#and it was the first substantial thing I wrote down after years off

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: tyler owens x male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: years ago, you broke up with him for his reckless lifestyle. now, when he's come back without changing a bit, you don't know why you let him back into your life.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.65k

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: angst, death is mentioned and tyler gets close to it not explicitly, kissing, swearing, baby as a nickname for your lover, lot of made up family members + names

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: cowboy slang vocabulary, yes it's 11pm, yes I wrote this in a day, yes I'm in bed, yes Glen Powells is hot

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Tyler Owens likes to live what others might call a dangerous life, although he much preferred to call it a life of thrill.

He started it off as a bull rider for a rodeo, and though by the end of it he was regarded as the star bull rider and sometimes even the star of the show, there was a big learning curve that ended him with a couple (something closer to four dozen, really) kicks on the ol' noggin. Luckily, none of it sprouted within him either physical or mental problems by the time he decided he wanted to move on; his mother always said he had a thick skull, anyway.

After the less dangerous, still excruciating years in university, he came out with a meteorologist degree. And what did he do with it? He became a storm chaser.

A peculiar fact that came with it was that even after landing a more dangerous job, he sustained less injuries than bull riding by a substantial amount. Suppose the thing is that the moment he gets his first serious one, he's likely done for.

You've been through it all.

You met him before he even started this life, in high school; your first kiss was at his bedside after a particularly harsh fall and kick, you persisted through the busier university schedule, and you supported his dreams to be a storm chaser.

But at the height of it all, after the first scare when the anchor mechanism on that old truck of his failed to stop the car from turning onto its side, you decided you two were over.

It was definitely selfish. You didn't want to be close to him when, and you said when, he died. You decided it would be a lot less grief on your end, and you know what? He understood you.

For years, you've been grateful for him. As much as you've been his anchor, he's been yours...but he'd have made you a widower, even if you were married or not, and you just couldn't take that possibility.

If you're caught in the disastrous thunderstorm he'll leave behind, you're not sure you'll ever make it out.

You hope you'll never find out.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

"Get your ten commandments out of my soup!"

So why did you let him walk back into your life?

"I'm sorry! Hey, don't hit me with that ladle!"

You're not sure.

You point the utensil at him as threateningly as possible, although it's practically the same thing as pointing a spoon at him. "I don't need you for a taste-tester, Owens, you best take note of that."

"Yeah, yeah," Tyler's body is shaking with laughs, even as he lifts his hands up in surrender. "yes, sir."

You roll your eyes, bedrugingly turning your back to him to keep chopping vegetables. Tonight, you'll be sharing this soup with the whole family, and you're currently trying your damnedest to make it good. That means avoiding whatever seasoning boiled Tornado Wrangler digits will bring.

Tyler leans back to admire you, no he's not looking at your ass, work away. It feels oddly domestic, even if he's sitting down like a useless husband watching TV on his recliner.

That feeling of domesticity is piled on further when he hears the sound of innocent laughing outside.

"You sure that kid's not mine?" Tyler suggests for the second time, gesturing out the back door with his head.

"Haha." You laugh sarcastically, not even giving him the satisfaction of turning his way. "No, my sister just so happened to marry a blonde. Even if she was somehow ours, I would've never kept you from her."

Of course you wouldn't have. You're too good for that.

The kid outside is your niece, a twelve year old girl shipped out of bustling New York City to the backdoor of America for being "too addicted to her phone", as your sister says. Despite her self-proclaimed hatred for the outdoors, she's actually having a lot of fun with the ranch dogs, who indulge her when they're not working.

Even though he's in no way related to the kid, and even if you and him could never biologically create anything together, he swears she looks just like if the two of you had a love child, which makes his heart swell all the more when she sees her.

"If we could've had one," Tyler begins, standing up to begin a slow, silent walk towards you. "would you have rather they be a boy or a girl?"

"Don't ask me that." You say with a laugh, meaning you're refusing to answer only because you don't want to have prejudice.

"Okay, fine, then." He settles behind you, pressing his chest to your back. "Huh."

"Huh, what, cowpoke?"

His hands are settled on the edge of the counter on either side of you, trapping you in. "I thought you'd flinch."

"I learned to expected the unexpected around you, Tyler Owens. Never a day went by that you didn't surprise me, so I decided I'd simply never be surprised."

Tyler sputters out a laugh. "Oh, hobble your lip!"

"It's true." You reply, offhandedly, fully concentrated on chopping some carrots, and Tyler hates that because you're not giving him attention.

So he opts to do something you'll obviously never expect and prove you wrong. He leans down to press his nose against your neck, and you think he's only going to kiss it, but instead...

Thbptttttt!

"Ew, Tyler, you did not!" It's a miracle you have the self-restraint to put the knife down, let alone only push him away and not slap him on the face. You clutch the spot where he just blew a raspberry and instantly regret it, recoiling away from the feel of his saliva like it's acid.

Tyler laughs. Despite your best efforts to push him away again as he approaches, he only dodges your hands and traps you against the counter again. His plan is accomplished, as he now has you facing him.

"You asshole." You snarl.

Tyler only smiles. "Yours, all the same."

He leans down to kiss right where he'd blown that raspberry, collecting most of his own spit on his lips and saving you the trouble of cleaning it himself.

Even when you wipe off the rest of the spit you'd previously touched on his sleeve, he laughs.

"What am I going to do with you?" You sigh, cupping his cheek and tilting his gaze towards yours.

He's a damn bastard, having the audacity to grin at you as if he's won some kind of victory. "Kiss me."

So he's a puppy, then. Licking you like it's a way of kissing and expecting a proper kiss back. "No, you don't deserve that."

He rolls his eyes, though his eyes find yours immediately after. "Yes I do. Kiss me."

You don't know why you let Tyler Owens walk back into your life like nothing happened. You don't know how you let him kiss your neck, or how you let him even ask to kiss you, or how you're even being friendly with him.

Scratch that, actually. You don't know why he kissed your neck, why he wants to kiss you, or why he's being friendly with you.

You walked out of his life, for God's sake. You walked out of his life because you feared dealing with the aftermath of his death.

He's a tornado. Tyler Owens, the tornado wrangling cowboy, is a tornado. He's a fire twister, even, the worst of the worst, a category F5. The damage he'll leave once he dies out won't be devastating, it'll be incredible.

That's what you're trying to avoid.

"What's wrong?" Tyler's smile has faded, his expression sobered up. Of course he can still tell when you're lost in your own thoughts.

"Nothing." You shake your head, wipe your nose to hide your sniffle and thus let go of his face. "Hey, how about you go check up on Sophie? My sister would kill me if she got hurt."

"Right, sure." He can sense something's wrong, but he withdraws anyway, respecting your decisions. He always does that, and you hate him for it, because he's so good.

You watch him head out the back door, and even as he closes it, you watch on.

He's too good for you.

When the distant sound of the boiling soup catches your ear, you inevitably tear your eyes away.

Right, let's make the best soup there ever was.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Tyler had unknowingly picked the right time to show up at your front door when he did.

"Aww, come on, you didn't have to make such a big fuss," Your great uncle speaks with those sloppy dentures of his, but even with the wet sound of his gums and lips, he sounds entirely endearing. "Tyler's back! This party should've been his."

Tyler's always been the life of the party ever since you brought him home for that first Thanksgiving (his "trial", so to speak), and that apparently hasn't changed.

"Oh, no, no, you're kiddin' grandpa!" Tyler only raises his glass from where he's leaning against the punch table. "It's your birthday! Hell, I didn't even bring a gift!"

"Your fine ass is all you needed to bring." Your famously single aunt grins and sends a wink, holding a glass full of wine she snuck in despite all the children around.

Tyler directs his own glass towards her to thank her, his smile never waning. "Oh shush, aunt Delilah."

As Tyler greets the family one by one, all of which clearly miss him, you're in the corner of the room pointing out each of them to your niece.

"Those are your cousins...I think. They're your mom's cousin's kids, and well...whatever, they're Jonas' kids. Becky, Jake, Bean–"

"Bean?"

"Sorry, his name's Nick, we just call him Bean 'cause one time as a toddler we found him sitting on a sack of raw beans, shovelling them into his mouth."

"That's crazy."

Even after you've named every face in the room and sent Sophie away with a pat on the head to mingle with her...cousins, Tyler's still talking to everyone.

Your heart burns like you've had some of uncle Dick's famous dripping fried chicken at the sight of it because nobody's ever like this when it's just you.

It's not even about the fact you're forgotten, it's a big family and you have your own close group of cousins in the middle of all of them, it's the fact that they missed him.

While you're distracted, your mom pulls you down to sit beside her on the couch, where your dad is telling another story of his. Many of your aunts and uncles and distant cousins are gathered around him, listening intently, but as you actually hear the contents of his speech, your attention fades away. It's one of those stories he always tells, about how the crop cycle was ruined until he had this eureka idea.

Distantly, you hear Tyler droning on about his whole tornado wrangling cowboy thing, explaining his latest feat like it's nothing but a regular Tuesday. He's got a lot more people gathered around him than your dad; not to discredit your dad, as he's doing his best trying to compete against Tyler in storytelling, but you know how that will end.

You kiss your mother on the cheek and stand up to find your more amicable cousins, only to be interrupted by your aunt Sissy, Delilah's sister.

"Hey, darling! How've you been?" She calls you over and immediately slings an arm around your neck, holding you close and rubbing your cheeks together in greeting.

"Good, good." You say immediately, an instinctual white lie as you wipe her transferred makeup off your cheek.

She doesn't even notice you're lying to her, maybe doesn't care enough to notice, before she's nodding her head towards Tyler and his crowd. "I'm so happy you're back together with Tyler, he must have so many new stories to tell."

"Um, actually, auntie," You try to correct her, then bite your lip, pausing suddenly to think. It'd probably be a lot better if you let her believe you were back together, but you've already dug yourself into saying actually. "we're–"

"Hey, auntie Sissy!" Tyler suddenly appears beside you like he wasn't just across the room, leaning down to gracefully accept the cheek kisses in greeting. He somehow comes out of it without getting stained. "How have things been? The old cat still slinking around the neighbors' yards?"

The two of them exchange a few words before he's slinging an arm around your shoulder, "Can I borrow this one real quick? It'll just be a sec."

"Sure, sure!" Whether an insult to your presence or a compliment to his coercion tactics, she's more than happy to let the two of you go. "Don't let me hold up your fun."

You're grateful for him steering you away from the party and out onto the front porch, but you're also dreading being alone with him after the whole thing in the kitchen.

Tyler doesn't seem too far off.

"Whew, I did not miss being around your family." He breaths out, leaning against the porch's railing.

The whole dread fades into confusion as he says that, and you lean against the spot beside him. "You didn't?"

"No...well," He shakes his head, "I missed hanging out with them. I did not miss having to tell them every single detail about where I've been since I've last seen them."

"I thought you liked telling them stories." You hummed, turning your gaze from the scenery ahead to him.

"Eh...I much prefer intimate crowds." He sends a wink. You flush and try to turn away, but he catches your cheek and stops you.

Tyler knows something is wrong, has known since you discreetly pushed him away earlier today in the kitchen. Looking into your eyes only further convinces him.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

His eyes narrow. His stupidly beautiful blue-green eyes narrow at you, and you know you can't lie anymore...but you can deflect.

"Did you know your eyes are blue and green?" You ask, lightly tapping his hand that sits on the railing.

"(Y/N)."

"Blue rim. Green...center? No, that's not the word, the inner? God, I don't know." You shake your head, and despite the movement, his hand doesn't leave your cheek.

"(Y/N)."

"They remind me of the classic scenery." You hold a pointer finger out. "Blue sky, green lawn, right? Or the Windows default wallpaper. Both are iconic."

His other hand leaves the railing and takes your other cheek. "Baby, look at me."

Baby. You used to hate it when he called you that, you weren't some baby, but now...now, how you've missed it.

You sigh, closing your eyes momentarily to collect yourself. No more deflecting and no more lies. You actually had to talk about your feelings now.

It had taken a lot of courage the first time, telling him: yes, I still love you, I'm just selfish and think that if you die, you'll take me down with you; no, I know you won't actually kill me, but you'll take my soul with you, and that's practically the same thing, isn't it?

"You don't have to tell me anything." Tyler speaks up before you do, beckoning your eyes open. "You just have to tell me to go away again, if that's what you want."

"No," You instinctively say.

"No," You say immediately.

No. No, how could you? You did once, and you're not sure how.

"Stay." You say, because you want it, you want him to stay.

"Okay." He says it easily, and his hands fall to his sides. He's willing to take that, just that, because...you don't know, maybe he still loves you. You're not willing to admit that.

You're not willing to accept that he still loves you after you told him you wanted to break up.

You take his hand before he can walk back into the party. "Why'd you come back?"

"I..." Tyler almost shrinks back, but you intertwine your fingers, and now you're the angler reeling him back in. "My car got flipped onto it's roof."

"Baby." You breathe out, pulling him in, pulling him closer to you, almost like he's not living flesh in front of you and you need to make sure he's breathing by feeling his chest heave against you.

"I was in the hospital for a little while...just some cuts." He assures first, to not worry you. He grabs both your hands, presses his nose to the knuckles, inhales the scent of their sweat like it's that of an apple pie, and it's weird but he needs it. "The glass broke, obviously, all of it, and some of my equipment, and, well, fuck, it was worse than a couple cuts."

"Ty."

"I'm okay, you see? Not scarred. I'm tough." He lets go of your hands momentarily to do a little twirl for you. He looks just the same as you left him.

"You almost died." You say anyway.

"Yeah." He doesn't deny it, he can't lie, because he can see through your lies as well as you can see through his. "I wanted to see you again, because...I wanted to see you in case the next time I got into an accident, I actually died. And you know what? I feel selfish for it."

"What? No." You shake your head, step closer. You're about to say more, but he starts first.

"You told me to stay away, but I came back into your life and I acted like nothing happened. You know, the life you're living? It's kind of what I wanted for us. A little ranch, some cows, some dogs, a farm. We get our own milk, our own eggs, grow our own food, and it's just the two of us..." His fingers climb up your arm like a little spider, and his gaze follows it absentmindedly. "Until we decide to adopt a little girl. You drive her to school, I drive her back home. We're happy, raising her. We teach her not to be like us, and she still turns out an exact replica of us, anyway. She's our princess."

"Sophie?"

"Sophie."

He sniffles. You tear your hand away from his only to cup both of his cheeks with your hands. "I'm so sorry, Tyler."

"No, I–"

"No, shut up." Despite the severity, you laugh, and he does too, until you're speaking again. "I shouldn't have left. I should've stayed right there with you. I'd have been right at your bedside, you know? I'd have kissed you like the first time. Remember what I said?"

He laughs again, "That my breath tastes like cow shit?"

"Yeah, that." You grin at him, and he loves to see you grin like that again. "I was selfish."

"I understood you completely, though. I thought I was saving you the grief." That's why he let you leave so easily, and you realize it now, looking into his eyes. "You were right. You always are."

"I'm not, Tyler. I was wrong." You shake your head, "I thought it worked. Weeks went by when I didn't think about you, because I fought the memories of you back. A year after, it settled in that I wouldn't be seeing you, so I thought I wouldn't even think about you anymore, but...the memory of you, your smile, your kisses, your warmth resurfaces every month, and god, I missed you. And missing you without the possibility of having you is just grieving you."

"...and now I'm here." He leans a bit further away, and you see all of him. You see the way his blue-green eyes are glassed over, and you've no doubt yours are the same; you see the familiar way his hat is perched above his head and how he still wears the top two buttons of his shirt undone and how his smile is just the same.

"And now you're here." You nod.

He places his hands over your wrists, holds them, presses his nose against yours. "I missed you too."

"Mhm?" You hum. Your breaths mingle with his, pressed this close together.

"And I love you, too. Still do."

"Fuck." You laugh, a teary little thing, but it's real and genuine and not a figment of his imagination. "I love you too."

And then you kiss, and he's missed it so much, and you've missed it so much, the two of you. You're slotted together, like pieces of a puzzle. You're not you without him and he's not him without you.

When you part, you wipe a couple stray tears off his cheeks, and he does the same for you.

"Should we..." He chokes a little on his words, then shakes the nerves off. He has you back, and his smile returns. "head back?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we should." You find yourself leaning back in, anyway.

You share another kiss, maybe two. If he'd brought a friend or three along, he'd have signalled them to light the fireworks in his truck to add a little magic to it, even if it already feels like fireworks are going off between your lips.

You could spend eternity like this.

When you've had enough of each other for the moment and finally head back in, your great uncle raises his spoon at you and laughs. "There you are! This soup is amazing, kid!"

Or at least that's what he would've said, had his dentures not gotten stuck in a hard carrot and splashed right back into his bowl.

One of the carrots which you added last, thanks to Tyler's distraction earlier today.

The tornado wrangler of a boyfriend you've regained is laughing his ass off beside you, while you cringe. So much for the perfect soup.

"Come on, (Y/N)." Tyler wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, and you're so happy he can do it casually again.

"Let's get us a bowl."

[toriafiction]

Lightning in his Eyes and Thunder in his Wings

Author's Note chapter 4

Introducing

Dick "I need to fry some bastards" Grayson

And

Jason "I'll break you if you touch him" Todd

I'm excited about having gotten this far. I personally feel like this is where things really start in a way. Chapters 1 and 2 are backstory, and chapter 3 is the transition, but chapter 4 is the start of what I think of as current time.

You might notice a change in pacing from here on. There won't be any big time skips, just brife mentions of a few weeks passing between point A and point B here and there, but nothing substantial. While the passage of time will be slower, events will pick up.

Years have passed between the events in Titans Tower in chapter 2 and the beginning of chapter 4, and in that time Dick had created a new normal for himself, something that he believed was sustainable. Now, as promised in the story summary, Jason is back and, by merely existing in his space, has awakened something that is going to flip Dick’s world upside down.

Dick isn't human, and he has gotten to complacent with that fact.

This chapter introduces Jason into the story as an interactive character that we are finally getting to see, and I wanted him to come in with a big entrance that felt genuine to the story. This led me to writing my first ever fight scene. This was both easier and harder than I thought it would be. Dick’s sole fight was easy. I wanted to showcase how he used his abilities in a fight and him just being a badass fighter in general, so I just let him kick ass. No problem.

I had a problem after I brought Jason in. I really wanted to have them fighting together, not just in the sense of fighting back to back but actually playing off each other. Such as where Dick rolls across Jason’s back to defend him. I wanted to have more things like that, but I couldn't come up with anything. I even tried looking up fighting videos, and that was a huge bust. I hope I still got the point and the feelings across.

The next problem I had was even worse.

Talking.

I had no idea how to have them interact or what to have them say to each other. I knew the emotions and what the ultimate outcome of the interaction was supposed to be, but I agonized over this tiny little part for weeks. I even wrote around it until I hit the exact same problem with the next chapter.

I was stuck, and at that point, I stepped away from this work for quite a while, and it sat collecting dust in my docs for some time. When I came back, I still didn't know how to write the scene, but I wanted to keep my focus on this story, so this is the point that I started naming chapters. I also changed the name of the fic at this point. I was using a temporary name of "Lightning Strikes Twice." I knew that it wasn't a title I wanted to keep, and while I sometimes worry that my current title may be too long, I am much happier with it.

I finally got over my writer's block with this section while I was at work one day. I was hit with the idea of Dick’s line about Jason being snake bitten, and it seemed to shake everything loose. During my break, I made a rough outline of the scene and jotted down a few ideas for the next, and finally, I was able to move forward again. Yay!

Previous notes- 1st, 2nd, 3rd,

[lexinympho]

Void

Kunigami Rensuke x gn!reader

Summary: Kunigami learns the hard way that a relationship with you could only last so long when neither of you have the time to maintain it.

WC: 5.1k

Tags/Warnings: Angst to hopeful ending, breakups, self-destructive behavior, Chigiri being a real one, Bachira being a sleepy one.

A/N: What started off as a drabble turned into a full on fic, so here ya go. Expect inaccuracies because I am not an expert on anything and I added more things as I wrote. This was going to be straight up heavy angst at first btw, but I changed my mind, so imagine how that would've went lol.

Kunigami always heard people say the breakup is the worst part.

They don't too often say the recovery from the breakup is worse by comparison, easily combining the two when, in reality, they're totally different experiences.

At least they are to him.

Before the breakup, life with you was all he could ask for and more; learning to love all that is you was an experience he wouldn't trade for anything in the universe. He memorized aspects of you that many would see as flaws, your morning routine mingled with his to make for both lively and quaint memories worth looking back on, and cherished the little instances of adoration that outweigh the occasional disagreement. He'd avert his gaze and lower his head whenever his friends would light heartedly jest about his devotion to you, something so evident in the way he'd cut a conversation short when his phone twitches in his pocket.

Meanwhile, you were the opposite. Where he'd look away from embarrassment, you'd look it in the eye and greet it with a bashful yet thankful smile, glad to feel this way over someone you hold near and dear to your heart. You'd be much more open with your affection than Kunigami, something one could think would put him off when showing affection wasn't an easy feat for him in public, but it wasn't a problem to him. There wasn't any serious problem with you or him for the three years you've been together.

Until your lives outside of "us" came knocking at the door.

You were happily doing better at work and spent more time there in the process, while Kunigami spent substantially more time with soccer. Maybe the stresses of certain teams being too good at picking out weaknesses got to him, or maybe it was a certain maneuver that made the physician force him to chill out a little with the rough play. He already didn't see you enough due to the time constraints and demand of matches, and with you becoming busier, the most he could do was immerse himself in the regular season.

Perhaps a little too well though. He'd rarely come home to you before you were asleep, and similarly, would be up and out before you knew he was home. Calls became shorter for time to focus, texts became scarcer, and effort was being put towards many different things aside from you.

You both felt bad for neglecting and feeling neglected by each other, but you especially felt forgotten by your boyfriend, and rightfully so. Kunigami, who's been nothing but a big sweetheart to you in all the time you've known him for, had begun choosing soccer over you. But in his mind, this will blow over after some time; he's just going through another rough patch with you because you're both tied up with your own things. Deep down, he knows there's something amiss, that there's a chance it won't simply blow over and will lead to a huge confrontation. How can he end that foreseen confrontation the same way he ends the occasional disagreements?

A true case of knowing when something might be wrong, but not quite knowing how to approach that something.

You apparently figured out your own solution when you greeted him at the front door one night in a stern manner, "Rensuke."

It's been a while since he came home to see you awake, and he's not sure if that's a good or bad thing right now. You aren't dressed for bed either, even though it's nearly midnight, so that should've been a red flag right there, but his mind only saw yellow. "Hey, I'm surprised you're awake," he greets you with a smile, cautious, weary, and genuine.

"Couldn't sleep," you say a bit distractedly, mentally preparing yourself as you follow Kunigami to the bedroom.

"Oh yeah? What time did you get off?" He casually makes conversation and drops his bag off.

"About an hour ago. Look," you inhale, which gets his attention, "we need to talk."

He finally looks at you, sees more than your attire, looks beyond the gleam of the promise ring he gave you so long ago, and sees the hesitation in your stance, in the way your arms are crossed and your shoulders are slightly drawn in. Your frown contains various emotions just waiting to be deciphered, and "we need to talk" became the red flag he recognized.

That was the sound of someone planning to breakup with him.

The denial kicked in right away though, and he asked nervously, "What's wrong?" An idiotic question, because what on Earth could've been right recently?

"It's about my job."

What happened with your job? Were you fired? Did someone say something to you?

"I got a better position."

His brain processes that information and he smiles, "That's good!" Why don't you look happy about it though?

"I'll have to move for it though."

The smile slips to the floor with a harsh thud, "...What?"

You cruelly repeated yourself to say your job wanted you to move for a bit to the other side of the world, and that you were considering taking them up on that offer.

Considering.

"So...you haven't made your mind yet?" He asks with optimism, unintentionally making it clear what he'd prefer you to do.

"Kind of, I don't know." You tug at the hem of your shirt when you began feeling the guilt creep in, "I was thinking of taking the offer at first."

"Before you talked to me about it?" His jacket feels too hot in the relatively comfortable room.

"I just said I was thinking about it," you remind him with an unintended tone of voice. You knew the conversation wouldn't be peaceful, but you hoped he would've at least understood where you're coming from.

"That's no different from accepting it." He knows he was wrong to say that, but continues with anger as his fuel, "And why do you have to move for this? To America at that!"

"Rensuke, it's for my job!" You make it seem like I'm leaving you, was an unpleasant statement your mind conjured up, and you felt even guiltier for not being as opposed to it as you should be. You're tired from work, but his anguish is clear to see with nothing but two bedside lamps to light the room.

Neither you nor him are tired enough to avoid arguing though, and the back and forth yelling was bad to put it lightly. He says you sprung this onto him out of nowhere, you say he should check his phone. He says you aren't considering how he feels, you say he isn't considering how you feel. He says he only saw you at 4 of his games, you say you can't drop everything for him and that was never a problem before. He says you're being unfair to him, you say you're being fair to the both of you. A dictionary of words were thrown back and forth and your neighbors definitely heard a handful of them.

Breathless and exhausted, you lower your voice and say, "I'm going to my sister's place for now until I'm ready to go."

Desperation finally comes in to play, a weird thing since your sister lives close by, but the implications are what scare Kunigami. "You don't have to-"

"I do. I need to go," your voice becomes wobblier by the second, "because my head hurts and I can't deal with whatever's going on right now. I need a break."

A break. You need a break.

"What kind of break?" He asks, desperately in need of clarification as he watches you throw assorted necessities into a bag.

You pause like you intend to say something, but remain silent, a decision that doesn't give him the satisfaction he craves. All he hears is, 'Maybe we need to break up.'

The bargaining begins.

He breathes as though he ran around the house 5 times, "Don't you think you're overreacting?"

"No." You weakly put the last shirt you picked out into your bag, "I have things I want to do."

"I know that, but-"

"Then let me do those things without wondering when you'll pay attention to me." You refuse to look at him again, or you'll really reconsider what you're doing. Just imagining what he looks like right now is almost enough to do it. You abruptly stand with your bag and keys in hand to say one little, "Bye," and walk out of what you used to call home.

He didn't fight to stop you, couldn't really, even when it feels like a plethora of things were left unsaid. He never heard the utterance of words he feared hearing from you, but everything else was eerily similar and nearly brought him to his knees. The slam of two doors, a front door and a car door, made him flinch where he was left standing in silent shock. His eyes didn't start burning until he by chance looked to his left to see remnants of you strewn across the surface of the dresser, then focuses on the bottom of the mirror lined with stickers that each hold a memory, many of which he thought he'd share with you for a lifetime.

Processing all of that on his own, forcing himself to accept that you were serious when you poured your heart and mind out to him, is what actually made his knees give out on him. The pain from the impact didn't register to his nervous system, too occupied with the numbing sensation that dreadfully spread across his body like a rash, so strong that he didn't know he was trembling until he glanced at his own hands fighting a losing battle for control. His eyes stopped burning, but were no better blurred and flooded with a river of tears, accompanied by pathetically loud wails he never thought he'd be capable of pulling off.

All at once, the bedroom felt like too much; it's not just the mirror and the dresser anymore, it's the closet of jackets and trinkets, the minor scuffs and scratches where the bed grazed the walls, the framed photos, God the photos. He can't look at those anymore. Would you want them? Probably not.

All of your things are here, are you going to take everything with you?

Would you leave him with anything?

You already took his heart with you.

"Damn it..." he whispered, frustrated and lost as to what to do, slumped on the floor and repeatedly wiping endless tears from his cheeks. There was a fleeting thought of calling someone when he began spiraling down a rabbit hole of questions about what's bound to happen, but he never went through with it.

Whoever he called wouldn't be you, a thought only twisted his guts more.

And so began the recovery process.

-----

You once joked that you'd never be able to compete with soccer if he fell too hard for it. It doesn't sound so funny now when recalling one of the last things you said to him, 'You're so selfish!'

Typical of a forward.

They knew what they were signing up for, the indignation spat out.

You should've given them more, the despair whispered.

A sickening jumble of the two sat in his chest ever since then, the brunt of which he could never wholly direct to you. How could he, when he's the one who drove you away in the first place? His heart's been diced by a knife, one that he alone wielded when you attempted to take it from him with caring hands.

Without a real punching bag to attack though, the jumble pounced onto anything in its path.

He swore he wouldn't fall back into the bad habits of his teen years, but it was all too easy to break that promise when there was no one left to keep it with aside from himself. The riptide of convoluted emotions lashing around followed him into his plays, unfairly choosing everything and everyone around him as its target. His usually controlled aggression was no where to be seen, replaced with a truculent version of itself that gave little care to its teammates outside of using them for scoring instead of cooperating. Whatever neutral or friendly chemistry he had with his team was pushed to the gutter without a care; an unappealingly churlish front is what greeted everyone no matter how nice they tried to play.

Even though he's the one acting out, it hurts him, because he's not normally like this and you'd hate to see him this way. It's as though he's watching someone who isn't him live out his days for him in a manner he usually wouldn't, even on days in the past when everything seemed to go wrong.

The parts of his unwarranted behavior that hurt the most right now, however, are Isagi, Bachira and Chigiri, because they know. The team knew of you, but the guys knew you. They all met you, exchanged numbers after getting friendly, and practically had a front row seat to the growth of the relationship. Only now, they witnessed the decay of it on both sides from start to finish. They were there for every call, shortened and missed, for every text left on read or answered with little thought, and the handful of times Kunigami drunkenly (and stupidly) lamented about you being too busy for him. They even all made sure to tell him the one thing he hated to hear: It's not your fault they left.

Saying that it would've eventually happened given how adept you were with your job is an excuse. Why wouldn't it be his fault? He went so far to blame you for things you weren't at fault for, and took his frustrations out on you after pretty much ignoring you for weeks in a borderline passive aggressive fashion.

Isagi and Bachira learned early on to leave him to his own devices after receiving cold shoulders, but Chigiri-

"Kunigami."

The orange haired man depressingly looked up from his cleats and met Chigiri's sentimental gaze. He couldn't tell if it placated him or pissed him off because that's all he's been seeing for the past two weeks.

"What?" He gave a curt response and yanked his towel from around his neck.

Chigiri didn't seem phased by it, not surprising since he's always been the quickest to see through him in moments like these. He kept a pensive expression on and leaned against the lockers behind him, "Have you heard from them since...y'know?"

The weight of the world suddenly jumped onto his back and he could feel his energy leaving him all at once (he supposes he should be thankful he typically has enough energy for soccer to not fall behind despite how he's feeling). Starting a conversation about you is no different from throwing salt into a wound that's taking a millennia to heal. Yes it's been four weeks, no he doesn't feel any better, you're still a sensitive topic, and your absence gives him frostbite in a metaphorical sense (sometimes it seems literal). He feels like the world's biggest coward everytime you're mentioned because he subconsciously clams up to avoid talking about you or what happened.

He did hear from you once though, three whole days after you broke up with him. All you said, in a text of all things, is that you'd be slowly moving your stuff out when you had the time, to which he simply replied, 'okay.' A simple and piteous response conveying none of what's been going through his mind; you don't need him to cry you a river and make you feel bad for a decision you've done enough thinking over.

It's obvious you don't even want to see him in person everytime he comes back to his place and it looks like he'd been burglarized instead of visited by a loved one.

He's not sure he'd want to see you either, though for a different reason.

Kunigami remembers Chigiri standing by waiting for an answer, so he shoves his cleats into his bag and answers abruptly with less bite than he had seconds ago, "No. Why?"

"I haven't heard from them in a couple days, that's all." A moment of silence passes and he begins to speak again, "Did th-"

"You're more likely to hear from them than I am, just give them some time." Ready to stop talking, he promptly stands the moment the slider of the zipper reaches its destination and throws out a faint, "Later," on his way out of the nearly empty locker room.

"Kunigami."

He stops, glancing over his shoulder in acknowledgement.

There's a lot Chigiri wants to say, wanted to say before things got this far, because being hopeful on the sidelines did no favors for anyone. Believing things could work out is entirely different from knowing things could work out, and he knows Kunigami believed before he could know. The man is once again experiencing a moment of powerlessness, of not knowing what to do when all you know doesn't work, when your ambitions end up taking the priority that should've belonged to something else. It's evident in how he's taking his frustrations out in the only ways he knows how, in the perineal bags under his eyes resulting from the broken sleep cycles of either too much sleep or too little, and the numerous times he's lingered in the showers just to be alone.

Despite having seen him the whole time since the breakup, it's hard to think Kunigami's mildly better than he was last month.

"Take care of yourself," Chigiri chooses to say in sincerity, and this time, hopes his teammate reads the multiple underlying meanings behind those four words.

Kunigami does, and if he had it in himself he'd laugh at how blantly concerned Chigiri is being from the norm, but the invisible down coat of exhaustion he wears doesn't slip from his shoulders.

Because you would've said the same thing, you have said the same thing plenty of times. Your words had layers to them much like Chigiri's too, the dissimilarity being the 'I love you' and 'see you tonight' slipped in between the lines.

"Yeah," he speaks in a tone encompassing how depleted he feels. The depletion could also be a result of a skipped meal or two today, something his stomach suddenly reminds him of with pangs of hunger. He walks out before anyone else can catch him, using a swiftness that used to be reserved for rushing home to you and is now for rushing away from you in a sense.

"Did you get to talk?" Bachira asks curiously from around the corner once Kunigami leaves.

He was so quiet I forgot he was there. "Define 'talk'," Chigiri answers and prepares to leave as well.

Bachira easily caught up to him and pouted, "No dice, huh?"

"None whatsoever." The long haired man starts to vent a little as they walk out of the building, "Is it bad that I kind of want to hit him?"

"Yeah, a little," Bachira confirms through a yawn. "But I get it."

"Like, I know he's going through it, but I hate when he got like this back then."

"Mhm."

"And somehow it seems worse this time. I mean, I know why it's worse, but I wish his immediate reaction to something bad wasn't this." Chigiri lets out a groan of frustration once he finishes and wills himself to cool down at the sight of Bachira rubbing his eyes. "It's only 9."

"Can't help it," Bachira slurs while drowsiness works its magic on him.

A fond roll of his eyes is Chigiri's response as they reach his car and find Isagi waiting. "You're lucky I don't live that far from you guys."

A bitter memory naturally reappears in the back of his mind, one of the last time he visited Kunigami's place at your concerned request. He may not strike anyone as a person whose life has gone to shit, but the disarray of certain areas of his house are dead giveaways; the refrigerator was frighteningly scarce of its usual contents, an empty beer can or two sat in the sink (he still wonders why to this day), and clothes sat in a pile in the corner of his bedroom. It's enough to make Chigiri wonder if you're faring any better than him, but judging from your lack of communication with Kunigami since you left, he knows you aren't so perfect either.

-----

It's been a month.

And some days.

...Three months.

He walks around his house aimlessly and doesn't look too hard for what's missing from his home, doesn't want to, or he'll conduct a search for all the things you've taken and hope like an idiot that there's something left of you. The first step is not grasping for nonexistent straws after all, and he's managing as best as he can (he's long since stopped expecting to see you anytime he checks his phone).

The heat seeking missile of irritation that flew nonstop randomly ceased by this point, leaving him in a cold, empty husk of his former self. He wonders if he was better off basked in negativity because feeling nothing doesn't seem any better. The walks to his car from practice were uneventful. Shopping for basic needs was uneventful. The drives home were uneventful. Walking inside a house void of life was uneventful. Going to sleep in a king-sized bed by himself was uneventful.

Seeing his friends is a little breather from the uneventful cycle, but that's all it is, a breather.

His performance still holds up, but whatever exhilaration the sport brings him is often short-lived and eclipsed by the blank spot of someone who once shared that exhilaration in the past.

People who get over heartbreak this soon must not have been in love, he wistfully thinks to himself in bed. It's his day off, and he opted to stay home for once, a decision he's not sure was a good one. But he spent so many days swaddled by vicious self-hatred, constantly blaming himself and never knowing how to stop, that he rarely stayed put. He was always out for a game, at practice, the gym, stores, you name it, just to stay busy.

Ironic how soccer kept him the busiest while also being the thing that put a crack in the relationship.

Though he was stubborn about it towards the end of things, the fact remains that the schedules your lives revolved around conflicted greatly after some time, something that became especially evident once you moved in with him. He was left with little time for you, and vice versa; you had a life outside of his, and he had a life outside of yours.

Maybe we were bound to split up then, he thinks while admiring the sunrise for the first time in a while. There's nothing wrong with being passionate for something, you had things you wanted to do, and he supported you (still does). He never once viewed your independence as a negative, it was something he admired about you.

He sits up with a stretch and tries not to think about the copious amount of space he's free to use.

'I feel like a house sitter,' he recalls you whimpering through your desperation that night. He wanted to ask how long you'd been feeling that way, wanted to say that he'd do better for the 50th time. But he couldn't ask about something he should've had a rough idea of, and he definitely couldn't lie to you nor himself.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, he picks up his phone with the intention of checking for rain, but is dumbfounded to see a text from you 32 minutes ago.

'Can we talk?'

He stares wide eyed at his screen until it goes dark on him. Talk. Like this? Or over the phone? He should be jumping for joy that you're asking to talk, let alone contacting him again, but he's filled to the brim with uncertainty. What did you want to talk about? Why'd you want to talk to him again? Were you worried? Did one of the guys talk to you? Did you leave something?

The last question made him look around the hallway by instinct, contradictory of what he's been trying to do lately, and he finally allows himself to assess the damage.

His auburn eyes locked onto something left sitting on the narrow table, a small ceramic lamp he remembers you picking out at a furniture store. You thought it'd be the perfect size considering where you planned to put it, and you were right, he can't imagine it being anywhere else.

But why is it here?

He walks aimlessly into the living room and sees more things worth questioning. A decent chunk of your books are still left standing on the bookshelf, your succulent plants are still sitting on the windowsill (and not dead by some miracle), and he spied one of your umbrellas left behind in the entryway organizer. Your sunglasses, one of your favorite birthday cards, your Monopoly game, they're all there. It's a little mortifying that he's just now noticing all of this, but he's far too confused to dwell on it.

Maybe you just didn't get around to everything yet, except you'd never be so forgetful to leave this many things behind. The thought immediately gets debunked anyways when something randomly tells him to check the bedroom, making him nearly sprint back to find what else he blindly looked past. Most of your jackets are in their same spots in the closet, your trinkets don't even look like they've been touched, and the photos he last saw with eyes obscured by tears remained where they've always been.

Even the polaroids, your polaroids, that you periodically took within the first year of the relationship were still in the album you purchased just for them. And the album, something you hold so close to you and look at with the fondest of gazes, still sat in the bottom drawer of the dresser.

There are many things missing, that much he can see, but there should definitely be less than this left behind after a month.

The uncertainty has left and been replaced with confusion.

Kunigami then realizes he never replied to you and quickly texts back, 'Sure,' not even bothering to figure out what exactly you meant by talk. But you want to talk, and that's something.

Your response is almost instant, 'Okay, I'm coming over. See you in seven-ish minutes.'

"Seven minutes!?" He exclaimed and remembered that your sister's place isn't so far from his. So he spends the next five minutes fixing himself up to look presentable, as well as straighten up the cocoon of sorrow his (your, our??) bedroom turned into. Here he is running around like a headless chicken for someone he should be used to and perfectly capable of keeping his composure around, but that's nearly impossible under these circumstances, especially when that someone is you.

You who he was skittish around on the fifth "friendly" date because none of your other friends joined you two for the first time, which lead to him working himself up and finally asking you out. You who came over so often that he eventually asked (nearly begged) to move in with him after handing over a second house key. You who-

Ding-dong~

-is here. That was fast, but you did say seven minutes, well, seven-ish, he has to open the door, you don't have his key anymore-

He rushes over to the front door but stalls when he's bewildered by a thought, one that was embarrassingly late to make an appearance. What are you doing at your sister's place? Isagi told him you were in America last month. The longing for answers to his questions pushes him to open the door, and the sight of you is almost enough to make him forget everything.

"Hey," he greets you in awe. You didn't go through some major transformation, and you aren't dressed any particular way. But God, he missed seeing you, missed you. He missed your warm, penetrating eyes, your soundboard of laughter, and your domestic, loving touch. He wants to hug you so badly, but is your touch still one of love? Would you let him hear your laughs? Do you still look at him the same way?

"Hey," you greet him warmly, and your left hand moves just enough to catch his attention. Your ring finger still glints, because of the promise ring, you kept the-

"You still wear it?" He asks in disbelief.

Your eyebrows raise like you never realized it and you lift your hand to touch the ring, "Oh, uh, yeah. I do."

He's flipping out on the inside, but he controls himself on the outside enough to ask, "What are you doing here?" He receives a look of perplexity and rephrases, "I mean, why aren't you in America?"

"Oh, I just..." you trail off uncertainly, but restart with a light shake of your head, "I needed to see you. Before I go back."

You're going back. He tries not to let the disappointment show, but the slight downward tilt of your chin lets him know he failed. "What did you need to see me for?"

You fiddle with the hem of your shirt (his lovesick brain focuses on the cute habit) and say, "I wanted to apologize."

He snaps out of his little trance and swiftly replies, "I should apologize. The way I treated you was unacceptable-"

"I need to apologize too, because I ignored you for a bit and-"

"That was because of work though, I have no excuse-"

"Ren, wait," you interrupt with an airy laugh, "are we going to keep trying to one-up each other at the entrance?"

"Oh, yeah," he steps aside, "wait, you said-"

"I don't have to go back today," you casually admit with an amused smirk as you walk in.

You leave him speechless at the door, but he breaks out into a laugh seconds later and runs his hand through his soft, spiky locks in relief. Neither of you have fully cracked the cans open yet, he's still in the dark about why exactly you came back, and he has two keys to his house. But the fond way in which you say his nickname, coupled with the promise ring you still wear snuggly and proudly, puts him at just enough ease to not turn into a soap opera protagonist.

Life with you before the breakup was all he could as for and more, the breakup itself was a nightmare that played out in real life, and recovering from the breakup was a hellish episode he's not sure he ever grew out of.

But if there's a promise of a life with you after all of that, it'll all seem worth it.

©lexinympho 2023, please do not edit or repost my works anywhere on this platform or another

[beevean]

Agree to disagree with you on forces vs Frontiers, I feel Frontiers was an improvement however I hope your opinion in it is sincere cause sometimes I see a lot of " WOW forces is way better then Frontiers actually "" and it mostly seems to just people hating it more because Flynn is involved, rather then a honest opinion about both games. Also not gonna convince me Infinite's theme is better then Vandalize, that one slams :P

Funny that you mention it, because I was actually accused of this. And, to be fair, I did groan when they revealed that Flynn would have written the game's story, so I understand why the assumption is that I'm unfairly biased 😂

But the thing is that we don't fully know what was his role in the writing: from what I got, he wrote the script for an already established plot. And if that's true, I can blame him for things like the constant references or Sonic's buffy speak, but I can't blame him for much more substantial issues like the general emptiness of the story or Eggman's role. I'm also taking the game's rushed, crunched development into account, which obviously isn't anyone's fault but SEGA. And ofc the flat voice direction kills the writing even more, and that is not the writers' fault. It's a mix of things, and Flynn is not the scapegoat here.

The little minority that is defending Forces mostly comes from a place of backlash against years of the Sonic community treating it like the worst thing that has happened in the franchise, replacing '06 with it as the acceptable punching bag (esp now that '06 is approaching its 20th anniversary and thus getting the "actually it was underrated" treatment), even going so far as insult the few fans of it implying that they're stupid or children (ah, Sonic Stadium is a wonderful place). It is tangentially related to Flynn because IDW came out a little after Forces did, and it was taken as proof that he's a near perfect writer that can do no wrong and oh wow it's so much better than the stupid pontaff games, sega hire this man asap. After six years, almost seven, it's safe to say that Forces, while far from being perfect and surely with a ton of flaws in its plot and execution of it, is not the absolute disaster that it was painted to be... and I personally think that Frontiers, a game that really comes off as wanting to be praised for being "a step in the right direction", and a game whose story was immensely praised and that praise put squarely on Flynn, really isn't in the things that matter.

(story wise, I mean. The gameplay is another matter, and I can't judge it. I have mixed opinions on the "open zone" style.)

And hey, Vandalize is cool! I never said anything of the contrary :P I'm only perplexed as to why it was associated with Sonic in the first place, since it's a song about a crumbling toxic relationship (lmao at the fans who thought it would be about Sonamy). But most songs from Frontiers are complete slappers, and I found myself singing Vandalize and Undefeatable for months :P I like both OSTs, they're different and they both have their highs and downs.

[anneapocalypse]

Writing Wrap-up and 2024 Goals

It's a weird year to be doing a wrap-up, because I did not post a whole lot this year and I'm not sure I even set any goals last January thanks to having covid and being sick and exhausted for weeks, which still kind of feels like it threw off my whole year even though that sounds dramatic. Whatever. I've moped enough about it being a bad year for writing; now, I want to look forward.

2023 Wrap-Up

In case you'd like to read the one fic I did post this year, it's "Before You Go", a Loghain/Maric fic for Dragon Age (3022 words, rated E), which I am still quite happy with! And though it's not writing, I also made a podfic of RosellaWrites' gorgeous fic "let them not make me a stone (and let them not spill me)" (and if you're not interested in podfic you should still go read Rosella's fic, seriously, it's great).

While November 2022 was the last time I made substantial progress on A Hero Sleeps in Gwaren (my Briala/F!Tabris longfic for Dragon Age), I did make a few attempts to chip away at the draft this year. I didn't keep any records of what progress I made, but lucky for me Scrivener has a writing history feature that can at least give me a ballpark, and... it says I added 17,326 words to the draft this year (all in the first half of the year), which, not gonna lie, seems unreal to me. The first half of this year is mud in my head, so the fact that I did in fact get some writing done is really encouraging.

Over the summer, FFXIV started to really consume me as I had finished ARR by that point and my investment in the story was growing, and I also started taking a more active leadership role in my tiny free company, and so for the back half of the year I've mostly been writing little snippets about my Warrior of Light Ariane and her adventures and relationships, some of which may become part of actual fics later. This totals out to about 19,500 words at the moment.

So I only posted about 3000 words, but in total I wrote almost 40K this year. Is that a fantastic year, no... but honestly, it's a lot better than what my brain has been telling me I've accomplished this year, which is nothing. :P So I'm glad that I sat down to actually find the numbers!

Onward and upward.

So what's next?

2024 Goals

Fandom:

Finish one longfic.

Write and post a one-shot.

Do one exchange.

Original:

Outline an original novel.

Write a poem.

Send out one piece.

Tentatively my immediate plans are to get started outlining and then writing my Ariane/Haurchefant fic. I'm on the fence about February. On the one hand, it would be great to come back to my Briala/F!Tabris longfic for Femslash February, but on the other hand there's a high probability I'm going to be playing Endwalker by that point and I have no hope of keeping my head in Dragon Age during that time, so it's probably best not to commit to it. Dragon Age fic might be best saved for after I've caught up on MSQ when there are (hopefully) a few months still left to wait for Dawntrail and I can take a little break to let it marinate while I work on something else. My enthusiasm for the Briala/Tabris fic has not waned despite the long hiatus, and just yesterday I was reading bits of the draft and getting excited again, so I do hope to finish that this year and get to share it with you.

The alternate candidate for February is either keep working on the Haurchefant fic or in the case of a miracle in which I actually finish it this month (hah!), move forward with the next one I have planned, an Urianger/Moenbryda. That's unlikely but we'll see. I know I still have things to learn about Urianger in Endwalker, which I'm very excited for.

As for what exchange(s) I might do this year, I'm not sure yet! I haven't seen any announcements yet that Chocolate Box is running this year. Black Emporium and FemslashEx are both strong candidates for me. We'll see where I am when those roll around, or maybe something else will catch my eye!

Edited to add: Oh, yeah, also at some point we're supposed to get that final season of Red vs. Blue. I have a few outstanding projects in RvB but the main one that really matters to me is Radio Silence, my Carolina lost years fic. I'd love to use the series' send-off as a kick in the pants to finally finish that one, whenever that happens. We'll see!

Finally, I am making a conscious effort to reclaim my writing time, which traditionally has been the morning between 9 and noon because that's when my mind is the sharpest, but over the past I basically let that slip entirely and be taken over by either housework or gaming, just writing on the fly when something came to me. I'm not morning gaming anymore unless it's for a good reason (timed event I need to catch, etc, which is rare, and finishing yesterday's roulettes is not a good enough reason because the queues are slower in the morning and it just ends up eating more time than it needs to, they happen every day, it's fine).

On to 2024. Looking forward to it.

[grandhotelabyss]

I guess they're about to learn this the hard way on Wikifeet, but the only thing worse than reading philosophy is reading contemporary popular political nonfiction. The past's popular political nonfiction, if it's ripened into a classic, is fine to read—often better than philosophy, in fact, hence my elevation of Emerson and Chesterton over the philosophers. But trying to sift through present-day material for the gems is too much of an opportunity cost. I had the patience for it when I was a kid but not now. I read so many of the Bush-era political books, for example, and what do I have to show for it? When's the last time you heard anybody deploy an insight gleaned from the once painfully au courant Verso volume, Afflicted Powers? Ironically, given how things turned out for all involved, the best of the W. books were probably Mark Crispin Miller's Frankfurt-School-inflected Bush Dyslexicon and Cruel and Unusual.

Anyway, I haven't done an ad on Tumblr in a while, and in another Xeet Anna K advocates "grandiose narcissism," so please let me renew my recommendation to Tumblr's apparently substantial Red Scare contingent of Portraits and Ashes, a novel I wrote in 2013, which foretold the whole Red Scare sensibility. In my later material, though, I have moved on thematically. (A paid subscription to my Substack gets you access to a post containing pdfs of my three prior novels, including Portraits and Ashes, as well as to my serialized novel-in-progress, the occult-themed American epic, Major Arcana.) I wrote my last Red-Scare-ish story, "Sweet Angry God," in 2015, three years before the pod debuted. You can read that story for free here. The opening paragraphs:

Apparently it began with a hate fuck. There was a dirtball café, no doubt collectively owned, a few blocks from the art school. He worked there, and she had been watching him for some months, maybe even her entire sophomore year. The first time she went into the place she noticed him, how hateful and stupid he was. Some kind of percussion-heavy music rumbled over the speakers, hissing with analogue static. She thought she felt the tuba thrum in her throat. Above the music she heard him talk to his co-worker as his face glistened in the espresso machine steam. He didn’t look at her, not even when his dirty fingernails grazed her palm with the change. “No, Romanian. It was a group, yeah, I mean they allied with Hitler. Not saying I’m defending them, but, I mean. They were pissed off that their culture was being violated by the modern west. Yeah, they hacked people’s heads off. Limbs. Like werewolves, man. Okay, it’s fucked up. But today you just push a button. Is that better? This is their marching music.” She kept her eye on him after that. Maybe he was dangerous. She would look over her laptop screen when he came out from behind the counter to wipe down the tables. He stomped around in careless bursts, like a toddler. He had a pervert’s goatee and wore bowling shirts stained at the armpits. When she saw his sneakers, so old they’d become fashionable again, she understood what “down-at-heel” literally meant. His body looked sinewy, a bad cut of meat. Stupid-ass white boy. Sometimes she checked certain books out of the library to read in front of him, anything by or about men ready for violence. Marinetti, Mao, Fanon, whatever. His eyes were always elsewhere. Men ready for violence unmade and remade the world. She just lived in it. She wondered if he didn’t want to just live in it. Her sophomore-year final project she called Men Ready for Violence. Blood-spatter paintings were arrayed around a screen showing various armies on the march. Their choreography contrasted with the chaos of the red paint. She loaded the artist’s statement with jargon, quotations from Klaus Theweleit and Judith Butler, so that her teachers didn’t call a shrink or a cop. Everyone was polite about it, one professor even enthusiastic. Her classmates looked at her strangely. Especially the girls. Then the semester was over. One week left before she had to come home to mamá. She sat in the café reading Ernst Jünger. He wiped down her table while she was still sitting at it, his face vacantly smiling, the dirt-nailed knob-boned fingers sinking in the washcloth’s soft folds. One week. What would a Romanian fascist do? She reached out and grabbed his wrist hard. Her face must have looked like it couldn’t believe what her hand had done. Her nails were red-stained with oil paint. He was looking at her nails and then turned to look into her eyes. He showed smoker’s teeth.

How did I know in 2015 that this type of young woman, then still immersed in pop Jezebel-style feminism, would soon be getting into aesthetic fascism? Because I'm not a philosopher. I can't afford to let logical argument block the truth.

[ohnococo]

i LOVE your nsfw writing. It's mind blowing. How do you do it? can you share some tips? coming from someone who's never had any experience in that department

First off, I am thanking you, cherishing you, offering you freshly baked muffins and the drink of your choice 🥺

And I’ll actually try to get a little more in depth than usual with my process so I’ll put it under the cut! (Spoiler: I am rambling as usual)

Disclaimer that sometimes I just bang shit out lol, especially for characters I feel more “comfortable” with (Mista from JJBA, Ijichi, and ones that are now more solidly “my interpretation” like Fight Night Sukuna). In those cases I just go with my gut first and foremost and have a fairly fleshed out NSFW scene then touch up after.

I also used to maybe write one thing a year, never had outlines, felt like everything needed to be as much of a final product as possible when it hit the page and the biggest thing that helped me with my writing flow is to start where I’m interested. Inspired to write something because of one random image or action in your head? Don’t worry about how to get there just yet. Throw down some points or a random sentence or line of dialogue. Suddenly get inspired for something to happen later? Don’t leave it til later, skip ahead (or back) and put down whatever is in your head! I basically never write a scene from beginning to end. I jump around and flesh it out as I go, then make sure it’s cohesive/flows well once I have something more substantial written.

Remember, no one is seeing that page until you’re good and ready to show it so it doesn’t matter what it looks like, it’s just a little boost to jumpstart things!

(And if you need help getting that boost or sudden inspiration for NSFW and find it’s not coming on your own, what I either do is find people who like that character or maybe are on the same wavelength about them and “thirst” I find talking with others really gets your brain working. That or I just daydream! Daydream and then pull things that work from that to put on the page.)

So, I’ll use the first chapter of Fight Night as a concrete example, because that could be (and was originally) a standalone. I knew I wanted a few things happening in the scene: semi-public sex in a club, a little size difference there with Sukuna’s monster hog, a blow job, and reader riding Sukuna (not all of these things happened in the final product, the flow and opportunities to develop the dynamic changed it as I wrote/edited).

This was a starting point for me actually writing rather than “outlining” (or what could be considered outlining in my process). From there I skipped around. Noting things like “reader tells sukuna to get his cock out,” then going back before the above bit and noting “reader makes out w sukuna in front of others, not so much with going further in front of others” then jumping back later and writing a little of reader adjusting to how big Sukuna is, etc etc.

Sometimes I can piece a whole scene together like this, but anytime I get stuck and am not immediately moved to write another part of the scene, I read through from the beginning. This is where flow comes together for me. I fill in gaps (is there foreplay? What kind of foreplay? Position changes? What kind of mood is there in the sex? Slow and sensual, playful, rough? Are the characters the type to talk during? Moan? Whine? Groan?)

Another thing that helps me flesh out NSFW scenes is thinking of the specific people in these scenarios. I try to make my scenes specific to the characters present, if I feel like you can easily swap out Toji for Gojo or Gojo for Choso etc etc, I don’t personally feel like I’ve done my job. Gege has given us enough to make these characters distinct, the way they fuck will be too.

Basically, I do a lot of thinking (or even writing) that never ends up in the final product. It’s so much easier for me to write NSFW scenes when I feel like I have a grasp on a character or characters. Even if it’s straight porn without plot, I’ve still got the plot in my head - what is the dynamic here?

Do they know each other already? Are they in an established relationship? A budding relationship? A situationship? Etc etc

Have they done whatever is happening in the scene before? Or is it the first time? Is anyone nervous?

Are the characters gentle? If they are, are they gentle because they’re nervous of hurting the other person? Or because they’re nervous since it’s their first time with that person? (Or first time in general - or first time trying something) or are they gentle in a slow, sensual way?

Are they rough? Rough and playful? Rough and mean? Etc etc

These types of questions and considerations add color to the basic actions. From there the questions can branch off again and again to flesh things out.

Going back to fight night as an example: the sex is a little rough, but not because Sukuna doesn’t care about the partner enjoying it (which could be a feature in a different story or dynamic), but because he enjoys rough sex. I try to convey that it’s not out of carelessness via Sukuna considering foreplay and expressly telling reader “I didn’t stretch that cunt open for nothing.”

There’s opportunity to show the dynamic between characters and the personality in these things too. We see banter between them, and a little back and forth (that they both enjoy) in the lead up to the scene, and that can be shown during the scene too - like when reader finally gets their bearings riding Sukuna, but he purposefully throws off their rhythm by thrusting up. It’s playful, a little teasing, there’s so many little actions that can communicate a dynamic like that and make a NSFW scene fun!

In the end I always do one final read through to check for errors and flow, this often leads to adding things here and there, swapping things around, getting rid of things, etc etc, but I read through until I feel like there’s nothing else to add or change (or until I’m sick of looking at it and ready to thrust it into the world lol).

I hope this helped or was at least interesting in some sort of way 💛

[sapphireglyphs]

*shyly waves*

tagged by @shineyma & @thestarfishdancer! thanks for thinking of me, friends!

name: Jan

pronouns: she/her

where do you call home: Southern California. I don't currently live there and the prospect of moving back there is growing more and more bleak as cost of living continues to rise every day but the thought of calling anywhere else home hurts too much. So, even if it's just in my dreams, SoCal will always be home to me.

favorite animal: If you know me, you know I love otters! 🦦 And cats but mostly otters.

cereal of choice: If I want a treat, I really like Reese Peanut Butter Cup and Cinnamon Toast Crunch but most of the time, a good granola cluster based cereal will make me happy.

visual, auditory, or kinesthetic learner: Mostly Kinesthetic but I do find that I enjoy group discussions, podcasts, audiobooks, and that I have a knack for languages, therefore I'm probably an Auditory learner as well.

first pet: My first pet that wasn't a family pet was a hamster named Chip.

favorite scent: So after getting Covid, my sense of smell has never been the same. I usually love all types of clean and fresh scented perfumes but I think my favorite scent used to be freshly washed sheets. And now, everything smell off or muted and I kinda feel like I am experiencing the world a little less. 😔

do you believe in astrology: I kinda hate to admit it, but I sorta do. Like, I am very aware that it's so unscientific and not based on any substantial research at all but it's also kinda fun to think about. Plus, there is a level of cultural elements of astrology that I subscribe to (especially Lunar Astrology) that influences how I view certain things about the world. All in good fun.

how many playlists on spotify/apple music: Oh so SO many. Never too many... always just the right amount of many. lols

sharpies or highlighters: I am a sucker for stationary of all types but pretty pastel highlighters make my knees weak.

songs that make you cry: "Home" by Micheal Buble. "Fix You" Coldplay. "Spring Day" by BTS. "When You Come Back Down" by Nickle Creek.

songs that make you happy: "Feels Like A Dream" by Emilee. "Spells" by Cannons. "Super Shy" NewJeans.

do you write/draw/create: My days of fanfic writing are so far and few between nowadays, my time being filled with only research papers and essays. This was literally the last thing I wrote in March of this year for a Genshin Impact fic I had rattling around in my head:

Clear skies greeted Eula as she stepped out from the front doors of the Kamisato estate and onto the courtyard. The grass beneath the lacquered sandals that Lady Ayaka had lent her glistened with the morning dew that sparkled upon the blades of pristine greenery that lined the perimeter of the outdoor seating area where the family often dined for meals. Kneading the shoulder that the Fatui agent shot at the day prior, Eula's bruised muscles protest under her firm fingers as they worked at the rawness there. She would literally shrug it off for the time being, though, as she took in the morning weather and breathed in a deep lungful of crisp Inazuman air. She smiled wide then; the scent of snow danced on the breeze, and not even a sore shoulder could dull her mood at the thought of winter approaching. As much as she enjoyed the warmth of southern islands offered in the summer,

And that's it... didn't even get to the good stuff I had planned. *sigh* Maybe someday I'll finish it...

tagging but no pressure: the usual suspects? You know it! @meghan84 @ilosttrackofthings @batsonthebrain @missbreephoenix @safelycapricious @doiloveyou-myohmy

[iheartgarrus]

I am extremely curious about Bath bomb and Garrus gets a tutor

Hehehe

Bath bomb:

"It's a gift," he clarified quickly. "For my, ah, girlfriend. She's a human." Her eyes widened just barely - he was starting to get used to that reaction - but otherwise she didn't miss a beat. "Well, in that case, you're definitely in the right place. Is there a particular type of product you're looking for today?" "Well..." He surveyed the shop for a moment, finding that he vaguely recognized the shapes of a few bottles from things he'd seen in Shepard's bathroom, and some of the signs indicated things he was familiar with ("soap" was universal enough), but he was largely out of his element, and a little intimidated, if he was being honest. "Not exactly. All I know is that she just got this new apartment with a big bathtub in it, and she said she's never had one before. And a friend of ours - another human - was talking about things she liked putting in her baths to relax. But half the words she said didn't translate." He sighed, his shoulders slumping a bit. "Anyway, I just wanted to... She's been under a lot of pressure, and she's not easy to buy gifts for." "I think I understand," Alice replied with a firm nod. "You need bath bombs." "...Pardon?"

And...

Garrus gets a tutor (not part of my personal canon btw):

But right now, he was thinking about the sex. If he was honest with himself, it had been amazing, because it was with Shepard, his best friend and the person he respected most in the galaxy. But if it had been with anyone else? He might’ve rated it a bit lower. He knew he’d fumbled a bit. All the research in the world hadn’t prepared him for having her in front of him, and she didn’t seem wholly confident either. He’d naively hoped that they would have time to iron out the wrinkles, to get used to each other. But the Reapers apparently had something to say about that. What if… If he got to see her again (big “if”), and she was still interested in him, what if he came into it with a little more… practical knowledge? It wouldn’t be cheating, even if it kind of felt that way to him - sleeping with someone twice and never discussing the relationship certainly didn’t make for a monogamous arrangement. This was insane. He was thinking about hiring a sex tutor.

[talesfromtheenchantedforest]

hats off to the nameless damsels of Arthuriana

I may have gone off the deep end with these ladies. At first I was offended on their behalf — why in heck does she not get a name, when she substantially drives narrative and shows up several times, but her brother, who pops up, does nothing, and immediately dies, does get a name? Then I was offended on my own behalf — as I trawled back five hundred pages to figure out who in heck this damsel is who’s guiding this knight on a quest. Then I started to get intrigued. I started labeling each nameless damsel alphabetically as they came up. I wrote them down, tried to make sure I wasn’t missing anybody or duplicating anybody. Then I sorted them into categories based on what their role in the narrative was — I wanted to establish for myself, are they as passive as their transient and nameless existence might suggest? Are they the damsels in distress that the intervening thousand years have reduced them to, pretty faces at the end of a quest? What does the author think about them? What do they think about themselves? What do they want? What do they get? I’m making a cut here so as not to clog up peoples’ dashes, but read on for speculation and spreadsheets.

At this point, I’ve got 87 minor damsels, of whom 14 have names, pulled from Chrétien de Troyes Yvain and Perceval, Le Morte d’Artur, and the Lancelot bits of the Vulgate. For no more sophisticated reason than these are the texts I happen to have read and have notes on and have a relatively large number of minor damsel characters. The whole list is here. By “damsel” I’m largely talking about young, unmarried women, although there are several I’m not quite sure about, and some who get married along the way. And I’m also not talking about well-known, prominent characters: you won’t find Guenevere, or Isolde, or Morgan le Fay on this list. They’ve got enough attention. I’ve binned these ladies roughly into ten categories. First, the ones you’ll most likely find in modern adaptations:

1. Quest object. These are damsels who knights set out after to rescue, damsels who ask for help, damsels who are offered by other people as the prize for a knight accomplishing a quest.

2. Rom-com best friend. These are damsels, usually in the service of a more powerful lady, whose entire purpose in the narrative is to help the lady fulfill her romantic storyline.

3. Antagonist. These are damsels who are out for the protagonist’s blood: usually sorceresses, occasionally queens, they are an obstacle for the protagonist to overcome.

And now on to the more interesting ones:

4. Lover. These are ladies whose main role in the narrative is romance, but I want to be extremely clear: this category is for ladies who are going AFTER romance, or even just a one-night stand. They see a hot knight, they pursue a hot knight. These are not ladies who are being pursued without interest or without enthusiastic, give-me-a-piece-of-that-ass, hold-my-beer-while-I-throw-things-at-my-meddling-relatives consent.

5. Love (dis)interest: these are ladies who the protagonist wants, and who does not want them back.

6. Revenge damsels: these are ladies who are out for blood, but not the protagonist’s blood. They have been wronged, and they want heads, and I do mean that incredibly literally.

7. Disinherited damsels: some thematic overlap with both revenge damsels and quest objects, there are enough of them and they have enough distinct agency that it seemed fair to give them their own category. These are damsels whose lands have been taken, by a sibling, an in-law, meddling relatives, an encroaching neighbor, and they want what’s theirs. The knight’s role in this narrative is to fight on her behalf and restore her ownership over her lands.

8. Lady’s damsels. These are damsels who work for a more powerful lady — the Lady of the Lake, Morgan le Fay, some other miscellaneous queens etc — and her role is as the agent of these ladies in the narrative.

9. Quest guide. These are damsels who, for a variety of reasons, help knights along on their quest. Sometimes they’re just hanging out in the woods and meet a knight at the opportune time; sometimes they come after knights on purpose. They are always instrumental in driving the narrative forward.

10. Rescue damsels. By this I mean damsels who rescue knights: the knight is in prison, or wounded, or about to be killed, and she intervenes to get him out of prison, or heal him, or prevent murder. Sometimes for revenge, sometimes for love, sometimes to further her own ends.

I do find these categories quite fascinating on their own, for the sheer diversity, but don’t get it twisted: they are not in order of prominence. I did a quick count for how many damsels across all texts fall into each category and came out with:

Each dot is an individual damsel. Way more than half of them are doing stuff, taking knights places, getting laid, getting their lady what she wants, getting what’s hers. Only six of them are passively waiting for a quest to happen to them. And while the Lancelot-grail is DEFINITELY overrepresented in this list, I do want to emphasize that it’s not just the Vulgate: here are the ladies broken down by what text they appear in:

Yes, the love-disinterest category is 100% occupied by women telling Guerrehet to fuck off and/or joining convents to avoid him, but otherwise, I think the overarching pattern, especially of the most-represented categories, repeats itself quite often.

Anyway, that’s a very long and probably over-involved way of saying I love these ladies, I wish they got more attention, and until I resurrect their authors from hell and force them to provide names, I’ll content myself with giving them all the unhinged attention they deserve.

[kickingitwithkirk]

When the past won't let go

Summary: Sometimes there’s more to the story

Pairing: Cordell Walker x Reader

Word Count: 2511

Warnings: cursing, past memories, angst, personal conflict, mentions of death, revealing secrets

Square Filled: Forbidden Relationship @walker-bingo

A/N: This segment is told from Walker's POV

A/N II: part six of Duke x Reader/Cordell x Reader series of drabbles and stories for this bingo.

*Set between 2.05 Partners and Third Wheels & 2.06 Douglass Fir

*divider by @firefly-graphics

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

Walker

“Agent Graves knew Stan Morrison killed your wife...”

Those eight words turned my heart inside out again.

It was a good thing Micki showed up at that moment, she took one look and ordered me to take a walk before I lost my shit and hospital security got called. 

I ended up in one of the city's parks heading down a hiking trail that thankfully wasn’t busy this time of day came to an outcropping near the river, sat down, and took off my hat, letting it dangle between my legs, going back over that year.

The pain was followed by excessive drinking and extended workload, using both to numb me, barely going through the motions of life without actually being in it till the accident at home and decided it was best for all to leave, going undercover on Operation: Watch The Throne. 

After months of trying to make inroads, those two women came; Twyla Jean, who got me into the Kings through a fake relationship, and Y/N, the mystery piece who made me put in the work to crack open the door she used to keep everyone at bay.  

The one my memories, or is it my heart, refuses to release me from. 

Later Stan’s betrayal was exposed after years of friendship..hell, the man was family, sent us all into a tailspin cumulated with us standing upon that spot forced him to confess after Emily stumbled upon a drug haul he pulled the trigger on the kill shot to save his own skin from Northside Nation. 

All this time, now I’m wondering how many other things I’ve missed.

I peered through the view window to see Micki texting on her phone spotting me taps a finger to her lips, and came out quietly shutting the door.

“You cooled off?”

“Yeah, hey, thank you for giving me some time to sort stuff out.”

“Is it sorted?”

“For now. So did Y/N write anything else about Mannon?”

“She wrote down a few places he might be hiding but so far, no sign he’s been to any of them. The doctor came by and said she’ll be out tomorrow. I let Cap know and he’s arranging a safe house.”

“Okay, good.”

“So, you wanna tell me about it?”

“No.”

Micki’s eyebrow arched, “since when?”

I spy James coming down the hall, “how about not right now.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Hold him to what?” James asked, “Cap, we all set?” Micki deflected.

“Everything’s set but I’d rather finish this discussion a little more privately,” he opens the door for her to enter first, “I called in a couple of favors and got the safe house in Buffalo.”

“That’s not in our jurisdiction,” Micki says and James lowers his voice, “I did some digging. It’s not been substantiated but it’s looking like Mannon may not only have informants in Austin but other law enforcement agencies, so we need to fly under the radar on this.”

“You’re thinking Graves is on the leaks?” 

“I could’ve told you that,” a scratchy voice answered.

“You’re supposed to be writing, not talking.” I sternly say and you give me that particular look hear James stifle a laugh before clapping my shoulder, “good luck with that.”

Next morning 

The nurse had finished going over discharge instructions when James dropped by with the safehouse details and informed us that the landlord had taken what Y/N had of value as payment for damages and tossed everything else. 

“My bag, y’all happen to confiscate it?” James shook his head, “I’m sorry, we didn’t find it.”

“What happened to the clothes I had on?”

“They had to cut your uniform off and you were barefoot.”

“Leave it to that sonuvabitch to take my last sixty-five bucks.” Y/N croaked out.

“I’ve already signed off on a purchase voucher for what you’ll need,” James said, “I’ll reach out to some contacts who can help with getting you back on your feet once we have Mannon in custody.”

Tugging at the robe-covered hospital gown, “wonder if they’ll let me keep this lovely ensemble, maybe get some of those awesome slippers to match since I don’t have a-pot to piss in.”

She broke off coughing and I grabbed the water cup, “that’s what you get for talking too much,” sticking the straw between her lips. “You can borrow my stuff till we get you some.”

“I’m no charity case, Ranger Walker,”  Y/N mumbled around the straw.

“Never thought you were.” 

Buffalo, TX

“Well, this is quaint.” 

Micki’s sarcasm wasn’t far off. 

The safe house turned out to be an older one-bedroom, one-bath ranch in the middle of nowhere with a pull-out and doorways I have to duck through.

“At least we got a clear view of the perimeter.”

“For once I’m happy it’s winter, makes it harder for anyone to hide, even in camo,” Micki commented. “We’ll still need to periodically check around that corpse of trees, looked pretty thick when we pulled in.”

“Let’s hope Mannon hasn’t caught on to our ruse and is following the decoy to Fredericksburg.” 

Micki opened the fridge, “whoever set this up didn’t leave much, I better do a supply run.”

“Why you?”

“Cause an almost 6’5” Sasquatch in Ranger clothes isn’t gonna stand out?”

“Good point. Head out-of-town so locals stay in the dark.”

“I’ll change and go to Palestine or Mexia,”  Micki grabs her bag and goes into the bedroom leaving the door cracked, “gotta feeling we'll be stuck here for a while, so I’ll double up on the groceries, especially with how much you pack away.” 

“Funny, where’s Y/N?”

Micki walked out slipping on her jacket and crossing her arms, “locked herself in the bath muttering something about preferring the hoosgow then stuck in an ace in the hole with a tenderfoot and blatherskite. She’s got quite the mouth on her.”

“Y/N tends to be colorful when stressed.”

 “What’s she like normally?”

“Sarcasm on a shingle.” Y/N sarcastically quips.

My breath hitched seeing you in my flannel and faded jeans, the type so worn in they’re almost too comfortable to take off, accentuating your curves that’ve haunted my dreams spot toes peeking out under the rolled cuffs.

“What’re you grinning at?”

“You ahh, you still wear that purple polish.”

“Right. I’m gonna get going,” I felt Micki’s scrutiny, mouthing behave, making mine downturn in response.

“I see Ramirez doesn’t tolerate any of your bullshine either.” 

Not giving me a chance to respond, you walk off to the cupboard finding the extra set of bedding and pillows come back, cocking your head for me to move.

“What’re you doing?”

“Making up the pullout.”

“Okay, but you’re not sleeping out here.”

“Why?”

“What’d ya mean why? You’re doubling up with Micki..”

“You two can double up in this dice house, I’m parking it out here!”

“The hell you are! Look, your ex has proven he can slip in and out of places undetected so until he’s in custody, we’re going to need to keep you within eyesight 24/7.”

“Ranger Walker, does that mean you’re personally gonna join me in the bath and scrub my back?”

“I..you..you know that’s not what I meant!”

“I’m not going to argue this one,” your voice is wearing out from overuse, “Y/N you probably aren't gonna believe me but I understand what a traumatic..”

“How am I supposed to believe anything coming from that mouth of yours?” Shit, the sheer vitriol in your voice.

 “I know this is my only chance at earning any trust from you again, and I‘m gonna be one hundred percent open and honest.” Sitting down I looked up at her with no filters, “remember me telling you about my wife?”

“You said she died in an accident.”

“Her name was Emily. The last time I saw her, she and a friend headed for the border, restocking supply stations. She called..she was so scared then I heard gunshots..I tried calling her back but I knew.”  

Fuck, feel like I’m gonna choke on my tongue.

“After the funeral, I buried myself in the job and the bottle. Finally, my family, James, and Stan Morrison did an intervention. I couldn’t be there anymore so I told them I was taking the undercover job outta town..and lost myself in those months. ”

I wasn’t expecting you to sit down next to me, let alone place your hand on my leg, and took the risk of placing my hand on top of yours.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes and have no right but I am asking you to give me, Cordell Walker, a chance to prove you can trust me.”

Days later

“How much more time does she need?” Micki snapped.

Y/N’s indecisiveness was wearing on all our nerves, seriously thinking of hitting that bottle I’d snuck in. 

Of course, it didn’t help this morning Micki decided to try talking, okay, she tried some psychoanalysis learned from Adrianna, leading to one helluva blowout that had me physically hauling Y/N outside like a sack of taters. 

Glancing away from you angrily pacing outside to an equally angry Micki, “as long as she needs. Look, we’re all tired and cranky..”

 “You think?” 

“We can’t push..”

“.. then implement those charms of yours Beau so we can..”

“Wrap this up and move on to the next case?” 

We both startled not hearing you come in, “gee, wish it was that easy for me, I’d love to be able to move on from this.”

“You’ve had ample opportunity to tell anyone in law enforcement..”

“If I had, I'd been dead a long time ago.”

“What?” 

“There’s a shitload more to this than you’ve been told.” 

“Walker, grab that bottle I know you’ve got, and let’s all get real comfortable,” Micki retrieved three cups and sat down.

“I don’t wanna discuss my personal goings-on so let’s start with what brought him here.” Y/N threw back her drink, “ya know why I ditched my real name?” 

“Your file wasn’t clear.”

“Because I wouldn’t play their reindeer games.” Not entirely sure where she was going and Micki appeared as puzzled as me. “Wait, you two really don’t know who my family are?”

“No.”

“Daddy got his start by helping certain elected individuals with their less-than-legal activities. In appreciation, they made him Senator Y/D/L/N.”

“One of the Senators who confirms PSC appointments,” Micki states, and I add, “PSC oversees DPS,” some more pieces click, “he found out about Stan’s illegal activities.”

Y/N tapped the side of her nose.

 “The mysterious appearance of pension funds also blipped on the Secret Services financial investigations radar but they didn’t have enough tangible evidence against Morrison.  It was sheer coincidence Eric was sent at the same time the Kings started robbing banks.” 

“The Kings started a few months before Walker went undercover.”

“No, they’d started small a few years ago, Clint wanted it down to a T before moving on to bigger game, that was Eric’s in. He came up with partnering with Northside; in exchange for laundering the money, they’d make a delivery or pickup while on the circuit, that’s how Clint, Crystal, and Jaxon got misdemeanor drug charges. When Twerp came in, Clint persuaded her into giving Northside banking information on the businesses they were interested in, like The Side Step and Carlos Mendoza's family businesses.”  

“Wow, gotta give it to Graves,” Micki interjects, “she’s better at burying shit than I’d given her credit for.” 

Y/N gave me a curious look, “you didn’t know any of this?”

“No, but it makes sense, what Stan said, this can’t go on. I thought it was my screwing up at home but I was already getting too close before going under, why he hoped that the Rodeo Kings would end me.”

“Just like Clint, might’ve called you family but didn’t stop him from turning if he thought you were a threat.”

Micki pointedly glares at Y/N, “and you blithely went along with them, not caring who got hurt..” 

Y/N shot outta her seat and disappeared outside.

Shit! 

I sat down next to Y/N and leaned back against the same corps trees that half circled a small pond hand her one of the mugs I’d brought. 

“Been out here awhile, thought you might need a warm-up.” She took a sip and smiled, “you’ve never forgotten what I like since that first time you offered me coffee.”

“My daddy told me before I got married, ‘son, the key to a happy marriage is never forget what a woman likes to drink’.”

Y/N sighed, “Clint always was crazier than a Kiowa Paint Mare, somewhere along the way, he got twisted. I never believed he’d take things that far, or hurt your family as he did.”

 “How’d you..”

“Trevor. He told me everything but your real name.”

“Clint blamed me for Crystal, for what happened that day, wanted me to understand what it was to suffer. If Trevor hadn’t interfered, I’da killed him with my bare hands.” 

“Then you’d have become him.”

“Hmph, I’ve been on the edge of that precipice more than once.” “But you didn’t jump,” she said, “your Jimmy Cricket didn’t let you.”

“Let your conscience be your guide Jimmy Cricket?”

“No, don’t know what else to call it. That something that stops you from stepping off the ledge of not coming back,” she shrugged.

“For me, it’s my family. No matter how hard it gets, they never gave up on me.”

Y/N starts playing with the chain for my dog tags, making the rational part of my brain holler at me this is wrong, she’s under my protection and off limits.

Irrational desire flames in me as her feathery touch makes my skin tingles, accept the invitation of tasting her sweet lips.

A hand covering my mouth instinctively made me grab their arm.

“Walker, it’s me,” Y/N whispered before removing her hand, “stay quiet, there are people moving around outside.”

“How many?”

“Not sure but I saw three night-sights.”

Shit, not good hear Micki stirring, “hey, we’ve got company.”

***

“Slow down but don’t stop,” I reach for my duffel from the floorboard.

“Walker, whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

“Stick to the plan..”

“..you bailing out of a moving vehicle wasn’t..”

“He’s right,” Y/N grabs hers, “sticking together gonna get you killed. I’ll split, you two can say it was during the firefight and..”

“..I’m coming with you..”

 “..the hell you are..”

“..you are in my custody and my responsibility. Micki, got any extra cash on you?” 

I rifled through the wallet she tossed me, “get Liam to discretely look into Graves’s recent activities, got a feeling Mannon’s sudden appearance wasn’t random, and tell James I’ll be in contact in a few days.”

“Walker..”

“I know. Be careful Flor, we don’t know who to trust inside the circle anymore.” 

Glancing in the rearview mirror, “on three.”

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @b3autyfuldisast3r @lassie-bird @nancyml @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

[after-witch]

Daydream Believer [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Daydream Believer [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: He can’t read your mind. You know he can’t read your mind, because if he could, he would find out that you’ve left the carefully guarded room he designed for you so, so many times since he’s taken you. Not literally, of course.  

Word Count: 2096

Notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, maladaptive daydreaming

He can’t read your mind. You know he can’t read your mind, because if he could, he would find out that you’ve left the carefully guarded room he designed for you so, so many times since he’s taken you.

Not literally, of course.

You couldn’t try to physically leave even if the desire hadn’t been drilled out of you with previous failed attempts and repetitions of strict punishments. The door is always locked and even if it wasn’t, you know better now than to try to run, than to try to do anything but comply with his expectations, explicit and otherwise. Listen to what he says. Answer when he talks to you. Agree that he knows what’s best for you. Be good.

If you do these things, you get rewarded. You get little treats with your meals and a radio to play music and extra time for your afternoon nap when you’re groggy; but best of all, you get a laptop. A real one. It can’t connect to the internet, of course, but it’s pre-loaded with all sorts of writing apps and that’s all you wanted, anyway.

It was hard to write at first. You don’t know how many times you simply typed “I am being held captive and I am losing my mind and I want to go home” before he came back into your room and you slammed the top shut with trembling hands, afraid that he’d take it away if he saw what you wrote. But he’d only quirked his eyebrows at you and asked if you were feeling well, so you bit your lip and nodded and feigned interest in his conversation at lunch to pretend like you were grateful for the privilege.

Now, though, your fingers on the keyboard can fly almost as fast as your mind. Stories of grand adventures and haunted hotels and romantic mix-ups at the beach are typed out every morning, before breakfast, so that he can read them before lunch. He insists on it, now that you’re actually writing something substantial, and truth be told you don’t always mind his input, a fresh pair of eyes and ears.

He can read your stories. You have no choice in that. But he can’t read your mind. So you’re free to think what you want in there, without fear that he’ll put a stop to it, like he put a stop to so many other things since he kidnapped you.

The freedom to let your mind wander without fear is what you count on today, like all other days, as you flip on the radio and turn it to a station that plays soft instrumentals; unobtrusive music without words that doesn’t get in the way of what you do every day. After breakfast, before lunch, after lunch, before dinner--then up until he comes to fetch you to start your bedtime routine.

You daydream.

It started small. Curling onto your twin bed once he’d left for the morning, imagining that you’d never crossed paths with him; imagining you’d walked down a different alleyway, never come face to face with a yakuza leader with a penchant for purity and obsession. Instead you walked straight home and ate dinner and everything was normal and you weren’t here. It was a small comfort, and you found that when you repeated it, the edge of your stomach-twisting anxiety rubbed off--just a little.

Then it extended, growing longer, more complex. You found yourself staying in bed longer after breakfast, wanting to see where the twists and turns could take you. Not only did you never meet Overhaul, but you improved yourself. The next day after your not-meeting, you called your shitty boss at your shitty job and quit. You started working on the novel you’d been telling yourself you’d write for years. It got published--of course it did--and the reviews were so stunning you landed a publishing contract and a movie deal. Eventually, you attended the premiere and--aside from some understandable nitpicks about changes made for the film adaptation--cried tears of happiness at the end when your vision was brought to life.

After that daydream, your face was wet with tears and your lips twisted upwards; and it was then that you realized you’d actually been smiling and crying while you dreamt it. You hadn’t smiled since he took you. And it felt… good. It felt so good to wrap yourself in cushioned layers of fantasy, to feel emotions that were joyful and overwhelming in a positive way, instead of having to fully feel your fear and depression and the constant sense of dread that came with dealing with Overhaul, day-in, day-out.

From that moment on, you found a new hobby. One that didn’t require permission or meek responses to his expectations or clearing your extra-healthy plate at dinner. All you had to do was get some quiet time, time where you could be on your own, and you could be somewhere else.

You could be someone else, too. After a while the daydreams of your own life grew limiting, so why not throw open your mind to everything out there? You could be a royal trapped in a tower, you could be a witch making potions in a little forest cottage, you could be a character in your favorite movie or show, traveling along with your favorites as they went on their adventures.

The music helps to keep you inside your dreams, cushioning the layers like a protective bubble. Which is why you adjust the knob ever so slightly, making sure it’s not-too-loud and not-too-quiet, but just-right for you to lose yourself in the sounds as you decide which layers to pull over yourself today.

You could be married to a character in your favorite show, once you used to binge-watch all the time back home. Or you could dive back into your cottage witch story, since you were in the mood to be surrounded by trees and flowers and nature. Yes--that’s what you want today, you want to breathe in the fresh air and smell the spiced herbs in your witch kitchen and pet your cat familiar with his soft fur and snarky-yet-loving personality.

So you perch on the end of your bed and clench your fingers on the sheets as your mind slides through that horrifyingly raw top layer that is your real existence, going down--down past memories and hopes into fantasy, pure escapism--into one of many worlds constructed carefully through hours upon hours of daydreaming.

You’re not in some sterile little room inside a yakuza base, connected directly to the office of a man who wanted to control and own and manipulate you. You’re not browbeaten, meek, afraid to disobey because he’ll take away your little privileges without remorse. You’re not deprived of sunlight and fresh air and freedom.

Instead, you live in a rustic cottage in the woods; beautiful, glorious, sprawling woods with trees that go so high you can’t see the tops; with bushes of berries and trails of wildflowers, beckoning you to follow deeper.

And you’re not weak or meek or anything of the sort. You’re a witch whose lived here for ages, dealing with the threat of wild animals and passing fanatics and occasionally villagers who get upset when the fortunes you tell them end with pain rather than pleasure.

You spend your days picking herbs and plants, mixing potions, shooing your familiar away from the table when you lay out your spell book for reference. You can mix potions to make you fly on a brom or without; you can do anything.

But it’s not all witchy fun and games. You have to clean up, too; sweeping dust outside, sneezing when you reach a patch you’d clearly neglected over the past few days. You have to scrub the windows and mend your clothes. But even those simple chores are something to delight in.

Can you help it if you walk around the room while this dream world plays out? Can you help it if you pick up your books--novels, mostly--and open them up like they contain a potion to turn a wayward village husband into an adoring sweetheart? When you sweep, you make the motions, occasionally twirling as if you’re wearing layers of mended, patchy skirts rather than the simple, clean cotton gowns Overhaul dressed you in every morning. When a villager comes to visit, asking for her palm to be read, can you be blamed for not resisting the urge to sit at the table normally reserved for meals and whisper the fortune you give her?

It’s soothing. It’s a relief. It’s an escape. The only escape you know how to successfully make.

When the office door rattles from Overhaul’s keys, you’re flung out of your daydream with an urgent lack of ceremony. You feel like you have whiplash as you hurriedly shove items back in their proper places, the daydream still clinging to you, begging to be indulged in, as you position yourself on your bed with a book. Nothing out of the ordinary to see here, no sir.

Overhaul pushes the door with his elbows as he carries your lunch trays inside. You don’t have to look up to know that they’re tidy, healthy, perfectly planned for your nutritional needs.

“Good afternoon,” he says, and you know he’s smiling behind the mask even before he unloops it from behind his ears, setting it on the table. “How have you been?”

“Good.” Your answer is bland, but if he minds, he doesn’t say so. Your smile is tight and weak but it’s the best you have to offer; it’s always hard to get back to reality once you’ve been inside a really nice dream. You hope he eats quickly today so you can jump back in and take the story somewhere else--maybe some villagers will form an angry mob and chase you down this time, so you can have some self-contained thrills run down your spine. Maybe you’ll trip on a branch you didn’t see and your spell book will go flying and you’ll have to dig around in the rotting leaves for it, hearing the clamor and seeing the burning torches behind you. Maybe--

“Dearest?”

Oh. Your head jerks up and you realize you’ve been staring, holding your drink, lost in your head.

Overhaul’s look of concern, the crinkle of his eyebrows, the intense way he’s staring at you now is more anxiety-inducing than any torch-wielding villager.

“Are you feeling all right? You’ve been very distracted. And not just today…”

The silence in the aftermath of his words feels horrible. Like a loud buzzing, a droning, a warning of something terrible to come. Does he know? How could he know? What would he do if he knew?

You take a sip of your water and set it down, finally picking up your spoon to take a mouthful of soup. Anything to get him off the subject.

“M’fine,” you say between spoonfuls. “Just tired I guess. Maybe I should take a nap?” A nap would give you more opportunity for daydreaming, since you’ve now taken to diving into fantasies before you fall asleep as well.

He sets down his utensils and the sound makes you wish you had somewhere you could run to, somewhere that he couldn’t follow.

“What did you do after breakfast? Perhaps we can find out what’s making you so tired lately.” His voice is firm and layered with a hint of condescension that makes you want to squirm in your seat.

“I… listened to music and cleaned up a bit. Read a book.” It’s not a lie, is it? You did do those things, technically speaking. He doesn’t need to know that you did them while pretending to be a folksy cottage witch from a fantasy story.

You’re afraid he’ll press further, question you, somehow pull the truth out of you like an infested worm. But he only stares at you, face full of patronizing concern.

“You can tell me if there’s something on your mind, dearest. You know that, don’t you? That I only want what’s best for you?”

You think about the fact that the only time you feel remotely happy anymore is when you’re pretending to be someone, somewhere, something else. You think about the fact that you’ve spent more time in dream worlds than reality in the past few months. You think about the fact that you just want him to fucking leave so that you can get back to dreaming.

And you smile.

“Of course, Kai. I wouldn’t dream of hiding anything from you.”

[evanjinx]

alternative universe buddie fics recs :)

note: the links weren't working the first time i wrote the post but i edited and they're okay now!! if it still isn't working for you is probably because you're trying to open from a reblog from before i edit it, so try open directly from the original post on my profile.

Blind Date by @sassypopstar [complete | teen and up audiences | 3.8k words]

Buck feels a little ridiculous dressed in a jacket and a shirt. But Maddie had insisted on him dressing up for the occasion and even Chimney had quipped that it’s the right thing to do. So Buck, who never went on a blind date before in his life, listened to his big sister and her boyfriend because apparently that’s who he is now. Or the one where Buck goes on a blind date with someone called Eddie.

Buckley's Bouquets by awashleyno [complete | teen and up audiences | 23.4k words]

A world where Buck owns a flower shop and manages to develop a huge, massive, ridiculous crush on a handsome firefighter that comes in for a visit one day. Or, 5 times Eddie gives flowers to other people and the 1 time he gives them to Buck.

Call It What You Will - Fate? Destiny? (A Tsunami) by @abow123456 [complete | mature | 20k words]

Evan Buckley's day of relaxation is cut short when a tsunami hits the beach he was relaxing at. He has to fight to keep himself and a lost little boy safe from the water, as well as anyone else he finds. After, he meets the boys father and family, and it causes a snowball effect of good things for him, for once.

Capuccino with extra, extra sugar by buckbng [complete | teen and up audiences | 2.7k words]

Buck is the cute barista and Eddie is the grinch that hates coffee. Until, he doesn't. Because if Buck says he looks like the kind of person that would love a cappuccino, who's Eddie to disagree with him? OR Eddie really doesn't like coffee but pretends he does just so he has an excuse to see the cute barista at the coffee shop.

Confirmation Bias by strifechaos [complete | mature | 31k words]

After the fallout with his ex-wife, Eddie believed he could only trust his family with his son. He hadn’t imagined falling for his son’s sweet-hearted nanny, Buck. With his own family so distant, Buck never considered that he’d be lucky enough to find a home for himself, let alone people he could count on. Not until he meets the Diaz boys. AU: Buck was never a firefighter, and becomes Christopher's sitter when Shannon's job takes her away from Eddie and Chris for the summer. Eddie tries to not fall for his son's nanny, he's not very successful.

dream of some epiphany by extasiswings [complete | mature | 7.3k words]

Evan Buckley is lost. It’s happenstance that he wanders into the navy recruiting center—he’s been in San Diego for a few weeks, bartending late nights and weekends, living in a house with three other guys not because he needs the roommates but because he doesn’t want to be alone, and the military is…respectable. Stable. So Buck thinks maybe and opens the door. Buck leaves ten minutes later with a set of printed instructions for sending his first letter, assured that he can drop it off whenever he’s ready, and a name. Staff Sergeant Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz.

Frequent Flyer by red_to_black [complete | mature | 13.4k words]

In his entire time being a firefighter, Eddie has never met anyone as accident-prone as Evan Buckley. And Buck - well, he's quickly becoming the 118's best customer. (Or - the one where Eddie is a firefighter, Buck isn't, and Eddie finds himself rescuing Buck from increasingly sticky situations. Sometimes literally.)

Gave me no messages, gave me no signs... by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 7.4k words]

"Buck is beyond nervous, and he’s really trying to convince himself that the familiarity of the situation is not some sort of bad omen. Just because there are parallels of the start of his relationship with Eddie to that of his relationship with Abby doesn’t mean that this new adventure is destined to end in the same miserable fashion. He hopes it won’t, has to believe it won’t. Because even with Abby, he hadn’t fallen this hard for her before their first official date. With Eddie, everything is already intensified by a thousand." Or, Buck covers a shift for a firefighter at the 136 and it leads to a budding relationship through text messages.

Gotta Find My Corner (Of the Sky) by doctornineandthreequarters [complete | general audiences | 31.3k words]

It was the last day of 2016 and two lost souls found themselves in a quiet dive bar, as the loud noises of the city celebrating New Year’s Eve buzzed around them. Most people chose loud, flashy bars with DJs and entrance fees and promises of champagne for New Year’s Eve. But both occupants of the dive bar preferred the quiet. They both didn’t need the added chaos when everything around them already felt chaotic. --- Or, Buck and Eddie meet on New Year's Eve, 2016, a meeting that sets of a series of events that changes the trajectory of both of their lives.

I Didn't Know I Was Lonely 'Till I Saw Your Face by @hmslusitania [complete | general audiences | 10.4k words]

After the ladder truck and the blood clot and the tsunami, Bobby makes Buck go to therapy before he does something stupid (like sue the city). Buck's not totally comfortable being alone with a therapist, but fortunately he makes a friend and ally who's willing to help him out - Eddie Diaz from the 136 who's just been caught in an illegal fight club. OR Total strangers Buck and Eddie go to couple's therapy together to get out of the therapy requirements their captains have placed on them.

i want your midnights by allyasavedtheday [complete | teen and up audiences | 36.3k words]

In which Eddie decides to rent out his spare room to help with mortgage repayments right around the time Buck decides to move out of Abby's place after some not so gentle prodding from Maddie. It's a coincidence. Or serendipity. Or maybe just really good timing.

i wanna be know (by you) by @starlightbuck [complete | general audiences | 12.5k words]

“I didn’t mean to do it.” Hen glances down at Eddie’s phone then back up at him in disbelief.

“How do you ‘not mean’ to download a bunch of dating apps but still have them on your phone?”

Or  In which Eddie delves into the intimidating world of online dating.

if i got locked away (would you still love me the same?) by @firefighterhan [complete | general audiences | 3.7k words]

Buck gets accidentally thrown in jail after meddling in a fight outside of a grocery store. There, he meets an unexpected guest, famous music artist Eddie Diaz, who is being suspiciously quiet about how he ended up here in the first place.

if only in my dreams by @buttercupbuck [complete | general audiences | 5.4k words]

Years before Eddie joins the 118, Buck meets him at an airport bar on Christmas day.

in a week by @buttercupbuck [complete | explicit | 78.9k]

in which Eddie joins the U.S. Forest Service and in the meadows of California, finds the things he thought he lost and the things he thought he'd never have.

It Started With A Bang And A Hostage Situation by JayJay__884 [complete | general audiences | 6.6k words]

Buck goes to the store one late night to buy food because of Maddie's pregnancy cravings. Whilst at the store, Buck accidentally gets caught in the middle of a robbery and gets knocked out. After waking up in the backroom, Buck finds himself as a hostage with a handsome and caring stranger.

Leading with the Left by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels [complete | explicit | 84.7k]

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico." And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?" In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

Lift me up by @captain--sif [complete | teen and up audiences | 5.5k words]

Buck gets stuck in his apartment building's broken elevator with his good-looking neighbor from the sixth floor.

Love and Bullets Both Shatter Hearts (But Only One Can Put You Back Together) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels [complete | explicit | 11.2k words]

Agent [Redacted] Diaz is the best at what he does. Usually. But lately there's this real pain in the ass* who's been ruining his missions: Code Name "Buck."

*stupidly handsome and annoyingly talented rival spy

Mr. Buckley's After Hours Detention by aresaphrodites [complete | mature | 11.4k words]

It’s not like Eddie Diaz planned on this. Really, there was no scenario in his mind where he would ever be bringing his son’s teacher a freaking goody basket to class; a homemade goody basket, no less. Then again, Christopher has never had a teacher quite like Evan Buckley.

MukbangsWithBuck by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 19.3k words]

After growing tired of eating alone in his loft, Buck decides to start a YouTube channel where he records himself eating dinner and telling stories about crazy things his team has encountered on calls. He eventually gains a substantial fanbase, and he is led to the channel of another LA firefighter who uploads informational videos and also casual vlogs with his ten-year-old son. It isn't long before the two start a friendship through messages, both of them secretly hoping it will turn into something more. Or, Eddie and Buck are both firefighters/YouTubers and they end up falling in love.

Objects in the Mirror by SevenSoulmates [complete | explicit | 139.1k words]

The voice had always been around, Eddie remembers it, like a stream of consciousness that babbled incoherently to the point where Eddie just tuned it out.  But then the voice started speaking directly to him. Conversing like he was a whole person standing right in front of him. Like he could see what was happening around Eddie. Eddie shook his head. No one was talking to him, and Eddie most certainly was not talking back. He wouldn’t talk to the boy in his head ever again. There was no boy in his head. 

Passive Aggressive Flirting by @starlingbite [complete | general audiences | 4.5k words]

Buck and Eddie have never met. They both work at the 118 but just on different shifts. That's all about to change when Buck finds a sticky note message, signed E.

String of hearts... by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 11.1k words]

“Now. Eddie is this incredible presence. He’s funny and smoking hot, and he has a son who sounds wonderful. And he’s serious and vulnerable at times. But so enjoyable to be around, every single second that he’s there. And how can I put myself out there when the expectation is so high? When the thing I might lose is so beautiful?”

In which Buck owns a plant shop in LA, and Eddie becomes his new favorite customer. Pining ensues.

check out my post of buddie fics with dad!buck

[deans-baby-momma]

Dream Come True

A/N: Here it is guys. An update to Once In A Lifetime!!! Please read that first or this will make no sense to you. I even linked it to make it easier, lol. I just couldn’t seem to let these three go so I wrote more.......AND a part 3 could be possible, if the reactions and feedback to this are favorable.

Summary: Six years after a chance encounter in her place of employment led Y/N to meet two of her favorite celebrities and they began a polygamous relationship. Let’s look in and see how their lives are going, shall we?

W/C: 9,941

Y/N: Your Name; Y/E/E: Your employment establishment

Warnings: smut, fluff, a tad bit more angst than last time, p in v, fingering, v on v, oral (both giving and receiving), dirty talk

Five years. 60 months. 1,825 days. Too many minutes and seconds to count. But still, it seems like time has flown by but yet crawled.

Five years ago, I was living in a small one bedroom apartment, driving a car that even on the good days was capricious and fickle, working a dead end job as a waitress in a no name restaurant in Austin, Texas. 

60 months (and a few days) my fruitless, lackluster life changed when two of the best looking people walked in and were seated in my section. After schooling my internal fangirl and doing my job, I was left with a substantial tip and a note on the table that would change my life forever.

Jared and Genevieve Padalecki,and their children, took me into their home, their lives and their hearts and never looked back. And life has been wonderful since!

Jared, Gen and I are a team as we navigate parenting our four children. Tom is now 14 years old and preparing for his first year of high school; Shep is almost 13 and takes after his dad in the pranking department; Odette is 9 and is a beauty just like her mother; Delaney is 3 years old and a total diva!

If she grew up to take in her parents' footsteps and become an actress, she will have no problems at all! Day-day, as we all call her, knows how to push buttons and turn on the charm to get her way. 

A few months after Day-day was born, an era for Jared ended. After 15 years, he no longer had to film Supernatural, the show that brought him popularity and fame….and his wife.

With the finale of that chapter, life switched from Jared being gone to another country for  weeks at a time to him being home every day. But aside from allowing Jared to work closer to home and be with us, it took away the close bond he had created with Jensen. 

Jared had signed on to star in and produce the modern adaptation of Walker before Supernatural’s finale had aired and had hoped to bring Jensen on as director of some episodes and maybe a guest appearance or two, but when the pandemic hit the world and everyone was advised to isolate and quarantine in their own homes, those aspirations went down the drain.

I was the first to notice the distance between the Padalecki’s and Ackles’. I had been on the receiving end of some very condemning and reproachable looks from the Ackles’ matriarch but hadn’t paid much attention to it. To each their own, though. She never did seem to get used to the idea of Jared and Gen and me. She would make judgemental assertions toward me when my lovers were nowhere near to overhear.

But when I began to notice the lack of interest in keeping the friendship going from Jensen, I knew she had gotten to him. And when Jensen kept putting off coming to direct Jared and Gen on Walker it threw up warning signs. Then when the Ackles announced their plans for a prequel to Supernatural without even as much as mentioning it to Jared, that just solidified my fears. Their friendship was severed.

I comforted and soothed my lovers as they mourned the demise of it all. Soon after, they put their all into working to make Walker the next big thing on The CW and our lives went on.

After surviving not only the pandemic but the almost two year quarantine that it induced, we learned how to navigate the “new normal”, something none of us had ever had to face.

Once the vaccine for the virus was administered, the world could finally breathe again. Protocols and practices were established and obeyed and we could once again gather with those loved ones that we didn’t live with.

Jared and Jensen’s brotherhood was also re-established and it went back to the way it used to be, like nothing had ever happened. Now, the five of us often get together and hang out while the kids play.

Danneel also changed, for the better. She finally accepted me into the fray, apparently. She is friendly and welcoming to my daughter and I. She even calls herself Aunt D to Delaney. Finally, after five years, life is great again! 

Or so I thought.

“Mommy,” Day-day asks one night as I am bathing her. “Are you and my daddy in love?”

I smile down at my daughter, the apple of my eye, my pride and joy. “Yes, baby. Your daddy and I are very much in love. And that love created you, my sweet child.”

“Brandon at school says that when mommies and daddies are in love, they get married. Are you and daddy married?”

I am shocked at her inquiry. Not that it isn’t warranted, I just hadn’t expected such a question. How do you explain to a five-year-old that even though we love one another, her father is married to someone else. The same someone that I love also.

“No baby,” I say as I rinse her light chestnut hair. “Daddy is married to Momma G, you know that.”

“Are you and Momma G married?”

I huff a laugh at her question. “No baby. Momma G is married to daddy. Daddy and Momma G are married and your brothers and sister are a product of their love. But they also love me and with that love we created you. We all love you and your siblings equally.”

“But…” she begins and I cut her off.

“Baby, don’t you worry your pretty little head about adult stuff okay? Mommy and Daddy love each other and we love you too. And Momma G loves you. Your brothers and sister love you. We live in a house full of love, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

Once she is bathed and dried off, I help her into her gown and we walk down the hall to her bedroom. Jared is there waiting to read her a bedtime story so I hand our daughter over and head to our bedroom to begin my own nightly routine.

Genevieve is slathering face cream on as I walk into the ensuite. She looks at me through the mirror and smiles.

“So,” she begins as I pull my hair back and up into a bun. “I just happened to overhear your and Day-day’s conversation during her bath.”

I sigh. “It’s so hard to explain it to her so that she understands. We have a very unconventional family.”

“Hey, hey! Back it up,” Gen says as she twists the cap on the toothpaste. “It might be unusual and bizarre and a bit eccentric but unconventional? There is nothing unconventional about any of us. Our relationship might be uncommon and unique but unconventional? No.”

“How do we explain to a child that her mommy and daddy love her and love each other but there is also daddy’s wife in the mix?” I ask as I start blotting my face with cream. “Daddy’s wife that we both love and adore and would be nothing without?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she says with a smile before popping her toothbrush in her mouth. 

It is silent as she continues brushing her teeth and I massage the lotion onto my face. “I love what we have. I never in a million years dreamed that I would meet either one of you, much less be in a long-term relationship with both of you. It’s just so hard to describe it to a kid.”

Gen finishes brushing her teeth and turns to lean against the countertop. “You did though. Perfectly, I might add. But,” she pauses as she looks away and then back to me, “I think I know of a way that the next time the subject comes up, you can answer her honestly.”

“What are you talking about, Gen? I can’t be married to Jared. He kind of already has a wife. A hot, sexy as fuck, charming wife.”

"Like I said flattery will get you everywhere,” she says with a laugh. “But seriously, I have an idea.”

“What is it?” I ask as she pushes off the counter and walks toward the door. “Genevieve Padalecki, don’t leave me hanging!”

Her laughter dies out as she leaves the room. I shake my head and chuckle at her antics as I squeeze paste onto my toothbrush and finish getting ready for bed.

I turn the wheel into the entrance of FBBC with a smile on my face and butterflies in my stomach.

“Mommy, what's that say?" Delaney asks, pointing at the large sign beside the driveway.

"Closed for private event," I answer her.

"Cwosed? I thought I was going to play with JJ and the twins!" Delaney whined.

"You are, baby girl," I soothe. "They're gonna be here because their parents are. But first you have to do your very special, very important job, okay?"

Looking through the rear view mirror at my daughter, I see the little girl's face light up. 

"Yea!" Delaney answers enthusiastically, dancing in her seat. "I get to wear a pretty dress and walk with Odie."

Pulling up to the brewery, I shift the car into park. The only other vehicles in the lot are the Ackles' and the Padalecki's. 

"That's right Day-day," I respond. "Now let's go inside and get ready."

As I open the door to get out,  I can't help but to reminisce how this all came about. How it all seems like a dream come true.

FLASHBACK

Gen was very hush-hush when I entered the bedroom after  I finished brushing my teeth. When I once again asked what idea she had, instead of answering she had pulled me on top of her on the bed and kissed the breath out of my lungs. 

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about it," she cooed. "It's something I've considered for a while now but I just have to talk it over with Jare first. You do trust, me don't you, sweetie?"

"Of course Mama,"I told her. "I trust you with my life. I love you."

"I love you too. So fucking much."

It was a week later that I found out what her idea was. The four Padalecki kids joined the Ackles' on a day trip, leaving Jared, Gen and I home alone.

We were lounging in the bed after a sweaty, very passionate session of fucking. With the kids out of the house, the three of us christianed almost every inch of the place. 

I hadn't had that many orgasms in years!

"Sweetie?" Gen asked breathlessly. 

I rolled my head to the side to see her flushed face as she laid on top of Jared, their bodies still connected as one.

"Marry us," she says as she reached out to entwine her fingers with mine on my stomach.

"Yea okay," I laughed, not taking her proposal seriously. 

"We're not joking," Jared chimes in, lifting his arm and inviting me to join their embrace. "We both love you so much. We want you to know we are in this for the long haul.  Come hell or high water. You are just as important to us as we are to each other. 

"Y/N Y/L/N, would you please do us the honor of being our wife?"

I couldn't respond. Hell, I couldn't get my brain to comprehend the words. Did Jared and Genevieve just fucking propose to me? It had to be hormones,  right?

We'd just had some of the greatest sex ever known so they were just feeling the influx of dopamine, right?

Besides, they can't marry me; they're already married. To each other! No minister in their right mind would agree to wed us. It was simply impossible.

"It's simply impossible," I said, looking at Jared "You're already married."

"And we want to marry you," Gen says as she sits up. "It's not impossible. Maybe not exactly legal but it's not impossible."

"How? What preacher would be crazy enough to marry us?" I ask, trying to get them to see that their idea is completely ludicrous. 

"Not a preacher," Jared says as he hugs me to his side, Gen sitting up, his dick softening inside her. "Jensen."

"What?!" I exclaim, taking my eyes off my girlfriend's sexy body and looking up into my boyfriend's hazel eyes. "How?"

"Jensen got ordained in order to marry Jeff and Hilary and that's not a one-time thing," Jared explained. "He is still ordained in the eyes of Texas law. He can officiate our ceremony."

Once again, I am stunned into silence. They had really put some thought into this. It wasn't just a whim. They were honest-to-god genuine!

"You want to marry me?" I asked, still unsure. "Both of you?"

A "fuck yea" and a "hell yes" came from Jared and Genevieve simultaneously.

"Well then," I said, as I sat up on my knees next to them. "I guess we're getting married!"

END FLASHBACK

The front door of the brewery opens as Delaney and I approach it. Danneel is standing there with a smile on her face.

"It's the big day, Y/N," she announced. "Are you nervous? Excited?"

Once the news of our engagement was announced to them and we asked Jensen to officiate our nuptials, Danneel had changed.

She finally admitted that our relationship weirded her out at first and she was afraid I was just in it for some juicy gossip and a big payout but after almost five years she realized that I am not after anything other than the love of her two best friends.

She apologized profusely and begged for forgiveness and after hugging it out she began calling me a friend.

"To be honest, yes and no." I answer her. "I'm not nervous about marrying them at all. Hell, I'm excited to finally be able to call them mine and it mean something.  I'm just worried that somethings going to happen and the wedding will be cancelled."

Dee puts her arm around my shoulders as we walk through the tasting room. "Sweetie, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. It's all going to go off without a hitch. Okay, wait. That's not the correct wording. You are going to be hitched. It's going to go smoothly and be perfect. Yea, that's better."

I laugh at her as she shows me to the office where my dress, along with Delaney's are hanging, still in the bags.

"Do you need help?"

"Could you possibly wrangle Day-day to get dressed?" I ask as I take in the moment. In just a few minutes, I will be sliding into a wedding dress and preparing to walk out of here to get married. To wed, not only Jared but Genevieve too.

How is this my life? 

"We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Jared, Gen and Y/N. The love between them is encompassing, all-consuming and palpable. I've known Jared for going on 30 years. Gen for almost 20 years and Y/N for 5.  And I have never seen any other people as in love and devoted to one another as they are," Jensen says as we stand in front of him in the taproom; Jared on his left, Gen on his right and I in the middle.

"Do you, Jared Tristan Padalecki, take Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N as your wedded wife? To have and to hold, to honor and cherish, through good times and bad. For richer or poorer. Til death do you part."

"Absolutely," Jared says with a nod.

"Do you, Genevieve Nicole Padalecki, take  Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N to be your wedded wife? To have and to hold, to honor and cherish, through good times and bad. For richer or poorer. Til death do you part."

"I do."

Jensen looks right at me.  "Do you, Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, take Jared as your husband and Genevieve as your wife to have and to hold, to honor and cherish, through good times and bad. For richer or poorer. Til death do you part."

"Yes," I answer, resolutely. 

"By the power vested in me under Texas law, I proudly announce you husband and wife and wife.  You may now kiss the brides."

Jared turns me and pulls me to him. He looks into my eyes as he lowers his head. "Congratulations Mrs. Padalecki," he whispers and then kisses me with all the love and affection he can muster. 

As we part, I hear Genevieve as she grabs my free hand. "My turn."

I spin around and smile at her as she cups my cheeks in her hands. "You are my wife now, baby." I nod and our lips meet in a just as fervent, just as intense kiss.

When we step away, we turn to our family and friends, our kids and the Ackles. Jared takes my left hand as Gen takes my right and we march down the makeshift aisle as the song, "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri, plays over Dee's phone.

"Mama Y/N, you look beautiful," Shep says as he walks up to me after the ceremony.

"Aw, thank you son," I say with a smile. "You're quite handsome in that suit and tie."

The 12-year-old blushes as he rubs the back of his neck, a move I know he gets from his father when flustered.

"Mom said I had to dress up."

"Well, thank you Shep. I appreciate it."

The rest of the kids file along,  congratulating us and wishes us the best with Jensen and Danneel bringing up the rear.

"And here I thought officiating Jeffrey's wedding was bizarre.  This one takes the cake," Jensen jokes as he hugs Jared with a pat on the back. "Congratulations man."

"Thanks," Jared says, mimicking Shep's previous move.

"Speaking of cake," Dee speaks up. "Let's go to the kitchen. I have a surprise for you."

I walk arm in arm with my spouses toward the kitchen. Inside, there is a large two-layer cake with the customary bride and groom figurines on top. Except our cake has an extra bride on it.

"So, they don't make cake toppers with 2 brides so I got a couple of them and broke the second one in half," Dee explains with a chuckle. "It's the best I could do."

"It's perfect," Gen says as she leans over and hugs her friend. "Thank you. "

The twelve of us all enjoy eating cake and hanging out in the kitchen of the brewery. Of course Jared and Jensen imbibe in some of the house beverages and Gen joins in.

After cleaning up, Jensen and Dee shoos us out and sends us off to begin our honeymoon, which is just a night in a local inn and resort, kid-free.

"Holy fuck!" Jared exclaims loudly. "Your pussy is squeezing my dick like a vice."

I smile against my wife's cunt as she grinds down on my face. 

"Shit, she's eating me like a starved woman," Gen says with a moan. 

I wrap my arms around her thighs and pull her down on me as Jared thrusts into me with zeal. I can feel another orgasm bearing down but I've made a pact with myself to hold off until Genevieve cums on my mouth.

I've already had one while she ate me out as I sucked Jared's cock and another as I watched them fuck while they uttered the debauchery they planned for the three of us.

"Shit! Shit! Fucking shiiiiiit!" Gen screamed as her whole body tensed and her juices sleuths out of her body onto my tongue and lips. "Oh God! I don't think I have anything left in me, " she breathes out as she slumps to the side. 

I continue to lick up every drop she'd given me and then kiss her inner thigh. "So it was good?" I ask with a chuckle.

"The best," Gen tells me as she crawls off and lays down beside me. "But I'm going to have to tap out for a bit. I'm done for."

I turn my attention to my husband now that she isn't obscuring my view. Jared has leaned forward on his palms and is looking down at our bodies where we are connected.

I glance down as he rams his whole dick into my body, my pussy stretching to accommodate his girth.

"Husband?" I call to get his attention and Jared raises his eyes and meets mine. "Fuck me like you mean it."

He huffs out a laugh and then goes at it. The pace and austerity of his hips as he fucks into me is supernatural! As many times as I've been with Jared, I have never witnessed or felt the momentum and velocity that has taken over him.

My insides tighten and constrict and I yell out their names as I cum, squirting all over Jared's groin, the wetness making his movements audible as his thighs ram into mine.

Jared bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes as he thrusts into my body fully and stills. I can feel the throb of his dick as his release shoots out of him and fills me.

"Holy shit! Fuck! I think I've died, " he says as he falls onto me, our bodies sticky and sweaty. 

"God damn I love you Y/N," he huffs into my ear as he tries to catch his breath. He turns his head as I hear him proclaim the same to Gen. "I love you both. So fucking much."

The shower isn't big enough for the three of us so we decided to go solo. Or at least that was the plan but as Gen is taking the first one, I can't help but to step in behind her and admire her sexy body, wet and soapy as she washes.

"You need help?" I ask as she turns around and spots me. 

"You'll just get me all hot and bothered," she retorts as she runs the frothy washcloth over her breasts.

"So? I don't see the problem," I say, stepping forward and cupping her mound.  "I'll clean you." My middle finger slides along her slit as she throws her head back.

"You're insatiable," she says as her feet steps apart, opening her legs. 

"I got a gorgeous wife with a body to die for. Do you blame me?"

My fingers broach her slit and I find her clit, swollen and pulsing. I gently massage it as I claim her mouth, my other hand holding the back of her head.

Gen moans into my mouth and I take the opportunity to slide my tongue inside. We kiss until the need for breathe is urgent.

"I have an equally hot wife, you know, " she tells me as she wraps her arms around my neck. "Where's Jare?"

"In the other room, waiting for his turn. We both plan on fucking you in the shower.  I just won the coin toss to go first."

"Lucky me!" she says with a smile. Her half-lidded eyes open wide as I enter her pussy with two fingers, my thumb pressing against her clit.

"I'm going to make you cum on my fingers then Jared's gonna bend you over and make you cum on his dick."

Gen's eye roll back as I begin pumping into her, scissoring my fingers. 

"Come on, Mama. Give it to me. Cum on my fingers. I know you can," I coo as I kiss her lips, her cheek, her neck and shoulder. "This pussy loves being fingers doesn't it? I can feel it vibrating.  Cum, baby. Cum for me."

Gen's arm shoot out to the sides and her palms slap the shower tiles as I feel her body release and her juices mix with the water.

"That's it. That's what I wanted.  You're ready for that big dick now."

I step out of the shower and open the bathroom door. "She's ready for you Jare."

I smile as I wrap a towel around my body and step out of the room as I hear Jared begin fucking our wife.

Life is splendid.

Nothing really changed after our wedding. The only difference is the huge diamond ring and band set that Jared and Genevieve surprised me with the morning after our wedding.

It is a large 14 karat diamond ring with a matching rose gold band. I wear it with pride and exuberance. I have often caught myself admiring it, holding my hand up and just marveling at the beauty, the extravagance.

I never in a million years dreamed I would possess something so beautiful, so glamorous and something that held so much meaning. The love and devotion I feel for my spouses, and they for me, when I look at it is embodied in that one piece of jewelry. 

I am admiring the sparkle of the diamond in the sun when the vehicle behind me lays on its horn. I am shaken out of my reverence to look up and see the light had turned green.

What I didn't see was the truck that had decided to ignore his red light and come barreling through the intersection.

The last thing I saw was the diamond on my finger as my hand flew off the wheel before everything went black.

The first thing I comprehend is pain. My whole body is aching and my head is thumping! Where am I? What happened? 

"Ma'am? Ma'am, can you hear me?"

Who is that? Why are they yelling at me?

I open my eyes to see a man looking at me through the windshield of my car, or well where the windshield should be. Instead it is open with jagged shards of glass at the edges.

"Ma'am? Help is on the way. Don't move!" 

I nod my head in understanding and have to squeeze my eyes shut due to the pain. Fuck, it hurts!

"What hurts?"

I squint as I look at the man again.

"Every fucking thing!" I seethe. 

Sirens rapidly approach and the shrill sound does nothing to help my head.

"Hey. Hey. She's awake but in a lot of pain. Oh God. I never saw her. I never saw her."

I hear another voice trying to calm the stranger down as I hear movement around me.

"Miss? Miss? Hey, hi. I'm Michelle.  I'm here to help you. Can you tell me your name?"

"Uhhh," I respond as I try to think. My name. What is my name? Who am I? "I don't know?"

"Okay. That's fine," Michellr says as she looks over her shoulder. "My partner is going to look in your purse, is that okay? You i.d. should be in there,  right?"

I try to nod but cry out instead. "Fuuuck!"

"It's okay," Michelle assures. "You took a pretty good hit to the head in the accident.  I'm sure you'll remember shortly."

I hear voices but can't make out what they're saying before Michelle speaks again. "Okay, your name is Y/N Y/L/N. Does that sound familiar? 

"Not really," I answer, honestly. And it's the truth. That name sort of rings a bell but is it mine? Or is it someone else? A name I've only heard before but don't own.

It's silly, not knowing your own name. It is what society calls you, what you are known by. And to not be able to remember it, well that's just absurd!

"Y/N, we are going to get you out of here and take you to the hospital. Can you think of anyone we could call to let them know?"

"No," I say as I begin to sob. Am I all alone in this world? Is there anyone out there that loves me and cares enough to wonder where I am, if I'm alright?

The ride in the ambulance is a blur of activity; from the EMT inserting a needle into my arm and hooking it to a tube to shining a light into my eyes.

The hospital is no different. I am poked and prodded and asked numerous questions, most I don't have answers for.

After an extensive workup and a line of testing, the doctor comes in, in her white lab coat and stethoscope around her neck.

"Hello,  Ms. Y/L/N. I'm Dr. Cobb. I've reviewed your chart. You have a broken ankle, a large contusion over much of your left side and a concussion.  That is, we're hoping, the cause of your amnesia. We're hoping with a couple days of rest along with an analgesic that you'll make a full recovery. 

"Of course, you'll have a cast on the ankle to mend the broken bone and you'll be sore from the impact but you're going to live."

She smiles at me before jotting down something on my chart.  A nurse comes into the room with a syringe in his hand.

"We'll gonna give you a very low dose painkiller since you are pregnant. If it seems to help, we can-"

"Wait, what?" I cut her off. "'I'm pregnant?"

"Oh," she says, looking stunned. "I didn't realize you might not remember. You are 6 weeks pregnant."

My mind was spinning. I am pregnant! That means there is someone out there that cares and is probably wondering where I am. Someone who possibly even loves me.

I close my eyes as I try to recollect. Suddenly it all comes back. My family. Jared and Gen. Tom, Shep, Odette and Delaney. 

Oh my God! Delaney! My baby girl. I was on my way to pick her up when I was hit. 

"Oh God! I was going to pick my daughter up from school. She's probably worried sick!" I exclaim as I sit up. The movement makes me dizzy but I ignore it. I've got to go.

"We can't let you leave," the doctor says as she steps forward. "Is there anyone we could call and tell them you're unable to pick her up?"

"Yes," I tell her. "Call my husband, her father. Jared Padalecki."

The nurse and the doctor look at one another and laugh.  

"Miss Y/L/N, are you feeling okay? What year is it? Who's the President?"

"What? What are you talking about? My memory is intact. The year is 2025. The president is Delilah Samson, the first female president for the United States."

"Okay, you have those correct but you must be delusional.  You are not married to Jared Padalecki."

"Yes I am! Call him! His number is 555-341-6728."

The doctor jots down the digits and pulls out her cell. I watch as she dials and lifts the phone to her ear.

"Hi. My name is Noel Cobb. I'm a doctor here at Austin Memorial.  Is this Jared Padalecki?"

I can tell by the stunned expression on her face that she wasn't expecting to be speaking to a local celebrity, a well-known actor.

"I have Ms. Y/N Y/L/N in my care. She's been in a vehicle accident. She's fine, a broken ankle and–" she pauses and I can hear the timbre of Jared's voice.  "Yes. Hold on."

Dr. Cobb hands me her cell and I immediately take it and put it up to my ear.

"Jare?"

"Oh my God. Baby, are you okay? Is Day-day with you?"

"I'm fine, just sore," I tell him. "I hadn't gotten to her yet. Someone needs to go pick her up before she gets scared because I'm not there."

I listen as Jared tells Gen what happened and asks her to go pick up our daughter. 

"Gen is going to pick up Delaney.  I'm coming to you."

"Okay," I sigh in relief. But now that I know my daughter is going to be taken care of, the enormity of the situation takes over.

Not only had I told my doctor and a nurse that I was married to Jared but he was coming here.  The tabloids would have a field day!

We had kept the news of our marriage out of the papers and tabloids so far. Yes,  it was known that the three of us were in a relationship but after so many years since we had announced it  the world seemed to have let it go and the news had died down. 

Now, everyone was about to find out that we had gotten married. Maybe it wasn't legal, maybe it was forbidden but to our family my marriage to them was as real as their marriage to each other.

"Jare, what about-"

"I don't care about that. Let people talk. Let them draw their own conclusions. My wife has been in an accident and is in the hospital. I'll be damned if I let the worry of what people think stop me from being by her side."

"Okay," I smile. "I'm in room-" I pause to look at the doctor, silently requesting the room number.

"405."

"-405. I'll see you when you get here. I love you."

"I love you too Y/N. Be there soon."

I hang up the phone and hand it back to the doctor before laying back in bed.

I can rest now, knowing my daughter is taken care of and my husband is on his way.

Once Gen has the nanny come over to watch the kids, she rushes to the hospital herself. She bolts through the door and hurries to the bed.

"Oh baby. You scared me!" she says as she grabs my hand. "Are you okay?"

"Yea, I'll be fine. I have a broken ankle and my whole body aches. I had amnesia for a little bit. Couldn't remember who I was but that came back and-" I stop as something comes back to me.

"Oh my God! I forgot! Right before my memory returned, the doctor told me……I'm pregnant, guys."

The excitement and delight is evident in the room as they both bombard me with hugs and kisses. 

"Guys," I cringe. "I'm as happy as you are but you're killing me here. My whole left side is nothing, but one big bruise."

"Oh God. I'm sorry," Gen exclaims as she pulls away. "I'm just so happy! I love you so much.  And I love this baby." She places her hand on my stomach.

"How far along are you?"

"6 weeks, give or take a day."

Gen gets a look on her face that I can tell she is going to come to the same conclusion I have. 

"That means-"

I nod my head. "Our honeymoon. We made another baby on our honeymoon"

"Holy shit!" Jared utters. "That was some great sex, that's for sure."

Gen and I laugh as we nod in agreement. 

"Great sex and some awesome baby-making apparently."

I am released from the hospital, with instructions to take it easy and stay off my foot until I can see the orthopedics and get a hard cast put on my ankle.

Jared carries me bridal style out of the hospital and sits me in the front seat of Gen's SUV.

"I'm right behind you."

As Gen drives toward the house, she reaches over and grabs my hand out of my lap.

"Are you sure you're okay sweetie?"

"Yes, my love, I am. I promise. I'm just kind of reeling from it all. I was admiring my ring in the sunlight when a car behind me beeped, prompting me to proceed through because the light had turned. 

"What if the accident had caused me to miscarry? To lose the baby we didn't even know about yet? And how had I not figured it out, that I was pregnant. With Delaney, I was pretty sure as soon as I was late. And now I hadn't even realized I was late!"

"I'm so glad you didn't lose our little bug. He or she was created out of love and will be loved immensely and exceedingly. I'm beyond relieved that you are both okay. I love you so much Y/N. I can't imagine life without you. I don't want to."

"I love you too, Mama."

"Oh don't start," Gen chastised with a giggle. "There will be none of that until you get a clean bill of health."

I huff and sit back in my seat. No, I am not really in the mood for sex but it didn't mean that I can't think about it. After all, that's how this all began.

A night of awesome, passionate, lewd sex with two of the sexiest people in Texas. One night so many years ago that led me to not one but two of the loves of my life, a marriage and now two kids.

Somebody pinch me because I have to be dreaming. 

The four kids all come running as we walk in the door and Jared plays interference as Gen helps me to the sofa.

"Mommy!" Day-day cries as she reaches toward me. Jared picks her up and whispers in her ear, earning him a nod before he sits her on her feet and she makes her way to my thankfully good side. "You're hurted?"

"Yea but I'll be okay. Just gotta be easy. I'm very sore."

"Also, " Gen says as she joins Delaney beside me. "You have to be careful with Mommy because she's going to have a baby."

Delaney's eyes widen and she looks from me to Gen and back to me. "Really?!"

"Yea, you're going to be a big sister."

"Yay!"

The kids are put to bed by Jared and Gen while I sit on the couch and listen.

"I hope you are as easy a baby as your big sister," I whisper to my stomach. Please don't be the problem child. Both your brothers and sisters are such good kids and well-mannered. I don't know if I could handle one that is a handful."

"You know you won't be doing it alone sweetie," Gen says as she joins me. "I'm not going anywhere and neither is Jared. We love this little one as much as we love Day-day. This baby-" she lays her hand on top of mine on my stomach. "-is as much mine as Tom, Shep and Odette are yours."  

I perch my temple against her shoulder. "Thank you," I whisper, sincerely.

"For what, sweetie?"

"For loving me. For loving our children. I could have never dreamed this would be my life. I was-am-a nobody and you found me and took me in. For that, I will be eternally grateful."

"Stop that talk right now," Gen says as she presses a kiss to the crown of my head. "You are not nor have you ever been a nobody. You are my wife. My gorgeous, kind, good-natured wife. You are sexy, hot as hell, and loving. We love you for all that but we love you for you. 

"Like I said, you are not alone, and you never will be. Jared and I are in this for the long haul. Hell, you may be the one who leaves us," Gen finishes with a chuckle.

I lift my head and look into her beautiful face, her features dainty but full of fondness. "Never. You are stuck with me,  both of you."

"That's my girl," Gen says with a smile before pulling me into a passionate and sensual kiss. We hear movement across the room but neither of us pull away. That is until the sound of a throat being cleared bellows through the room.

Gen and I both look at our husband with apology. 

"Let's get to bed," he says as he strolls into the room and picks me up, carrying me once again. "And no funny business. You are injured."

Navigation with a cast on my foot was nearly impossible. My balance is off, the stupid thing is heavy and there is no way I could be intimate with my spouses. 

The last one really puts a damper on my mood, seeing as my pregnancy had me feeling amorous and affectionate. I just need a good orgasm or twenty! Ones that aren't self-induced. 

Jared and Gen tries to accommodate by having sex beside me, letting me watch and articulating what erotic things they plan to do to me once I am healed but it doesn't help. 

I want to be filled by dick, not my fingers! The loss of coitus is turning me into a bitch, often taking my frustrations out on one or both of them.

Today, though, my frustrations take a backseat as the ob/gyn drops a bomb on us; one that none of us seen coming.

I lay back with my shirt tucked under my boobs and my growing belly bare. It seems bigger than with Delaney at this stage. I was almost 6 months along with our daughter before I began showing but with this one, my belly seemed to grow overnight. 

I am now almost 12 weeks, 3 months,  pregnant and it cannot be hidden. Anyone can tell I am pregnant.

The nurse is spreading that fucking cold, blue gel around my protruding belly as Jared, Gen and I look at the screen to see our child.

"There you are," the nurse says. "Heartbeat looks good, in the mid 140s. A perfect number for a 3 month fetus. Now let's see if we can get a measurement."

She turns the ultrasound wand and begins to move in the opposite direction.  "Well, hello there." 

The shock in her voice is evident and it makes me panic. "What?! What is it? What's wrong with the baby?"

I look over at my spouses but their eyes are glued to the monitor, the same look of alarm on their faces.

"Oh! No, I'm sorry," the nurse says, a smile on her lips. "There is absolutely nothing wrong. I just found something that isn't in your chart."

"What is it?"

"Baby has a wombmate."

"Wha-" I begin but Gen interrupts.

"Twins?!"

 "Baby #2 was hiding behind its sibling," the nurse explains as she maneuvers the wand. "Looks just as healthy.  Same heart rate."

That would explain the larger girth.  I am not carrying one baby, but two. Oh my fucking God! I'm pregnant with two babies! 

How will Jared and Gen take this news? We already have four kids; now we are going to be a family of nine? We hadn't considered this possibility.

I look to them to see my answer. It is written all over their faces. And apparently streaming down my wife's cheeks.  They are ecstatic. Their smiles light up the whole room; their eyes, though on the screen,  are full of joy and elation.

This is a good thing. This news is welcome and accepted.

I can't take my eyes off the printout in my lap the whole way home. I pick it up with my right hand as Jared is holding left, our fingers intoned, as he drives us home.

Gen leans forward from the backseat and places hers on top of ours.

"We're having twins!" she proclaims. 

"We are," Jared says matter-of-factly.  

"Yup," I say, my lips popping the last letter.

"Are you not happy?" Gen asks.

I consider her question before answering.  Am I happy? Absolutely. These babies were made out of love between their parents. But there is one thing that terrifies me. It might seem stupid to se but right now it was a leech on my mind. 

"I am," I tell them. "I am excited to be carrying our babies. Babies I know are already loved and adored. But….oh never mind, it's stupid." I say, laughing at myself.

"What is it darling?" Jared asks as he squeezes my hand. "You can tell us."

"I gotta push two watermelons out of a hole the size of a strawberry?!!! Fuck!"

They both laugh, their whole bodies shaking from it.

"If anyone can do it, it's our fearless, strong, and loving wife, " Gen says. "Baby you got nothing to worry about. You can do it. I know you can. Maybe you can talk to Dee. She did it."

"Yea," I sigh breathlessly. "I'll call her in a couple of days, once the news settles."

Jared pulls into the drive and rolls down his window to punch the code into the gate.

"Gen's right," he says as he looks over at me. "You got this."

"Thanks babe," I say, feeling a slight bit better. "Both of you. Now, how're we gonna tell the kids?"

The kids took the news of twins better than expected. Tom was nonchalant about it, being a pre-teen. Shep was curious how two babies had enough room in my belly, but Odette and Delaney were  ecstatic. At 5 and 8 years, all they heard was they would each get a baby to take care of. It was endearing and heart-warming. 

By the time my ankle is healed and the cast is removed, I am as big as a house. I can't even see my feet to tell that one was no longer encased in plaster, making walking a feat upon itself. 

The one thing I have looked forward to with the removal of the hard footwear is nonsensical. Making love to my husband and wife seems out of the question.

We make out constantly but as soon as I am on my back, one of the twins will settle on my bladder. It is ridiculous and frustrating! I just want to fuck my gorgeous  wife and handsome husband. 

I voice my frustrations to Dee during lunch, while the kids are off playing in another room. 

"I just miss sex so fucking much," I grumble. "I need to have a non self-guided orgasm. Is that too much to ask?"

"Honey, no. It is not. Will they not-," she asks, waving a hand through the air.. "Sorry, none of my business."

"It's okay," I tell her, chuckling. "I brought it up. We make out and we touch and kiss but as soon as I'm on my back, one of these-" I point to my huge belly. "-makes my bladder hurt."

"Okay, so don't lay down. Have you tried, I can't believe I'm saying this, riding Jared? Be on top. That's what Jay and I did."

"But that leaves Gen out. And we don't do that."

"Okay. Well both of you on top then," she laughs. "I can't believe I'm giving advice to you about how to fuck my friends. Oh my God!"

I join her, laughing until I feel that all-too-well known pressure.

"Shit. I gotta pee, again!"

That night,  after the kids are bedded down, I put my plan into action. Jared and Gen walk into the room to find me sitting on the edge of the bed in absolutely nothing.

"Hmmm, I like that look on you," Jared says as he approaches me and pulls me to my feet, claiming my mouth.

I feel Gen's presence beside us and pull away to see she has stripped and is now as bare as I am. 

"That's what I like to see," I say as I eye her top to bottom. "Now let's unleash the beast."

I unbuckle Jared's belt and loosen his button as Gen pulls the zipper down. Using one hand each, we remove his jeans, pushing them down his legs, along with his boxers.

Jared rips his t-shirt over his head and tosses it across the room. When he looks down, both Gen and I are on our knees making out with each other and his growing dick.

"Fuck!" He exclaims as he palms the back of our heads.

When he is at full attention, I hold him at the base as Gen swallows him down, the glug-glug sound of her swallowing around his length making me wetter.

I look up at my husband and smile. "I'm going to ride your cock while our sexy wife rides your face."

"Then get to riding, ladies," he pulls out of Gen mouth and my grip to flop back on the bed, his arms crossed behind his head.

Gen climbs onto the mattress and settles herself on her knees beside his arm. "I wanna watch you take him in. It's a sight I love."

I clamber up out of the floor, using the bed for leverage and then ascend the bed, cautiously throwing a leg over Jared.

"I can't see to put it in," I huff what could only be described as a laugh of irritation.

I stand on my knees as Jared grabs himself and notches the tip at my entrance. As slow as I can in my eagerness, I begin lowering myself, feeling my walls stretch to accommodate the intrusion.

"Damn, I've missed this," I say as I get him inside me. "God, you feel good. Now, ride his mouth Mama."

Gen nods and smiles at me brightly before hovering over Jared's head. He pulls her down onto him and I can hear and feel the moan he lets out.

I begin sliding along his length, lifting my pelvis and bouncing on his dick. It feels magnificent. It has been ages since I have felt more than fingers inside me and I can already tell my first orgasm is going to be quick. 

I reach up and tangle my fingers into Gen's hair, pulling her upper body back toward me. She turns her head and we lock lips, our tongues sliding along one another as she writhes on Jared's tongue and I grind on his cock.

The coil inside me bursts and I whimper into her mouth as my juices gushes out around Jared and pools on his groin.

What surprises me though is when Jared lefts his hips off the bed and stills, moaning against Gen's pussy as he throbs and releases inside me.

"Your turn Mama," I say against her lips. "Cum on Daddy’s face. Let him taste those sweet juices." 

I grab her hips and assist her in undulating against Jared as he continues to lick and suck until she begins crying out that she's close.

I reach around and flick her throbbing clit and she throws her head back against my shoulder as I feel her spew out, her breathing labored.

"That was incredible," I breathe out as I kiss along her shoulder. "Thank you."

Jared laughs as he slides up from under the brunette. "You're thanking us? For phenomenal sex? We should be thanking you. It was your idea," he licks his lips, smacking them together and I realize he is still relishing the sweet tang of Gen's orgasm.

“We make a good team,” I say as I unmount Jared and lay on his left side. “The three of us. Well four if you count that I got the idea from Dee.” I snicker as my husband and wife look at me, stunned and in disbelief.

In the months after that, our sex life returns to being as recurrent and passionate as before the accident. We each research different positions that would be beneficial yet safe for me as I seem to be growing larger every hour.

Doggy-style is, as always, my favorite; it becomes even more so when I’m bent over the bed while Jared fucks into me and Gen is laid out liike a feast before me. I’ll never tire of eating her sweet snatch and drinking down her zesty juices. 

During my 7 month we have a bit of a scare, though. I find blood in my pee and on my panties while using the bathroom. My body goes ice cold and my mind is frozen. What is happening? Am I having a miscarriage? Are the babies okay?

I hurry and clean up before rushing out of the bedroom and to the kitchen where I know my family, especially my spouses, are.

“There’s something wrong,” I spit out, not caring that our children are right there. “I’m bleeding!”

Jared jumps into action and comes to console me while Gen calls the doctor. I hadn’t even realized that tears are streaming down my face and I am sobbing. 

“Shh,” Jared cajoles. “I’m sure it’s nothing. We probably just…..ahem, too hard or something.”

I look up at him in confusion and he nods his head to the kids. It dawns on me then. We had had sex last night and it had gotten pretty rough, as I had begged him for. I calm down a bit as I realize he is probably right.

“Okay, see you soon,” Gen says before hanging up the phone. “Dr. Forrest will see us this afternoon. She says it’s common but she just wants to check.”

Jared takes the kids to school and once they are gone, Gen pulls me into an embrace.

“Sweetie,” she coos. “Don’t worry. I’m sure everything is okay. Have you been having any pain?”

“Not really. A few times I thought I was feeling contractions but then I realized it was just either Haven or Oakley kicking.”

Gen bends down and places her lips against my stomach, kissing each side. “You two better be good in there. You’re hurting your Mommy. And Mama Gen ain’t about to have it.”

I laugh as she stands up and looks me in the eye with a lifted brow. “I set them straight.”

The doctor asks very personal and embarrassing questions about our lives and bedroom antics. I blush as I tell her that just the night before it had gotten pretty arduous. She nodded and hummed as she began checking down “there”.

“Okay, I see the issue.”

“What is it?” Jared asks as he holds me hand.

“Well Mr. Padalecki,” the doctor addresses. “It seems as though the encounter last night tore the mucus plug.”

“What? I’m not in labor, right? That’s what happens when your water breaks, you’re in labor. I’m not even feeling them kick anymore. I have no pain. I can’t be in labor, it’s too soon!”

“Not Y/N, you're not in labor. The tear in the mucus plug is leaking some amniotic fluid. It doesn’t seem to be much but just as a precaution, I’m going to prescribe bed rest for the remaining weeks of pregnancy. You can get up to go to the bathroom and come in for your weekly checkups but other than that, take it easy.

“Oh, and ahem…..I’m sorry but no more sex.” She looks at me and then Jared, her eyes scanning up and down his tall, lanky body and then back to me. “As tempting as I’m sure it is, we can’t risk infection or more complications.”

The last 12 weeks of my pregnancy goes by slowly. And we are all irritable more than we are amicable.  The tension is glaringly obvious.

Once we informed Gen of the doctor's warning of no sex, it was decided that if I couldn't participate, then no one was fucking. 

It was fine at first. I was too tired to be lascivious and my moods would change in an instant. I went from happy and carefree to crying and miserable. It was downright irritating.

On the morning of my 36th week, I woke to find Jared and Gen in bed beside me, kissing fervidly. It pissed me the fuck off!

"I thought we agreed no sex until after that babies come!" I spit out as I push the sheet off my body and try to roll out of bed. "I'll just go downstairs and yall can fuck like rabbits. I can tell when I'm no longer wanted and desired. I mean, I am three times the size I was when we met!"

By this time, I am up and grabbing my robe to throw around my body. "You could've just told me, you know. Instead of smeaking around behind my back." 

I start toward the door as Gen calls for me. I grab the handle and turn it before speaking. "Leave me alone.  I don't want to hear some lame excuse!"

I storm out the door and about to start down the stairs when it hits me. I just got pissed and went off on my husband and wife because they were kissing.  God, I need to calm down!

Three steps down, my hand grips the rail as I double over in pain, calling out for my spouses.

I knew what was happening and I wanted them, needed them.

"Jare! Gen!"

They come running out of the bedroom and rushed to my sides. 

"We're here baby," Gen assures. "We're here. Is it time?"

"I think so," I say, my breathing labored.

They help me to the bottom floor and over to the sofa before they run back upstairs to get dressed to head to the hospital.

"Okay. Yea okay," Gen says into her phone as she comes downstairs with one of Jared's tee's and a pair of sweatpants. "As soon as you get here. Okay. See you soon."

She helps me out of my robe and gown and into the clothes she brought.

"Dee is on her way to pick up the kids.  She'll be here in five. How are the contractions?"

"Bearable."

"I love you so much, Y/N. We'll be right by your side the whole time okay?"

I nod as Jared comes down the stairs with my hospital bag before going to rouse the kids and get them ready.

Not long after, Dee shows up and takes the 4 Padalecki children.

"Come on, let's get you to the car." Jared pulls me off the couch and helps me to the garage, stopping when a contraction hits.

"God it hurts!" I cry as I pull myself up into the front seat of Gen's SUV. "I can't do this! I can't"

"Yes you can," Gen coos from the back seat, leaning forward and placing her hand on my arm. "You are strong and will rock these deliveries. And then we'll have two new beautiful babies to admire and love on."

Seven hours later, cries fill the quiet room as I push our daughter, Haven Paige Padalecki into the world. And 9 minutes later, her brother Oakley Jude Padalecki joins us, just as loud.

I'm crying of sheer exhaustion with a heart full of love as the nurse lays our babies on my chest.

"Hi babies. I'm your Mommy," I tell them. "You are both so loved already. Your Daddy and Mama Gen and your brothers and sisters all love you  immensely."

I look to my right, to Jared. "They're perfect."

"Just like you," he says before he leans down and kisses me chastely.

"They're little angels," Gen says from her spot at my left. "Adorable little angels."

I turn my head and smile at her, pursing my lips for a kiss.  She grants my request before the nurse moves in to take the babies for their check-ups.

"Baby #1 is 4 pounds, 5 ounces, " she announces. "17 ¾ inches long. Baby #2 is 4 pounds, 8 ounces and 18 inches long."

"They're tiny," I whisper, mostly to myself but my spouses hear me.

"That's okay," Gen says. "They're Padalecki's. They won't stay small for long."

After a short stay in the NICU, Haven and Oakley are released, along with me and we head home with Jared to meet the rest of the family.

As we are riding,  I look back at the two car seats in the backseat and then to my handsome husband.

I could've never envisioned it, that day, oh so long ago, when I was a waitress for two of my idols; they would become my lovers, my spouses, my  best friends.

Life is full of surprises and mine had an abundance of them. 

A/N2: Okay, I did my part. Now its your turn to do yours. Send me those likes, loves and messages. Did you love it? Hate? And what made you feel that way? ;) 

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @spnbaby-67 @tftumblin @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam  @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @deanwanddamons @supraveng @deandreamernp @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @nancymcl​ @princessmisery666​

[imaginesbymonika]

The tomato girl.

Pre-Finale !!!!!!!!!!!!

Pairing: Steve-O x fem!reader

Plot: Y/N and Steve-O were clearly in love with each other, but well, if no one speaks up how were they supposed to know?

Warnings: angst, mention of people getting injured, but really just some mentioning of blood and some swearing, literally the saddest chapter i ever wrote of anything ever

masterlist | previous chapter

song to listen to while reading:

Y/N stares at Steveo as he makes his way past her towards her living room. "Is everything alright?", she asks and shuts the door behind him. The man sits down on the couch: "I don't know. I couldn't sleep."

"Yeah, I figured.", she chuckles but when Steveo stays speechless she clears her throat and sits down next to him. A silence fills the room and after a few moments, the young woman yawns softly.

"Listen.", Steveo lets out and turns to face her: "I don't want to bother you, not at all, I am going to leave you alone...I just need to know."

The y/h/c woman wrinkles her forehead.

"But I just cannot live a day longer without knowing. I just cannot do it." At this point, a look of actual difficulty is covering his features as he searches hers for a sign that she understands what he is talking about.

"Was there, at any point in time, a moment where you looked at me and saw more than a friend?" Y/N's eyes widen and her jaw slightly drops as she takes in a deep but shaky breath.

She wants to say something but before the first word can even fully leave her lips her phone goes off. They both stare at each other as the ringing fills the room. And for a second they are once again sitting on the steps to the bar. And it is freezing as she cried into his side. He wanted to join her because god if anything he felt like crying his eyes out like a little child.

Then the voicemail goes off. "Oh shit, I totally forgot it's probably nighttime in LA. This is Ezra, by the way, but you probably kno-. Anyway, I just- I can't wait to see you again. It's been a few days since you left and I-I-I- I just cannot wait another day. So, I just have to ask you this question, and I know how things are between us and I know you need time- but it's been a few years now and I cannot visualize my life without you somewhere in it. So - I have to ask this- will you marry me? Maybe call me back when you hear this in the morning, or wait until we see each other again in person. Anyway, I love you."

Steveo stares at the phone and feels how his insides turn. He was too late. Holy shit, he was actually too late. This shit wasn't just something that happened in movies. It was awfully substantial and so very painful. He slowly gazes back at Y/N who hasn't looked away from him once in the past minute. Instead, her hand is covering her mouth while hot tears are streaming down her beautiful face. She always looked so pretty to him, even when she cried like this. He thought the same thing when they were sitting outside the bar, the night before she left. But back then he assumed it wasn’t the right moment to tell her that sort of information. Looks like he missed a lot of right moments.

Back then he thought perhaps she would come back one day and they could start over again. And yes, he was right, she did come back. But she isn't the same person and he isn't either.

So instead of saying anything he only reaches for her hand and squeezes it three times before he gets up from his spot on the couch and walks out of her bungalow.

"Why is he always doing that?", Bam asked with a high brow as the group watched how the ambulance, with Stevo inside, drove off. "What are you talking about?", Y/N inquired, not tearing her eyes off the vehicle. "Don't act stupid.", the brown-haired man declared and Johnny chuckled: "That squeezing thingy like he always squeezes your hand twice when he's practically laying on his deathbed in there."

But Y/N only shrugged her shoulders: "That's his way of telling me that everything's fine, I guess. Twice for 'I'm fine' or four times for 'It will be alright." Ryan who is the first one to walk back on set chuckles: "And three times for 'I love you’ , or what?". But at that the young woman only tilted her head: "I don't know, he never did that before."

"Oh believe me.", Chris mumbled under his breath and mainly to himself as he followed Ryan: "One day he will."

[sapphroditewrites]

Bishova Drabble #1

(a/n) i originally wrote this on twitter bc my friend @laurie-bishop​ came up w a good au idea SO im moving it to here thank u very much && i will be writing longer, ramblier versions of my bishova nonsense on here from now on xx

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Angst; childhood-lovers-to-adulthood-tragedy; mentions of homophobia; not technically forced marriage but like, kate is gay and doesn’t wanna marry a man but does it anyway; no happy ending

They meet in second grade. Yelena is new to the city, and Kate is drawn to her in the way we’re all drawn to our childhood crushes before we understand them. Yelena is a little… harsher than most would like, but Kate’s too sweet for her own good.

In short: they’re a perfect match. They share their first kiss in the summer between fifth and sixth grade in the playground tubes, nervous and tasting like warm Coca-Cola. Kate’s family isn’t religious, exactly, but she can feel that there’s something inherently wrong with what they’ve done. And Yelena, sensing Kate’s anxiety about the whole thing, decides to never bring it up again. But she feels something has shifted between them. A precarious line has been crossed.

 They don’t date until freshman year.

It just sort of… happens. No big dramatic build up, but a slow realization. Neither have pursued, or been pursued, by any of their peers and if they have, they fade from memory as quickly as they’d come. 

One day, as they’re snuggled up on Yelena’s bed, watching Netflix and talking about the future, Yelena asks, “Kate, are we dating?” 

 And with a soft laugh Kate says, “Yeah, I guess we are.”

And it’s perfect. Really, if it wasn’t for Kate’s fear of her mother finding out, their relationship would be nothing short of perfect. Nothing changes much from their friendship; nothing substantial. They were already touchy in public, what’s adding a bit more behind closed doors? Sometimes, the secrecy is thrilling. Sometimes, Yelena just wants Kate to stand the fuck up for herself.  The cracks begin to show by senior year.

“My mom has had my whole education planned out since I was in the womb Yelena, I can’t just go back on it because-”  “Because she doesn’t accept you for who you are? What happened to the brave girl I fell in love with? When did you become such a coward?” 

They say a lot of things they don’t mean. They make up in the end, through tears and delicate promises of forever and in the future. 

The arguments are put on pause as graduation rolls around. But the tension is there. Unspoken, but violently brewing. A storm waiting to be unleashed. Summer is when it hits.

Yelena makes the choice clear. Be honest, and open, about their relationship and herself, or Kate can lose Yelena forever. Kate chooses wrong.

The first two and a half years are hell. For both of them. Yelena comes out to her family, spends half her college years so wasted she almost forgets Kate. Almost. (And so what, if all the girls she brings home are tall and brunette?)

Kate has a harder time adjusting. She becomes reclusive, devotes herself to her studies in a way she hadn’t before. She still does archery, sure, but she feels empty every time she finds another face in Yelena’s spot on the bleachers.

After college, Yelena tries to date again. Tries. She knows it’s pointless though. She already met her person, her One, and she lost her. Kate takes on work at her moms company, is achingly close to getting her CEO position.

Except there’s a hitch. Her mom wants her to be married. To “settle down” — as if Kate has ever once dated (since Yelena). It’s easy to ignore this expectation for a while. Long enough Kate almost forgets about it.

But then her mom begins to talk about stepping down. Kate thinks it’s too early. Eleanor ignores her in favor of introducing her to some random boy. Kate comes up with some excuse to not like him. Eleanor finds another. Kate scares him off.

They go through this process nearly a dozen times before Kate resigns herself to it. And he’s nice, really. He’s… fine. Agreeable, kind of handsome if Kate squints right. Eleanor loves him. So maybe Kate can learn to.

She doesn’t, by the time he proposes. She knows she never will. There’s only one person she’ll ever love like that, ever want to marry. But she made her choice over ten years ago. There’s no going back.

When Yelena hears about the wedding, she’s booked a flight to NYC before Natasha can even realize she’s called out of work. She even wears a dress she designed herself, hoping that at least that might catch Kate’s eye and change her mind.

As their eyes meet, across the room, time doesn’t stand still. It comes to an abrupt and violent halt, the very air from their lungs snatched clean away. Then time moves again. And Eleanor is scolding Kate for ruining her makeup. Kate is scolding herself for ruining her life.