and Dick is lowkey right to be mad at him, but that's a separate thing) but after that the first thing he does is meet up with Jason, offer to team up on the case they were working, and give Jay his number and old Robin suit. First impressions were less than stellar but once Dick knew what was going on and got the yelling at Bruce out of his system he immediately stepped up and was chill with Jason.

(New Teen Titans vol. 2 (1984) #21)

When Jason teams up with the Titans, he asks them to say hi to Dick for him when he's leaving. Now, granted, Dick has been kinda going through it for A While at this point, but I think this implies that in the year or two between their first meeting and Jason's Titans team-up, he and Dick got to spend some more time together. Enough that Donna would know it was okay to contact Jason for this team, and enough that him asking them to pass his greetings to Dick wouldn't be out of place.

(New Teen Titans vol. 2 (1984) #31)

The next time Jason joins a Titans mission, it's with the direct goal of saving Dick. It's not that long after the first one, a couple weeks at most, and Dick immediately is like "hey Jay if Bruce gets on your case about this, send him my way and I'll deal with him for you :)" which is such an older brother thing to say. They're on a first name basis in front of the Titans, which implies to me that they're close enough that Bruce and/or Jason was willing to let Jason reveal his identity to them. And, I mean, Jason also said his name on the previous mission, so I think there's definitely more of a history there than we get to see.

(Also, not so fun fact: that final panel is the last time any of the Titans see Jason on-panel before his death. Unless something happened that we didn't get to see, that was the last time any of them saw him.)

And then Jason died.

(The New Titans (1984) #55)

That is not the face of someone who was told he lost a distant friend or relative that he only met a handful of times - that's complete shock and devastation. There's desperation in how he goes to the computer to verify whether or not Jason is dead. And when it turns out that Jason is in fact dead, he breaks down.

(The New Titans (1984) #55)

He also expresses guilt about not being there while visiting the grave with Kory, which, I mean, if there's one thing Dick Grayson does well, it's feel guilty about everything forever, but this goes beyond that. If he was distant from Jason, he wouldn't take it as personally that he wasn't there. If he didn't care about Jason, there's no reason to feel guilt over being unable to save him.

(The New Titans (1984) #55)

Then there's this scene which. Ugh. I do not like Bruce in this scene, but my own problems with Bruce Wayne's inconsistent characterization aside, Bruce says "You weren't at the funeral. People asked about you."

First of all, it's 100% Bruce's fault that Dick wasn't at the funeral. I mean, Dick couldn't have made it anyway, he was off-world, but the fact remains that Bruce didn't invite him.

(Batman (1940) #428)

Second, there were all of five people at that funeral, so who was asking after him? Barbara? Jim? The priest? Regardless of who it was, someone knew that Dick and Jason were close enough that it was weird that Dick wasn't there.

And that's not even taking into account anything from later (because I haven't gotten there yet 🙃) like Dick's repeated hallucinations of Jason, or the fact that the mention of Jason is what pushed Dick over the edge to kill the Joker in Joker's Last Laugh, or the photo in Nightwing vol. 2 #63 of Dick & Jason on a ski trip together. They were definitely close before Jason's death, and if the hints dropped in Jason's Titans appearances or Dick's immediate reaction to his death aren't enough proof of that, the long term effects on Dick definitely are.

Jason and Dick’s relationship actually was good enough that, once we account for Jason’s time as Robin being so short in real time and not fleshed out, we can assume they were very close. it actually makes more sense than them not being close, definitely more sense than them being “okay at best”. What bothers me about “okay at best” is that it implies that them having a good relationship was only the outcome we can see if we look at things positively. There’s no option but for them to have been good brothers. That’s not fanon. There is no “worst” in this scenario, because Dick and Jason were always reaching out to each other (well. Dick was always reaching out to Jason. Duck on that “Dick avoided Jason while he was Robin” believers). Jason’s not close to anyone of his other siblings (besides Duke) in canon, but Dick has never been up for debate. Brothers in Blood is…a mess. But it clearly shows that Dick is one person Jason would never want to cut off (with Jason reaching out to Dick this time…in his own fucked up way). That doesn’t come from them having been distant as Robin and Nightwing.

Jason being 11 years old to 15 was squished into a very short run irl. It was almost the same amount of years as in-universe. Compare that to Dick or Tim’s decades as Robin. A lot of stuff with Jason was never given screen time because he was killed off before that could happen. Post-crisis Jason was Robin while Barbara retired and Dick was trying to be someone separate from Batman. It was just Bruce, Jason, and Alfred because that’s what made sense with the story, not because Dick wasn’t close to Jason. If Jason hadn’t been killed, we would’ve seen more of those stories. But we saw enough to know that they weren’t two people who happened to share a guardian. I’d like to remind everyone that Jason’s time on the Titans as Robin is explicitly still canon. That should explain enough. Even post-crisis, when Dick isn’t even told about Robin, he still gives Jason his own costume and number so that they could talk whenever Jason felt like it. “But he never called” We have no clue if he called or not. Jason was barely Robin in real time. There was no time to fit any of that in there while accounting for Dick’s own ongoing stories, and then Starlin just not wanting to write Jason in general. Everything else points to the conclusion that they were close, they were brothers in every sense of the word. You have to be willing to put the pieces together when it comes to Jason’s time as Robin because we have so little of it, even though it’s supposed to span almost 5 years. We are missing a lot. But look at how Dick is personally haunted by Jason’s death. Not like Danny or any other kid’s, but Jason’s specifically. He hallucinates him in his own solo, he’s so shaken that Raven immediately offers to help him with her powers, he brings it up in TLL. All decades before Jason’s resurrected. If you want to believe they didn’t have a close relationship, then you can choose to be wrong, I guess.

Point is: people aren’t compensating for fanon “Dick was a bad brother” bs when they say Dick and Jason had a close relationship as brothers before Jason died; it is literally the best interpretation. “They wish they had been closer” is still the fanon interpretation, actually.

[maddie0101]

just friends

summary: you and dean are out at a bar grabbing drinks with friends like it’s any other night but dean’s close, almost too close and you’re not doing a damn thing about it.

warnings/ tags: smut (mdni), college!au, friends w benefits, no love confessions (sadly), fingering, some dirty talk, public smut, hidden relationship and feelings, sexual tension.

word count: 1.4k (pretty small for me, yes ik..but I’m a tad rusty)

note: I’m back bitches! :) enjoy!

It’s not supposed to be complicated.

That’s what you tell yourself every time you sneak out of Dean's bed before sunrise. Every time you redress in silence and slip past your sleeping friends with flushed skin and sore thighs—pretending that nothing happened.

Friends with benefits. That’s the deal.

No dates. No hand-holding. No stolen glances that mean too much. And it’s been working—for the most part.

Except nights like this.

You’re at your favorite spot downtown, some hole-in-the-wall bar with loud music and warm string lights tangled above the tables. You’re squished into a booth with the usual group, consisting of Jo, Benny, Charlie, and Cas. Everyone's talking over each other with drinks in hand, plates of fries already half-gone.

You’re wearing a dress. Short, soft, and comfortable. A little risky for October, but worth it. You saw Dean’s eyes drop to your legs the second you walked in. He hasn’t said a word about it, but you felt the shift in the air.

Now, you’re pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with him in the booth, thighs touching, your drink sweating in your palm as you try to pretend you’re listening to Charlie’s story about her lab partner. You’re nodding, even laughing but your body is stiff.

Not because you're stressed or anything—but because Dean’s hand is on your thigh.

It started off innocent, honestly. Just resting there, his fingers lightly curled, the way a friend might touch a friend.

But you both know better.

He’s been inching higher for the past ten minutes, casual as anything, like this isn’t dangerous.

No one can see, not from the angle or with the table pressed against your ribs and the flickering shadows hiding his movements. But you can feel him and he knows exactly what he’s doing.

His hand shifts slightly, fingers brushing up your thigh, warm and steady and your breath catches in your throat.

“You okay?” Jo asks, blinking at you.

You force a smile and nod quickly. “Yeah. Just a little warm in here.”

Dean doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t even react. Just keeps sipping his beer, his free hand wrapped lazily around the neck of the bottle while the other, his real focus is sliding slowly beneath the hem of your dress.

Your pulse thuds in your ears and your heartbeat speeds up.

He’s still not touching you where you want him to. He’s toying with you. Circling higher and closer but never quite where you want him. His knuckles brush the inside of your thigh and you shudder, trying to sit still. Trying to not squirm.

So you shoot him a warning glare. But when he finally meets your eyes—his are dark, amused, and possessive?

You swallow hard and shift your legs, trying to squeeze them together. Dean’s hand follows easily, caught between them now, palm pressed against the soft skin just inches from your center.

You lean in toward him, voice quiet and shaky. “Dean.” You warn.

He hums, barely audible. “Problem?”

“You need to stop.”

He grins without looking at you. “You don’t want me to stop.”

He's right...You think. But here? In front of your friends? That's a whole new level.

His touch and the fact that you're in public, surrounded by your friends, feeling Dean's hand has you soaked. There’s nothing between you but a pair of thin lace panties and whatever control you’ve got left—which is crumbling fast.

Dean shifts again, his hand sliding higher, fingers brushing just under the edge of your underwear now and your breath leaves you in a slow, shaking exhale and you grip your drink tighter, knuckles white.

You glance up to Charlie still talking, Cas asking Jo a random question, and Benny’s leaned back with a lazy grin, completely oblivious—you hope.

But then Dean’s hand slips beneath your panties, bringing you back to what is going on and you choke on your drink, causing eyes to quickly snap onto you with concern.

“Jesus, you okay?” Benny says, reaching for a napkin.

“Yeah,” you cough. “Wrong pipe.”

Dean doesn’t move. Not even when he presses two fingers right there—just enough pressure to make you see stars. Your hips twitch and you cross your legs tighter, trapping his hand in place, but it only makes it worse.

He curls his fingers ever so slightly and leans in, lips brushing your ear. “You wore this dress just for me, didn’t you?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. So he nudges your panties aside and the cold air hits your soaked heat in an instant. He groans softly, barely a sound but you hear it. “Fuck, you’re already wet.”

Your thighs shake and you stare at your glass, willing yourself to keep breathing while his fingers slide through your slick folds. He doesn’t push inside you just yet. He's teasing you. Still playing his game and you shift again, pressing your hips into his hand, silently begging.

Dean tuts softly. “Needy.”

You shoot him another glare but he only smirks before giving you what you want. His finger slips inside, slow and smooth, just one and your breath catches. He moves it slowly, curling upward, then pulls back and adds a second. You clamp your teeth around a whimper and dig your nails into the seat beneath you.

“Doing so good,” he murmurs. “Sittin’ still like that. What would they say if they knew, huh? That you’re dripping around my fingers while Cas talks about his psych exam?”

“Dean,” you gasp.

“Yeah, baby?”

Your thighs tremble and your skin feels too tight. Your eyes are glassy and you’re so close it’s painful.

Dean curls his fingers again, just the slightest motion, and your hips twitch involuntarily. You shouldn’t be like this—not here. Not in public. But your body doesn’t care. It’s reacting to him like it always does—instinctively, desperately, completely.

And he presses his palm against your clit, not rubbing, just pressing, grounding you with that solid weight.

Your vision blurs for half a second and your breath hitches in your throat. You grip the edge of the table so hard your knuckles ache.

He leans in, his mouth just barely brushing your ear. His voice is calm but dangerous. “Gonna come just like this?” he whispers. “In your little dress, right here at the table?”

You can’t answer. Can’t breathe. All you can do is hold on as Dean’s fingers fuck into you slow and deep, his palm now dragging tight circles against your clit.

He’s doing it on purpose. Drawing it out—keeping you right on the edge.

You whimper softly—barely audible, but he hears it.

“Quiet,” he says, lips still at your ear. “You make a sound and I stop.”

You nod frantically, digging your nails into your thigh and casting a quick glance to your friends still sitting around you.

Jo and Charlie are still deep in conversation. While Cas is arguing with Benny over whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie. But no one suspects a thing. Thank God—because no one sees how Dean has you right there—blushing, panting, thighs shaking while he works you from the inside out.

Your dress has ridden up just enough to let him move without resistance, his wrist shifting with each slow thrust of his fingers. You’re dripping around him, muscles fluttering, begging for release.

“Dean,” you breathe, “please—please—”

His hand slows for a second and your breath stutters. “No,” you gasp, shaking your head, eyes wide. “Don’t stop, Dean, I swear—”

He smiles against your skin. “Then come for me.”

That’s all it takes. Your legs seize around his hand, muscles clenching tight as heat rushes through you—white-hot and overwhelming. You bury your face in his shoulder to keep from crying out, your body trembling so hard the table rattles.

Dean holds you through it, fingers still moving, gentler now, coaxing you through the waves.

“Good girl,” he whispers.

It takes a full minute before you can breathe again. And before you realize your nails left crescents in the vinyl seat, that your drink is untouched--that the conversation has kept going without you, blissfully unaware. Dean finally withdraws his hand, slowly and slides your panties back into place, straightens the hem of your dress like a gentleman—like he didn’t just ruin you in the middle of a crowded bar.

You turn your face slightly, hiding your dazed, flushed expression behind the curtain of your hair and Dean licks his fingers while meeting your gaze.

You nearly whimper again at the sight and Dean slides his arm back across the booth, settling like nothing happened.

Like his fingers don’t still glisten faintly.

Like your heart isn’t trying to beat out of your chest.

And you reach for your drink with a shaky hand, trying to pretend your entire body isn’t still humming from the aftershock.

Dean glances at you once more—smug, satisfied, and already plotting what he’ll do to you when he gets you alone.

And God help you, you can’t wait.

author’s note:

hii guys! thank y’all so much for being patient with me during this time! I’ve finally managed to write this little one shot after almost a 2 month hiatus! 🫠 I’m definitely in the mood to write but now it’s about finding the time to 😅 (I barely even have time to eat lmfaoo)

I should have some more fics coming out but I can’t promise how often it will be. I am going to try to work on requests as well and hopefully get those out to you guys!

anywaaaays— I hope y’all enjoyed this one! ❤︎

taglist:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade @xo-zeze @kamisobsessed @megara0224 @cupidzbunny @imsiriuslyreal @jollyhunter @kimxwinchester @julsvdamxn @tinas111 @acesdiary @sapphic-destiel @callsign-ember @ladykitana90 @h8aaz @closetedangel @lunaleah @pieandflannel @soldiersgirl (lmk if I’ve missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off of my taglist)

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

my works

© maddie0101 do not copy or repost my works without my permission

[tywrites]

heavy | mateo manta

pairing: mateo manta x gn!reader

word count: 1,360 (not proof-read)

warnings: reader is implied to have depression

a/n: okay so this is really bad since i haven't written in quite a long time but!! i love him and i Needed to write something abt him. i desperately need more mateo fics lmao. hope you enjoy <33

-----

You rolled over in your bed, the usually comforting plush of your mattress feeling awfully cold today. You sighed, closing your eyes and quietly hoping to just fall back to sleep. Things had been… difficult recently. Losing your job had definitely taken its toll on you – on your mental health in particular. Even when working from home, you still had to make the time to leave every so often and interact with the real world. But with everything that had happened recently with the dateviators, you hadn’t been able to leave at all.

Of course, you still had the objects. And they were great company! Most of them anyway. But it didn’t stop you from feeling a bit… alone sometimes. You sighed softly, finally accepting the fact that sleep wasn’t coming. You looked over to your end table at the dateviators. You had a lot to do. It was really overwhelming, honestly. You hadn’t even met all of the objects in the house yet, let alone made any progress towards realising any. You had made a lot of close friends through them though. And even one very special, different relationship…

Even just thinking of Mateo brought a slight smile to your face, cheering up your bleak mood ever so slightly. If you’d told yourself a few weeks ago that you’d soon be dating your blanket… well, considering your track record with love, it wouldn’t be all that surprising.

You bit your lip, reaching over to the dateviators. You popped them on, blinking at the warm, pink hue that enveloped your vision. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to this. In a second, Betty had materialised in front of you, perched on the edge of the bed – or uh, on the edge of herself. She gave you a soft smile.

“How’re you feeling today, gorgeous?”

You made a face. “Well for starters, I don’t feel very gorgeous,” you reply groggily, sitting up as you wiped a hand over your tired face.

She chuckled. “Sweetie, you’re always gorgeous to me. But what’s got you so down? You barely slept last night, or the night before… should I be offended?” She was clearly joking, but there was a definite tone of concern in her voice.

“Nah, it’s not you, it’s me,” you admit, looking down at the sheets. “I just… I don’t know. I feel so… heavy? I’m so tired, all the time. Which makes no sense, let’s be real, I’m doing nothing all day but..” You trail off, unsure of how to word it. “I just can’t sleep though. I can’t relax. I feel so tense all the time and I don’t see a way out of it. Easier to just lay in bed, I guess,”

She looks at you, worry in her eyes. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked. You try your best to force a smile.

“Not really. I think it’s just… something I have to deal with on my own,”

She frowned. “Honey, I don’t think-”

“I’ll see you tonight, Betty. Thanks for the talk,” you said quickly, standing up and heading to the bathroom, leaving Betty sitting on the bed, her face twisted in concern.

-------------

You’d spent most of the day dodging the other objects. Mateo especially. You just couldn’t bring yourself to talk to anyone right now. You left the dateviators on the table next to you, doom scrolling on your phone until the socially acceptable time to hit the hay. You were planning to go straight to bed, not call on anyone with the dateviators. The idea of bothering any of them, of forcing them to sit and listen to your silly problems was excruciating. But as you settled down into bed, trying in vain to close your eyes and let sleep come for you, there was only one thing on your mind.

You knew how upset Mateo would be if he knew you were avoiding him, especially if he knew it was because you weren’t feeling the greatest. Helping others is what drove him, it was the one thing he took pride in the most. He’d never let you wallow in your own self pity. You glanced at the glasses on your bedside table and sighed in defeat. You slid them on slowly.

You hadn’t even had them on for a few seconds before Mateo was materialising. You didn’t expect him to be right here, waiting for you. He was usually in the living room, caring for the inanimals. That man never took a break. When you saw the worried expression on his sweet face, you wanted to break down there and then.

“Ah mi vida, finally!” He said, sitting down onto the edge of the bed. “I’ve been waiting for you all day,”

You flushed in embarrassment. So he’d been watching your pathetic display of self-loathing, huh? “Sorry, Mateo… I’ve just been, um, tired,” you said, avoiding his eyes. If there was anything in this world that could make you immediately spill all your darkest secrets, it was Mateo’s big, brown eyes.

“I’ve noticed… my love, I’m worried about you. Betty came to me earlier and told me you haven’t been sleeping. Is that true?” He asked tactfully.

“Betty said that?” Betrayal, you thought.

“She was worried. Honestly, a lot of us have been worried. You haven’t been acting like yourself for a while now. If there’s anything I can do, anything at all, you know you just have to ask, right? I would do anything for you,” he said, a small blush rising to his cheeks. “I mean, I’d hope you’d know that…”

You finally look at him, truly seeing the concern on his features. His bedhead was especially messy today, as though he’d been running his hand through it every five seconds. His usual easy smile was replaced with a small frown and you realised something. In that moment, you would do anything to see that smile again. As you were preoccupied with gazing into his eyes, Mateo took this opportunity to place his hand over yours. His touch was feather soft as his thumb gently traced the back of your hand. You could almost feel your anxiety melting away.

You finally spoke.

“Mateo?”

“Yes, amor?”

“Could… could we cuddle?”

You ignore the burning in your cheeks and make your request, looking down at his hand still on yours. You focused on his touch. His touch seemed to make many things a whole lot easier.

At your words, a huge grin took over Mateo’s face. “You never even have to ask,” he said, bringing your hand up to his lips and placing a soft kiss onto the back of it.

You manoeuvred yourself so there would be room for Mateo beside you, turning so your back was towards him. He wasted no time in enveloping you in his arms, pulling you into the comforting warmth of his chest. His face snuggled into the crook of your neck and he took a deep breath in.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this. The inanimals have missed you too…”

An arrow of guilt hit you right in the heart.

“I’m really sorry, ‘Teo… I-”

“You have no reason to be sorry, amor. Look, I can tell you’re struggling right now. And there’s nothing wrong with that at all, you have nothing to be ashamed about. But you have people around you that can help share your load, okay? You taught me that when we first met. When you bottle it all inside, it’s just too heavy for one person to handle. I want to help you. Please let me,”

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You sniffled, wiping them away as quick as you could but they just kept coming. Mateo brought up the sleeve of his plush duvet jacket, wiping away the tears as they trickled down your face. You both said nothing. You laid there, wrapped up in Mateo’s arms, feeling more safe and secure than you had in a very long time. If Mateo was there to help you hold it, maybe things could be a lot lighter from now on.

[winter-soldier-buck]

heart by heart ♡ b.b

pt. 2

pairing: thunderbolts!bucky barnes x singlemom!fem!reader

warning: uhhhh no new ones i can think of tbh

word count: 3.4k

author’s note: ahhh this took longer to write than i intended, my writer's block was BAD... also... shark week. iykyk. anyways, please let me know what you think of pt. 2 🥹 any and all feedback is greatly appreciated 🫶🏻

series masterlist

New York City, USA - August 2024

Tears streamed down your face as you lay in a fetal position on the cold tile floor of your kitchen, wondering where the hell you went wrong in life that would’ve meant leading to that exact predicament. On the bright side, though, you weren’t hyperventilating anymore and were pretty sure the panic attack had passed.

Slowly, you took another deep, calming breath and pushed yourself up from the ground so you could sit with your back against a cupboard door, resting your left hand gently on top of your 25-week-along baby bump.

Dealing with an unexpected pregnancy alone because your partner of over eight years left, well, less if counting the blip, went zero-contact as a way to keep you ‘safe’ before you even knew you were expecting was one thing. Being told that bed rest was required for the remainder of said pregnancy because of severe pre-eclampsia difficulties, while having no family in the city anymore to help keep your mind at ease during an already strenuous time, was another.

You’d never felt more alone in your life.

The evening had started fine. You got home from your doctor’s appointment half an hour prior, still processing the news that you’d have to spend the last almost three months of your pregnancy on strict bed rest. You were lucky when it came to work because switching to working from home wasn’t a problem. No more site visits were required for your most recent architectural projects, and you were in the early design stages of others. The timing couldn’t have been more right in that sense, and you tried convincing yourself that you could make do with your bed rest prescription.

What you didn’t take into account was how heavy life had already been feeling. That, since Bucky left and you discovered you were pregnant, you’d done an excellent job at pretending everything was fine when, in actuality, it felt like your life was tearing apart at the seams.

Bed rest was the unrealized icing on your already crumbling cake, which you didn’t realize until you got home from the doctor’s and accidentally dropped one of the strawberries you’d just washed to have for a snack onto the floor. Once you heard the berry hit the tile, you crouched down to pick it up. However, given how such a simple task became more difficult over time with your growing baby bump, you lost your balance and toppled over onto the ground, too.

You weren’t hurt, which you were thankful for, but you felt embarrassed and frustrated, which ultimately was the tipping point of the pent-up emotions you already had. The panic attack started shortly after.

It wasn’t until then that you finally accepted that you were not doing well. You still felt claustrophobic even as you worked to calm your pounding heart with more calming breaths and wiped away your tears with the back of your hand.

You felt trapped. It wasn’t just your apartment making you feel so confined anymore; it was New York City as a whole. You moved to the city with Bucky and created a life together. Now you had nowhere to go with so much going wrong, despite everything, including your pregnancy, reminding you of him. How the hell were you going to improve your state while being on bed rest alone for another three months?

To you, everything that could go wrong was doing just that. However, you needed to calm down. Hyperventilating on the kitchen floor wasn’t going to make the overall situation better for you or your baby.

“What am I going to do?” You whispered to yourself, voice cracking with another sob.

That’s when it hit you. You weren’t so alone after all, and you did indeed have somewhere you could go. It was somewhere that had been a place of solace for you years ago, and had people who welcomed you with open arms. It was a location that would forever be a safe haven where you were always welcome.

Quickly, you scrambled to get up off the floor and grab your phone from where it sat on the counter. Once it was unlocked, you scrolled through your contacts but paused when you clicked the name of the person you knew you could reach out to. Part of you didn’t want to bother them, but another part knew it wouldn’t be a bad thing to reach out. So, with another shaky breath, you hit the call button.

They picked up on the second ring.

“Hello, my friend,” the familiar female voice greeted, making you let out a cry of relief. You hadn’t realized how much you missed her. “Is everything alright?”

You nodded even though she couldn’t see.

“It will be,” you said, mainly to convince yourself as you sniffled. “But, right now, I need help.”

The Princess of Wakanda fell silent for a moment, worrying you when all you could hear from the other end was shuffling around, along with a series of beeps and clicks.

“Shuri?”

“Sorry, I needed to get comfortable and was pulling up your location. Tell me everything.”

~*~

New York City, USA - Late 2027

“Piggies or bunnies?” You asked from where you stood behind your daughter as you finished brushing her deep brown hair, then looked at her reflection in the large vanity mirror, since she hadn’t answered your question. However, she was too distracted by looking at your various skincare products that lay on the counter nearby to pay any attention to what you were saying. “Penny.”

She blinked, then immediately moved her blue-eyed gaze to meet yours in the mirror. The same eyes she inherited from her father that hit you like a truck each time you took a good look at them.

“Yeah, mommy?” She questioned innocently.

God, she was cute and she knew it too.

“How do you want me to do your hair today, babe? I can do piggies or bunnies. Oh! Or, if you’d like, we can keep your hair down and pull the front back in braids so it stays out of your face. What do you think?”

Penny looked at herself in the mirror, then pursed her lips in deep contemplation, acting as though it were the most important decision she’d ever have to make. It blew your mind that she was just weeks away from being a threenager, even though the attitude was already there.

“Braids!”

“You got it, darlin’,” you replied, then leaned forward to place a quick peck on her cheek before getting to work.

Once Penny’s hair was done, you helped her down off the bathroom counter, and the two of you headed to her bedroom together.

Laid out on the papasan chair that resided in her room was the collection of clothes she wanted to wear that day, but couldn’t decide which ones. Her indecisiveness was a trait you knew she inherited from you. Still, it made you chuckle as you ultimately combined a New York Rangers t-shirt with the pair of black denim jeans she selected since they were the only options that were remotely suitable for a casual day out in the city. After some convincing, she finally agreed to wear a cream-coloured cardigan as well since you reminded her of the crisp Autumn air that’d taken over NYC in typical late-November fashion.

When it was time to head out, you looked over Penny’s bedroom once more to make sure you weren’t forgetting anything, and then your gaze landed on the top of her dresser. Amongst the collection of hair accessories and play jewelry, tucked back against the wall, were two items that never moved from their safe spots on the tall surface, mainly because Penny couldn’t reach them yet.

The first item was a beautiful, small, hand-carved and painted wooden flag of Wakanda with the words “Little Wolf” etched onto its back. That, along with the white wolf plushie Penny slept with every night, was gifted to you for her from Shuri, Okoye and Ayo when she was born.

The second item was a framed picture of Bucky, which you took years ago of him smiling and unsuspecting that his photo was being snapped. It was one of your favourite photos of him, which was why you chose it to reside in Penny’s room when you first brought her home.

Since then, from time to time, you would show her the picture and tell her who it was. She knew the man in that image was her dad, but she didn’t know him or what Bucky being her dad meant. She didn’t understand why he wasn’t around and never asked either. Given that Penny wasn’t quite three years old yet, she was accustomed to life being her and her mom against the world.

Which was why you grew more anxious about going out with each passing second. However, you forced a brave face.

“Pen,” you started, moving your stare back to the toddler. “Do you remember what we’re doing today?”

“Ice cream!” She exclaimed and looked up at you with a big smile as you moved toward her, then crouched so you’d be closer to eye level.

“Yes, we are going to get ice cream. But, do you remember what else we’re gonna do?”

Her eyes widened.

“The park!”

You giggled at how excited she was getting.

“Heck yeah, we are,” you told her, unable to stop smiling as you observed her. “While we’re at the park, though, someone is going to meet us there. He’s an old friend of Mommy’s. Is that ok with you if he joins?”

“Sure, Mama,” Penny nodded, still grinning at you before she crashed into you for a hug.

Your heart swelled so much it felt like it could burst. You wasted no time returning her hug, holding her tight against your chest while you kissed the top of her head.

“Perfect. I love you, Bubba.”

“Love you too, Mommy.”

~*~

Being a true New Yorker, you knew all the hidden gems the city had to offer. However, you couldn’t deny that tourists were onto something when it came to certain spots.

Central Park, despite being a major tourist attraction, was one of your favourite spots in NYC, and Penny inherited that love for the park too. It was a special spot for both of you, a love you shared.

This was why you felt indifferent about it being where Penny would meet Bucky, even though she didn’t understand the significance of him being the ‘old friend’ of yours she was meeting. However, Central Park was one of her safe spaces, which was why you agreed for their inevitable meeting to be there.

It’d been over two weeks since you reconnected with Bucky in that coffee shop. Since then, he’d given you plenty of space. He kept in contact with you, which took some getting used to, but you liked it. You missed him, which was a flurry of emotions you weren’t ready to address just yet.

One thing that really got you during those two weeks was how Bucky didn’t press you about meeting Penny once. You had set a boundary, promising him that meeting Penny would happen when you were ready, which Bucky respected. When he reached out to you, he’d ask little things like how your day was going, which, in the long run, meant a lot and complicated that array of emotions you were already feeling when it came to him.

But, at the same time, you expected nothing less from him. It was Bucky who set the standard you had for men to be set so high. It was part of the reason you hadn’t moved on with anyone romantically after he left. Not because you were holding out, hoping he’d come back, but because he made you realize how very few men there truly were in this world of boys.

Because of how deferential Bucky was about meeting Penny, you started feeling guilty for dragging it out. After some consideration, the night prior, you reached out to him asking if he was free to meet you and Penny the following day. Bucky jumped at the opportunity.

You both agreed on convening at Central Park in the afternoon, which was why you planned a little Mommy/Penny date day out of it.

Penny held your hand as the two of you strolled around Bethesda Terrace, one of her favourite spots in the entire park. She thought the terrace was beautiful, and the architect in you couldn’t agree more. It was a place you’d both people watch, while just enjoying each other’s company.

However, you already knew this day in your spot with Penny wasn’t going to be as peaceful, but it still would’ve been impossible to predict what was to come as the two of you sat down by the fountain together.

“So,” you started, smiling while tucking a stray piece of hair behind Penny’s ear. “Do you know what kind of ice cream you’re going to get, little miss?”

She glanced up at you with an unimpressed expression, as if asking you why you were asking stupid questions.

“Mommy,” Penny replied and raised an eyebrow at you. She knew that you knew what her favourite was.

You chuckled.

“Ah. Chocolate, right?”

Penny scowled.

“Nilla.”

“Of course,” you responded, still laughing at the pout she continued staring at you with. “You know I’m just messing. I’ll get your Vanilla ice cream, don’t you worry.”

Penny nodded in approval, then went back to people-watching.

After a moment of observing her, you shook your head at the little diva you were raising, then pulled your phone from your coat pocket, knowing it had to be nearing the time Bucky said he’d meet you both. Sure enough, there was a missed text from him. However, there was another missed text and seeing their name had you feeling hit by a wave of guilt.

It was Caleb, the guy you’d been talking to for just over two months.

Caleb was great. He was kind, charismatic and genuinely seemed so into you. You liked him a lot, too. He was the only guy that you’ve really felt anything for since Bucky left. Any others just consisted of miserable first dates that didn’t evolve into anything else.

But Caleb was different. However, you’d unintentionally put him on a bit of a back burner once Bucky showed back up in your life again, which had you feeling terrible.

You stared at his text thread in your phone for a moment but ultimately decided not to open it. He deserved a proper response from you, and your mind was too scattered because of what was about to happen, to give that to him.

Exhaling, you put your phone back in your pocket, not responding to either man as you joined Penny in observing the people nearby.

Immediately, your gaze fell on a man standing about 20 feet away who was dressed head to toe in black. Normally, seeing someone wearing such an outfit in a place like New York wouldn’t faze you, but for some reason, this man was staring right at you. Unmoving amongst the swarm of people that buzzed past him.

Nothing about the man seemed familiar to you, so you glanced over your shoulder to see if he was looking at someone else behind you. There was no one there, which made you feel on edge.

You whipped your head forward again to look at the man, but suddenly, he was gone, as if you’d imagined him being there in the first place.

“You ok, Mama?” Penny asked, snapping you out of your daze as she looked up at you with a concerned expression.

“Yes, baby, I’m fine-,” you started, but cut yourself when a familiar voice sounded nearby, immediately pulling your attention to them.

“I really don’t know why you’re still following me,” Bucky grumbled as he weaved through the bystanders on the other side of the fountain, looking handsome as hell in his dark grey button-down jacket. “I said I was fine and wanted to be alone.”

“You were weird today,” a woman with short blonde hair and a thick accent replied, keeping up with him effortlessly. “I want to know what’s wrong with you. Would you rather me follow you in secret?”

“I’d rather you didn’t follow me at all. I have a life outside of you guys, you know?”

“No, you don’t, Bucky. You love us. We’re a team, we should-.”

“Bucky, hi,” you greeted, standing up as the two approached. You felt awkward interrupting them, but if you didn’t say anything, they would’ve walked right past.

“Y/N,” Bucky said, coming to a stop. His hard expression softened once he laid eyes on you. Then, his gaze moved to Penny, and you could see the flurry of emotions flashing in those beautiful blues. However, before he could say anything more, the woman he was with cleared her throat, making him jump. “Right, uh, Y/N, this is Yelena. We’re coworkers. She wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“Teammates,” Yelena corrected, rolling her eyes at Bucky before she surveyed you. “Y/N, that name sounds familiar.”

“Oh, well, I knew Nat quite well,” you told her, smiling softly. “That could be why. She told me a lot about you.”

Yelena nodded, smiling back.

“You knew my sister. How you knew her, I’m assuming, has to do with how you know Bucky.”

“Yeah, something like that. Bucky and I have known each other for a long time.”

“We used to date,” Bucky stated firmly.

“Used to?” Yelena asked. “She must’ve come to her senses.”

You chuckled, shrugging as you looked back down at Penny, who was observing the other two unsurely as she partially hid behind your leg from where she stood next to you.

“And this is my daughter, Penelope,” you continued, reaching down to grab Penny’s hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Penny, this is Bucky and Yelena. Bucky is the friend I was telling you about. Can you say hi?”

Penny was silent for a moment, her eyes locked on Bucky. She blinked a few times, not looking away from him as she studied his features. You wondered if she recognized him from the picture in her bedroom, but was unable to connect that it was the same person.

“Hi,” Penny replied meekly, then inched closer to you. She was so incredibly shy.

Squeezing her hand again, you looked back at Bucky and Yelena.

Your knees almost gave out at the way Bucky looked at Penny. He studied her as though he thought she might disappear on him at any second, but looked completely mesmerized by her as he did so. Acting like he needed to memorize every perfect little thing about her as though his life depended on it. He was in complete awe of her, and it showed.

“Cute kid,” Yelena said, kind of ruining the moment.

“Hi, Penny,” Bucky spoke in a soft, gentle voice. The slightest bit of tears welled in his eyes as he smiled widely. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

You remained silent as you observed Bucky, but became distracted when Yelena noticeably kept looking between him and Penny.

“She kind of looks like you,” Yelena started, then gasped, eyes widening as realization washed over her. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait a minute.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed at her.

“Yelena,” he warned.

“You two used to… is she? You have a kid!?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Yelena asked incredulously. “No way. This is GREAT news. I can’t wait to tell the others. But, why are you acting like you just met her for the first time?”

“That’s because he just met her for the first time,” you chimed in, not missing the way Bucky nodded at you in thanks. “It’s a really long story.”

Yelena looked flabbergasted.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Bucky responded, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he refused to make eye contact with Yelena. However, his stare fell back onto Penny, making him noticeably relaxed. “Not exactly how I imagined this going.”

“It’s ok, we just-,” you started but cut yourself again when footsteps stopped behind you and someone spoke.

“Y/N, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” a man said, making you freeze.

Slowly, you turned around, once again wondering where the hell you went wrong in life and how it could’ve led you to this exact moment. Because, on top of everything else going on, there stood Caleb.

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[princessbumbles-blog]

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ᴡʟғ!Aʙʙʏ × ʙᴇsᴛ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ!Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Content: fluff; Friends that like each other but are too dumb; Abby and more Abby

June, 2039

Pt. 3 - Afections

You were sitting on your rooms floor, Your back against your unmade bed, feeling your hands shake slightly against your will, when the door opened and closed.

"Dumbass" Abby's voice reaches you, together with her strong footsteps.

She went down those couple of stairs to your side of the room and stopped, staring at you.

"Did you really need to hide in here?"

She is joking, using that usual voice tone for moments when she is unsure about what to do.

"What happened?"

You really didn't want to speak, not because you were mad but because it felt like torture to make a sound. Any vibration seemed to make your anxiety worse.

"The usual" you manage to say.

"Which one"

"Don’t make me talk, Abby" you ask and the silence lingers.

You focus your eye's attention on the animals down there through the window in front of you. You loved them, the cows and the shep, they were so simple yet sometimes difficult to deal with, but it was the kind of trouble you feel grateful for having.

If nature is your biggest problem then your life is good.

"Nick told me you were out there and..."

"Maybe I should change positions" You interrupt her "And work on the farms"

Abby frowns. "You would hate cleaning their shit," she smiles, trying to strike one in you.

But It doesn't work.

"Better then having to kill a fucking kid" you say, in a monotonous voice tone.

You feel Abby's eyes on you, waiting for more explanation, but you can't, so you just bite the inside of your cheek.

"So, Nick said you encountered Scars and it all went to shit" Abby says "What happened?"

"Nothing"

"Why don’t you talk to me?"

"Because I don't want to!" You raise your voice. "I dont want to remember what happened"

Abby notices your shaking hands and looks again into your eyes. Glossy. You want to cry, but, like usual, you are trying too hard to block it.

She crosses her arms in front of your chest. "Get up"

You roll your eyes.

"Get up" She insists "You know what's going to happen if you don't"

You sigh, annoyed, blurting a "for fuck's sake" before aggressively getting up from the floor.

"Here, happy?"

"{Your Name}...." She calls your name softly.

Your eyes avoid hers, looking everywhere. Your hands find your arms whose skin is picked by your nails, a sign that you are either nervous or anxious, maybe both. Abby keeps her eyes on you, knowing it will eventually break you.

It took a while to figure out how to make you open up to her, after a lot of insults from you. Abby hates it in some part, because she always cries like a baby in front of you, melting instantly, but you are built like a rock.

She wants to make you melt too, so she repeats your name, gently, again and again before she starts to see the tears forming in your eyes.

"You can tell me. You know that. I'm here" she says.

A knot forms in your throat. "I...hm...I...the kid tried to....you know" a tear falls "he tried to ....so I ...shot him. On the head"

More tears fall and you hug yourself, still avoiding your friend's eyes.

"Then my hands started to shake and I.....I lost it."

"You had a panick attack?"

You nood, fast, trying to controll the huge wave of tears that were threatening your voice.

"I killed a kid, Abby I...a fucking kid for fucks sake. I killed a boy" you start to rumble, scratching your arms like your skin was bothering you.

Abby's hands flew to your wrists "Hey, hey...I know, I know" and she squeezed them, pulling them off your arms. "I'm sorry that happened. It's alright, you didn’t mean it. Unfortunately, it is the most common thing around here."

"It shouldn't be"

"Yhea, but....think that maybe you did a favour to that kid. He is at peace now, and not hiding away with hammers and wars"

You swallow, anxiously trying to find some relief on Abby's words, but the sensations on your body where corrupting your thoughts, disseminating panic everywhere.

"I feel sick" you cry out.

"It is just the anxiety" Abby says, but she knows dam well your fear of vomit is something irrational and extremely overwhelming.

"I feel so sick, Abby ...I'm scared." Your hands began to shake again under Abby's grip. "I'm so scared....Abby....Abby.."

"Shhh, I know. Breath in and out, it is not real"

Your lower lip trembles. Fuck, it is so rare to see you like this, Abby's chest tightened.

"Abby..." your voice breaks "What if I..."

"Nothing is going to happen" She says, with a determined tone "Come here"

As you feel your friends arms around you, you let yourself cry out the panic. Abby smeels the same, pine, so familiar.

"Everything's fine, nothing is going to happen" She repeats like a mantra, just like her father used to say. Like she wished someone had done that to her after his death.

But now, she had someone she wanted to protect, and it gave her a sense of comfort.

The next day, Abby was at Isaac's office, frustrated.

"She is too good. We need strong soldiers out there, strong, " Isaac repeats himself.

"Fuck that" Abby says "She did enough. You have a lot of strong soliders. Put her on the farms, she will be useful"

For some reason, Abby couldn't bear the thought of you out there again, dealing with shit that had nothing to do with you and ending up like last night.

"She will remain on ground coverage, end of story"

"I can take her shifts!" The girl exclaims

But Isaac just sighs.

"Is this friendship going to bring me trouble?" He raises his voice "There’s already you and Owen. Now, this?"

Silence.

"You better focus on your responsibilities, Abby, or do I have to intervene? I need loyal soldiers, not brats. Are we clear?"

Abigail stares at him, feeling the anger rise up and down her chest.

"Yes, Sir"

She had no other option.

"Good."

It was unfair. So unfair. Abby walked down the hallway with strong steps, frowning so deeply that people moved out of her away faster than usual.

She never cared for the injustices of the system Isaac had put up, but she was alone before and her goal occupied all the space in her mind.

But now, you existed. Your friendship started as something casual but it developed to something stronger, even tho Abby didn’t like to admit it.

You became an essential part of her life, like you have always been there in the first place.

"Hey Abs," Owen's voice makes Abby stop on her tracks.

There is only two people on that place that call her by the nickname her father used with her: You and Owen.

Him because he always did, and you because you started using it naturally, with such care and happiness that it actually gave Abby some sense of familiarity she hadn't felt in years.

"Hey" Abby says, turning around.

He stared at her in silence for a couple of seconds. "Bad day?"

Abby sighs, nodding with her head. "Isaac's being a dick"

Owen scoffs. They walk together with their shoulders bumping on each other. Too close to Abby’s liking, but she can't resist.

"It really sucks," Owen says after hearing what happened to you.

"Yhea, I'm really scared for her"

"She's a big girl. I'm sure she will be able to handle herself"

"She will, but...He could give her a break. I don't understand why he refuses"

"I mean, no one should receive special treatment"

Abby looks at Owen with a frown. His words were too direct and too brutal.

"Why are you being so mean?" She asks, automatically stepping away from him.

"I'm not trying to be mean. I just understand that if Isaac starts making favours like these to everyone, people would take advantage of that. He needs to give everyone the same treatment and opportunities, and that's on us to manage it"

Abby keeps staring at him, up and down, judging his words, trying to understand if he was being serious.

"Gosh, don't look at me so suprised!" He complains, with a smile.

"For someone so liberal and unhappy with your life, you sounded like a true loyal fucking soldier" The big girl crosses her arms in front of her chest, making Owen roll his eyes.

"C'mon Abs, I may be unhappy, but that doesn’t mean that I don't understand what Isaac needs to do to maintain a place like this functioning"

"So it is okay to ignore his soldiers' struggles?"

"No, but keeping this perception in mind helps me to not freak out. Like, I'm the only one who can make my life easier. " He opens his arms a little, like it is the quote of the year,"Maybe it can help {your name} too"

The girl remains in silence, digesting it, while he observes her. It's been a while since they had spent proper time together.

"You two are inseparable now" He comments "Is she that good of a friend?"

"What type of a question is that?" Abby laughs.

"Is she better than me?" He teases, bumping his elbow on hers.

"You are such an idiot" Abby says, just a tease she always does to him...like old times.

"Alright, but answer me. Do I have competition?"

"Holy shit Owen " She takes some steps foward, challenging "Are you jealous?"

He scoffs. "Please. I know nobody is better then me"

"Careful, your girlfriend may interpret this wrong"

"Always using the girlfriend card, uh?"

Both let out some laughs, like old friends catching up. But it wasn’t like that.

Owen was feeling weird, he hated it, how jealous he actually was because before you, he was the only one deeply close to Abby, but suddenly you appeared out of nowhere.

He had a girlfriend. He liked her. He and Abby were past now, it didn't work. But he hated the feeling of losing Abby. He hated that maybe you making her feel the way he used to make her feel.

However, he doesn't really hate you. He actually respects you, for being able to crack Abby open.

"She's weird, in a good away" Abby says, quietly "she makes me feel less alien, and she is also cool to be around"

It was a very short version of what Abby could actually say, but she didn't feel comfortable telling Owen about it.

"Good. That's good, Abs"

Later, after work, Abby entered the cafeteria that was buzzing with voices and laughs. She approached the usual table with some food, sitting by your side.

"That's why there's no really true Americans" Manny was saying, with his mouth full of food.

"Of course. We all are a mix of communities ...or nationalities, if you want to call it like that." You speak, giving Abby a quick smile.

"But if you were born in America then you are American" Nick says, sitting by Manny's side.

Abby nooded to some people passing by. That place was full, a little unsual, but maybe it was summer lightning up people's modds.

"Yes, but we sre discussing the blood argument. Like, what the fuck does being a pure American mean? Being white and dumb? We are a mix of people from everywhere. Oh, we are descendents from...shut up. Even cow's shit goes on the equation" You argue, angrily shoving some rice into your mounth.

Abby arches her eyebrown. "What hell are you three talking about?"

"Your girl here is throwing her intellectual knowledge at us," Nick mocks you, throwing a bit of rice at your arm.

"I'm just communicating the facts," you defend yourself. "You know, some of us actually read books, not just patrol schedules. STOP THROWING THE RICE AT ME GOD DAMMIT!!"

Manny and Abby laugh. "We heard Robert say some problematic shit earlier," Manny says. "She is calling him a fascist," he points at you.

"And isn't he? Oh wait, Nick, do you know what a facist is?"

"You are so fucking funny, aren't you?"

Abby's gaze stays on you, admiring the smile adorning your face as you tease Nick. It was so good to see you alive again. Your version from last night had nothing to do with this fierce and stubborn girl. Your eyes were shinning.

When she turns her head back to her plate, she notices Manny staring with a grin.

"What?"

"Nothing"

After eating, Abby slapped your arm slightly, signaling for you to get up and get out of there.

"Are you sleeping on her room again?" Manny asks, making her look between him and Nick awkwardly.

"Yhea?"

"Just checking. If I'm lucky I will be able to bring that nurse with me tonight" He blinks at Nick who laughs proudly at his friend.

In your room, your roomate, Max, was already sleeping, so you and Abby layed down on your bed, reading your books in silence by the lamp's light on the bedside tables.

After half an hour, you two put away your books and turn the lights off, staying in the silence of the dark, laying on your sides, staring at each other.

"How was your day?" Abby whispers.

"Good, I guess. Maybe just normal. And yours?"

"Normal as well"

You lift your hand, tracing the sides of Abby’s arm, like you do so many times.

"Can I braid your hair tomorrow?" You ask

"Sure"

Your fingers dance on her skin, building that nice sense of comfort in Abby's chest. She closes her eyes for some seconds, enjoying the feeling.

You drag your hands up her face, tracing the lines of it with your fingertips, slowly, feeling every inch, every curve of her nose, every bit of texture. Then, you slip one finger over her lips and she is quick to bite you.

You laugh, covering your mouth with your other hand to muffle the sound.

"Idiot" you whispered, and the only thing in response was Abby's muffled laugh.

Suddenly Abby's fingers are on your face, doing the same thing. It was not the first time, and probably wouldn't be the last. You two didn't know why you were doing it, it just felt too good to stop.

You closed your eyes as well, like if you focused enough, Abby could feel all the love you felt for her with her touch.

When her fingers reached your lips, Abigail was expecting some revengeful bite, instead, you kiss them, gently and lightly. She doesn't react, just stays there with her hand, and you kiss the knots on her fingers again, and again.

It was during nights like these, in the dark of your room, when the two of you would perform acts of affection, like it was natural. The limits of friendship didn't seem to exist, or maybe you two just didn't need it. Deep down, you wanted to share this kind of intimacy, and doing it with each other seemed...right? None of you judge the other, and together, you slowly explore, crossing the line step by step, without saying a word about it.

However, It was so confusing to you. On one hand, it happened too naturally and it felt too good to need to name it, but on the other hand, questions would rise.

Was this wrong?

Suddenly, you join your toungue, licking her fingers and making Abby pull them away. You muffled another laugh as Abby makes indignation sounds.

"Ew!!" She laughs "you are so dead"

You feel her hands grabbing you and her body coming closer so you scream silently, fighting Abby away but failing miserably, receiving her toungue licking your cheek in a pretty nasty way.

"Abigaillll!!!" You complain, using the sheets to clean your skin.

"Someone got what she deserved" she mocked you.

Abigail loved these nights, where she felt so free and careless. Without any pressure, any responsibilities or drama. It was just the two of you, laughing around, feeling good.

She never really questioned these acts of affection. At least not yet.

The two of you drifted into sleep, still tangled in the warmth that lingered after your playful clash.

In the morning, you woke up naturally, with your eyes opening slowly as though stirred by a breeze.

It was rare, but this morning, your body felt truly rested. Abby was still sleeping beside you, unmoved by the world, so you stayed still, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing.

Her hand, as always, had found its way towards you in slumber, reaching, half-curled, almost touching. Did she know her hand sought you, even in her sleep.

So, you took it quietly, weaving your fingers with hers, tenderly, careful not to wake her. Her hand was so broad, calloused by the weight of life’s demands, but still pale and oddly delicate in your grasp. You thought, for a heartbeat, about kissing her knuckles again, but the thought drew too much of the world back in, and so you stayed still.

Everything, in that moment, was perfect. Despite all the violence you had to face every day, Abigail somehow made it all feel distant.

You smirked quietly to yourself. Manny truly did deserve a life changing head in for bringing her into your orbit.

With a sigh, you nestled just a little closer, forehead resting against her shoulder and her hand still curled in yours, now resting gently against your chest.

It felt so good.

Suddenly, Abby’s body shifted in her sleep, rolling towards you, and in one smooth, unthinking motion, she wrapped herself around you, pulling you tight like a child clutching a stuffed toy.

You froze.

Never had the two of you slept like this before. It was… intimate in a way you hadn’t dared imagine.

But Abby didn’t stir beyond that so it must’ve been an accident. Of course it was.

You tried to shift but Abby weighed like a fallen tree so you surrendered with a sigh, already spiraling through the thoughts of how impossibly awkward this would be when she woke up. Yet the heat of her body was an inviting weight. Your eyes began to flutter closed not out of sleep, but surrender, and gently nestled your face against the curve of her neck.

God. She smelled so good. Like something sweet and quiet.

Like the smell of a newborn soft and innocent and warm. You knew that scent. You’d once held a baby in the maternity wing of the base. But Abby also smelled like sunlight.

You’d only seen the sea once, on a rare warm morning where the waves met a meadow strewn with tiny white flowers the kind used in chamomile tea, you’d later learned.

She was that exact memory: brightness and breeze. And here you were, face buried against her skin, drowning in the scent of home.

Minutes passed like mist. Then, slowly, Abby stirred.

Still heavy with sleep, she shifted. Her brow furrowed faintly when she realized her arms were around something. She looked down and found you tucked there, but she didn’t jolt or pull away. She just yawned, adjusted her limbs, and let her eyes fall closed again.

How could this not mean something to her?

“Good morning,” she mumbled, voice cracked with sleep.

“Good morning,” you whispered into her neck.

“Sorry. Rolled right over you.”

“It’s fine.”

She shifted again, the weight of her arm draping back over you. “You’re so warm,” she said not annoyed, “I should get up, but you’re making it really hard.”

You laughed, though something cold unspooled in your belly. “You’re the one who tried to smother me in your sleep.”

At that, Abby deliberately collapsed her full weight on top of you just long enough to make your heart spike in panic. Then, with a smirk tugging at her lips, she rolled away and sat up, leaving you alone under the sheets.

She stretched, her long, sun-worn hair cascading down her back.

“Have you been having any nightmares?” you asked.

“Nope,” she replied casually, already rummaging for her usual pants.

“So I’m officially anti-nightmare,” you teased, making Abby turn to shoot you a playful grimace.

Once dressed, she ran her fingers through her hair in a quick sweep. “Weren’t you supposed to braid this?” she asked.

“Hell yeah. Come here.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, and you moved behind her, kneeling, your fingers already parting strands with practiced care. You started the tight, perfectly symmetrical braid she wore every day, and if done wrong, could break the day before it even began.

You day unrolled separately. Isaac wanted to catch up with you, witch made Abby nervous, while she was sent to the medical wing to help to carry boxes of new found stuff.

It was boring, but definitely better then going outside. She was not in a mood for that.

"So, how's the married life been?" Max, your roomate, asked.

Max was a very versatile girl. She could be doing anything. Teaching children how to read, fixing the jeeps or helping with an amputation. Somehow, she had multiple jobs, and today she was giving a hand together with Abigail.

"What?"

"I'm just kidding," She smiles. "I just noticed you have been sleeping a lot in our room"

Abby puts down a box with a loud bang. "Yhea, I mean, It is better then sleeping in the same space as Manny"

Manny was always the best excuse.

"Mhm, I see. If I had a very close friend I would probably have sleepovers every night as well. I guess I understand"

Abby noods, hoping it to be the end of the conversation. Oh, but she does't know Max.

"Actually" She goes again, opening a box and taking a bag of something Abby doesn't pay attention to "I can't spend that much time with my friends, I always need some alone time to recharge, ya know? However....I don't mind being with my booboo everyday"

"Your what??" Abby blinks, confused.

Max laughs. "Your face is so funny. Booboo is what I call my....crushes? Boyfriends? Girlfriends? Romantic interests? My special person? You know, that one person we can't get enough of"

The way Max is smiling, like she knows something or is accusing Abby of something she can't quite grasp.

"Right...yhea...I guess" Abby says, not sure what to say or even think.

"Don’t you get tired of {your name}?"

"Hum...No?"

After putting down one more box, Abby realizes Max's smile is even bigger.

"You are acting crazy, dude" Abby notes, looking her up and down. "Stop smiling like that!"

"Do you know {your name} likes girls?"

"What the...yes, I do, Max"

"Hmh. I'm just checking. I have had some friends like that too, you know, close friends. But we always ended up making out"

And with that piece of information, she grabs some medical stuff and turns around, happily disappearing through a door.

Abby stayed behind, frozen in place, realizing just now what Max was trying to imply.

☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆

Note: It's been hard to express my ideas into English. Sorry if some parts are more developed than others. And sorry for the mistakes.

@lia-winther

[angletelier]

Me realizing how important Tenna really is to me good God. At first it was all okay sexy man but just really thinking about it.

I too am a child of divorce since I was like 6. That shit gets so rough. I don't feel like blasting the details into the world, but I definitely turned to entertainment as escapism. Who knows how many countless hours of anime I spent watching as a kid, shows I shouldn't have watched, how much YouTube and cable I consume, unregulated content and all that..no restrictions to it all. While not the best for me definitely, all of that kinda shaped who I am today? I loved TV ..my dream was to animate for tv shows. And while I may have pivoted to games..it's still entertainment.

Tenna IS entertainment.. keeping me occupied, letting my play hours of overwatch, hooking up the old game cube to play animal crossing, watching reality TV and game shows like face off, wife swap, jeopardy, waiting every Wednesday for the newest episode of Assassination classroom to drop, or staying up late to see the reruns of Inuyasha., waking up thirty minutes early before school to catch the ONE episode of married with children before getting ready.. even to my earliest memories watching sailor moon on my box tv every night before bed..He's done so much for me, molded my tastes, likes and dislikes, how I consume content today, filled my brain with trivia and pop culture knowledge. He's kinda my savior I think.

Tenna embodies the childhood kids in the early 2000s grew up with.. he just wants to make you happy, to influence you positively, to help you have fun, forget your problems. Cuz the real world is scary..I appreciate it more than ever now, with the state of the world, living in a red state, dealing with homelessness for the past 3 years, the depression, the anxiety. Tenna is more than a Tumblr sexy man <333 I mean he is. But he means the world to me as a character. It's so wonderful to see the things I love, experienced, and feel embodied into a character

[this-acuteneurosis]

I just found Don't look back (and first of all I love it, you are brilliant, I am barely finished the first fic but I am invested) and I spent some time digging through your tumbler for mentions of obi-wan/leia....because from these beginning interactions I have sense something and I am now invested and kinda confused????

Was this intentional...? Is this going somewhere...? There are no tags for their relationship but by other asks I see on your blog I'm not alone in this thinking.....

I hope she finds happiness. In the beginning I was hoping for some warped way for Han to join her because I love them together so much, but I also do love obi-wan and I am pleasantly hooked on their relationship now

I've answered asks similar to this before, but I keep getting them and we're far enough into the story that I think I can say some things more certainly without spoiling anything, or the plot magically changing on me. So here we go.

So. Like Fire in Our Bones. Leia and Obi-Wan meet for the first time, and I was happy with the scene, and then I posted the chapter and a whole mess of people popped out of the ground were like, "Romance?!?!?!" Keep in mind that this was before the Kenobi show was released as well, so we had no canon where Leia knew Obi-Wan as a child. DLB runs under that assumption.

So I was all, "Oh, surprise," but I'm a very ship and let ship sort of person, and once people pointed it out, I was like, yeah. Sure. They can have this vibe. They would, honestly. I've got a pretty strong head canon that Obi-Wan has been flirting to survive for decades at this point, and Leia is socially savvy enough to roll with that kind of behavior as long as it's not distasteful. She also saves him, and they bond, and I don't have a problem with people reading into that. I think it's reasonable. It's pretty textual at this point.

HOWEVER.

Once upon a time I also thought this story would be 200k words, max. I thought Leia would end the series having reconciled that Anakin wasn't Vader, but wouldn't be close to him. I though Satine would never make an appearance and Cody would be the first clone to like Leia instead of the last, and yeah. A lot of things started changing once I was actually writing the story.

At the beginning of the story, I knew I didn't want to write Leia a romance. A) because I wasn't sure who it should be with and, B) that was way past the where I expected her to be healing wise in her grief. But the story kept getting longer and she and Obi-Wan kept having moments, and I was like, I mean...maybe? Maybe something happens? I can't say no for sure anymore.

BUT!

We're far enough into the story now and I have a much better sense of how this last arc is going to handle the remaining grief Leia is dealing with, and also how much time she'll spend with Obi-Wan. I have no intention of doing a romance for her in this arc. Look how long it took me to get Anakin and Padmé together. We do not have time for that. So I've left Leia with no romantic pairing tags. Officially, the story will not be about her having a committed, happy, healing romantic relationship at this point. It will be about what it always was: cooperation and unity beating back the darkness, and how you have to fight for those things so you don't lose them when you need them most.

But if it makes your heart happy to imagine that all the remaining scenes with her and Obi-Wan are a prelude to something that happens later, feel free to enjoy them that way. Write as much of your own fic or draw as much of your own art as you want. Feel free to share it with me too. I've enjoyed reading the other divergent fics people have done of this story.

Just everyone, please be nice to each other. :)

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 10: A HOUSE CALLED CARMODY DELL

synopsis: you tag along with hosea to set up a business deal.

word count: 4.8k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: sorry i was gone for so long! i stopped writing, felt like shit, started writing, and now i feel better. who'd have thunk?

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog , @photo1030 , @mavenhavenn , @its-yummi , @lazycowboah , @shackspossum , @swedesfics , @literallyrousseau , @xprloki , @pedifero , @6esi , @xnorthstar3x , @scorpio-echo , @eafv2323 , @junesfruits , @gallantys (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

You were never one to find robberies and petty crime exciting, but sometimes you do what you need to because you must. And Hosea – the arbitrator of god’s will, apparently – has deemed that you need to come on a petty stagecoach robbery because you must help the gang acquire money. You’re not exactly keen on putting out and you’re not sure you’d generate any sizable revenue anyway, so this is the next best (and profitable) thing.

You wait nearby, sitting on a crate as Hosea continues to talk to Seamus: the guy Hosea wants to exploit as a fence. The barn all three of you are next to faces the outskirts of town, so there’s less of a chance of nosy ears listening in on this private conversation.

“Well, every half-dollar robber says he’s capable,” Seamus says. “I never met an idiot that called himself one.”

“Very true. In that case, me and my friend here are idiots,” Hosea says. “But we know how to get things done efficiently.”

There’s a lull in conversation. You take the chance to say, “Hosea’s been robbing longer than I’ve been alive. What – what’s this guy’s place like, Fort Knox?”

“Well, no,” Seamus says. “The closest thing we’ve got is Fort Mercer.”

You look up just as the sound of footfalls meet your ears. It’s Arthur, looking between Seamus and Hosea and you. You have to bite your tongue because you just got away from him – just got an excuse to be outside of camp while he was in it – and now he’s here. Because hey, why the hell not? It’s not like this is your first actual job that you want to go smoothly. No, it’s totally one hundred percent okay that Arthur’s here. Honestly…

“Arthur,” Hosea greets. “This is Seamus – he’s our new partner.”

“I ain’t no such thing,” Seamus says.

“Prospective new partner,” Hosea corrects himself, “if he likes us.”

“Liking ain’t the problem – trusting is, as I said.” Seamus stands and checks around the corner. “And keep your voices down. I don’t want my boss hearing… This is a side line.”

“‘Course,” Hosea says. “Look at the three of us – honest as the day is long.”

“We can do some light work for you,” you offer. You stand, looking between the three men. “Give us an opportunity to, um… prove ourselves?”

A surprised exclamation of “Prove ourselves?” leaves Arthur’s mouth amid a laugh. He glances over at you and Hosea, gesturing at Seamus. “To this clown? Whatchu talkin’ about?”

“Good day, both of you,” Seamus says. He turns on his heel, his boots making a schlock sound in the mud as he walks away.

“Listen,” Hosea says quickly. He starts after Seamus. “He’s rough and ready and quick with his tongue, but I swear, you can trust him, you can trust them, and you can trust me.”

“I…” Seamus turns and glances over Hosea’s shoulder at you and Arthur. His eyes mostly linger on Arthur – probably figuring out the ratio of brains to muscle (which has a strong negative relationship in Arthur’s case). “I’m an old man.”

“You’re not old, Seamus,” Hosea says.

“I’m old enough,” Seamus counters. “And you know why I ain’t dead?”

“You don’t trust idiots.”

“Exactly.”

“We’re not idiots,” Hosea insists. “Let us prove it to you.”

You watch carefully as Seamus considers it. His face twists as he thinks, probably weighing the pros of working with someone like Hosea and the cons of working with someone like Arthur. You hope you at least mostly fall into the pros category.

“I tell you what,” Seamus eventually says. Your ears perk up and you turn your attention to him as he continues talking. “Old Bob Crawford and his boys just bought a beautiful stolen stagecoach from upstate. It’s in their barn. Now you go get that – and then we can work together.”

Hosea puts a hand on Seamus’ shoulder and guides him back to where you and Arthur are waiting, talking as he does so. “Who’s old Bob Crawford?”

“An… acquaintance of mine,” Seamus says.

“So you want us to take out your competition?” Hosea asks.

“Well, he – he’s not just an acquaintance,” Seamus says, “but a cousin… by marriage. I also wanna see if y’all got what it takes. Now, you survive that…”

“Where is he?” Hosea asks.

“He’s in a farmhouse just northwest of here, called Carmody Dell.” Seamus gestures down the beaten dirt road. “It’s just up the train tracks as you’re headin’ up towards Fort Wallace. There’s also money in that house – but that’s your business, not mine – but don’t kill nobody. Folks know we ain’t intimate no more… they’ll know it was me.”

Before you can question the use of the word “intimate” when regarding a cousin (by marriage, but still), Hosea speaks. “But you’re fine with us robbing your cousin?”

“By marriage,” Seamus insists, pointing a finger at him as if that further proved his point. “And yes, I’d love it.”

“You heard the man.” Hosea touches your shoulder as he turns to walk towards the horses. “Let’s go rob his cousin.”

Seamus mumbles “By marriage,” but you just hide your half-smile and follow Hosea. You mount Bronya and tug her reins, leading her away from the hitch.

Arthur mounts Belmont, and Hosea mounts Silver Dollar. They follow you a little ways away from Seamus’ barn.

“Really?” Arthur grumbles.

“Really,” Hosea says. “Lead the way. He said the place is just northwest of here.”

Belmont breaks into a trot as Arthur guides him onto the beaten dirt road. “Me?”

“You’re the one who’s been out gallivanting around here,” Hosea says.

Arthur passes you to lead, while Hosea lingers beside you. You pass by barns and fenced-in livestock on the way out of town.

The valley opens before you, the ground turning from shit-mud to packed down dirt. Winding, patchy desire paths join actual trailways, all bordered by grass that almost seems to roll when a breeze wisps by. A herd of horses slowly move out by the horizon, dotting the prairie with spots of black and white and brown.

Jesus, that’s beautiful, you think to yourself. 

“Jesus, that’s beautiful,” you decide to say out loud.

“It is quite something,” Hosea agrees. “I’ve seen a lot of nature in my time, but the Heartlands trumps them all.”

“I’m… I’m jealous. Of your travels, I mean,” you say. You think for a moment. “Hey, maybe one day I can move my family out here? It seems… quiet enough.”

“Now, I – I don’t think that’s a great idea,” Hosea says. He glances forward at Arthur, then turns away to look out on the prairie. “Your girls are in California, aren’t they? They’re safer staying put for now. We can grab them on our way out of the country.”

“Do you…” You look forward to Arthur. He’s looking forward, most likely paying you and Hosea no mind. “Do you actually want me to run with you? Like, is this The Plan? Dutch’s Plan?”

“Ah, I’m just thinking out loud.” Hosea waves a hand dismissively. “Arthur – you couldn’t have played that thing with Seamus better?”

“Thought you wanted me here to show some strong arm?” Arthur says. “That’s usually how it goes.”

“Yes, but…” Hosea pauses. “You know how this works.”

“C’mon, Hosea,” Arthur drawls. “That feller’s a joke.”

“And that’s why he’s perfect!” Hosea exclaims. “He won’t cause us any problems. A safe spot to fence wagons and coaches, that’s easy money for us.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Come on, it’s not like he’s asking us to rob a bank.” He gestures over to you. “It’s perfect for their first job! If the two of us can’t teach some down-and-out how to steal a stagecoach, we should hang up our hats.”

You make a face at that but don’t comment on it. After all, you are some random person that came across them as a stroke of luck. If you were a bit less lucid in that cabin, Arthur could’ve shot you – so you guess that counts as another stroke of luck. It’s only a matter of time before that luck runs out.

“Thank you for that,” you blurt. “For – for trusting me with this job, I guess.”

“You need to start somewhere,” Hosea says. “Besides, we’re doing better. We won’t be in any major trouble if you make any mistakes.”

“Y’know, I figured more folks would’ve cut and run on us,” Arthur says. He looks to his left, like he’s thinking of looking over his shoulder at you, but he doesn’t. “Given all the trouble we’ve already gotten ourselves into, and the mistakes we already made.”

“Like Dutch says, a lone wolf don’t last long out on the plains,” Hosea says.

Arthur huffs out a laugh. “He does like to trot that one out.”

“People see that, especially when they get a few years on ‘em.” Hosea pauses, then admits: “Even someone like Micah.”

“There’s a couple of folks I wish had cut n’ run,” Arthur says. 

Hosea pauses, then says, “I bet there’s some folks that feel the same about you.”

Even though you’re expecting it – Arthur’s eyes on you, staring you down and reminding you of what a burden you are – it never comes. He keeps his eyes straight ahead on the beaten dirt road. He doesn’t look to his left, he doesn’t look to his right. He doesn’t pay you any mind at all.

That’s good, isn’t it? You ask yourself. I’ve made myself useful. Useful enough…

The rest of the ride to Carmody Dell is mostly quiet, occasionally punctuated by people riding in the opposite direction or a bird flying overhead. Once the homestead came into view, Hosea had instructed you and Arthur to wait while he distracted the boy chopping wood at the front of the house.

Your back is flat against the trunk of a dead tree a little ways away from the house, and you can barely see the brim of Arthur’s hat peeking out from behind a rock. You’re both watching Hosea, waiting for his move.

“My good man! My good young man,” Hosea practically bellows as he approaches the teenager, throwing his arms in the air in greeting. “Fare thee well, fare thee well. Is your father home, son?”

The boy brings the axe down with (what you assume to be) way less power than he intended. He almost looks conscious and embarrassed at the poor display, but neglects to even acknowledge it. “Sure is.”

“Get him down here,” Hosea says. “Please, get him down here.”

You look over at Arthur’s rock. He’s halfway out of cover now. He points at the back of the house, and you point at Hosea.

The boy puffs out his chest a little and puts his hands on his hips. “Get lost, mister.”

“I was lost! For many years, I was lost.” Hosea nods sagely. “Many years. Now… I’m not.”

A man opens the front door and steps out onto the porch. You look over at Arthur and he nods. 

With quick, light steps, you follow Arthur to the back of the house. He puts a hand on the doorknob and braces the other against the door. 

“You know what to look for?” He asks, his voice hushed and almost rumbling.

You think for a moment, then answer, your voice just as quiet. “Cash, jewelry boxes… I – I’ve done this before, y’know?”

Arthur raises his eyebrows a fraction of an inch. “I did not.”

Before you can ask him what that facial expression meant, he turns the doorknob and slowly opens the door. It opens to a small bedroom and suddenly, robbing a house feels a lot more real.

“I’ll clear the rest of this storey n’ check upstairs,” Arthur says. “You start with this room.”

And like that, you’re left alone. He didn’t even give you enough time to explain that yeah, while you’ve robbed a house before, it wasn’t like… this. You rifled through drawers at some house party with lots of people, lots of music, and – most importantly – lots of drugs. Most people were too out of it to understand why you were doing that, and the people that weren’t were blissed out on ecstasy and didn’t care anyway.

You inhale sharply to try to shock your system into being not as nervous. It only kind of works. You start to open drawers of the dresser and focus on what you can hear from Hosea’s conversation to try and ground yourself.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you can hear Hosea’s muffled voice say. “I was just chatting with Junior here a bit.”

“You sellin’ something, partner?” A man’s voice says. Probably Crawford.

“Free!” (You can almost hear the way Hosea threw his arms up, flourishing his faux excitement.) “A free spinal alignment.”

You bite back a smile and move to the chest at the end of the bed. You need to ask Hosea where the hell he learned about chiropractors, of all modern things. You shift aside the folded clothes and find a small clip of money at the bottom. It’s not much – maybe ten ones – but it’s still something. You take it and move on.

Keeping in mind what Arthur did earlier, you brace a hand on the door and slowly open it into a small living room. There’s a fireplace with a mantle, a rug laid out across the wooden floor, and a table pressed up against the wall with three chairs.

“The Lord God Almighty, or who-whoever built us, put our brains in our heads,” Hosea says, “but our souls in our backs. You, sir, y-your back looks kind of tricky, and complicated.”

You move to the fireplace, making sure to tread with light footsteps. His voice is closer now, and a door you can see in a corridor nearby looks like it leads to the front porch. 

Two mostly burned candles and a small picture in a frame sit on the mantle, and a larger portrait hangs above it. The candles and the painting are useless, but…

You take the small picture and flip it over, then dig your thumbnail between the backing board and the frame. It pops open, revealing four fifty dollar bills behind the picture. You take them, then put everything back in place and move on.

“I can fix those spinal troubles for you,” Hosea says. “Just ten or fifteen sessions.”

“Whiskey suits me fine, sir,” Crawford says.

As you move into the corridor, you realize it’s a small entryway and kitchen. A brick oven sits across from cabinets with a sink and fruit on the countertops. Stairs lead up to the second floor, where Arthur is surely pilfering.

“Whiskey? Whiskey is – is causing the problems!” Hosea exclaims. “You ever meet a Scot who didn’t hobble in old age? But the English stand tall, sir – gin! They drink gin. And what is gin made with? Junipers. And what does juniper do? Creates movement in the spine, whereas your whiskey – made with grain as it is – leaves the spine brittle! Hence, your hobbling Jock.”

You turn towards the stairs when you hear footsteps, and Arthur is quickly moving down them, a hand on the banister. He snatches a mostly-full bottle of whiskey from a shelf near the oven.

He pats your shoulder as he passes. “We gotta go.”

You put up no fight at all and follow him. He leads you back through the living room and back bedroom.

He takes the steps down the back of the house slowly, looking towards the front. You follow, minding your footfalls. He checks over his shoulder, back at you, then points over at a barn on the other side of a clearing.

“Hosea’s got ‘em distracted,” he says, his voice hushed. “Now, you wait for my signal and we’ll go.”

You peek around the corner. The boy is a ways away, leaning on the fence and looking out on the pasture. Hosea… has the man of the house face-down on a picnic table, rubbing and poking at his back.

“See, now this, here…” Hosea looks over and spots you and Arthur. He nods over at the barn, then presses the knuckles of his thumbs into Crawford’s back. “This…! Is a technique from the Far East. You should be feeling some – some movement along your spine.”

“Kinda, yeah,” Crawford mumbles into the table.

Arthur sticks low to the ground, so you copy him. He snaps his fingers and starts walking, and you follow. He leads you around the back, past the water tower, and into the barn; all the while, Hosea still has that man (metaphorically) showing his belly.

Arthur pulls the barn door open just wide enough to usher you inside, then he follows and shuts the door. There aren’t any windows, and despite the one desperate oil lamp, it’s still reasonably dark.

Two horses are strapped to a fancy-looking wagon. It’s coated in a fire engine red paint-job and the brand on the side reads DAVIS OVERLAND DESPATCH CO.

“Overland Despatch,” you say, pointing up to the yellow lettering. “Isn’t it spelled with an ‘I’? D-I-S…patch.”

Arthur pats one of the horses on the neck. “How am I supposed to know?”

I’m just trying to talk to you! You say in your head in a song-song voice. Who could ever imagine… Me, of all people, trying so hard to be nice for some jerk!

“I… you… read,” you mumble. “I thought… you liked reading?”

“Well, now you can go and have a nice conversation with Lenny.” Arthur tugs on the horses’ straps and reins, making sure they’re connected properly. “The kid loves readin’.”

“I know,” you say. “I-I’ve talked to him before – about books.”

One of the barn doors swings open, Hosea sneaks in, then promptly closes the door behind him. He takes a deep breath and brushes the lapels of his coat clean of nonexistent dust and dirt.

“My friends, the time comes where we must make our exit.” Hosea points at you. “You – get in the wagon. Arthur – come drive with me.”

You open the carriage door and hop inside, while Arthur and Hosea climb up into the driver’s seats. There’s the sound of a horse being whipped, then the stagecoach jolts forward and starts moving.

The barn doors crash open accompanied by the sound of hooves pounding dirt. You brace a hand against the side as the carriage rocks. Through the window, you can see Carmody Dell getting smaller and smaller in the distance. Belmont, Bronya and Silver Dollar trot behind, easily keeping pace with Arthur.

This is nice. The job was clean – you did well. At least, you think you did well… didn’t you? $200 wasn’t something to stick your nose up at in 1899 (or even in 2024, really).

“So, what were you able to lift from the house?” Hosea asks once Carmody Dell has disappeared over the horizon.

“Found some money stashed away upstairs,” Arthur says. “Must be a few hundred – not too bad.”

“Not bad at all,” Hosea agrees.

I’ll tell them about my find later, you decide. Talking would be awkward, given that they’re outside of the carriage while I’m inside… or maybe I’m being weird.

You settle down and actually take the time to look around. The inside of the stagecoach is plush – or what flew for ‘plush’ back in the now. There’s a seat that kind of looks like the seats at the back of the bus on one side, and another on the opposite side.

You sit and push down on the upholstered leather. It’s firm, but soft. You shift how you’re sitting, and the firm cushions give way to some amount of comfort.

It’s not quite as comfortable as the mattress you have at home, but it’s loads better than the nonexistent mattress you have at camp. You lean your head against one of the wooden beams that lines the window.

The plains outside are marked sparsely, only by bunches of shrubs, trees, and the occasional homestead. It kind of reminds you of long car rides when you were a kid, without a phone or music to distract you from the exceptionally boring ride.

The way Arthur drives causes the stagecoach to rock back and forth slowly. The horses almost seem to pound their hooves to a steady, rhythmic beat. Your eyes are heavy, and you feel tired.

Robbing a house really takes it out of someone that’s not fit to rob houses, you guess.

Your shoulders sag, heavy, with the weight of a child. A blond boy named Sasha, no older than seven. You know this as a matter of fact, of course.

There’s something resembling a kalash in your hands, and a revolver serves as your sidearm. Sasha had really only come with you after noticing the guns you have with you – and his uncle’s guts splattered on the metal floor. He hadn’t screamed or yelled or done anything a normal child would’ve done. He just sat there, saying, “He’s dead? Uncle’s dead? But how will I get home? He was supposed to take me home.”

The children of the Metro are a perplexing thing. They were born underground, are being raised underground. Sasha alone has been through hell, and from what he told you about the monsters and the nosalis that attacked his uncle, he only stayed alive by sheer luck. Yet he’s still chugging along, gripping the top of your head for balance, not a worry in the world aside from when you’ll shoot your gun next and how loud and exciting it’ll be.

The tunnels you and Sasha snake through are claustrophobic, just barely bent into a shape meant for long-term human inhabitants. The V.I. Lenin Metro was never meant to have so many bodies crammed into it, but humans have a tendency to do anything they can to survive. Both parties just cursed their rotten luck and made do.

The ceiling, once so low you had to take Sasha off your shoulders to crouch down with you, now opens up into a silo-like room that breaks the surface. Sparse planks of wood are nailed into a makeshift roof, but slits of light still break through. The sky you can see is a bleak bluish-white, and you can hear the faint sound of a blizzard a few kilometers away.

“What’s that up there?” Sasha asks, pointing to the partial ceiling. Before you can respond, he continues: “Wait! Uncle showed me a picture once… The sk-sky. That’s the sky, isn’t it? It’s like… a painted ceiling!”

“Mhm.” You nod as you survey the room. There’s a tunnel up a good eight or ten meters in the side that leads into Hole Station. Light from lanterns leaks from the station’s entrance into the greater area. A scout fire at your feet illuminates a ladder that leads up to platforms that give way to a precariously-balanced extension ladder that rests on the lip of the floor of the station entrance.

“I’ll be famous,” Sasha parades from atop your shoulders. “I saw the sky!”

Not so sure about that, kid, you want to say. I see the sky all the time and I’m a perfect nobody.

You hold an arm up above your head and Sasha latches on. You lift him halfway up the ladder, then let go of him to stabilize the outer rails as he climbs. Once he’s up and out of the way, you follow after him.

You lean and put one of your feet on the platform Sasha is on to test the stability with your added weight. The sheet of metal doesn’t move. With careful steps, you get onto the platform, ushering Sasha along in front of you until he stops in front of the foot of the extension ladder. 

“Hey!” You try to call up into the station’s entrance. Your voice is too weak, and the wisps of wind coming down from the surface isn’t enough to carry it. You bend down and bang your palm against the sheet metal below your feet.

Two men peek out, each dressed similarly to you – guns, kevlar, light and malleable metal bound to their shins and thighs by rope. A woman pushes one of them aside and immediately cries out a hoarse, “Sasha! That’s my boy; they have my Sasha!”

You snap an arm around Sasha’s middle to prevent him from running to his mother. He thrashes against you, but stops when his mom tells him to. 

“I’ll hold this side of the ladder,” one man shouts over the gap. He gets on his knees and holds the ladder’s outer rings. “You get the other.”

You point at Sasha with a stern finger. “Wa… wait.”

You shift and hold the outer rings, then lift Sasha onto the ladder, careful of the flat-ish angle. He climbs on his hands and knees, completely focused on the ladder and oblivious to his mother’s fretting. She watches him with wide eyes, back and forth between Sasha and the ladder, her bottom lip pinched between her thumb and forefinger in worry. He just bumbles along, laughing delightedly when his mother scoops him up as he crosses into Hole Station.

You carefully follow Sasha’s footsteps, although you have to accommodate an extra ninety kilograms – both from you being an adult and all the gear you have on your person. Your ascent is not nearly as eventful as his.

A man claps you on the shoulder as you enter the station. He watches with you as Sasha’s mother fusses over him, pulling his clothes aside to check for any injuries, speaking to him in a soft but quick Ruslish.

“Thank you.” The man removes his hand from your shoulder. He starts walking, and you follow him.

The entrance is small and defensible. Hooks hammered into stone walls hold lit oil lanterns, their small flames contained by glass. Your headlamp would be a better source of light, but you don’t say anything. It’s called Hole Station, and probably for a reason. (You don’t really know if it was named that before 2013, but it’s not that important now.)

“If you had any idea how much that boy means…” The man shakes his head. “His father is really important to all of us, and if his son died, well… It would’ve killed him.”

You look over and see Sasha’s mother kneeling, her son in front of her. Tears carry the kohl that lines her eyes into black rivers that cut down her pale face.

“Where’s Mikhail?” She asks. “How’d you get up here?”

“Uncle is dead, Mom,” Sasha says. It’s clear that while he knows what the words mean and what order to put them in, he doesn’t fully know what it means when a person dies. “But this person took me on their shoulders – I helped them shoot the monsters!”

Sasha’s mother catches you out of the corner of her eye and stands, cradling Sasha’s face to her belly. “O, слава богу. Thank you for saving my son! I – I can never repay you, but…”

She pulls a cartridge – 45 military-grade bullets, you presume – out of her pocket and holds it out to you. “Take these cartridges. At least it’s something.”

Something in the back of your mind snaps. It tells you to take them. You scraped your way into adulthood, and you need everything you can to stay out of a shallow grave. This woman has a husband and a father for her child. And it’s not like you’re robbing her, either – she’s willingly giving up something with purchasing power, which is rare in the Metro. She fully knows what she’s doing.

You reach out and wrap her fingers around the cartridge, pushing them back towards her and shaking your head. She waits for a moment, then nods and tucks it away in her pocket.

As the two men lead you further along into Hole Station, you can’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Sasha’s mother is back to fussing over him, holding his baby-fat face and talking to him softly.

Your teeth grit together and you’re suddenly seething with jealousy. What are you jealous of? Sasha? He’s a child. You don’t want to be a child. Sasha’s mother? She nearly worried herself to death when her kid went away from home. You don’t want to worry like that. Maybe you’d like to have someone worry over you like that, but, no… this is a distinctly different feeling.

So why are you jealous? Are you angry? What do they have that you don’t? What the hell of theirs could you even want?

A child, that something in the back of your mind says. Where’s your baby? Your beautiful baby girl… Have you put her down to bed? Where’s she gone?

[myinconnelly1]

Sunny's Surprise

Pairing: John Walker x Reader (Sunny)

Word Count: 4169

Summary: You've been hiding a secret from John Walker since you broke up with him several months ago. But now that secret is about to be revealed in a spectacular series of bad situations. Will your relationship survive this new development?

Warnings: Canon violence, Pregnancy, Labor/Birth (Graphic), "Oh my God, Bob helped", Hospitals, stuck in a snow storm, loss of power in an emergency. Reference to your on again off again relationship with John Walker, and him being an asshole about it

“You okay, Sunny,” Bucky asked as the New Avengers got ready for yet another press tour.

“Yeah, just a headache.  Ready to be done with these and back home,” you responded rubbing your head and face.

“Better put your face on, Sunshine, you’re everyone’s favorite right now.  The internet can’t stop talking about you,” John snarked.  He was still angry.  He hadn’t recovered from the latest end to your relationship.  But you didn’t have the energy to deal with his problems.  You had your own.

Yelena gave you a look of commiseration, but she didn’t know what you were going through that day.  You couldn’t tell her, or else she would flip out on you.  You stretched your arms up above your head trying to relieve some of the ache in your lower back.

“What are you giggling about, Bob?” John bites back his aggression at the end of the question.  There was no need to take his anger out on Bob.

“Oh, uh, nothing.  Honey was just letting me know she found Bucky’s reports,” he says smiling suspiciously.  If you knew anything about Honey, it was that she hadn’t texted Bob about Bucky’s report.  That girl was kinkier than you would have ever thought possible.  You had walked in on her and Bob once and had blanked out what you had seen as a trauma response.  You honestly thought she might have been turned on by you catching them.  But that was not a thought you could think on long.

“Great, have her send them to my email?” Bucky said.  He was so distracted during this press tour; that he hadn’t noticed the little smile that had flitted over Bob’s face.

“Here,” Ava handed you a water bottle as you all left the safe house.  It kept everyone away from the paparazzi until Valentina wanted you to be seen.  “Drink that, and stay in the back,” she said.  It wasn’t a whisper, but it was meant for your ears.

You did as she said standing toward the back of the group Avengers.  You were the newest member of the team, but it wasn’t that new anymore.  John stood with as many of the team between him and you.  It stung a little, but you couldn’t blame him, since you had broken things off with him this time.  You looked around the crowd as the team answered questions, they were always the same ones.  You quietly counted the kicks of your baby as you stood and sipped your water.  You were thankful you didn’t look pregnant, even as far along as you were.  You didn’t know how that happened.  You thought women were huge normally, but maybe good genes and steady exercise had helped.  Your suit did a great job of hiding your figure as well.  Something you had always been grateful for.

Your breath caught behind your lips as a small Braxton hicks contraction tugged at your belly.  They weren’t uncommon this late in your pregnancy, but they were always a surprise to you. You breathed through it easily enough, standing for this long always seemed to bring them on.

“You okay?” Bob whispered from behind you.  He was not an official Avenger, but Val always forced him to come along for these press tours.

“Mmhhmm,” you nodded slowly.  Something caught your attention.  The hairs on the back of your next stood up, as your danger sense kicked into gear.  Yelena sensed it too, along with Bucky.  She looked over at you.

“You take Bob and go to the safe house,” she urged quickly and quietly.  You didn’t hesitate.  If there was a threat, the last thing that you all needed was Bob being attacked and losing control to the Sentry.

“Come on,” you said as you backed off the stage subtly.

“What’s going on?” He asked quietly.  You grabbed his arm and started to move quickly away from the crowd.  Thankfully, no one seemed to notice the two stragglers, minding their own business.  You were no more than a hundred feet away when there was an explosion and smoke on the stage.  “Yelena!” Bob shouted.  You grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down low.

“Keep quiet.  Don’t draw attention to us.  The rest of the team is together; they will get each other to safety.  We need to get out of here.  We’re alone without backup, so follow my lead.” You said and he nodded.  You both picked up the pace as hell started to break loose back on stage, but neither of you turned to look at it. 

You made it two blocks before you stopped to rest.  You were out of breath- a side effect of your pregnancy.

“You’re not okay,” Bob said seriously.

“I’m fine for now.  We have to get to the safe house before this storm lets loose though.”  You pointed up at the dark clouds in the sky.  It was ominously bleak and cold outside.  You were worried about having to travel in the snow.

You were cursing yourself for coming on this press tour when you finally made it back to the safe house.  Your feet ached and your back was tight.  You locked the door behind Bob as you both went inside, and you made a perimeter sweep, checking all the doors and windows.

Bob was standing in the hallway with a thermometer in one hand and a blanket in the other.

“What are you doing?” you asked as he stopped you from walking past him.

“Come on, Sunny, I know you're sick,” he said shrugging slightly.

“What are you talking about?” You asked.  Another small tug at your belly made you breathe deeply.  It didn’t hurt, but two in the same hour was more than you had ever had before.

“You’re sweating.  It’s like forty degrees outside.  You look like you're in pain, so I would guess muscle aches, so, fever,” he said matter-of-factly as he held up the thermometer and held out the blanket.  You relented, knowing it would put him at ease, and were surprised when your temperature came back ever so slightly elevated.  “See, you’re probably at the beginning stages of the bug.  I’ll make you some tea and soup, maybe you should take a shower.  It’s gonna be a bit before the team gets back.”

If you looked shitty enough for Bob to notice, maybe there was something wrong.  You relented to the shower.  Grabbing some soft baggy clothes and letting the hot water soothe you.

It didn’t.

When you finally felt brave enough to get out of the water, you put the clothes on. You cursed under your breath when you realized the shirt you grabbed was one of John’s sweaters. A tightness had settled low in your back, and you just wanted to cry.  You looked at yourself in the mirror.  The sweater was hiding your figure somewhat.  But if Bob was paying attention, he might notice the slight swell to your stomach. 

You came out and went quickly to the couch grabbing the blanket that Bob had tried to offer you earlier.  He was in the kitchen stirring the contents of a chicken-flavored instant ramen packet.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked as he grabbed bowls and started to divide out the noodles and broth.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Bob, thanks,” you lied.  He leveled you with a look that told you he wasn’t going to accept that level of bullshit.

“How bad is it?” He asked.

“Seriously, it’s just some cramps or something,” you took the bowl wanting the conversation to end.  You were saved by the bell, as the storm that was blustering outside knocked out the power.

“Do you think they're safe?”  Bob asked quietly.

“Of course,” you reassured him, hopeful that it was the truth.  Bob went and lit some oil lamps to keep you both out of total darkness.  You ate in silence as the snow fell, and the wind blasted at the doors and windows.

“Do you have any service?” Bob asked a little while later as he looked at his phone.  “I got a message from Honey, that the rest of the team got away from the event, but Yelena and Ava were taken to the hospital.  But I can get any more messages or send anything out.”  You realized that you had left your phone in the other room.

“Hang on, I’ll go check,” You put your bowl down and stood to walk into the other room.  The dim lighting hid the look on Bob’s face and the way that his body tensed as he saw your body.  “I don’t have any signal.”

“Right,” he whispered, deep in thought.  “You know John and I are friends?”

“Of course,” you chuckled as you looked over at him before going back to your spot on the couch.

“He told me you guys broke up a couple of months ago,” Bob’s voice was dangerously even like he was treading a tightrope.

“Look, what happened between John and I, it’s complicated.  I didn’t mean to disrupt the whole team.  I thought we were friends too,” you shrugged.  That tightness spread down your belly and into your legs briefly.  Bob must have mistaken the brief look of discomfort as guilt.

“Look if you’re with someone else now, it’s not any of John’s business, but I feel like if we were friends, maybe you’d tell me,” his voice wavered a little, tinged with a little sadness.

“What are you-“ you started but Bob interrupted you.

“I’m not blind, Sunny!” You could count on one hand the number of times you had heard Bob shout.  It always signaled that he was in pain.  “I know you're pregnant. I could tell as soon as you stood up.” His voice was quiet at the end, and his eyes fell away from your face.  “I’m sorry for yelling,” he muttered.

“You think I’m with someone else?” You whispered.

“You’re not with John,” he shrugged then seemed to focus.  “Are you?”

“No,” you chuckled at his eagerness.  “We haven’t been together for months you’re right.  But…”

“But what?” Bob was nearly at the edge of the couch. It was adorable.

“It’s his,” you said quietly.  You didn’t need to tell Yelena and Ava who the father of your baby was when you told them you were pregnant.  Saying it out loud seemed to crack your internal defenses and tears started to fall from your cheeks.

“Are you serious, Sunny!” He cried in excitement.  “Wait…” Confusion overtook his features.  That means you like 7 months pregnant…” He squinted at you like if he saw you better it would explain everything.

“A little more than that,” you sighed. 

“What the hell, Sunny, why didn’t you tell him?” Bob asked, that quiet edge had returned to his voice as he hurt for his friend.  You laughed without mirth.

“The last time he thought I was pregnant he broke up with me!  I couldn’t go through that for real,” you nearly yelled as you stood and walked your bowl into the kitchen.  You looked out the window to see the snow falling all around.  It made the house a little warmer and made you feel safer as you knew there was no way anyone would be able to get into the house without a shovel and a lot of effort.  You took Bob’s bowl as he came into the kitchen and started washing them.

“I understand, I’m sorry he did that last time,”  Bob said looking away from where you were standing.  “It wasn’t fair of him.”  He turned and looked at you as your stance changed and you white-knuckled the counter.  “Sunny?”

“Mmm,” you whimpered as tears fell down your cheeks.  The pain from earlier washed over you again, only ten times more intense.  You took a deep breath through your nose but couldn’t breathe out as the pain held you.  Bob was standing behind you in an instant, hand on your lower back applying gentle pressure.

“Hey, Sunny, breath out, come on,” he encouraged.  He demonstrated blowing out, and you mimicked him meeting his gaze.  “You okay?” he asked when the pain started to subside.

“It happens sometimes, it’s just usually not that intense,” you murmured as you gulped air.  You reached for a cup of water as Bob’s hand brushed up and down your back gently.

“Braxton-Hicks contractions?” He asked looking at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” You huffed trying not to laugh.

“I read a lot.  I was trying to prove to Honey that I can be responsible,” he said.  You thought he was going to laugh at his own statement, but something seemed off about the way he was looking at you.  “Braxton-Hicks contractions are like practice contractions.  They aren’t supposed to hurt.”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” you said deflecting.  “I’m not due for a couple of weeks, and the doctor said I’d probably go late since I’m a first-timer or some shit like that.”

“How many contractions like that one have you had since we got back?” he asked seriously.

“None like that one,” you said shaking a little.

“But you’ve had others that weren’t as bad as that one?” He asked.  “I saw you squirming earlier on the couch.  I thought you just didn’t feel well.”

“It’s not like there is anything that we can do about it right now.  It's too dangerous to go outside and there is no service, remember?”  you snapped.  You hadn’t really meant to, but he was starting to scare you.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he said soothingly.  “You should relax, maybe if the shower helped you could try that, or I could fill the bathtub up for you.  Just get off your feet for a little while, maybe they will go away.”

“Yeah,” you said temporarily placated.  You walked out of the kitchen after drying your hands, intent on getting back in the shower for a little while but didn’t make it to the living room before stopping.

“Sunny?” Bob asked.  He hadn’t relaxed since your contract.  “What’s wrong?” you knew he had that same feeling of trouble that you had during the press conference.  Your breathing was ragged, and you felt strange.  Bob got two steps out of the kitchen moving toward you before you both heard the small pop.

Warm liquid trickled down your legs as your water broke.

“Oh, fuck,” Bob said staring at you.  He moved behind you and almost pushed you toward the bathroom.  “Take your clothes off,” he instructed as he turned the water for the shower on.  You stood there wide-eyed and unmoving as panic flooded your system.  “Sunny, I need you to focus on my voice,” He grabbed your chin so that you were looking up at him.  “How early is this?”

“Two weeks, three days,” You said numbly.

“Ok, good,” He sighed.  Nothing about this seemed good to you, but if he thought so…  “You’re going to get in this shower, try to breathe and relax.  We’re going to wait this out, maybe the storm will clear up.  We will probably get cell service soon, and then we can call for help.  I’m here, I’m going to do whatever you need okay?”

“Okay,” your voice was shaking as the reality set in.  You were going to have this baby.

“I need you to tell me when you have a contraction okay, I’m going to start timing them,” he said.  He seemed very level-headed for a man whose friend was about to have his other friend’s baby.  A baby he didn’t know about 20 minutes ago.  He waited for you to take your clothes off and get into the shower.  You didn’t care too much about being naked in front of him, he had helped you with your suit before, and he didn’t really look at you in any way that showed attraction.  You knew he had eyes only for Honey.

You don’t know how long you stayed in the shower.  Long enough for the water to make your skin feel a little numb where it was spraying.  Bob was sitting in the bathroom on the other side of the curtain, reading a book you thought.  Every now and again you would hear paper rustle.  You told him when a contraction would start, and with a deep sigh would tell him when it was over.  He left the room once to get more oil for the lamp that he had brought into the bathroom earlier in the evening.

“Do you want to try laying down, or do you feel better standing?” He asked quietly as he turned off the water to the shower. 

“Laying down sounds nice,” you murmured.  He grabbed a towel and draped it over your shoulders then grabbed a thin blanket and let you wrap yourself in it.  He walked with you to the couch in the living room, looking out the window into the dark night hopefully.  The storm was still going strong, and he felt his nerves start to get the better of him but quickly shut them down.  You needed him to be steady.  He sat down next to you on the couch and dried you off and brushed your hair gently, as you let yourself relax onto him.

Sleep washed over you.  Not good sleep, and not deep sleep, but a kind of lucid sleep.  You weren’t really aware of time, as the contraction seemed to get more intense, but you felt some rest settle in your body.  Rest that you were definitely going to need.

You sat up quickly a while later, rousing Bob from the light sleep he had managed as well.  “I’m gonna be sick,” you gagged.  Bob pulled a small trash bin that you hadn’t seen before out and held it in front of you.  Sweat had started to cling to your body and your hair as your whole body shook from tiredness and pain.  Bob’s hand was rubbing your back trying to provide you with any comfort that he could.  You took the bin from him as you emptied the contents of your stomach.  Bob didn’t need you to tell him when the next contraction hit you.  They were much closer together now, like the drop-off of one lead into the start of the next one.

“I’m scared,” you groaned.  “Hurts.”

“You’re doing good,” Bob said encouragingly.  “Try leaning forward on the couch.”  You did as he suggested.  It did not relieve any of the pain, but something deep within you shifted at the change of position and you groaned deep in your throat.  “Good job,” Bob praised.  His hands were squeezing your hips as you swayed involuntarily trying to relieve the pressure.

“Something’s wrong,” you panted several minutes later.  The contractions had slowed down with small breathing room in between and you thanked all the gods, Thor included, for the reprieve, but the pressure was mounting along with the pain.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.  You could hear the tremble in his voice this time.  No matter how much you needed him, hearing your cry had scared him.

“I don’t know,”  You groaned feeling yourself press your whole body down.

“I need you to get up a little bit,” He whispered.  He was trying to keep his voice calm and soothing you realized.  He moved you so that you were kneeling on one knee, your other foot planted flat. You cried out at the change in position.

“Sunny, I need you to breathe okay,” he instructed.  His voice was so firm, it left no room for argument, and you panted.

“Another contraction,” You gasped as the pressure started to build again.

“Tuck your chin against your chest, blow out through your mouth, and push,” he said.  You felt like you had the wind knocked out of you at his words.  He wanted you to push.

“I can’t,” you cried.

“Come on, I’ve got you, you’re going to be okay, but you need to listen to me,” he said.  You looked over your shoulder and saw him practically lying on the floor at your feet.  You nodded as he met your gaze and gave you a small smile. You started to take a breath but knew the contraction had ended.  “On the next one, okay.”

“Okay,” you responded trying to steel yourself.  You didn’t have to wait long for the next one.  You tucked your chin and bore down, one long breath, that Bob breathed along with you, demonstrating what he wanted you to do.

“Good job,” he said.  You could feel his hand on the outside of one of your legs.  “Can you do it again?  I’m gonna count to ten try to hold it as long as you can.”  You couldn’t speak, just nodded as your whole body shook with effort.

“Jesus Christ!” You screamed after he had counted and walked you through two more contractions.  Searing pain shot through your whole being.  You were aware that Bob was talking to you, probably trying to get you to push.  “I can’t do it, God it hurts!” you sobbed.

“Come on, you need to push,” He coached gentle pressure on your thigh grounding you.

“Shut the fuck up!” You screamed at him before bearing down.

“Just like that, Sunny, good job,” he said. Something in his voice sounded wrong.  You couldn’t place it.  Frustration, or defeat maybe.

“What’s wrong?”  You asked, panting.

“You’re doing great, Sunny.  I could see the head, almost there,” he said.

“Could?” you choked.  You knew that meant that you needed to push more and you were so very tired as you felt your body slump forward a little on the couch.

“I know you’re tired,” he sighed softly.  Apparently, those inside thoughts were projected out of your mouth.  “I know you are.  But you’re close, you can’t stop now.”  He reached up with the hand, not on your leg, and gripped your hand tightly.  The next contraction started, and you sobbed.

“I don’t want to do this anymore!” You cried.  “I want a hospital, I want John.”  Your legs spread a little as you bore down again.  This time the sharp pain didn’t ease off when you stopped pushing.

“Keep panting,” Bob said.  He was making the same blowing sound you were as you let out small, controlled breaths.  He pulled the hand he was holding down between your legs and you felt the soft hair of your baby there.  “You’re almost done!”

You felt a second wind break upon you.  Like a runner seeing the finish line, and you pushed with everything you had.  You felt the progress you were making.

“Heads out!” Bob cheered, excitement washing over him.  It was contagious and you wanted to laugh.  You pushed again with the next contraction and Bob whooped as he caught the baby.  You went down on both knees as Bob lifted the baby.

“It’s a girl!” He beamed as he cleaned her little nose and eyes gently with a clean towel.  He rubbed her back gently and she started crying.  You gasped in relief as Bob helped you turn around and lean back against the couch, resting the little baby against your chest.

“Hi there,” You whispered to her.  The lights in the safe house came on and appliances beeped.  Both of your phones started to chirp incessantly.

“I guess the powers back,” Bob chuckled as he touched your daughter’s little foot.  “Just in time too,” he chuckled.  “I’ll try and get us an ambulance.”

Bob was asleep in the armchair of your hospital room as the door opened, and John walked in quietly.  He didn’t want to wake you up if you were asleep.  A small light was on, and he could see you sitting up in bed, as you nursed the small baby.

“Hey,” he whispered, careful not to wake Bob or disturb you.  “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” You grimaced.  “The nurses said Bob did a good job, it could have been a lot worse.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You couldn’t bear to look at him when he asked the question.

“I was scared,” you said.  “Scared that you would push me away again.”

“You didn’t need my help, Sunny,” He chuckled.  “You beat me to it, pushing me away first?”

“Surprise,” you said weakly as tears slipped over your cheeks.  John reached up and brushed them away with the pad of his thumb.  “You have a daughter.”

“Best surprise ever,” he mumbled as he looked down at the little girl you were holding.

“I was thinking we could call her Robbie,” you said.  John’s head snapped up to meet your eyes and see the little mischievous twinkle there.

“Bob would probably die,” He chuckled.  “You guys did all the hard work, whatever makes you happy.  Though I’m not sure how I feel about my daughter being named after my best friend,” John mused with a hit of teasing in his tone.

[lilysarchives]

ᴄɪᴛʏ ᴍᴇᴇᴛꜱ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛʀʏ... ᴄʟᴜʙ: the meet

pt.1

countryclub!rafe x citygirl!reader

-‘๑’- ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

-‘๑’- ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ᴛᴡ ೃ⁀➷ (ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛᴄʜᴇᴇᴋꜱ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ɪᴛ)

… [ ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴘᴜʙʟɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʟᴀᴛꜰᴏʀᴍ. ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ. ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ. ] ◌ೄ

here you are standing in a corner at a party in a place called outer banks.

your parents moved here because of a business deal or something like that, honestly you weren't paying attention, and it didn't really matter. now you live in outer banks as a kook, like you even know what that means, but your parents already had friends down here, and you made nice with their daughter bella.

bella told you the whole 'lore' behind kooks and pogues and said kooks threw the best parties. she said there was one tonight, so why not preoccupy yourself with a party, right? you do what one would normally do before a party, get ready and pregame.

at first glance, you couldn't lie, this looked like a good part. lots of drinks for everyone, a few cute guys, and pretty good music. bella prompted you to go get drinks, but in the midst of the party, she slipped away.

so now here you are standing in the corner looking like a loner, honestly, not too bad of a look. then you see him, the guy bella was talking about being the kook king, rafe cameron. he walks into the party like your normal cocky guy with a stupid whote sweater draped around his neck with a navy blue polo that was just tight enough around his arms to make his biceps pop and while slacks that honestly didn't do much for him. and here he comes.

"hey, you're that new city chick, right?" the way he spoke was kinda rushed and snappy. "yeah y/n, and you are?" you ask pretending to not know who the rafe cameron is. "seriously?" he raises an eyebrow and scoffs, "I'm rafe." "mhm" how are you supposed to reply to that, 'wow its soooo nice to meet you' absolutely not. "so new york city," guess that's what he's calling you now, "you think you'd be down to go play some golf with me and the guys? get to know us?" he asks almost like he doesn't care, almost. "um i don't really know, i've never played actually." "don't worry, sweet cheeks, i can teach you no problem," and another new nickname, he said that with a smirk, like a menacing smirk, but honestly, how could you say no to rafe? "sure im down." "sounds good, i'll pick you up at 11 tomorrow?" he says about to walk away. "um sure but you don't know where i live." you say greatly confused and he chuckles, laughs in my face. "sweet cheeks, we live right next door, don't worry i got it." and he left, went back into the swarm of people.

are you actually going out with rafe cameron? and well, technically his friends too.

༊*·˚ ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀᴇ… ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ ɴᴇʀᴠᴏᴜꜱ

[wastefulreverie]

DP writing prompt: in which Danny wakes up from nightmare after nightmare, right before the scalpel cuts his skin.

taking writing prompts!!

The snap of latex gloves, the dizzying smell of antiseptic and the chill of cold metal at his back. The sharp, unyielding surgical light adjusted to blot out most of his vision. And the sound of metal on metal as his parents sort through their tools, selecting which knife will do the honors. He's long since been stripped of his suit, vulnerable to whatever fresh horrors they have in store.

Mom's stance is poised and delicate and it's the same look she has when mending his clothes after they get mangled in fights. I just tripped, he tells her and she shakes her head and puts his clothes back together again. Now the scalpel in her hand is meant to undo him. Pull him apart.

The cool metal has barely just grazed his torso when Danny jolts awake.

His cheek is wet with drool and he lifts his head as slowly as he can muster, willing his heart rate to slow with careful and steady breaths. An ingrained routine at this point. Look forward, focus on the whiteboard like it's the only thing in the world that matters.

"Fenton?" Dash says, beside him. Eugh, that's right. Detention with Lancer.

He lucked out today, because it looks like he feel asleep while Lancer was out of the room.

"What," he says. "Can't a guy get a minute's rest?"

"That—that didn't look like rest," is all Dash says, an uncharacteristic observation from the biggest human pain in his ass.

"Cool," Danny nods. He looks down at the assignment he's supposed to be working on. He nodded off halfway through the first question, so undeniably he's fucked.

He follows his previous work, double checking the equations and trying to figure out where the hell he is going wrong. If he doesn't have at least the first question before Lancer gets back...

"Are you alright?" Dash adds.

Danny lowers his pencil. "Why the hell do you care?"

Dash opens and his mouth and shuts it. "You were really... um. Twitching a lot and muttering things. About your parents."

"I'm fine. It was a nightmare, nothing real," Danny explains, as if speaking to a toddler. "You gonna bully me for having bad dreams now, or something? Tell everyone in school that I'm scared shitless asleep, too? Go ahead, see if I care."

He has bigger problems.

"That's not—" he runs a hand over his face. "Fine, okay. Yeah, you're right. It's nothing and not my fucking business what kind of nightmares losers like you are having. Just stop being so fucking weird."

Danny tries to return to his assignment, but his attention keeps slipping back to Dash and his watchful eyes. Like someone had removed the wool from his eyes and he was seeing Danny for the first time as a person and not a punching bag. What the hell.

Lancer returns shortly and Dash is quiet. Too quiet, but Danny doesn't care. It's not until their way out of detention that Dash stops Danny with a gentle slam into the wall and asks him:

"Why are you afraid of them cutting you up?"

Danny rolls his eyes. "We all have irrational fears, Dash. Shove it."

He pushes his way out of his grip and keeps walking. He just has to hope that the idiot won't bring it up again, like it's even a big deal. So what? Danny dreams about them ripping him apart all the time, it doesn't have to mean anything unless he thinks too hard about it. Because it's not going to happen. (Probably.)

"Your family is nuts!" Dash calls after him. "You're nuts too!"

Despite himself, Danny just laughs.

[hedwig221b]

I recently realized that I’ve literally never read a teen wolf ff despite being a huge fan of the show and sterek. So now I’m on the hunt for a rlly good one to start with but I’m having a bit of trouble finding one that not only fits what I’m looking for but actually has good writing (no offense to the authors I just want my first one to be a good one that hooks me like Crimson Rivers hooked me into the marauders fandom😅)

so could you recommend me some that aren’t aus, not necessarily canon but canon is okay, werewolf or human stiles, with sterek (I do love a slow burn but doesn’t have to be), maybe some of your favorites?

What an honor to introduce you to sterek fanfiction omg! Here is a list of what I consider sterek classics (the canon kind), my beloved 💖

Hide Of A Life War by Etharei

“We have received confirmation that there is a hostage situation in progress at a warehouse compound two hours out of Los Angeles, following a multiple-vehicle pileup on Highway 101 this morning...” The one in which Stiles has lived to (legal) adulthood and, along the way, become a bit of a badass himself.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows by owlpostagain

“Derek,” Stiles groans. “You have me. You’ve always had me, you absolute moron, how many physically impossible feats of life-saving heroics do I have to perform before you get it?”

between the click of the light and the start of the dream by thepsychicclam

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void. It's Stiles' senior year, and he's trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he's being haunted by a hag. Great.

Home by TheTypewriterGirl

January seventh. Seven days since the start of 2015, and seven days since his father’s death. The bastard, he thinks bitterly. The past year Derek Hale had made it blatantly obvious that he hated his scrawny guts, taking every given opportunity to shove him up against a wall, growl threats in his ears and roll his eyes whenever he stepped into the room, muttering some snide comment about how spastic or idiotic he was. So why did he fucking volunteer to take him in?

I Know Where Babies Come From, Derek by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles finds a baby on the porch. It looks exactly like him. Well, this is awkward.

And You Say You're Alone by bi_leigh_bi

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter's untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf. Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks. Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody. And it’s about time somebody told him that.

Pale Horses by Jana_C 

Being bitten had never been on his to-do list, but he could deal with that. Helping Derek Hale become a competent Alpha, though, that was so not in his job description.

Truth and Consequences by KouriArashi

“The place you give the Bite has meaning," Derek says. "Biting someone on the side is to make them your beta. It makes them your subordinate, but it also invites them into the pack with the full protection of the alpha. Biting someone on the legs indicates that you’re turning them to an omega. And biting someone on the arm, particularly the wrist, turns someone as your equal. It’s a mating ritual.” Stiles nearly chokes on a mouthful of granola. “A what?”

A Similar String by snarkatthemoon 

Strong bonds made for a strong pack, and he needed a strong pack. They spent a long time in silence, Derek thinking hard about how he was going to cement the bonds. It needed to be done, and not just because they had the threat of the witch hanging over them, but for the good of the pack. It felt like hours had passed by the time he came around; he had been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Stiles moving around on the couch so that his head was resting on Derek’s thigh, his long legs hanging over the arm on the far end. He wasn’t sleeping, but his eyes were closed and his heartbeat wasn’t as fast as it usually was, as if he was just on the edge of sleep. It should have felt weird, having Stiles in such close contact, but Derek found that it really didn’t feel weird at all. His head was a comforting weight in Derek’s lap, another anchor tethering him and keeping him calm and in control. . Or, the one where Derek meets a witch, gets his betas back, and seemingly develops a sense of humour. Also, Stiles is totally magic, manages to accidentally join a werewolf pack, and asks too many goddamn questions. What could possibly go wrong?

The One You Choose by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions)

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.

Hold Me Close (I'm Falling Apart) by ajeepandleather

“Wolves without an emissary are naturally turbulent because their instincts are wild. Subconsciously, you’ve been balancing them, but you aren’t tied to the pack so you aren’t getting a balance in return.” “So, they’re bleeding me dry. Always knew they were parasites.” Stiles smiled dryly. “You’ll need to attach yourself to an alpha soon. There are risks for an unbalanced druid.” “Like?” “Well, a disruption in balance may show itself in several ways. It’s a disruption in nature, so nature will twist and alter in an attempt to right itself.” “What does that mean?” Stiles was getting anxious. The vet was avoiding giving direct answers and that never meant anything good. “You’re magic is heavily entwined with your will, and your will is parallel to your mind.” “I’ll go insane.”

Not Your Disney Romance by Wrennefer (Wrenegadeone)

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack's alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

spiderweb of lies by pineneedlepants

Derek gets a chance to gain his alpha powers back. The only one throwing a wrench in those plans is Scott.

Sparks and shadows by Nival_Vixen 

Stiles has to figure out a way to maintain a balance between his spark and the darkness inside of him.

The Roads Not Followed by SylvieW

Scott decides to leave Beacon HIlls with Allison and her father. Stiles is left alone to deal with the supernatural troubles of his home town, so he turns to Derek. Years later, Scott’s new pack is threatened, and the only ones who can help them are the Hale pack and Derek’s powerful mate.

It’s Not Pretend When It’s Real by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“At least we got this far,” Stiles argued. “Could’ve been worse. For now, they know he’s taken by someone in the pack.” “Mm hm,” Lydia said, giving him a look. “You realize that you are now going to have to pretend to date Derek, right?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh no, what a hardship. That sucks, boo hoo.” He motioned Derek emphatically. “He’s like, my best friend.” “Hey!” Scott insisted. “He’s like, my second best friend,” Stiles amended. “It’s fine, we’ll figure it out. Right?” He turned to grin at Derek, who was scowling at him.

Running Up That Hill by maypoison

“Even before the pack joined together, Scott was trying to protect you. And he still is trying to protect you, even if it means leaving you out of all this.” Stiles does roll his eyes at that. “Yeah, but it didn’t work did it. I was still involved, and so was my Dad. We were nearly killed by Matt, and then Gerard.” “My point is, people change. Relationships aren’t always perfect. Scott's tried to kill me before." Stiles raises an eyebrow. "So, you’re saying that someone trying to kill you is just a small flaw in a relationship?" “We’re werewolves.” Derek answers with a shrug, as if that was a perfectly good explanation.

It Was a Wednesday by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?” Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping. Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death. “Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least. “Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?” “Yes.” “Why?” “How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

Protect and Serve by MoonlitMemories

Stiles discovers the Nemeton starting to grow again in the preserve on Hale land. What does that mean for the pack? More importantly: why does the Nemeton seem so attached to Stiles?

The More That I Know You (the more I want to) by LadySlytherin

When death, in the form of hunters, comes for a family of Kelpies seeking refuge in the Preserve - in Hale territory - the Hale Pack is too late to save them. Before he dies, the male Kelpie presses a precious bundle into Stiles’ arms and begs the Emissary to take responsibility for it, which an initially reluctant Stiles does. When he agreed, Stiles had no idea what the sight of him with a baby would do to his esteemed Alpha, Derek. If he’d known, he might not have been so reluctant to agree.

Wolf Cub by moodwriter

A strange wolf is not supposed to touch another pack’s cub and that’s why, on a rescue mission, it’s Stiles’ job to take care of the wolf cub who’s curious about everything and everyone. Stiles is not used to werewolf children, and the pack is not used to Stiles taking care of a child. Their Alpha gets very confused about this, too.

Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The wolf’s head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist. Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope. He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teeth—so very sharp, good fucking Lord!—and began walking towards Stiles. “I didn’t see anything!” Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. “I swear to you! I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t! I’ll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!”

I know you mentioned no aus, but it would be a crime for me not to mention these absolute treasures that are staples in sterek fanfiction experience. The characters are on point, and the writing is magnificent

Don't Savage The Messenger by exclamation

There is an uneasy truce between the werewolves in the woods and the humans who live in Beacon Hills, protected by a magical boundary that gives warning any time a werewolf crosses it. Then the sheriff is taken by the werewolves and his son offers himself in exchange. Stiles promises to serve the werewolf pack, not knowing what horrible use they might have for him. But it turns out his most useful skill is the ability to cross the boundary line between humans and werewolves. Life with the werewolves is nothing like he feared and the werewolves themselves are nothing like the hunters' stories would have him believe.

Actions Speak Louder than Words by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“I apologize.” The cop finally looked back up at his face, seeming thrilled. “It’s just—it’s been so long. And we finally have you.” That was a bad word. Not found. Have. Stiles wrenched his hand free and took a step back, but before he could even think up a gameplan, he felt a prick in his neck and jerked away, reaching up to slap one hand against it and twisting in the same moment. One of the others had come up behind him while he hadn’t been paying attention, and his vision began to swim even as his eyes caught sight of the half-empty syringe the guy was holding.

Divided We Stand by KouriArashi

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn't expect and aren't sure they approve of....

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!” Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her. “What?! What was that sound?!” “You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder. “Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!” “Mike,” she argued. “Who’s Mike?” Scott asked. “Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

My, What Big Shoulders You Have (The Better to Help You Carry the Weight) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) 

“Talia was just telling me an interesting story,” his dad informed him. Stiles didn’t have the nerve to glance over at him, because he knew no matter how much he argued, the proof was all there. The wolves had found him, Parrish had picked him up on the side of the road, he had a fucking picture on his phone. He was screwed. No point in arguing, all it’d do is piss his father off even more. “You don’t say,” Stiles offered slowly. “What uh—you know, I like stories. Is it a uh, good one?” “It seems to be a matter of opinion,” Talia said with another kind smile. “I hear you had quite the night last night.” Okay, time to cut his losses. He was already fucked, all he could do was apologize and hope she didn’t press for him to get fined and arrested. Given he was her husband’s friend’s son, he had high hopes. “I’m really sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “It was stupid and-and irresponsible and just—I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have crossed into your territory. I should’ve known better, I do know better! It was a complete lapse in judgement and I am just—I am so sorry.”

Cloaked in Gold by kaistrex (weishen)

Stiles' world tilts, the bed dipping as a weight settles over him, caging him in. Growling. His eyes flutter open in distant confusion as hot air sweeps over his throat and he stares up at twin beams of gold shining inches from his face. Werewolf. Stiles does the only thing he can. “DAD!” The werewolf jumps at the sudden shout, blanketing him tighter, and it’s only seconds until his dad is in his bedroom doorway with Melissa close behind, flicking on the light. Stiles' mouth drops open as he stares up at the thick eyebrows, sharp nose and perfectly groomed stubble of a golden-eyed and fanged Derek Hale. - When son of the Alpha, Derek Hale, ends up in his bed in heat, Stiles decides to use it to his advantage and secure the Bite for his sick stepbrother. As he and his family are welcomed into the Hale pack, Stiles grows closer to Derek than he'd ever dreamed he'd get, but with the fanged Soulbite of a born wolf on Derek's neck, he knows he's just setting himself up for heartbreak. Derek has a Soulmate out there, and it definitely isn't Stiles.

Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth. “Not too close, he bites.” Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting. “He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton. The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.” “Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek. He looked extremely displeased.

The Boy and the Beast by Dira Sudis (dsudis)

In which events in Beacon Hills go rather differently from the start, and a Beauty and the Beast (ish) story ensues. (Scott is not a teacup and no one sings about their feelings.)

[masterlist link]

[ayunas-tuna]

two for the show ━━ 3.1k ˚ series chp2

part of 𝒪𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺, 𝓣𝘸𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 ౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆

summary - after a kiss on your cheek in the middle of campus, things start to shift between you and jungkook. what was supposed to be a fake relationship feels a little too real, and neither of you knows how to handle it. you both avoid the tough conversations, trying to keep the act going, but the silence only grows heavier. finally, when you walk him home, the walls break down. this is way more than pretending now.

　　 　˳ 　 　౨౿　　⁺　　༄　　　༝　 　 ₊

you knew it was getting out of hand the second he kissed your cheek in the middle of the quad.

not like, a stage kiss. not like, “we’re definitely pretending and this is for the audience” kind of kiss. just casual. instinctive. like he forgot the whole thing was fake.

you were halfway through a sentence about your lit assignment. you’d just made some stupid joke about your professor being allergic to joy, and he laughed, real and full, and then just leaned in and kissed your cheek without thinking. warm, quick, soft. then went back to sipping his iced americano like it meant nothing.

and maybe it didn’t mean anything.

maybe you were the only one whose stomach flipped. maybe he didn’t notice the way your voice caught after or how you had to blink a couple times before you remembered how to talk.

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. not without making it weird.

so you just pulled your sleeves down over your hands, cleared your throat, and tried to pretend like your face wasn’t on fire.

he didn’t look at you again after that. not really. not until you were walking back to class and he brushed his pinky against yours.

and didn’t pull away.

“you’ve been quiet,” jungkook said later, nudging your knee under the table.

you were both sitting on the grass behind the library, half-eaten sandwiches in your laps and two empty juice boxes between you. the sky was that soft kind of blue that only shows up when you’re supposed to be doing something else.

you blinked at him. “i’m always quiet.”

he gave you that look. the one he only used when he wasn’t buying your bullshit. “not with me.”

you shrugged and took another bite of your sandwich, chewing slowly just to avoid talking.

he waited. didn’t push. just sat there, knee against yours, looking at the clouds like they were more interesting than the fact that you were very obviously spiraling.

after a minute, you sighed and muttered, “you kissed me.”

“...yeah?”

“like. for real.”

he glanced over. “i didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“that’s the problem,” you said, a little sharper than you meant to. “you never think it’s a big deal.”

he sat up straighter. “okay. what’s going on?”

you shook your head. looked anywhere but him. “i don’t know. i think i’m just… confused.”

he was quiet. so quiet. and you hated it. hated that he was letting you talk but not giving you anything back. hated that you were the one catching feelings for something that was literally your idea. this was your fault. you were the one who said no feelings. no real kisses. no anything.

and then he went and kissed your cheek like it meant something. like you meant something.

it wasn’t fair.

“we’re faking it,” you said, trying to sound level. “and it’s starting to feel real. and i don’t know what to do with that.”

“do you want to stop?”

you hated how fast your stomach dropped at that. “...no.”

he nodded slowly. looked down at his hands.

“me neither.”

and maybe that should’ve been comforting. but it wasn’t.

because neither of you said what you wanted instead.

he doesn’t look at you after that.

not in a dramatic way, just… quieter. less direct. like if he looks too long, he might say something he shouldn’t. like you both might.

you sit in silence for a bit. the grass itches behind your knees, your throat feels dry, and the sandwich in your lap is somehow still untouched. you keep glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, waiting for him to crack a joke or change the subject or even just do something stupid to break the weirdness hanging in the air.

he doesn’t.

instead, he leans back onto his elbows, gaze fixed on some point in the distance. you wonder what he’s thinking. if he’s regretting it. if he’s already planning how to pull away without making you feel bad.

your chest tightens.

“i don’t want to ruin this,” you say, quieter now.

he blinks. glances over. “what?”

you stare down at your hands. “whatever this is. i don’t wanna make it weird.”

“you didn’t.”

you look at him. “jungkook-”

“you didn’t,” he repeats, voice more certain this time. “it’s not weird. i just… i don’t know how to do this either.”

you nod slowly. you believe him. that’s the worst part.

he’s not faking it as well as he thinks he is.

his foot nudges yours gently. “we’re still good, right?”

you hesitate. then nod.

“yeah. we’re good.”

you don’t feel good. you feel like your heart’s on a timer.

you don’t talk much the rest of the afternoon.

he walks you to your next class like usual. keeps close to your side, says hi to someone you don’t recognize, holds the door open for you and mumbles something about meeting up later for that “photo op” thing he mentioned earlier in the week. something casual. something for the feed. “soft couple vibes.”

you just nod and say sure.

he doesn’t try to hold your hand this time.

you don’t know why it’s that moment. the quiet click of the lecture hall door behind you, the way the air changes when he’s not next to you, but your eyes burn and you sit down two rows from the back and suddenly want to cry.

you don’t. obviously. you just sit there and stare at your blank notes and pretend like the ache in your chest is just from lack of sleep. pretend like you’re not thinking about the kiss that wasn’t even a kiss and how it still meant too much.

you’re the one who made the rules.

you’re the one who said no feelings.

you’re the one breaking them.

two hours later, he’s waiting outside the building, leaning against the wall with his hoodie pulled over his head and headphones hanging around his neck. he doesn’t say anything when you walk up, just pushes off the wall and starts walking beside you.

you don’t know if he’s mad or just trying to give you space.

either way, it sucks.

“are we still doing the photo thing?” you ask, voice too casual.

he glances over. “do you want to?”

you shrug. “doesn’t matter.”

he stops walking.

you stop too, confused. “what?”

he just looks at you.

not annoyed. not even frustrated. just… like he’s trying to read you. like he’s trying to figure out if you’re about to break this whole thing wide open.

“it does matter,” he says.

you don’t answer.

he waits another beat, then runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

“i’ll text you later,” he says, not unkindly.

you nod.

he walks the other way.

you hate how cold your hand feels once he’s gone.

when you check your phone later that night, there’s a picture.

a blurry one. the one he took last week, under that tree near the arts building. your face is half-lit, your hand holding the smoothie cup, a little smile tugging at your lips as you look down.

you don’t even remember smiling that day.

under the photo, he’s typed:

i was gonna post this tonight. but only if you’re cool with it. lmk.

your chest does that thing again. the thing that feels like guilt and softness all tangled into one.

you type out a response and delete it.

then type another.

you end up just sending:

it’s cute. post it.

three minutes later, it’s up.

captioned: my favorite person.

the comments blow up instantly.

you turn off your phone.

you don’t sleep for a long time.

you wake up feeling worse than when you fell asleep. your mouth is dry, your eyes puffy, and your phone buzzes softly somewhere under your pillow like it knows you don’t want to look. but you check it anyway. the post is still up. jungkook’s account. that blurry photo from the coffee shop, the one where you’re smiling at something off-camera with his jacket draped over your chair. captioned, still, my favorite person. almost five hundred likes, three dozen comments. 

omg stop.

is this real?? 

cutest couple on campus hello??? 

i knew it. 

you don’t reply to any of them. you don’t even like the post. and for some reason, that makes your stomach twist worse.

you lie in bed a while longer, then sit up and drink water, trying to ignore the heavy silence in your room. around noon, he texts.

hey wanna meet before class?

you stare at it. you want to say no. you want to say yes. you want to say what did that post mean? or why are you making this feel so real? or maybe just please don’t make me fall for you if you’re not going to catch me.

but you don’t say any of that. you just reply: sure.

he meets you outside like always, standing under that tree that’s barely started turning yellow, kicking at a leaf like it wronged him personally. when he sees you, his face softens.

“hey.” you nod. 

“hey.” he holds out a drink without asking. it’s your usual. you take it and sip. it’s perfect.

the silence stretches, but not in a terrible way. more like both of you are thinking too much to speak.

“so,” he says after a while, “did you hate the post?”

you shake your head. “no. it was fine.” he looks at you. you don’t meet his eyes.

“you didn’t like it.”

“i saw it.”

“not what i said.”

you press your lips together. you want to explain. you want to say i didn’t like it because i didn’t know what it meant. or i was scared that if i liked it, it’d make it real. or i wanted to, but then i thought about your ex seeing it and maybe it wasn’t about me at all. but you just shrug. “i was tired.”

he doesn’t push. he never does. and that’s part of the problem.

you walk to class together again. his hand swings a little too close to yours the whole time, but he doesn’t reach for it. you kind of wish he would. you kind of wish he wouldn’t.

the tension is different now. heavier. quieter. not playful like before.

and all through class, you keep waiting for him to say something else. to make a joke. to nudge your arm. to just look at you like he used to. but he doesn’t. you both just sit there, pretending everything’s fine. pretending it didn’t mean anything. pretending you’re not unraveling a little more every time he breathes.

when class ends, you gather your stuff too fast and almost spill your pen case. he catches it, hands it to you without a word. your fingers brush. you flinch. not because you didn’t want it, but because you wanted it too much. you mumble a thank you. he nods.

“you okay?” he asks.

you look at him. really look. he’s not doing the smile thing anymore. the one where he pretends not to notice how close you’re sitting. the one where he flirts just enough to keep you guessing. he just looks tired. like maybe he didn’t sleep either. like maybe he’s trying not to ask the same questions you are.

and maybe you should answer him. maybe you should say no. maybe you should say i’m not okay, and i haven’t been since you started making this feel real. but instead, you say, “yeah. just tired.”

and he says, “me too.” then you both walk out of the building side by side, not touching.

you step outside and the cool air hits your skin like a sudden jolt. the sky is heavy with gray clouds that promise rain, and it feels like everything around you is rushing forward while you’re frozen in place. jungkook walks beside you, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie, his pace slow and steady. the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable or awkward. it’s filled with the weight of everything you both want to say but don’t know how to start.

you glance at him sideways, stomach twisting, but he keeps his eyes fixed ahead, like looking at you might make this all too real. you wonder if he’s thinking about the same things, how pretending to be okay is becoming impossible, how the line between what’s fake and what’s real is blurring. you want to reach out, to close the space growing between you, but your hands feel heavy and unsure.

finally, your voice breaks the silence, barely above a whisper. “do you think this is gonna get easier?”

he breathes out slowly, like he’s been holding it in for far too long. “honestly, no.”

you almost laugh, because you know exactly what he means. this whole fake relationship thing was supposed to be simple, even fun. but it’s not. it’s complicated and messy and it hurts more than you thought it would.

“then why do you keep doing it?” you stop and turn to face him. “if it’s this hard, why not just walk away?”

he looks at you, really looks, and there’s something raw in his eyes that makes your chest tighten. “because even if it’s hard, it’s better than being alone.”

you swallow hard. part of you wants to argue that being alone isn’t so bad. but deep down you know he’s right. the quiet moments when he’s next to you, even wrapped in silence and hesitation are better than the emptiness that used to swallow you whole.

you take a small step closer, heart pounding. “i’m scared,” you admit, voice trembling. “scared that this fake thing is gonna turn real and i won’t know what to do.”

his fingers brush against yours gently, like he’s afraid to hold on too tightly. “then we figure it out together.”

you don’t say anything, just let his words settle over you. even though the future feels scary and uncertain, you realize you don’t want to face it without him.

then the rain starts, soft and steady, and you both laugh like it’s your little secret. you don’t pull away when he slides his hand fully into yours. it’s warm and steady, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel so far apart.

you walk side by side down the quiet street, the city lights flickering above you and casting long shadows on the pavement. the night air is cool and crisp, and the occasional distant hum of cars blends with the soft sound of your footsteps. jungkook’s hand brushes against yours, and without thinking, you reach out and lace your fingers through his.

he glances over with that small, easy smile that’s been growing on you more than you want to admit. “so, this is happening,” he says quietly, like testing the waters.

you shrug, a little breathless. “guess it is.”

you don’t say much after that, letting the silence settle comfortably between you. walking with him feels less like pretending and more like something real, something you both haven’t dared to admit yet. your heart pounds, a little faster with every step.

when you get to your building, you fumble with your keys for a moment before the door swings open. jungkook steps inside behind you, the smell of rain mixing with the faint scent of your apartment. you kick off your shoes and lean against the door, your fingers still tangled with his.

he pulls off his hoodie and drops it on the back of a chair, the damp fabric soft in the dim light. the space suddenly feels smaller, warmer. your breath catches when he steps closer, eyes locked on yours, like he’s waiting for something.

“want some coffee?” you ask, your voice quieter than you expected.

he nods, following you to the kitchen. you start the kettle, the sound of water filling the silence. when you pour the coffee, your hands brush, and that spark you’ve been ignoring flares up again.

you bring the mugs to the small table and sit close enough that your knees touch. jungkook’s fingers find yours, squeezing gently. the warmth from him seeps into your skin, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

“this feels different,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“yeah,” he agrees, voice low and steady. “it does.”

you look up, catching the way his eyes soften when they meet yours. without thinking, you lean in, closing the small gap between you. his lips are warm and tentative at first, brushing against yours like a question. then the kiss deepens, slow and sure, like he’s telling you everything without saying a word.

your hands move up to cup his face, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. your chest tightens, and the world outside fades away until there’s only him and you, tangled together in the quiet glow of your apartment.

when you finally pull apart, your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling in the small space between you. a smile tugs at your lips, and you feel something fragile and beautiful shift between you.

he whispers, “i’m glad i came here tonight.”

you squeeze his hand, heart pounding. “me too.”

you sit there for a moment longer, just breathing him in, feeling his heartbeat under your fingertips. the world outside your window keeps moving, distant sirens, the occasional car passing by. but here, it’s still. suspended. safe.

he shifts closer, like there’s a gravity between you pulling him in, and you don’t resist. his hands settle on your waist, steady and sure, anchoring you. you can feel the warmth radiating from him, seeping into the space between your bodies.

“i don’t want this to be just fake anymore,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, like he’s afraid of breaking the fragile quiet.

you look up, eyes searching his, and for once, you don’t have an answer. all the pretending, all the rules you made to keep your heart safe, they don’t matter now. none of it feels real except this moment, this closeness, and the way your chest feels like it might burst.

without thinking, your lips find his again, softer this time, slower. the kiss deepens, and it’s no longer about games or plans or revenge. it’s about two people who somehow found something worth holding onto in the mess.

he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath mingling. “stay,” he says simply.

you don’t need to say anything. you already know you won’t be letting go

ribbon banner creds - @cursed-carmine

[azonewithu]

Oh they betta fuckn listen and do what i fucon tell them. Or theres gonna be a big bad soetbof problem thats for sure. Whose this fuckn asshole from your country he tells people he came up with my title? Find out gor me hes a fucon plagiaristvand he got a lot of people hurt. I dont wanna see that title ever used or that will mean total war. Thats mone snd evetyone knows it. Ive dispatched angels they struck the other day. If its no ones fault its everyones fault then. And im not the only victim of that shit im just tue only one named Azriel. Talk to this person before more people get hurt or eorse namely him. Or the person next yo hom or fown the fuckn road near him. If i came myself id go straight to him. And im pretty sure for one old theory i dont even use anymore. I think i got the green light. If im actually in that town i can for sure burn it to the ground. Instead lets head this sort of confrontation off. If they eould make some sort of deal we could all get on n on. Gavriel hold there in place. Muchael take up pisition on the right of him. I know i dont have to fight i just like to. Thsts the way the world works now every little fuckn thing is a war to get. Then you complain about the lowest of the low bring the problem. Theyre probably just nicer people than you people thats why theyre not doing do well on earth. Youve comvinced them theyll be rewarded in some after life so you can live it up while they suffer. Dont argue with me. Its not possible for snyone. I dont lnow why some people feel they need so luch from me and others so little. Thats a complicated question. But its a good one.

The Princess of Wales attends the annual Order of the Garter Service at St George's Chapel, Windsor Castle in Windsor, England -June 16th 2025.

[veryace-ficrecs]

The Passenger (2023) Fic Recs Part 2

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Find part 1 here!

Take The Back Seat by twoseas - Rated M

On Benson and Randy Bradley’s longest day, everyone gets to live. Eventually.

Matchmade by Coileddragon - Rated M

Benson Boudreaux is a veteran Jaeger pilot with a 100% kill rate in the Jaeger 'Savage Horizon'. The problem is he never keeps a Drift partner for long.

Man of the world by greendragon19 - Rated T

“You don't call, you don't write.” He crossed his arms over his chest feigning calm. Drawing Benson's attention to him. “And then I have to find out from my brother in law that you're getting released.” A myriad of emotion passed over Bensons features, recognition, annoyance, confusion, acceptance, a few others that Randy wouldn't dare to guess at. “Randy? The fuck are you doing here?” Randy smiled, dipping his head and looking up at Benson through his eyelashes. Something in the pit of his stomach warming at Benson’s voice and Randy’s name being the first thing he said as a free man. Twenty years after the shooting at the diner, Benson is getting out of prison. Randy goes to pick him up. Deals with somewhat more mellow versions of Benson and Randy after so much time has passed but both still equally co-dependent.

images of all that could be desired by pgndaze - Rated T

A week after Benson's death, a package arrives on Randy's doorstep.

Loves me like a dog by Syntheticpalindromes - Rated E

The woman at the school’s reception desk flat out refused to give them anything about Miss Beard, her hands laid on the countertop as she shook her head sadly. Big, plump bottom lip jutting out in what Benson might have known to be real sympathy if he had ever been presented with the emotion in a sincere way. Which he hadn’t. At least, that’s what he imagined, anyway. When she had removed her palms from the counter, the ledger beneath them had become stuck to one, slick with a nervous sweat that she hid all too well in the calm, collected way she had informed the boy she simply couldn’t give that sort of information away. The page was left greasy and she pointedly did not look at it. “And Mr. Bradley, I really think you’re doing the right thing. Good for you.” She had said, like she was his fucking grandmother. They don't make it to Miss Beard's place. Mr Sheppard lies in a pool of his own blood and Benson & Randy drive on, and on, and on, and on, and on.

Razor Sharp, White Teeth by mimomallow - Rated E

“I never watched that Twilight bullshit, Randy. Do you sparkle now or what?” or Randy has been starving since he was a child. Benson looks delicious.

did you get enough love, my little dove? by intheskywithamethysts - Rated E

The mop slapped wetly on the ground and slid across the grimy floor. Benson dug the head into the ground as hard as he could as he mopped. A sound like nails on a chalkboard ricocheted off the walls. It was agonizing to listen to. Benson didn’t care. It was the only thing louder than his thoughts. She’s not sleeping. She’s not sleeping. The sound of a door being pushed open. Two chimes. Footsteps. Benson looked up. “Hey, Benson.” Benson grunted and gave Bradley a nod as he entered. Well, at least he was working with Bradley today. (canon-divergence: Benson's Ma passes away the night before the beginning of the movie)

Side Effects May Include... by thenewgothicromance -Rated E

Listen, normally Benson’s not one to make somebody do drugs they don’t want. But they’re only three hours into the afternoon shift with another five to go, and if Bradley doesn’t chill the fuck out Chris will never stop bothering him. And if Benson has to listen to that all day, again, he is finally going to do something stupid they’ll all regret. It’s easier just to make Bradley take the pills.

Don't Forget the Joker by devovitsuasartes - Rated M

Randy had been driving home for about five minutes when he looked up into his rear view mirror and saw Benson staring back at him coldly from the back seat.

Can’t Help to Smile with those Eyes that Shine on Me (You’re Making Me Act Funny) by hellcat_shalalala - Rated T

"Thank you, Mr. Mustache Man.” She retrieves her blue crayon and scrapes it over the scribble of green she just made. “I’m sorry I dropped them. It was on accident.” A little smile twitches at the corner of his lips. Threatens to spread. He runs his tongue over his teeth to make his lips stop moving like that. “Them things got little legs," Benson continues dragging the mop. "Runnin’ off like that.” She’s delighted by that thought. “Little legs?” She repeats. She grabs one and twists it around trying to look for them. “Where?” He doesn’t respond. Just a laugh through his nose and a mindful push and pull of the mop, sweeping it under the seats. Yea. This is Bradley’s kid all right. or Randy has no babysitter for his four year old daughter, Seraphina, and has to bring her into work for his Saturday shift. His coworkers proceed to lose their minds over this new information. /pos Title is paraphrased lyrics from the song Picture Me Better by Weyes Blood

Doomsday is Close At Hand by riddlerapologist7 - Rated M

Randy’s eyes shoot open, he gasps for breath. He rips the comforter off of his body as he registers where he is: his bedroom. What? He was just at the diner. He could almost smell the greasy stench of the flat top grill mixing with the coppery scent of blood permeating the air. Could he have really dreamed everything that had happened? He reached up to feel his shoulder where he had been shot, where Benson had desperately been clutching to try and keep the blood from spilling out of him. He felt nothing, no wound, no pain, just the smooth skin of his shoulder and the cotton shirt he was wearing. He ran his hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat rapidly beneath his skin.

Ranson time loop au!! I'm not the first to come up with this idea, but this is my take on it :)

Erasure Poem (or, The Narrator Writes the First Draft of the Rest of His Life) by thenewgothicromance - Rated E

Randy almost doesn’t understand how it happened, even though he’s the one who started it. Three weeks ago he’d never had sex with anyone, had never thought about doing it with a guy, didn’t think much about doing it at all. And maybe that means there’s something wrong with him, but he’s not stupid—Benson is into him. And if Randy can use that to keep him calm, keep them on track for a little while, maybe Benson will come back to himself. Will shake off the shock, and tell Randy what the plan is.

Like Splinters Under Your Skin by pissedoffeskimo - Rated M

Maybe Benson doesn’t know exactly where he’s going or how long it’ll be before this whole thing reaches its inevitable, bloody conclusion, but he knows he’s taking Randy with him. (Canon divergent from Miss Beard's house)

cold blue summer by visceravalentines - Rated E

Elliot Sheppard, a third-grade teacher at Central Elementary, abused children for many years before being exposed and taking his own life. Now, twenty years later, the school is being demolished, and something has awakened.... Strap in for the cruelest summer on record. An homage to classic slasher movies with a summer romance flair.

the driver by visceravalentines - Rated T

They’re about 50 miles over the Missouri border when Benson asks him. “You think you could drive, man?”

Or, Benson trusts Randy to take the wheel so he can get some sleep, and Randy spends the night thinking about Benson.

[cixteenyne]

‘Party at my grandmas, fuckers!’

Ch.1 (probably wont continue this fawwwk)

Content warning: Drug usage, Drug addiction, Overdose, Self destructive behaviors, Gojo is a dick head, NSFW elements (not between gojo and reader), Fratboy!Gojo, college AU, honestly everybody is a pos, Slowburn but not bc you hate this mf and he dont fw you. Not betaread, this is a draft sooo….✌️

There will always be someone who needs you, yet simultaneously gives not a single shit about you. Get what they need out of the box ‘n through the packaging away. Dust their hands off and go about their day.

It’s simple, it’s easy, it’s free, to fuck someone over- its free. The price of time management, planning and lies, all free.

This must be why it’s so common?

College isnt.. easy. Nobody claims it to be— whoever has in the past regrets such idiocy, and whoever preaches it now is begging for west to become south. And fast.

College is work and work isnt easy, simple shit.

Work isn’t easy, but neither are people. Infact- they’re the most complicated of all, and it’s unfortunate, really. Things arent complicated or difficult because they have to be, it’s just how things are, how can it be remedied? Fuck if anybody knows because we’ve exhausted the options of ‘patience, love and support’ like it’s a non renewable resource.

Halls were never easy to walk through. A semi closed space that gave the illusion of open access, a long.. streching.. seemlingy endless illusion.

You wouldn’t say you were claustrophobic, but you didn’t exactly enjoy knowing you’d brush up against at least 30-45 different people and objects in a limited space. It’s stressful for anyone to think about— but you manage, you always have and you will continue to, you have no choice.

You were not a shy person, but you did not go out of your way to make yourself known. You said what you needed to and mostly what you wanted to. As long as it wouldn’t lead to unnecessary problems, just more bullshit to deal with on top of tanking grades, so you kept slick comments to yourself. Mostly.

Satoru. He’s a man nobody besides his sleezy best friend could figure out. Popular guy, can’t blame anyone— charismatic, charming, winner smile, sexy—fuckers got it down pact.

You didn’t know a thing about the guy besides the basics. Party nut. Fraternity dude. Throwing a rager every other night for some damn reason, (does he ever rest?)

He’s basic in the way you find most men are.. he’s handsome- sure, startlingly so, but something’s wrong. All men, at least the ones you’ve been around— have that startling factor to them—that.. offputting factor.

It’s also in his eyes, Just looking in them hurts.

-1

Youve been partners with Satoru on this project for a couple days now and, well.. he’s not dumb as bricks, that’s for sure— but he also refuses to offer much. Shocker.

He usually shows up for the merit, scrolls, then dips like hes got places to be, and to his credit, maybe he does, a rager to plan, maybe attend? Chick to bang, a four loko to shotgun—for fucks-

“—sake, satoru, ‘the hell are you going now? We’re not even 10 minutes in.”

You couldn’t keep the exasperated tone out of your voice, ‘fed up’ is a feeling you’re well aquatinted with.

The clock on the wall, however useless it was- ticked on as he stared at her like she’d gone special in the head. “What, i dont have free will anymore? Lighten up, will you?” He laughed that type of laugh that only a 21 year old man who didn’t know how to talk to a woman beyond ‘through it’, could laugh.

Beyond frustrating.

Only he would say some dumb shit like that- ‘lighten up, will-‘ shut the fuck up.

“I’ve let you have free will this whole week and now we have tomorrow’s deadline to finish this.”

His lips moved into that smile that kept him popular. At the top. “People have lives, let me live mine?” A shrug that made it seem like nothing was wrong, even when the room was on fire. Fuck him.

You were not about to argure with this man. No man for that matter, grades be damned.

“Yeah- it’s whatever Satoru, live your life, bye.” A dismissive wave as you got your laptop and simply left.

Satoru stood at the exit you’d gone opposite of, just shaking his head with a laugh that would have only pissed you off more if youd stayed to hear it.

He had no problem with you, but he didn’t particularly like or care about you beyond.. well— nothing, he had no intention of doing this project, no need. He only needed to do enough to keep up appearances and then he’s out.

Yes. He’s an asshole through and through, but nobody needs to know that but him and his other asshole friends.

He saw you around, minding your business, no doubt you saw him too. Smug grin and all— just waiting for the right moment to get at you, in you, and leave. Like hell you’re gonna let him.

The moment you’d gotten partnered up with him, you knew an F was coming unless you planned to drop everything and fuck him, and you made peace with that. He wasn’t getting a damn thing.

It didn’t make it any easier to sit across from him and watch a grade get thrown in your face, though.

-2

You got an F.

But what confused you that day was that Satoru didn’t. Rich boy didn’t get an F, but you did— on the project you both did not do.

It made the wound of him sitting there, manspread in the library and refusing to respond to you burn hotter, like molten steel solidifying into your pores, and you trying to peel and pick it out, but every time you think you’ve got a good piece, it breaks off halfway- never to be reached again.

It never made sense to you, what was the point of fucking you over like that— it wasn’t free, he obviously paid off the teacher, had to have been hundreds of dollars— thousand, even.

The price of fucking you over wasn’t even free.

Every time you saw him after that? A refusal to acknowledge him. Not even a glance— ok, a couple glances, but only when he looked back did you walk away. Not that he even gave a fuck.

He seriously paid to win. In a fucking College.

A man like that didn’t deserve your emotions or time, no matter what. But—fuck, he got them anyway. You had nothing positive to associate with him. He got your petty glances, the rolled eyes, the mean mugs, all of it.

It pissed you off.

You had to take a walk around campus to blow off some steam, step by step, your anger rolled off of you in waves that felt like a Gua Sha massage, not exactly comforting, but necessary. Sort of.

You walked along empty classrooms, door by door.

You didn’t have a 1PM class, so this was your only time to roam.

The only opportunity to be relived of the on… and on… and on… of the professional that was paid to be there, sure- but didn’t make it any less boring.

Each step just as aimless as the next, a little leaf crunch every now and then to spice it up.

Fuck this wasn’t helping.

As you walked you could only try slow your beating heart— trying to break out of your chest, the anger, the shock, the disbelief— it grew out of you like invasive mushrooms all over the place, under your fingernails, out of your eyes, your skin.

The kind that if you picked one off, the roots would slowly drag out of your skin, making you realize it would have been better if you just left it alone.

It only grew once you made it out of the other end of the class hallway.

Son of a bitch, why hadn’t you just stayed at your dorms.

Satoru was fucking the teacher for brownie points.

-3

The next time you see him you’re like a dog who found a bone. Or an unsuspecting toddler.

He’s at the round table with his asshole friends, and their asshole sports talk, just talking like he’s not the worst person ever— they’re probably worse.

You come up behind him, a light slap on the shoulder. “Come here. Out back?”

He only turns back to look at you, his friends do too. silent. amused.

Satoru only looks back and smiles that smug smile, his head on his hand, he looks back at his friends and his smile only gets wider. As do theirs.

Like sharks in a damn pool.

“Here’s fine, yeah?”

“It’s really not.” You didn’t have the patience, never did.

He points to the enclosed study room across the library, soundproof. His idiot pink haired friend whistles. “This early, Satoru? New record.” Stupid chuckles makes its round as they all seem to find humor in that.

“Never too early for a little fun, c’mon guys.” He gets up with a huff and makes his way towards the door, you follow while burning holes into his back.

You don’t snap back into reality until the whooping, whistling and hollering stops when the door clicks closed.

Satoru turns around and leans his hips on the desk behind him as he shrugs towards you.

“Well?”

You dont speak for a while, it feels like millennium until you get that ocean of saliva down your throat and simmer the molten lava out of your brain.

“I got an F.”

“Shocker.”

Professional smartass over here. everything about him just made you want to pounce and stomp him out. He could probably see as much.

“You were fucking Mrs. Arlen.”

You see him about to speak before you decide you don’t want him to talk anymore. “You screwed me over on a project just to make up the assignment with a dick appointment? Really?”

You could see the gears turning in his head — ‘wreeeek, uuuuurk’ — as each cog wheel moved.

You could also see that stupid smirk, like he’s holding back a little laugh

“You’re acting like i owe you a good grade— what, wanna fuck one out of me? Use the ‘Satoru method’?”

What the fuck was wrong with him? Just looking at him hurts, it hurts your brain and your ability to comprehend.

“What the hell is your problem?”

He didn’t even grace you with a response this time, just a shrug and a shake of his head, dismissing you with a little smile. The fucker was evil without reason.

You took a moment to really look him in the eyes for a good 20 seconds— that’s a long time, yes, but that’s really what it took for you to finally get it. It’s in his eyes, what’s so off-putting about him.

He’s always slightly out of it, never too concerned about anything.

Too laid back to be genuine, yet a little too tense to be faked.

All that wrapped into a frat boy bow, and you have Satoru. Somehow.

Ah, you get it- He’s constantly on drugs.

The dialted pupils, the stare with lead injected into it when you looked for too long, all of it was in the eyes and it finally made sense.

He just tilted his head at you and nodded his head, that smug smile had never left his face.

“Been looking at me mighty long, you change your mind?”

That’s what was wrong with him.

“Do you just… do drugs and decide nothing else matters, fuck me over while off a damn pill?”

He didn’t respond for a while and just looked at you. Really looked at you. You doubt anything penetrated that drugged out mind— why didn’t you pick up on it before?

“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

What a Satoru response, only he could say that and genuinely mean it.

“Just high on life, hm?”

And you just happened to be in the way of that, how- you didn’t know. Whatever episode he was having, you got caught up in.

“Something like that.”

-4

Looking at him felt different after that exchange— it’s been days since you last even spoke to him, knowing the worst person you know is probably coked out of his mind is a.. strange feeling.

He definitely looks at you differently now.

He seemed to pop up wherever you were, always there, always watching.

And whenever he was there, there was always a problem, him doing something just to piss you off.

Since you found out, he’s been going to extra mile to be petty.

You knew something deep about him, and he was taking out how uncomfortable he was with it on you, his constipated outlook on emotions was already fucked enough to turn to drugs, how could you expect him to deal with vulnerability?

Days and days pass as he torments you in little way only you could notice, the kind where if you tell anyone else they’d think you’re obsessed and reading into it. And he knew that, relied on that reasoning entirely.

It only made your dislike of him even more palpable.

Everytime you saw him, he was chipper in how he bothered you, way too happy to be putting somebody else down with no repercussions.

that’s just like him.

Maybe that’s why it was so shocking to see him in a state of unconsciousness in an empty classroom while you were just trying to print an essay.

Work of @cixteenyne