#ao3 version will be up tomorrow

[max-nico]

Sonic noticed Tails glaring at him a few minutes ago. He hasn't called it out or said anything, after about a year of being with the kid he's learned it's better to let Tails come to him first. Though he will say his patience has been wearing thin, it's been a week of nonstop staring and cutting eyes.

Sonic glances at Tails with an eyebrow raise making the fox flush in embarrassment. For another few minutes Tails sits with his namesakes on his lap and his head buried in their fluff. Sonic gives him privacy and looks the other way, hoping not to embarrass him any further, he'd really prefer not to prompt the kid more than he has to.

"I uhm- I have a question. If that's okay." Sonic shrugs, reaching down to dig in his bag, but he's not reallt looking for anything. "Oh, if you're looking for the cans of chili we put them in my bag, remember?"

Sonic plays it off as if that's what he was looking for, it's basically dinner time anyway so it's not a waste to start cooking.

"Right uhm- anyway, what makes you different?" Tails asks.

Sonic raises an eyebrow again, asking him to elaborate.

"I just... We're friends right-" Sonic nods without hesitation- "okay good. It's just that the people back at Westside didn't like me much, so... So why do you?"

Sonic gives another shrug. Is he supposed to have a reason for liking him? It just came naturally. He had a good heart, big ambitions, and an even bigger brain. Is there a reason he shouldn't like the fox?

"Is there a reason I shouldn't like you?" Sonic signs.

Tails' snout wrinkles a little, "Obviously."

The hedgehog gestures for Tails to keep talking.

"I'm weird, and I can't brush my fur by myself yet, I talk too much, I take half a portion of your food, I slow you down I-"

"It's our food, and you don't slow me down," Sonic huffs. "Those things don't matter. Why would they make me not like you?"

Tails frowns, gripping his Tails between his fingers, seeming unsure of the answer himself. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to gather his thoughts into a neat sentence, and Sonic continues food prep. An anticipatory silence sits between them.

It's not until Sonic's almost done with the first chilidog that Tails speaks again. His voice is a quiet murmur under cracking fire and a few distant flickies, but Sonic still catches his voice and it's little sniffles in the wind.

"I can't understand how someone so cool can like something that wasn't even tolerated by its parents..."

And isn't that heartbreaking? Sonic could join Tails crying after hearing that. What's he even supposed to say? Is there anything he can say?

Sonic places a hand on Tails' shoulder to get his attention, making the fox wipe his tears away.

"Your parents were dumb."

"But they were the smartest people in the village! My dad was the head research-"

Sonic places a hand over Tails' muzzle to quiet him.

"Being the smartest dumb person in a room full of dumb people isn't the win you think it is."

Tails looks away from Sonic with a sniffle and huff, wiping his eyes again.

If Sonic could take it all away he would. Unfortunately, he doesn't have memory altering magic, at least as far as he knows.

"How about I become your new family. I can be your brother or something." He says on a whim, looking for something to make the kid feel better. Maybe offering a replacement family would be better than claiming the old one.

And for just a moment Tails looks starstruck. His already teary eyes grow large and seem to well up even more before he tilts his face down, his eyes glistening in the ever brighter glow of the campfire.

Sonic swears he didn't do anything wrong, but those tears make him feel like the scum of the earth.

"You're just trying to make me feel better... You wouldn't actually want that. No one in their right mind would."

Sonic crouches down in front of Tails, waiting for him to turn and look him in the eyes. It feels like an eternity before the fox actually looks at him, and Sonic grasps desperately at the patience he's never had, but is determined to find.

Tails' face fur is wet and sticks up awkwardly, and the eye contact he gives is minimal at best but Sonic will take that over nothing.

Gently, Sonic bumps his fist to Tails chest, right above where his heart is. "We're brothers!" He says, in a voice that's just as foreign to the fox as it is to him. The re in the word we're doesn't quite come across, neither does the br in brothers making the word sound like buzzers, but Tails seems to understand him anyway.

Sonic can't tell if the fox is surprised by him standing his ground or by him talking, but it's probably a healthy mix of both. He repeats himself, pushing just a little harder on Tails chest to get the point across.

Tightly, Tails squeezes his eyes shut. Heaving out a sob, dropping his head down to stare at the log he's sitting on.

"Okay." The fox mumbles, "Let's be brothers."

Yooooo guess who finally wrote something !!! (Hint, it's me !!!) After receiving some of the most devastating news of my life, I decided to write some hurt comfort !!! Welcome back unbreakable bond fans, I'm glad I could keep us all fed this winter's night !!! I have so many unfinished drafts but take this, and thanks for reading !!!

This is NOT ship content. I am under the same name on AO3, and will post this there soon ! Come hit up my DMs or my askbox for now !! Toodles !!

[quietly-sleeping]

part 2

Liu Qingge might be bad with faces, he can admit that, at least to himself. Never to anyone else, though. Being called an uneducated brute, and the most feral of the feral child colony was enough for him. 

However, as bad as Liu Qingge was with faces, he’s almost certain he’s seen this one before. It could just be the fact that the man was covered in blood and monster entrails, but Liu Qingge swears he’d seen this person before. 

“Do I know you?” Liu Qingge asked, still standing atop the Iron Flecked Mole Rat. The man that Liu Qingge swears he’d met gaped at him for a moment, his dark green eyes wide as Liu Qingge flicked off the last of the monster's blood from his sword. “No?” The man dragged out the word oddly, Liu Qingge squinted at him. 

“Are you sure?” Liu Qingge jumped down from the back of the monster, barely making a noise as his feet hit the leaf-covered ground. “Yes?” The man scrambled to stand, grimacing slightly as blood dripped from his hair down his face. “You do not sound sure.” Liu Qingge got closer to him, frowning as he tried to examine the man’s face closer. 

“Where would we even meet? You look like you belong to a big sect, I’m just a wandering cultivator.” Liu Qingge frowned down at the man, just barely shorter than him, the man smiled, almost, nervous? Liu Qingge needed to add the ability to read people’s emotions to his list of weaknesses, directly below recognizing faces. 

“Could have met during a hunt. Like we have now. What is your name.” The man’s eyes slide from him glancing back at the dead Iron Flecked Mole Rat, “I’m pretty sure neither of us would be on the same job.” He said, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “We are now, what is your name.”

The man hummed, glancing around the empty trees around them, most of the other animals long scared off by the rampaging mole rat. “Sha….Yan. My name is Sha Yan.” Liu Qingge turned that around in his mind for a moment, he was pretty sure he’d never met a Sha Yan before.

However, the man could be lying to him, he was shifting quite a lot, or maybe that was the monster blood he was drenched in. “Alright.” The man, Sha Yan, perked up, “You believe me?” Not as much anymore. “Enough. I will bring you to an inn, it’s my fault you are dirty.” 

Sha Yan blinked at him, “You don’t have to? I know the way back to the village,” Liu Qingge shook his head, “I caused you to be covered in blood, I will fix it.” Sha Yan went to open his mouth but Liu Qingge picked up the Iron Flecked Mole Rat and nodded to Sha Yan to start moving.

Shen Qingqiu sipped at his tea, the silence between the three people was tense but Shen Qingqiu had experience ignoring it. Qi Qingqi set her cup down, much gentler than she would have had her wife not been in the room, “So, who is it?” Shen Qingqiu hummed for a moment, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about Qi-shimei.” 

Qi Qingqi’s face warped slightly before she restrained herself, “Shen-shixiong,” The honorific left her mouth reluctantly, “Most of Cang Qiong knows shixiong is ah, looking for someone. This shimei would be delighted to help, but she cannot without a name.” 

Shen Qingqiu simply stared at her for a moment before Lai Xiulan broke the silence, “Thank you for accepting our request for tea, Lord Shen. This one has heard some interesting theories from the disciples.” Shen Qingqiu nodded at the other woman, he typically preferred speaking with her rather than her wife. 

Usually. “I understand you must be worried Lady Lai, but I intend to keep information from anyone who may tip off my…wayward quarry.” Qi Qingqi frowned at him, leaning back slightly, “And you believe us to be able to tip your target off?” Lai Xiulan frowned slightly at her wife before turning back to the other Peak Lord with a small smile, “This one believes that Lord Shen does not have harmful intentions with this search, and we intend to offer our help with the search, if we may?” 

The true issue with speaking to Lai Xiulan was she was such a stickler to formalities and so genuine that even Shen Qingqiu and his cold dead heart, felt a flicker of something when he attempted to cut her with his words. Guilt was a disgusting emotion, even the brief flickers. 

“This shixiong does not intend to turn away his shimei’s earnest help. However, this shixiong must be certain that shimei will not tell any of our martial siblings until the Peak Lord Meeting next week.” If Shen Qingqiu didn’t know his shimei’s personality he would have said she almost pouted at being denied the ability to gossip. “Fine,” She grumbled, Lai Xiulan patted her hands consolingly before directing a bright smile at Shen Qingqiu. 

Despicable woman, Shen Qingqiu huffed, “The subject of this hunt is Shen Yuan of Ling You.” Qi Qingqiu perked up, leaning forward with a glint in her eye, “Little Yuan-shidi? Who knew you had it in you Shen Qingqiu.” Lai Xiulan glanced between her wife and Shen Qingqiu with curiosity plain on her face. 

“Maybe my little disciples were right, did Yuan-shidi scorn you? You should apologize if you made a mistake, shixiong.” Her smile was sharp, a sharp-eyed predator who’d spotted a juicy morsel. Shen Qingqiu restrained his impulse to simply demand she leave, her wife was still here, and despite how manipulative Lai Xiulan was, she was simply too nice to turn a cold shoulder to. 

“You consume too many cheap novels shimei.” Was all he deigned to say to the gossip mongrel. Her sharp laughter rang in the small bamboo house. 

Liu Qingge had left the body of the Iron Flecked Mole Rat in one of the larger qiankun bags he had left in the only inn in the village. He knew none other than another cultivator could walk off with the body but he needed multiple parts of the mole rat in good condition for the other peaks. 

Liu QIngge went into the inn and quickly bought both a room and a tub, Sha Yan was waiting outside, the blood still dripping from his robes. Liu Qingge went out to stand with Sha Yan, unwilling to let him out of sight for very long. It didn’t take long for a worker to poke their head out and tell him the bath was waiting up in his room. 

Sha Yan was quiet as they walked into the inn and down the narrow hallway, he had spoken most of the walk back, informing Liu QIngge of the habits, behaviors, and habitats of Iron Flecked Mole Rats, he’d spoken about the different ways Iron Flecked Mole Rats developed depending on region for most of the walk. 

It was interesting to be sure; Liu Qingge had never had the patience to sit and memorize the different irrelevant details of different monsters or beasts. He’d only learned how to kill them and which could be edible. Sha Yan’s memory of the different beasts around was deeply impressive to him, he almost wanted to drag Sha Yan back to Cang Qiong and place him on Ling You. 

The Peak was without a Peak Lord anyway, being run solely by Hall Masters and spontaneous visits from Peak Lords who had less to do than they claimed. It could do with an actual Peak Lord to watch over it, and Sha Yan seemed around his age. 

They stepped into the inn room, two beds tucked up against each wall with a divider separating the room from the wooden tub. Sha Yan shuffled over to the bathtub, peering in at the water before glancing back at Liu Qingge. “Are you sure you want me to bathe first?” 

Liu Qingge stared at him for a moment, flicking his eyes down at where the blood was dripping onto the floor, “Yes.” Sha Yan followed his eyes and grimaced before fully shuffling behind the divider. 

All in all the inn was very well kept for such a small village, the village was named, though Liu Qingge had already forgotten the name, but it hadn’t seen much in terms of coin. The roads were all dirt, many houses had holes in their roofs that were awkwardly patched and it was easy to spot where buildings had been repaired after the recent rainy season. 

Liu Qingge unsheathed Cheng Luan and quietly began to maintain the sword, cycling his qi through it as he carefully cleaned the hilt and blade. Weapon maintenance was an important part of a cultivator's life, something Wei Qingwei and his peak made a point to force into the rest of the sect’s heads.  

Liu Qingge huffed, remembering all of the times he’d had to resort to biting Wei Qingwei when they were disciples to continue training with his sword. Wei Qingwei was larger than him, in height and breadth, and knew how to weaponize his size. 

It didn’t matter that he’d just broken his wrist or that Mu-shidi said you need to be resting, not working with your sword! Wei Qingwei never brought up those incidents after they happened, but Liu Qingge knew that Wei Qingwei just needed an introduction to how fights work on Bai Zhan, at least among younger disciples. 

Sha Yan was done with his bath once Liu Qingge had finished cleaning his sword. The bath had to be dumped and refilled, with Sha Yan awkwardly hidden behind the moved divider so the worker could get to the tub. But Liu Qingge was more inclined to find a stream somewhere since the worker already dumped and refilled the bath once. 

The only thing that kept him from leaving and finding a stream was Sha Yan, who had begun to look increasingly more nervous the longer he spent with Liu Qingge in the inn. His chatter had started up once more, moving from Iron Flecked Mole Rats to the Starry Night Dogs, talking about how they’d adapted to the various weather conditions that may impede their ability to channel the stars. 

His words only grew quicker, and he pulled out a notebook from inside a qiankun pouch Liu Qingge previously hadn’t spotted, flopping down onto the other bed in the room. Sha Yan flipped through the notebook, gesturing at various pages as he spoke. Eventually, Liu Qingge had enough of it, “Why are you nervous?” his voice was flat, but his eyebrows were drawn together, Sha Yan stared at the Peak Lord, opening and closing his mouth. 

“I…Well, I suppose I wasn’t expecting you to stay here with me?” Sha Yan squeezed out, the tops of his ears beginning to color as he fidgeted. Liu Qingge tilted his head slightly, “Why? It is honorable to fix my wrongs.” Sha Yan laughed a little, tucking his legs up onto his bed as well, “You don’t have to? I mean, you didn’t commit any wrongs against me.” 

Liu Qingge shook his head at the younger man, at least he thought he was younger, “You were drenched in the blood of the Iron Flecked Mole Rat because of my carelessness.” Sha Yan smiled a little at that, “I’m clean now? I kind of expected to you leave once we got to the inn.” 

Liu Qingge simply shrugged and removed his hair crown before tossing it onto the bed. The thing was extremely uncomfortable during sleep and he wanted at least some sleep, even the frustrating light sleep he was bound to get. 

Shang Qinghua wished he let Mu-shidi sedate him. Inquires were flooding in, both from his fellow Peak Lords and from disciples, poking their noses into his peak, distracting his disciples. He had deadlines to meet, please!

Mu-shidi had visited earlier in the morning, concern politely plastered on his face, as though Shang Qinghua couldn’t see the glint in his eyes. The same glint he had when he used his needles to subdue someone. Shang Qinghue didn’t need to be sedated, he needed to get everything handled. 

Maybe he hadn’t slept in a few days, working through a report from Liu-shidi, sorting through budget reports, tracking down where the HELL his lumbar supplier disappeared to. He had things to do, and while being sedated sounded nicer the longer he stared down at a report from Liu-shidi, detailing a cultivator that was currently being hunted by their shixiong, he had to get through it. 

Finish the report, send it to Zhangmen-shixiong, who will deal with it, deal with Shen-shixiong, and then get sedated. A good plan, but unfortunately derailed by Qi Qingqi barging into his office as he continued to stare down at the piece of paper he was certain held the answer to his life’s problems. 

“Shang Qinghua?” Qi Qingqi called out, never Shang-shixiong, always Shang Qinghua, “I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.” Was all he replied with. Qi Qingqi nodded slowly, “Is this a conversation for Mu-shixiong?” Shang Qinghua didn’t respond but grabbed the devilish piece of paper from his desk and held it aloft to her. 

“If you are going to have me sedated, give this to Zhangmen-shixiong. I’m not dealing with this.” Qi Qingqi frowned but took the paper, scanning over it, her sharp eyebrows raising as she read, “Sounds fair, Shang-shixiong. I’ll call for Mu-shixiong.”

ao3

part 1

[governmentmandatedryujinstan420]

I regret to inform everyone we're back in the white space. Expect the fire alarm to go off periodically in typical fashion of whenever it detects a steaming pile of garbage on the way. Like me! [i'll give a cookie to whoever recognizes where the sfx is from!!]

[batsplat]

your negative takes on recent tennis rivalries pleaseeee🙏🙏🙏

ps. you’re a treasure

okay so I'll do the copy paste thing from what I did just cut from the initial post, which was my polite 'I'm attempting to write a reasonably neutral post' approach

so, this may come as a shock, but obviously I'm a bit of a fan of rivalries. we do have some bangers in tennis history, rich narrative texts, but... well. the landscape out there hasn't been great for the past decade or so. sometimes you can get invested in match-ups between specific players that are fun to watch and interesting tennis-wise, but it's all very much about the sport rather than the personal relationships between the different players. I enjoy matches between all three or ryba, sabs and iga!! but also. they are coworkers. you do kindaaaa get the sense sabs and iga aren't particularly fond of each of other, but it's all perfectly cordial. again, the tennis is great, I support them in all their endeavours, but it's very much the tennis itself you need to look for for the drama (also they don't play each other as much as I'd like, but that's a conversation for a different day)

you do still sometimes get some fun beef but it's very much isolated dumb stuff like the fritz/rinderknech "have a nice flight home" thing. this isn't going anywhere story-wise but it's fun in the moment

speaking of men. obviously the most important rivalries for the last however many years have been between various big three/four members, and federer/nadal specifically is extremely popular. tennis-wise, I still think federer/djokovic was the most fun match-up, and at least there was a little tension there because federer used to hate djokovic. they've played a lot of matches that are worth watching!! also they've finally mostly retired so it's not super relevant any more, but well tennis fans as a collective are very big three-pilled so you'll hear a lot about these blokes

and now there's alcaraz/sinner. they've only really had one match that was good start to finish (uso 2022), but definitely some fun ones (miami 2023 and wimbledon 2022 are probably the other ones that stand out, their most recent match was very much in the 'long does not equal good' category). plus, they're quite good at producing highlight reel content, like this one point everyone remembers (shown here from every angle... tennistv produces longer videos for single points than the wta releases for most finals). it's an interpersonally warm rivalry between two young guys who are both very successful and will presumably win everything for the next decade. again, I'd suggest trying to become a fan of one of those two

this was the polite way of phrasing it!! everything below here is quite rude and negative, peace and love to all

okay, let's ditch the thin veneer of neutrality, here's what I actually think: it is completely baffling to me how popular quite a few of these rivalries are, I don't get it, I have never understood it, I will never understand it. tennis went 'what if we had rivalries without narrative tension' and everyone just kinda rolled with that? mind you federer/nadal early confrontations were happening at the same time as clijsters/henin, who were like?? dude it got so bad henin said she had never been friends with clijsters so nothing clijsters and her father said could hurt her ("nothing was broken between us because there was nothing to break" ???? ffs). which is obviously not true!! but it's so... she denied the friendship ever existed and called it all pr like that's so SAD! look, this is beside the point, I'm not talking about henin/clijsters here, I do understand why people aren't that into a rivalry that was at its peak like two decades ago and federer/nadal were still playing slam finals in 2k17 (a dark dark time for some fans, federer had already HAD his decline and then he was suddenly winning slams again like tf). and to some extent I go 'well clearly people will just be into anything if you have two successful blokes' but there's clearly quite a lot of genuine passion there? like I'm not denying the passion EXISTS, people do clearly care about these guys, it's not all a psyop by Big Fedal who have suckered people into caring for these two dudes. and I'm not denying the tennis is great! I still personally prefer the match-ups that involve djokovic, and also the match-ups that involve none of those three, but fundamentally I have been watching these matches for like!! so many years! it's part of my childhood, I have enjoyed plenty of these matches, the tennis is obviously otherworldly. I have hot takes on a bunch of their matches, I can have the goat debate with you, I can give you the rundown on surface-specific match-ups and how long since nadal won a set on hard court against djokovic and federer's peak year domination rate and what they all did at madrid and blue clay and yec and golden masters and all that shit, of course it's part of my dna as a tennis viewer too!! I did usually have a slight order of preference in my head when I was watching big three match ups to have someone to root for (it's different now but back when I was a kid it was djokovic > nadal > federer, these days federer's redeemed himself a little bit in my eyes by having the decency to retire and I was radicalised against nadal). but like!! what's the narrative hook! I need somebody to explain to me what the story here is. these guys are all very good at tennis and they are racking up their titles and it's so!! whatever!! no tension no arc no real interpersonal development once federer stopped being so bitchy about djokovic. twenty plus slams who CARES, what are they doing this for! it's all so?? ugh

anyway now that I've taken a potshot at the most popular rivalry in men's tennis, I should quickly back it up by saying I feel almost the exact same way about the second most popular one (at least on tumblr) and also feel nothing for alcaraz/sinner. that one was still like... vaguely palpable? when alcaraz was clearly a way better player but struggled in that match up and also was way more invested in the rivalry than sinner was. but well, sinner is world number one now so THAT'S been ruined. again, sit me down and explain to me what the narrative stakes here are. like, if sinner wins that roland garros match, he'll be fine? alcaraz will be fine? everyone will be fine? their relationship is basically 'friendly coworkers', zero chance of anything more substantial developing there. now, don't get me wrong, I'm not gonna pretend like I'm massively into the current state of the women's game when it comes to rivalries either, but at least I have a base level of fondness there for the top players and am ideologically inclined to hype up any rivalries there whenever they come along. also, quite frankly, it DOES matter viscerally more to them!! iga spends a lot of her time kinda like,,, on the edge, the way she was in tears when getting physio after the naomi match, united cup last year, a bunch of her 2021 matches, like she's so intense and so tightly strung on the court that you do really get the sense that a loss could just cause her to have an existential crisis. there's so many unanswered questions about her ultimate potential off clay, I'm still proper curious about her story develops. and then with aryna, she's obviously ALSO so intense but in a different way, and she feels every single emotion so completely and entirely and iga has beaten her in one of those infamous semifinal chokes and it's kinda... you know, aryna also feels like she has something to prove, and you can tell they both really really want to beat each other. there's something there!! it's something real! I'm always seated whenever we actually get to see them play

that being said, yes, obviously I do think we're not exactly peak rivalry potential in either gender. the men's is more egregious because the way the game has shaken out since like,,,, 2004, is incredible top level domination by just a few guys. and now, yes, I'm aware I'm a fan of another sport where this was also incredibly true. but. the key difference is that the aliens had the decency to not be so fucking boring about it. sure on paper they were as a PACK winning everything, but good lord were they screaming crying throwing up whenever things went mildly wrong for them. like!! they despised each other and they needed to beat each other, which makes ME care!! I'm not saying I NEED rivals to hate each other, though it sure does help for my investment levels, but I need a narrative hook! borg/mcenroe had a narrative hook, evert/navratilova had a narrative hook (unfortunately that narrative hook these days is 'being united in transphobia'), agassi/sampras had one HELL of a narrative hook. noughties wta tennis about fifty million narrative hooks!! when I watch alcaraz/sinner, I just try and enjoy the tennis (though their roland garros match was mid as shit so what's that all about) but like... I don't care? or I care because one of them has pissed me off recently. I do fundamentally watch most of men's tennis as a hater, and admittedly this is accumulated bitterness over way too many years, but I do also think it's frustrating! tennis gets in its own way with this whole gentleman's sport business, the amount of wanking people do over federer/nadal in particular is truly insufferable... this is a sport filled with millionaire tax evaders and they'll have you believe that smashing a racquet is not only not fun (obviously it is) but also some kind of arbiter of morality. congrats to nadal for not smashing a racquet in his career!! could we please get his thoughts on gender equality in prize money? oh... okay. hm. this isn't supposed to be some gotcha, these guys all suck. but ultimately I would prefer not to engage with this sanitising and pearl clutching, given they do all suck, over shit that fundamentally does not matter while giving them a pass over all the stuff that DOES and instead maybe just have some fun. maybe you need to be single-minded and kind of dull to be good at men's tennis these days, maybe it's inevitable, doesn't mean I don't find them boring and pointless. there's some people who just enjoy like,,, watching greatness, endlessly racking up numbers and reaching the pinnacle of the sport or whatever, that's not me, I need there to be a story

thing is, right, obviously I'll still watch these matches (though I have massively turned it down this year, especially on the men's side - I did have a kind of breaking point this january where I was like 'wow I don't think I can ever care about anything any more?' and broadly speaking this has proved to be correct). I've tried hard to like a lot of these men because, god knows, it'd be a way more pleasant experience if I could trick my brain into it, but I can't! I think they're dull! fundamentally I'm too embedded in this world to ever be able to leave it. but I think it's funny when fans go 'oh people who are into drama don't appreciate the actual sport' like buddy I can basically guarantee I know more about the sport than you do. I Just Think that actually interpersonal relationships do also enhance the actual sports, like this shit is a conversation right,,, it has its history, it's a development over time in terms of your tactics and your knowledge of your opponent's tactics and so on, your expectations going into every match. when you have an interesting interpersonal dynamic, the sport also becomes more interesting... it's actually pretty straightforward lol. a lot of tennis is in the head, rivalries are also in the head, you're playing the other guy (gender neutral) as much as you are the actual ball. I get super annoyed by fans who are too busy being nostalgic to actually enjoy the players we have now, and I really don't like it when people call iga boring for instance, but I do also have a little bit of that. love the game, hate a lot of the players, simple as. bring back agassi calling his pet parrot more interesting than sampras in his autobiography, we used to be a proper sport

[sweetandglovelyart]

Reblogging the first page again because tomorrow October 4th is the one year anniversary of me posting this first page! Can’t believe I’ve been working on this comic for a year now! 🎉

Knightfall in Dream Land - Page 1

While helping Meta Knight with some spring cleaning aboard the Halberd, Kirby, Bandana Dee, and Sailor Dee come across a box of old armor and weapons. A game of dress up leads to Meta Knight sharing the story of how he arrived on Popstar, how he met his crew, and how he became acquainted with a certain king.

This is my attempt at making a comic of my interpretation of Meta Knight’s backstory. It’s going to cover my ideas for where he originated from, how he ended up on Popstar, how he met Captain Vul/the Meta Knights/Sword Knight and Blade Knight, and how he met Dedede. I’ll probably be pretty slow with updating this but I still thought that it would be fun to attempt.

[honey-tongued-devil]

Rain Design (huits)

As I was saying in the Phantom post, since I've resumed writing the missing chapters of "Hide us in the shadow" (you can find it on ao3 or clicking the link) , I've decided to finally post some designs of the various ghouls. The two forms of Rain are because, in my headcanon, water ghouls are the ones who, to stay on dry land, need to find a more fake solution, as if they were constantly at 25% glamour, because the body wouldn't function properly. So that's the 75% ghoul version of Rain. (not gonna say why is it only 75 and not 100%)

If you want, feel free to drop suggestions, ideas, random headcanons. Chapter 14, for those who are caught up, will be out in a couple of days (since I'm graduating tomorrow). Just a moment of patience

[musings-ofthe-unamused]

Rotting Sunflowers (Genshin Impact)

Pairing: Capitano x F!Reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of rotting, suggestive

A/N: He's here!! This is the SFW version <3 If you'd like the NSFW one (f!reader, m!reader, and nb!reader versions available), head on over to my AO3

Request Status: Open

Capitano had been by your side since you became emperor. He was a gift from your parents' for your coronation before they retired to the countryside manor. One of the strongest knights in the nation, he used to be stationed up north before moving to the capital. He was now the Head Knight and your personal bodyguard.

You didn't know what you would do without him. He was strong, resilient, kind, and a welcome ally amongst traitors that had weaseled their way into your court. There wasn't a day that went by where you didn't seek out his wisdom. He had become your rock. But as a rock, he never cracked around you. He never showed his face and never talked about his past. He was focused solely on the present and the future.

"Master, you have been lounging an awful lot these days." Capitano said, leaning over you. "Are you alright?"

You hummed and opened your eyes. "Am I not allowed to rest?"

"I suppose not. But you must not neglect your duties, Master." 

"Do I have to go to the meeting?"

"You skipped the last three."

You were currently laying down on the couch in the reading room. You had been spending time here often, wanting to get away from the sudden onslaught of meetings and revisions of petty laws. Capitano was at your side, like usual. He peered down at you. You couldn't see through his dark mask, making you frown.

"Capitano…"

"Yes?"

"I want to see your face."

He let out a sigh. "My Empress, I cannot. I told you, it is not suitable for royalty to see."

You pouted and crossed your arms. "You follow every command except that one… Typical."

"Please, just accept my reasoning."

"Fine."

You huffed and sat up. You had been dallying for too long. You knew that you needed to get up and actually do some work. The council said there would be a ball tomorrow. They had been working on it for over three months. You had decided to take a step back. You were never one for balls and all the socializing that came with it. Everyone was always trying to get in your good graces to stab your back later. You would never allow that to happen.

Capitano stayed close to your side. He was tall, intimidating, and was one of the reasons people rarely tried anything physical against you. You wanted nothing more than to reach out and take his hand. He may have been your knight, but you yearned for more. Not only would he make an amazing emperor, but a great husband as well. You wanted him and only him.

"The Empress has arrived." Capitano announced as he opened the door to the meeting room.

You walked in with your head held high. "Good afternoon, everyone."

Less than enthusiastic greetings graced your ears as you sat at the head of the table. You sat down and leaned back in your seat. Your eyes scanned over each member of your court. It wasn't really your court. Your parents may have crowned you as the ruler of this country, but they still pulled the strings through the court. It wasn't ideal, but there wasn't much you could do about it either. It would take ages to replace all of them.

"Good afternoon, your majesty." The man to your left, Ivan, cleared his throat. "We have updates to give you."

"Good." You hummed. Capitano stood closely behind you. You sighed softly at his comforting presence. "Update me on the working trade agreements first."

Ivan shuffled the papers in his hands. "Most of the regions have agreed to the new terms."

"Most?" You reached your hand out for the papers. 

He handed them to you. You started to shuffle through. The worst thing about being the new ruler of this nation is that no one expected you to rule. Despite all the classes, the training, studying anything and everything you could, no one believed in you. The first thing you did after your coronation was go over every single policy and agreement with other regions. You never thought your parents fully took advantage of the region's resources. And you wanted to fix that.

You raised an eyebrow as you saw which region hadn't agreed yet. "Natlan? I thought we had good rapport with them."

"We do." Ivan said. His tone was almost… nervous. "They will agree after tomorrow."

You looked over at him. "Do they want to talk about the agreement at the ball?"

He didn't answer. You frowned. Something was wrong. You looked over to the rest of the court. They were all avoiding eye contact. Capitano must have sensed something as well. He moved from behind your chair to next to you. You crossed your arms.

"What are you hiding?"

"Tomorrow isn't a ball. It's a wedding."

"What?"

"Your wedding."

Your eyes widened in surprise. Your wedding? You had absolutely no interest in getting married unless it was to one person and one person only. Your heart thudded in your chest. No one else spoke up. This ball they were planning for three months was actually a wedding. You tensed up and slammed the papers down on the table. Everyone flinched.

"You planned my wedding behind my back?!"

Ivan quickly raised his hands in a placating manner. "We had to, Empress! You would have never agreed otherwise!"

"Of course I wouldn't have!" You hissed. "Who even is it?!"

"Prince Ororon of Natlan. He won't ascend the throne, so we thought it best if he married you."

You could feel your face turn red in anger. "You thought best and didn't even ask me!?"

Another court member spoke up. "Your majesty, it's stated within the laws that the ruler of our great nation must be wed. It's been two years since your coronation. We cannot wait any longer."

You silently cursed to yourself. That damned law was one of the many traditions you couldn't change. You thought you could distract them, but your time had run out. If you were to deny this, you'd either be cast out or beheaded. Neither of which seemed like a good alternative.

You felt Capitano's hand on your shoulder. That just made everything even worse. How could you marry someone when the man you loved was right there? You gritted your teeth and squeezed your fists together. You wanted nothing more than to tell everyone to shove this marriage up their asses.

"Your Majesty…" Ivan cleared his throat. "You must marry."

A glare appeared on your face. "I know I must! It doesn't mean I'll be happy with it."

"Please stay calm." Capitano murmured softly. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "Someone just tell me the details of tomorrow."

The rest of the afternoon was spent going over wedding details. You felt like your head would explode. And yet, through it all, Capitano stayed by your side. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pure heartbreak. You wanted to run away with him. But you couldn't abandon your people. Not after all the hard work you had done. 

You paced in your room anxiously. Capitano watched you as he stood by the wall. The wedding was planned down to the very minute detail. You wouldn't even meet Prince Ororon until you were walking down the aisle. A frustrated groan left your lips as you continued pacing.

"Master, please do not be angry."

You shot a glare at Capitano. "I have every right to be."

"You cannot let them do this to you. You are not being married off. Someone is marrying you. You will still have just as much power."

"That power means nothing if I am forced to marry someone I do not love."

Capitano shook his head softly. "We must all do things we do not want to do."

You rolled your eyes and stopped in front of him. "Not helping."

"I will still be here, Master."

That's right. Capitano has to watch you marry a complete stranger when he was the one you should be marrying. You realized all your time had run out. You turned to him fully and walked up to him. He straightened his broad shoulders. He gazed down at you through his mask. That stupid mask…

"Take it off." You said. Your voice was soft yet firm.

"I told you, Master. You do not want to see my face."

“Please…” You murmured, you reached out and placed your hand on his chest. “I want to do this. Before it’s too late.”

Capitano sighed but it broke him down. How could he not when you were to be wed tomorrow? You were already devastated by the marriage. This would change nothing. So he leaned back against the wall and slowly took off his helmet. His face was scarred with what looked a black rot. Blue lightning shaped streaks shot diagonally down his face. 

You reached out and gently cupped his cheek. “So handsome.”

“Master, you flatter me. But I know how I truly look.”

“Handsome.” You repeated sternly. 

"This is a face marred by a curse that I must bear."

"What happened?"

His eyebrows furrowed as if painful memories flooded his mind. "There was a war. Long… long ago. I live with the consequences of that war. And now I'm the decayed and disfigured man you see before me. I am but a husk of who I was before."

Your heart broke at his words. You couldn't accept that he thought of himself like that. You didn't say anything and only gazed up at him. He shook his head and raised his hand to cover yours. You couldn’t help yourself. You have waited long enough. You didn’t want to stop at seeing his face, no matter what he said. With a soft sigh of longing, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his.

Capitano didn’t know what to do. He lifted his hands up and away from your body. You kept kissing him, savoring the feel of his lips. His hands were frozen in midair as if he didn’t want to touch you. After a long moment, you pulled back and stared into his deep blue eyes. He stared back. 

“I love you, Capitano.”

His eyes widened. “You can’t say that, Master!”

"I can." You whispered. You leaned in and kissed his scarred neck. "I need to. Please… Please say it back."

Capitano didn't answer for a moment. A wave of anxiety washed over you. What if he didn't feel the same? What if this whole time you pined over him, he never developed feelings for you? Just the thought of that squeezed at your heart. But it didn't last long. Capitano cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer. He leaned down and kissed you passionately.

Nothing else mattered at that moment. You pushed the wedding out of your mind. You focused only on Capitano. Your head tilted to the side as you deepened this kiss. His lips were rough yet loving at the same time. Your arms wrapped around him as he pushed back against you. Heat slowly filled your body. You wanted him. You need him.

Capitano pulled back, making you whine at the sensation. He stared down at you. "I love you."

Those were the only words you ever needed to hear. Your eyes welled with tears as you pulled him down again. Tonight, you would only focus on him. He would take over your world. You would live out your dreams of being his and only his. Just one more moment of happiness before your life was ripped away from you.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You looked at yourself in the mirror. The white dress sparkled in the morning light. It fit like a glove. It was absolutely perfect. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to smile. Your hand shakily smoothed out the fabric of your dress. Memories of last night wouldn't leave your mind. It was all you could think of.

"Master. It's time."

You turned around. Capitano was in his ceremonial wear. His face was once again hidden by his mask. And yet, you could still see his face. You nodded slowly. You wanted to pretend that you were marrying him. Not a stranger. But real life wasn't as kind. Your shoulder straightened and you walked to the double doors. Behind those doors was the start of the rest of your life.

"Are you ready?" Capitano asked softly.

"I have to be."

"Master…"

You couldn't bear hearing anything else from him. "Please, open the doors."

He hesitated but did as you said. The doors opened, revealing the decorated room filled with people to witness a new age. Your eyes focused down the aisle. There stood Prince Ororon. He was tall, pale, with dark blue hair. His eyes met yours. You steeled yourself. This was it. With one final breath, you walked away from Capitano and towards your new husband.

[andcars]

# 𝗙𝗖𝟰𝟯 ─── MAKE IT UP OFF-TRACK MASTERLIST . . . REQUEST ME . . . TAGLIST . . . AO3

YOU'VE RACED WITH HIM AND you've been under him. still, it hurts you when he outqualifies you. it almost hurts as much when you both still think you're just fuck buddies. ────── original prompt req.

PROMPTED DIALOGUE . . . # “You’ve been staring for a while” PROMPTED TAGS . . . # praise kink, rivalry, friends with benefits, jealousy ADD. TAGS . . . # quickie vibes, sex in the hospitality, author has a language kink, but also deepl translations WORD COUNT. . . # 1.6k

────── AO3 VERSION

P11. Fucking P11.

Everyone else is in the garage as you come in, all angry and disappointed. You were tenth of a second behind P10 and you weren't able to push it on the last lap because you went off track limits.

What’s done is done. You can’t work with a car that clearly doesn't wanna work with you. The better part of you wants to let this go and simply rest for tomorrow. Call it a day. Think of how to dominate tomorrow. Sleep it off.

But Franco walks to the garage at P7 and proceeding into Q3. The plan gets thrown away immediately.

You don’t hate the guy, of course not. You’ve met him times before when he was still in F2. If, of course, meeting him included hotel rooms and secluded bathrooms. You met him a lot, if so.

It’s not his fault that he’s better than you, as of now. You should be happy, really. But fuck, it should hurt how some rookie is better than you in a car you’ve driven for a year.

Despite all of this anger bubbling in you, you can’t stay mad at him. You could never stay mad at him, you think. Yet it hurts all the same.

You look away as your eyes meet. Not giving him a chance to even confront you or attempt to comfort you, you leave.

It’s pivotal now to talk with your strategist. He’s expecting you, unfortunately. Knowing damn well that your next duty was to come to him to see how to improve your performance, he already had your data pulled up.

Your, and their, wrongs are being talked into your ear and out the other. The farthest screen turns black, and you see Franco in the reflection. His blurred figure is towards you, his panting from the race still evident on him.

It’s difficult to pretend to care about racing right now. It’s not like they say anything different anyway. The rear wings are fucked, the tyres are fucked, the wheel can’t turn, and your head is just in the wrong direction. All the same things said before.

To the driver’s room you go. Q3 starts and you don’t do anything. The TV screen shows the delayed race as the crowd cheers from the opposite sides of the wall. Franco is in danger, with Mercedes finally coming out from the pit—you don’t expect anything more.

After the stretched minutes alone in your room, a knock comes on your door.

You say, “I’ll be out soon, tell James to get some patience,” with your head in your phone. No fucking way you’re going to be dealing with them while you’re still pissed.

The door opened and you grunt. Looking up, Franco was grinning at you.

“I’m also hiding from Jego,” he says, the grin on his face annoying, “can I come in?”

“And we both get caught?” It doesn’t matter what you think, he puts his feet in anyway.

The couch is uncomfortable. If they aren’t spending money on the car, they might as well spend it on the seats. With you laying across the couch, he kneels between your legs. You raise an eyebrow at him as he undresses his fireproof suit.

You ask, “You seriously wanna fuck?” and he laughs.

“¿Me dirás que no? (Will you tell me no?)” he murmurs, getting on top of you with his hips pressing against your ass. “Did you know I placed 6th today?”

“Mhm.”

“No?” He places a kiss on your cheek. “Didn’t watch me? What were you doing in here?”

His lips ghost over your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a small shiver down your fine. You know he felt it when he chuckles in your skin.

“Getting fucked my brains out,” your voice is flat. “What were you doing out there?”

“Ah, amor (love), you won’t get me like that,” he whines and kisses you once in one side. Then twice the other. He says, “You are so mean though, telling me things like this. Do you wish you were with someone else? Hm? ¿No me querés más? (You don’t want me any more?)”

Franco comes up to part your lips open with his tongue. You gasp a little, your arm limp over his back. His mouth wide open, chest pressed against yours, tongue just brushing against your lips, he says—

“Quiero coger. Te quiero comer a besos. Quiero que me hagas tuyo, mi amor. Don’t go making me jealous because you are.” (I want to fuck you. I want to lavish you with kisses. I want you to make me yours, my love)

His hand is gentle on yours, playing on the hem of your pants as his kisses turn wet. Desperate. Loving. It hurts you how careful he is with you when you spent the past hour hating him in your head.

And he’s always so gentle. He always used to ask you if you liked it, his words almost always in Spanish. As if he’s lost in you, he doesn’t know what words to use.

He no longer needs your permission now. A finger rubs between your clothed cunt as his hand pushes your shirt up to hold your tits. He moans more than you, in love with your body.

“So good,” he murmurs, “don’t ever look for anyone else. For me, please?” You moan against his cheek as he focuses on rubbing your clit through your pants. “I can make you feel so good. Amor, I can be yours.”

In moments like this, he’s too drunk on sex to know the words he’s spewing. He reaches for the lube and condom hidden in your desk. His movements are sloppy. You swear he struggles a little in opening the cap up.

He asks you something in Spanish. It’s out of your vocabulary, so you tilt your head.

“I don’t need to prepare you, right? You’re still loose?” You can see his hips grinding against the palm of his hand. His cheeks are flushed, and you see drool coming down his chin. It’s pitiful.

You nod. “Yeah, just give me a bit to adjust if you wanna—fucking hell.” It’s out of your control when you laugh. Franco eagerly shoves his pants down alongside yours.

“What has gotten you so eager?” you ask.

“I got P6,” he smirks. That little fucker.

His cock is rubbered and wet when it enters you. He moans loud as your hand comes to his cheek. It’s catlike, the way he goes soft against your hold.

Shifting slowly, he grinds inside of you. The soft rubbing inside your walls almost has you mewling. But you keep your eyes on him, ignoring the pooling pleasure between your legs.

Telling him, “You’ve been looking at me,” has his lips pouting. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were in love with me.”

“I am in love with you,” your cheeks flush, and you’re not sure if it’s the sudden thrust of his cock or his words. “I’m in love with the way you race, how you over-perform a dying car, how you move.”

His eyes drop to where you two meet, jittering his hips a little. With the quick thrusts, you’re caught off guard and moaning out his name. He looks very satisfied with it.

“Oh, amor—” his words turn gibberish to you as he starts to move. His pace is uneven, driven by the thought to take you carefully and the urge to bring the both of you to climax. Not a single word is getting into your head.

But his voice is so loving. He’s panting between every other word, lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed. His voice is getting louder, and you put your hand against his mouth.

“Shut - oh, God… Shut up,” you whine, feeling the cockhead rub against your g-spot. “You’re so fucking… good. Just like that, fuck me.”

He shuts up when he goes down to kiss you. Both his arms wrap around you, embracing you as he finds the right angle to make sure you’re still getting stimulated. His hair is rubbing against your clit, the little tickle in them getting you to moan a little louder.

You feel dizzy. It’s not the lack of air during the kiss, you know it. He’s just holding you close to him while he takes you like you’re his lover. Your heart curls in itself, punishing itself for its own stupidity.

But fuck, you want to focus on the now. The way his hands are going up and down your back, soothing you as you get lost in the pace of his thrusts. The way his body towers over you, completely enveloping you in his hold. 

“I’m gonna—” he gasps, his pace barely slowing as you assume he cums inside of you. You whine when he bottoms inside.

Franco knows you. He knows you too well. He grinds inside of you before pulling out. Still, he doesn’t let you think another thought before he’s flicking your clit.

“Shit, fuck, Franco!” he smiles under your silent praise as his other fingers tease at your hole. “I’m gonna cum too. Just like that. Don’t fucking stop.”

He only leans down to spit on your pussy, easing the rub as you’re moving your hips along him. You cum with your back arched and your hips off the couch. His hand stills on your clit as his eyes are fixated on the way cum leaves your pussy.

You drop back down when he places your hips on his lap. “Don’t get it dirty,” he reminds you, tying the condom and throwing it in the bin. “It’s embarrassing to explain to the cleaners.”

His humour comes in at the worst moments. You grunt and he only laughs. “It’s not even funny. You’re just telling the truth.”

“It’s funnier in Spanish,” he promises.

You think about how it probably sounds just about the same.

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . first time writing for bro ! i'm so open to writing more of him so i added him in my taglist options, so if you wanna be tagged for future fics of him 👀 you know what to do . if you already sent me a form before , you can resend another with him included ! anyways , fixing up the next few fics soon . ˎˊ˗ ᝰ. ──── 📨 @delululeclerc @hiireadstuff

you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡

[peachsukii]

Burn Out

『♡』  pro-hero fem!reader  x pro-hero bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ pro-hero au | engaged | aged to 23 | bakugo POV! ꒱ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist 

summary: Japan’s #4 Hero, Dynamight, is holding (forced by his agency) a meet and greet with fans - for the fifth time this year - by popular demand. The only difference? It’s three hours longer than the previous four. tags & warnings: fluff, soft bakugo, pro-hero bakugo, reader has a quirk & is also a pro hero, reader & bakugo are engaged! a/n: i thought the idea of reader waiting in line every time he has a meet and greet was such a cute gesture and relaxes him when he’s overwhelmed by fans :) ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 1,300 ꒱

“I really gotta do this shit for 4 hours?!”

“Sorry, Dynamight. It’s standard hours for meet and greets, plus you get the exposure to retain popularity amongst the public.”

God, what a fuckin’ joke.

How the hell does Deku do this all the time? I’m not a people person, end of story. I’ll sign shit and let them sell it, but actually meeting people? My goddamn nightmare. Especially the damn fan girls, they’re rabid fuckin’ animals. I hate when people only see me a piece of goddamn meat and not a top rated hero.

“Why are you still here?” This agency lady is really pissin’ me off. What the hell else does she want from me?

“Just going over the logistics. You’ll be hosting at a store in Shibuya Crossing from 1PM to 5PM tomorrow. You’ll be doing signatures on pre-approved official photos. We’ll meet at the agency at noon and you’ll get suited up.”

I hate these stupid publicity pricks.

“Can’t I just sign ‘em and you sell ‘em? I really gotta do it in person?”

“No can do, you know the process by now. The hours are just extended to allow as many fans access as we can.”

Why the fuck do fans need “access” to me? They don’t. I’ve got better shit to do.

“Whatever. See ya tomorrow.”

───

It’s almost 1PM and I’m already fuckin’ over being here. Nonstop “do this, not that,” “don’t take too long,” “don’t accept large gifts,” blah blah blah. It’s a damn signing, not a conference, I shouldn’t need to follow some stupid rule book.

“Before settling in for a grueling four goddamn hours, I gotta call my fiancé.”

“Make it fast, you’re set to start in 15.”

Was it an excuse to talk to her? Hell yeah it was. I didn’t need to call her for shit, I needed to get the hell away from that agency lady before I said shit I can’t take back.

Really wish she could sit here with me instead of with the agent with stick up her ass.

───

[y/n] Hey babe, what’s up? I thought your meet and greet was happening now? [Bakugo] Yeah, in 15 minutes. I needed to step out before I sit here for four fuckin’ hours. What are you up to? Sounds like you’re outside or somethin’. [y/n] Nothing really, grocery shopping and boring stuff. Are you nervous? [Bakugo] Me, nervous? Fuck no. I just don’t wanna be here for that long. It’s exhausting. [y/n] I don’t blame you, the last few were much shorter. Do you need me to bring you anything? [Bakugo] Even if you did, I don’t think they’d let me take it from ya. [y/n] That’s so annoying. It’s not like I’m a stranger. [Bakugo] Y’would think so. Fu-dammit, sorry baby, but I gotta cut ya short. This agency bitch has been breathin’ down my neck all week. [y/n] It’s alright. Make sure those fan girls don’t take all of you, I still want my share of the number 4 hero! [Bakugo] Hah, y’know you’re the only one who gets that. I’ll talk to you later baby, love you. [y/n] Love you too, good luck!

───

I. Am. So. Fucking. Tired.

If I hear another person screech over me just looking at them? I’m gonna lose my damn mind - and it’s only 2:30PM.

“Dynamight! You’re my favorite hero, thank you for signing this!”

At least most of the kids that showed up weren’t loud and annoyin’ brats.

“Thanks, appreciate th’ support.”

I’ve signed my name so many damn times that it’s starting to look like gibberish. They wouldn’t even let me use a stamp or some shit like that. Y’think that would appeal to their “access” plan if more people could come and go if it meant signing this shit faster.

───

3:45PM.

Fifteen. More. Minutes.

Exhausted is a goddamn understatement. I don’t wanna talk to anyone for the next 24 hours when this is over.

I’m grabbing the next poster from the agent, tunnel visioned on gettin’ the fuck outta here, when a familiar voice catches my attention.

“Hiya Dynamight!”

I can’t help but laugh. Did she really stand in line this whole time?

“The hell you doin’ here?”

She’s dressed head to toe in my merch - sweatshirt from the winter line, joggers from the athletic set, even her damn shoes are the limited release sneakers from the crossover line with Deku.

“Just supporting my favorite hero. I’d love if you could personalize my poster.”

God, I love this woman.

“Hah, y’got it.”

To my favorite hero, y/h/n, my shining star - love, dynamight

I slide it over the table to her and the look on her face is priceless. Her smile never fails to brighten my day, no matter how shitty it is. Really feels like no one else is here but her in the moment.

“This’ll be worth at least $50 online. Thanks!”

“Hey! That’s special, idiot.”

“I’m kidding, Ka-Dynamight.”

“Did ya wait in line this whole time?”

“I did! I wasn’t shopping earlier, I was in line for you. I wanted to support my soon-to-be husband.”

The high school girl behind her makes a face when she says “husband.” It’s not like our engagement is a damn secret. Can’t help but shoot her a dirty look, hoping she gets the “fuck off” memo.

“Dynamight, 5 minutes until we wrap.”

“Back off! It’s my damn fiancé. I’ll take as long as I want.”

All I wanna do is jump over this table, throw her over my shoulder and blast our way home. Dive onto the couch, crammed together against the cushions and pass the fuck out to the sound of TV static.

“It’s okay, I’ll let you go.”

She leans over the table to whisper, “I’ll see you at home, baby. Love you!”

I don’t really care who hears. I shouldn’t have to fuckin’ whisper to my soon-to-be wife in public.

“Love you too. Thanks, sweets. You’re the best.”

Fuck, her ass looks damn good in those joggers. I’ll never get tired of watching her walk away. The way she sways her hips when she walks is dangerous game for me.

“Alright, Dynamight. Last one.”

Thank fucking god.

“Hey, thanks for-”

“Was that your fiancé?”

These damn high school girls are such a pain in the ass.

“…yes. What of it?”

“Isn’t she, like, number 42 or something super low ranked?”

Not fallin’ for whatever shit she’s trying to pull. I sign the poster and slide it over to her, hoping she shuts the hell up and leaves.

“What, I can’t get a personalized photo like her?”

Well, she asked for it.

“Fine, give it back.”

number 42 and still better than you. fuck you - dynamight

I shove the poster back to her roughly on purpose, crinkling the edge against her stupid long claws-for-nails that were tapping impatiently on the table.

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Learn some damn manners.”

I don't feel any remorse as the stupid agent starts scolding me for "mistreating fans." The brat had it comin', what can I say?

"I'm outta here. Later."

"Wait, Dynamight, you need to -"

"No, I don't. Not my problem. I'm done."

───

Finally, home sweet home. "Hey baby, I'm home."

"Hey Kats! Made you some early dinner on the stove and the blanket is nice and toasty for you."

When did she even have time to do that? It's only been 45 minutes.

"Damn, what are ya, superwoman?"

"Hah, I wish. Have you checked your phone yet?"

"...No, why?"

She laughs. "#dynamight is trending again. Somethin' about you signing 'fuck off' on a fan's poster?"

Oops.

"Yeah, well I -"

"Fuck her, she's lucky I didn't smack her upside the head."

And that's why I'm marrying her.

Just a cute little "Bakugo hates people" fluff lol

[c4t1l1n4]

Hey, so you know that post I made earlier today?

Twins in Time AU but instead of 1982!Stanley getting sent back to the past he gets set to Post-Wierdmaggedon 2012 because I need him to get love and comfort from Ford.

Yeah, I wrote it. You can find the not beta'd version under the cut and I'll probably post the still-not-beta'd version on AO3 tomorrow.

You're A Hero, Stanley

A not really at all, but inspired by, Twins in Time AU ----- Stanford Pines is disassembling the portal when it happens.

The kids have gone home after their 13th birthday, and Stanley is out at the store getting groceries. They decided to take a few months to plan everything before setting out to sea. With Bill Cipher defeated and the portal dysfunctional, Ford had no reason to feel uncomfortable being in the basement alone. He's down there, disassembling it completely so it can't be remade when it turns on. He stares at it for a moment, something like fear coursing through his veins as his worst dreams come true.

There's no way that it should work. Parts are missing. The energy source is gone. In fact, Ford was almost done. He stares at the bunch of wires in his hands and the tools on the floor, then back at the blue glow of the portal. Suddenly, a figure falls out of it and crashes to the ground. Ford reaches for his gun, pointing it at the figure as they groan. The figure rights themselves, standing to their feet and looking around. Ford can't believe his eyes.

"Stanley?" He asks in confusion, lowering his gun.

The figure—assumedly Stanley—stares at him in a similar state of uncertainty. "Ford?" His voice rings out hesitantly.

"What happened to you? Are you okay?" Ford asks, rushing over to examine him. "Did something happen at the grocery store?"

"What are you talking about?" Stan says, reeling at the attention. "We were fighting, and I went through your weird portal thing, and now I'm here."

Ford frowns, the portal hanging emptily up above them like a threat. He takes in his brother's brown hair and thick jacket, tucking his gun away. "When are you from?"

Stan looks at him oddly. "What is that supposed to mean?" He blinks, looking at Ford as if seeing him for the first time in the dim light. "What happened to you?"

"Stanley," Ford repeats emphatically. "What year is it?"

"1982."

Ford's eyes widen in shock, and he inhales abruptly. His hands start the shake, and he feels the need to take a deep breath. This Stan is from 1982. 1982. Arguably the worst year of Ford's life. This is when it happened. But it seems that instead, Stan was pushed through and ended up here. He suddenly feels like he doesn't know what to do. He looks at this version of Stan and sees one so similar to his own and knows that this is how he looked and this is how he felt when he was left alone. It scares him, and it's sad. It takes him a moment, and there's a short period where he's just staring at him. He can tell that it makes Stan uncomfortable by the way that he squirms in place.

He then pulls his brother into a tight hug because there's nothing else to do. It's obvious that Stan doesn't know what to do either from the way that he tenses in the hold. Maybe Ford should've been more careful with his abrupt movements and constricting motion, seeing as this Stan is fresh from a life on the run. He knows he's made the right choice when Stan eventually melts into the embrace.

“I'm so sorry,” Ford says, apologizing for things in the past. “And thank you,” he says, apologizing for things in the future.

Stan doesn't say anything back, but Ford suspects it's because there are tears in his eyes. "Are you okay? You never answered my question about whether or not you were hurt.” Ford says, pulling back and holding him at arm's length to investigate him closer.

“I’m fine,” Stan says, “just got some dust in my eye.”

Ford nods knowingly.

"What is this place anyway?" Stan demands. "And why are you so old?"

"This is Gravity Falls, Oregon, and it's the year 2012." Ford grins as Stan's eyes widen in surprise.

"You mean to say my nerdy twin brother invented time travel?" He asks in disbelief.

Ford chuckles. "Not quite. I believe you're from an alternate dimension. If my theory is correct: My Stanley is at the grocery store, and your Ford is working furiously to get you back."

Stan scoffs, eyes dropping to look at the ground. "I doubt that," he says somewhat miserably.

Something sharp and painful pierces Ford in the heart. He knows he's made a lot of mistakes in the past, but seeing it spelled out so clearly in front of him is a special type of torture. "I know you don't believe me, but if your Ford is anything like me, he does love you. He's just an arrogant, ignorant ass about it."

“Hey,” Stan defends on reflex. “That's my brother you're talking about.”

It is equally heartwarming and pain-inducing to see Stan jump so readily to his defense when he knows that the Ford of that time would so easily push him to the side. “He's me,” Ford points out. "It’s just the truth.”

Stan frowns, like he's not happy about it.

"Just like I know it's the truth when I said he cares about you."

Stan eyes him skeptically. "He told me to take his journal as far away from him as possible," he deadpans.

Ford cringes. He doesn't really remember what he said to his brother in that paranoid, insomnia-induced haze, but that sounds pretty bad. "Fair," he conceded. Ford did think he hated his brother for the longest time, even if he really didn’t, so he supposes that Stanley isn't too far off. "Then I can't do much besides reassure you that I love you now."

Stan looks away again. "Not me though. I mean, some version of me, I guess. But yours is at the grocery store, or so you said."

Ford grins, grabbing Stan by the shoulders and forcing him to look at him. "Stan, I love every version of you. Alternate dimension or not. If you can't find it in yourself to believe me, at least look at me. Am I lying?"

Stan studies him. “No,” He says, and something between disbelief and awe breaks out across his face. "You really love me?" He asks, a sound like hope ringing in his voice.

Ford continues to smile, wider this time, and pulls his brother into another hug. "Of course I do. You're my brother. Even more than that, you're a good person and a hero. Stanley.” he says as the young Stans in his arms tightens his hold around him. “You're my hero.”

The blue glow of the portal highlights Stan in his arms as it springs to life again. Ford rests his chin on top of his brother's head, allowing this younger version to take comfort in the moment. He stares up at the portal—the portal that in no way should work and yet does—and holds his brother tighter for a little longer. “I told you he was going to get you back,” Ford says, wishing he didn't have to let him leave. “Now, it's time for you to be his hero.”

Stan takes a step back and with a grin, turns to face the blue glow. He lets himself get sucked into the gravitational pull, floating up and disappearing. It doesn't get any easier or less terrifying to watch someone disappear into its gaping maw, but Ford is reassured that this Stan is going somewhere great.

The portal closes, dowsing the room in darkness once more, but as Ford pulls apart the last pieces, he is filled with hope.

[smartkookiee]

Wounds We Never Show // Prologue: Before It All —jjk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭

❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/they, afab) ❥genre/rating: 18 + explicit content, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, these two really do hate each other ❥chapter warnings: Fighting (verbal), swearing, mutual hate ❥word-count: 2.4k ❥Series Masterlist ❥ || Next Chapter fic is cross posted to ao3 - send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭

Your final together was tomorrow, after a month of painfully hard work it would finally be over. Except you hadn’t heard from Jungkook  this week at all. From what you can tell he seemed to finish all of his portion of the work. You on the other hand, due to some finals, were a little behind but you had no doubts that you would be able to catch up. 

Not hearing from Jungkook did have you somewhat concerned. 

You both were normal last week but this week radio silence. You had texted him just keeping him updated on the progress of your work. You choked it up to him probably being swamped with his own work, and his own projects for other classes. So you tried not too worry. 

You sent one more text, anxiety rising with each passing minute.

:hey sorry to text you again. I’m just checking in! I should be able to finish in the next hour or two, so don’t worry.

:we are going to kill this presentation in the morning.

May have been a touch late to texting someone, it was 1:30 in the morning. You didn’t care though, he had texted you at like two in the morning before. So, you figured he’d forgive you.

But the second you sent the text.

The lights and your laptop had switched off. You sat in completely darkness. Suddenly the emergency lights shown by your door. You turned on your flashlight. Your laptop was old so your power being out means that you don’t have a laptop to work on. You made your way to the hall where some others had gathered. Asking what had happened.

Your RA eventually came up to your floor and told everyone not to worry, they were going to have the power on soon and to stay in our rooms for now. That we would get some text updates. You decided to not panic yet, soon after you did get a text saying that their was a an on campus outage and the problem would be resolved soon.

“Seriously?” you muttered, going back into your room. You texted Jungkook again.

:hey sorry I swear this is the last one, power in my dorm is out.

:and you know how my laptop is, so I have to wait until the power comes back.

:still going to kill it tomorrow!

Forty-five agonizing minutes later, the power finally returned. You rushed back to your laptop, praying everything was still there. But when you opened your document, it was blank. Completely empty.

“No,” you whispered, frantically searching for any backup.

Your entire month of work was gone. You tried finding a previous version, but there was nothing. Not on your hard drive, not in your email, not even a single backup copy. Every word, every citation, every carefully crafted paragraph—vanished. Except... Jungkook might have a copy.

You grabbed your phone and called him, your fingers trembling. Voicemail. You called again, and it rang once before going straight to voicemail again.

“Jungkook, pick up. Something happened. I need you to call me back.”

Panic set in as you scoured every corner of your computer. Desperate, you even checked old drafts and random notes on your phone, but there was nothing. Your heart sank. You called Jungkook two more times, but there was still no answer.

You were going to have to start over.

You knew the material—you’d been working on it every day for a month—but rewriting it from memory was going to be a nightmare. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and started typing. Every minute felt like an hour, but you pushed through. Tiredness clawed at you, and your eyes stung from the screen’s glare, but there was no other option.

Five hours later, you finally finished. The paper was nowhere near perfect, but it was something. A B, maybe a C at best, but it was better than nothing. Exhaustion overtook you the second you hit save, and you collapsed into bed.

It felt like only a second had passed when your eyes snapped open. You scrambled for your phone, the panic setting in again.

10:05 AM.

Ten missed texts and three missed calls from Jungkook.

“No!” You leapt out of bed, pulling on the first clothes you found, emailing the paper to yourself while sprinting out the door. You raced across campus, nearly tripping as you weaved through students, your breath burning in your lungs. By the time you reached the classroom, the hallway was filled with students leaving.

You pushed through the door, your hair a mess, sweat dripping down your forehead.

“Shit, no, no, please.” You spotted your professor leaving and tried to push your way forward, only to be blocked by Jungkook.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” he sneered as you stumbled in, breathless and disheveled.

“Jungkook--” you began, but he cut you off.

“Where the hell have you been? Why weren’t you here?” His voice was icy, and he took a menacing step toward you, making you step back.

“I—I fell asleep!” You stammered, tears welling up. Your exhaustion was really hitting you, and you couldn’t hold them in, “Did you see my texts? My calls? My voicemails?”

“Texts and calls don’t mean shit if you’re not here!” he snapped. “You’re acting like you care, but you clearly don’t. You’ve been flaky this entire time.”

“Jungkook, that’s not fair—”

“Not fair?” he cut in, voice rising. “Maybe you did this on purpose! Maybe you’ve been plotting to screw me over!”

The accusation hit hard. “Are you seriously accusing me of sabotaging you? I’ve worked my ass off for this project!”

Jungkook’s eyes were cold. “And where were you when it mattered? You think your excuses are enough? Friends don’t disappear.”

The recent reconciliation between the both of you now dissolving on the ground between the both of you. You both had taken huge strides to become friends despite your resistance.

“Friends don’t accuse each other of being petty schemers!” you shot back, the anger surging. “I’ve been working all night to fix this, and you’re just throwing all my effort back in my face!”

“Maybe I’m tired of your games,” Jungkook retorted, his voice dripping with contempt. “Maybe David was right about you. Maybe he was right that this is something you do.”

David, your ex-boyfriend. Who had manipulated so many people into believing that you were crazy, when he had cheated on you multiple times. What hurt worse? Jungkook knew all of this, knew that David was an asshole. Knew that David was an awful person who lied every time he spoke.

Now he was throwing it in your face, what the hell was wrong with him?

The sting of his words was unbearable. “How dare you! I trusted you to be reasonable. You said you believed me when it came to what David said about me. How dare you throw that in my face! I came here ready to explain, ready to make things right. But you’re too busy being a jackass to listen.”

“I may be a jackass but at least I can be relied upon.” he said quietly, almost dismissively.

The words cut deeper than any knife. “You know what? I don’t need to defend myself to someone who’s already made up their mind. You’re not worth the effort, since you are so quick to blame others. You’re just like David after all.”

You turned away, feeling tears spill down your face. You walked away, not looking back. You had to save your grades, even if it meant cutting ties with Jungkook for good. Didn’t really matter, you two didn’t know each other that well anyways.

You found your professor, explained everything through your tears, and showed him the evidence. He listened, though his sympathy couldn’t override the rules. He allowed you to submit your rewritten paper but couldn’t let you do the presentation. He promised to grade fairly but couldn’t guarantee a good mark.

You received a D. It was lower than you hoped but enough to pass. Jungkook, however, failed, delaying his graduation.

You felt a grim satisfaction, but the bitterness lingered. The loss of the friendship gnawed at you, even if you hated him. You’d never see him again, and you were more than okay with that.

That was five years ago now.

The memory lingered as fresh and raw as ever. You had moved on, grown, and carved out a space where Jungkook’s existence didn’t matter. That was until you became friends with Melanie, who in every sense of the word was your best friend. Though, because fate is a funny thing, she fell in love with Namjoon. Namjoon’s closest friend was none other than Jungkook.

That relationship kept you and Jungkook in each other's lives for longer than either of you had cared for.

Forcing the two of you back into each other’s orbit. That also meant facing Jungkook repeatedly, each time resulting in fights so venomous you wondered how Melanie and Namjoon put up with it. So many clashes over so many years, so many attempts by mutual friends proved futile in bringing the both of you together. Eventually, everyone gave up and just made sure to never have the two of you in a room together.

Now with Namjoon and Melanie’s engagement, a wedding loomed around the corner.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, mind still reeling from the past. The fallout from that final class had changed everything. Every time you saw Jungkook since then, it was an instant—words turned to daggers, and every conversation became a battlefield. Neither of you ever backed down; pride kept you both locked in a bitter stalemate.

“Just a heads-up,” Melanie said, breaking you out of your thoughts. She hesitated, eyes flicking away as if bracing for impact. ��I know how you two feel about each other, but he’s Namjoon’s best friend.”

You knew what was coming, but you still grimaced. “Don’t tell me.”

Melanie sighed. “Jungkook is his best man.”

You clenched your jaw, the anger bubbling up instantly. You had known this was inevitable, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “Of course, he is.”

Melanie’s living room felt unusually tense, the soft glow of the evening sun doing little to warm the atmosphere. Melanie had always been the bridge between you and Jungkook—constantly trying to keep the peace, but it was becoming increasingly clear that this time was different. You couldn’t just show up, exchange a few biting remarks with Jungkook, and call it a day. This was her wedding. This was the culmination of everything she’d dreamed of, and she deserved your best effort.

Melanie took a deep breath, her stern expression softening just slightly. “I know it’s a big ask, and I wouldn’t push it if I didn’t have to. But Namjoon and Jungkook—they’ve been through so much together. He’s not just a friend to Namjoon; he’s like a brother. And I need you both to make this work.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words. Melanie was trying to keep the peace, but the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable. She had seen you and Jungkook tear each other down time and again. Seeing the tears you shed over the times he would hit the nail on the head, and say something that went too far. Held you back from starting a physical altercation with him.

Each encounter was more bitter than the last, and every argument chipped away at the thin veneer of civility you both clung to.

“I promise,” you said, your voice steady despite the resentment simmering underneath. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Melanie’s lips twitched into a small smile, but her eyes remained cautious. “Thank you. And I mean it, no half-hearted attempts. I need rainbows and kindness coming out of both of your asses.”

You laughed despite yourself, appreciating the way Melanie could still inject humor into even the most awkward of situations. “Got it. Rainbows and kindness. I’ll bring a whole damn unicorn if that’s what it takes.”

“Good, I don’t know what I would do if we had another new years situation.” Although it was years ago, that was probably the worst fight you and Jungkook had. The things that were said and the drink you dumped on him are very present in your mind. Made you laugh to yourself even but it definitely caused a bot of an issues in your group.

You shook your head, feeling a familiar pang of bitterness. “Yeah that was a really low moment for me. I think because of that things between us will never change. He’s still that same arrogant jerk who can’t own up to his mistakes. And I’m done pretending I care enough to fix anything.”

“People change,” she said softly, it was something she tried to convince you of many times. “But I get it. You don’t have to be friends—you just have to coexist.”

“That, I can do,” you said firmly. “I’m not going to let him ruin this for you.”

“Thank you,” Melanie said, squeezing your hand. “I’m so happy you accepted the role. I couldn’t imagine my wedding without you there.”

“For you? Anything,” you replied, your resolve hardening. You would hold onto your promise to Melanie, no matter how much Jungkook got under your skin. This wedding was about Namjoon and Melanie, not you and whatever animosity you harbored toward Jungkook.

The room lapsed into a comfortable silence, but your mind was racing, already plotting ways to avoid Jungkook’s inevitable provocations. You pictured the rehearsal dinner, the ceremony, the reception—any scenario where the two of you would be forced to interact. You would keep your distance, smile politely, and not engage. If Jungkook’s presence was like a storm cloud threatening to ruin the day, you would be calm. You owed Melanie that much.

“When the wedding rolls around, I’ll keep up appearances and be civil and kind,” you said, trying to reassure not just Melanie, but yourself. “Jungkook might be the spawn of Satan, but as long as I don’t speak to him directly, everything will go perfectly.”

No amount of promises could erase the deep-seated anger you felt every time you saw his face. This time, though, you would have to bury it, if only for a weekend. You would smile through gritted teeth, hold your tongue when he inevitably said something infuriating, and pretend you were above it all.

You had months to prep yourself though. Plenty of time to make sure that nothing Jungkook could do could piss you off.

Nothing that weekend will surprise you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭

❥ || Next Chapter

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭

[sunnie-angel]

Always and Forever

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason tries to end things after a bad patrol. you won’t give him up without a fight.

tags: f!reader, smut, kissing, biting, piv sex, unprotected sex, fingering (mention) cock warming, orgasm denial (kind of), belly bulge, size kink (if you squint), overstimulation, creampie (if you think this is misproperly tagged please let me know) minors and ageless blogs do not interact

rated e (mdni) | wc: 5.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing smut (or a fic of this length) so please be gentle! if you find jason a little ooc, i’m still working on getting his ‘voice’ right, so just consider him one of the many versions we’ve all come to love. this started as a single smut scene and grew feelings and a bit of plot from there. this was definitely a labour of love so i hope you all enjoy it!

“We’re done. Us. All of it. You’re free to leave.”

The modulated voice of the Red Hood startles you. It’s nearly six in the morning, and you’ve been up since three when Jason didn’t return from patrol like he promised. He’s still in his Hood gear, hasn’t bothered to take off the helmet or even the boots crusted in who knows what. The leather jacket has taken a beating, and in the dim light of your apartment living room it glistens damply like he was caught in the earlier rain. He won’t even look in your direction, hands fisted at his sides, the darkened leather of his gloves taut across his knuckles. Jason didn’t come home like he promised and now he can’t even bear to look at you as he tears your heart in two. It’s understandable then, that when your voice returns to you and you can breathe around the lump in your throat, that your voice shatters the silence.

“Look at me. Look. At. Me.”

Only the way that his body locks up, somehow tenser than before, deflates you. A whole night’s worry and frustration drained away.

“Jay? Please take off the helmet and look at me.”

His black curls are matted to his forehead with sweat. His one white streak is dark with it,. Somewhere along the way he must have ditched the domino mask, because the sight of his bare face twists something tight in your chest. His beautiful eyes are red rimmed, tear tracks still staining his cheeks. His lips look bitten raw. He looks at you the way a dying man looks at salvation. Realization dawns slowly for you.

“You didn’t get caught in the rain, did you?”

A sharp nod, jaw clenching, but he doesn’t look away. Now you’ve noticed, you can’t stop. There’s a faint blood spray on the front of the helmet, barely visible from where Jason’s placed it on the counter. The leather jacket is soaked through with blood, darker splotches on his tac pants from where it’s followed gravity. The grime on his boots now looks rusty, though that might just be your imagination. Jason’s come home hours late covered in blood and is telling you to leave. This time, your voice is startlingly gentle.

“Jay we talked about this. You promised no life altering conversations when you’re covered in blood, remember?”

At the time, had been a joke. A promise made after a close call, when Jason was still loopy from sedation and painkillers and insisting he was going to duel Doc Leslie for your honour. Finally lucid, he had sheepishly promised no more dramatic ultimatums when he's covered in blood.

“But you need to—“

“No. You promised. What’s going to happen is you’re going to leave all your gear at the front door and we’ll deal with it tomorrow. You’re going to tell me if you’re injured and let me fix you up if you are. Then you’re going to shower. Then, and only then are we going to have this discussion.”

“I don’t—”

“Please.”

He caves at the way your whole body sags under the weight of one word. Carefully toes off his boots and socks, peels the stiff tac pants off, and lays his top and jacket on top of the whole pile. Reveals a smattering of bruises down his arms and along his rib cage. To get to the ensuite he has to walk past you and through your shared bedroom. The heat of him passing by has you turning after him, a star caught in his orbit, words curling to ash on your tongue. It’s only when he’s firmly out of sight that you allow yourself to collapse into the couch. Head lolling back, gaze fixed on the ceiling. Blankly you watch the headlights of passing cars loom and fade across the ceiling.

You do your best not to cry but wet trails burn down your face. You dash them away, but it does nothing to make you feel better. You don’t know if you’ll survive the coming conversation, a litany of “he doesn’t love me anymore, or at least not enough to keep me” is running through your head. Something is wrong, you think. Usually after a rough night, Jason can’t get enough of you. He comes home to your shared apartment and holds you, needs to feel the touch of your skin and the heat of your breath to truly know you’re alive. He's never the most talkative on the worst nights, but he always reaches out. Mumbles into your throat just to hear your replies, get you to distract him with chatter about your own day. He’ll act like he’s touch starved, press his split knuckles to the back of your hand, pull you into him until his nose is buried in the crook of your neck, pet and touch whatever bare skin is in reach. You're used to shaking off the vestiges of sleep to Jason between your thighs, fingers and tongue skillfully opening you up before he slides his cock inside, splitting you open just to feel you tighten around him. Tonight he hasn’t even reached out to hold your hand.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Jason stands in the doorway to your shared bedroom. Wet from his shower, the streetlight filtering through the curtains illuminating the water still beading on his skin. The bruises look less stark now. You look at him and feel love. You look at him and see the man you gave the most vulnerable parts of yourself to, ready to hand them back to you on a platter. Rolling your head to look at him properly, you notice he hasn't bothered to dress, wrapped in a towel like he couldn't wait to put off this conversation a moment longer. Your eyes meet, and it snaps whatever trance he's in. He shuffles over to you, eyes asking for permission to join you on the couch. The couch dips under his weight, and you turn on your side to face him, legs curling up to your chest.

"I'm glad you're home."

You reach out to brush his face, aching to remind yourself that's he's real but he shies back from the motion, denies you both the comfort of contact.

"Don’t. I'm not— I'm not good for you. We can't— I'm not gonna do this to you anymore."

"Do what to me Jason?" you ask, genuinely puzzled "Be us? I chose this, I chose you, and I have kept on choosing you from the beginning. I don't understand." By the end, you're truly pleading, begging with your voice and eyes and body for him to explain this to you. To explain why he's trying to make this choice for you.

"Bein' with me puts you in danger," he says slowly, carefully. "You think you know what you've signed up for but you don't. Not really. I painted a target on your back and now the worst of Gotham are gonna come sniffin’ at your door. You're never gonna be safe with me and I don't want to be the reason why you're hurt. You deserve better than me and a life of looking over your shoulder. I can't give you that, I'll never be able to give you that."

And oh, that hurts. The way he says it, dripping with self-loathing and certainty, cracks your heart open. It speaks of long held fears and convictions that he will never be good enough, that he is too broken and too dangerous to be loved.

"Did something happen tonight?" you ask, searching for a reason, anything, that would have brought old wounds to light.

"What?" Tension laces his body tight. There's a wild look in his eyes, shifting closer to green than blue.

"Jay, you made all of those risks clear to me before we were even real friends. So, what happened tonight to make you so sure that you'll be the death of me?"

Something about the way you state the question so matter of factly unsettles him enough to reply. "Heard some chatter down at docks about Black Mask setting up a new warehouse. Tonight was just supposed to be easy. Just about fuckin' with him, get B and Wing time to gather evidence on his new operation. He was waiting for us, probably set the whole thing up as a trap. Did a whole melodramatic monologue too 'bout how if we were gonna threaten his operation — the only thing that means anything to him — then turnabout’s fair play."

He's paused in his remembered anger, hands flexing against the couch cushions. You nod, trying to encourage him, not wanting to break the spell that got him talking in the first place. But you really don't like where this was headed. When he speaks again, its in a whisper.

"He knew your name. He knew who you are to me and he knew your fucking name."

The fear that jolts through you at that statement is matched by the intensity in his eyes. Distractedly you notice that you can’t feel your fingers. Heart racing, the only thing grounding you is the weave of the cushion under your cheek.

"Okay, we can— we can handle this. It'll be difficult but I can—"

"He's dead," Jason interrupts.

"He's what." All trains of thought come to a crashing stop.

"I killed him."

Its a confession and a plea for forgiveness wrapped in one. He can't quite look you in the eyes anymore, his whole demeanor screaming shame. Stunned and wide-eyed all you can do is drink him in, this incredible, ridiculous man. Car headlights cut through the shadows, lighting up the planes of his face and catching on the still too-green of his eyes. Somewhere along the way you've moved closer. His face is only a breath away and in the silence it feels unbearably intimate.

You can't help blurting out, "Can I kiss you?" The thought of being unable to touch him any longer is utterly unthinkable. Not when he's right in front of you, lips parted and waiting for you to pronounce judgement over him. He nods, shyly, and then you're in his lap. His face is cradled in your hands, eyes wide as he looks up at you. His lips are warm when you finally give in to the urge to taste him. They're rough from where he's bitten them but they're pliant against yours. Drawing back, you rest your forehead on his, unwilling to be any further apart.

"He had your name in his fuckin' mouth and I couldn't let him live for that. So yeah, I killed him. Him and every one a his lieutenants in the room that heard." Jason pauses, tries to gauge your reaction, continues on more self-consciously. "B and Wing couldn’t stop me and I didn’t want them to. He was a threat to you and I didn't know. You could have died and I wouldn't even've known what to protect you from." He tries to pull back from you, but you don't let him. Lets his motion pull you along with him, hands still cradling his face.

"Is that where all the blood is from? You're not hiding any injuries besides the bruises from me?" you ask worriedly. He's done it before, but you'd hoped he'd learned to trust you better. Jason goes to remove your hands from his face and you don't resist. He presses soft kisses to each of your palms before folding them to his bare chest right over his heart.

"Fuck sweetheart, I tell you that I've just killed a roomful of men and you want to know if I'm okay? You're not angry that I killed, again?" And oh he looks so ready for you to reject him. Waiting for you to turn away, to call him a monster, for your love to turn to horror.

When you speak, the words come out slowly, each syllable weighed out with care. "Am I bad person if I say that I'm grateful?" You can feel his heartbeat speeding up under your hands as you speak. "Because I am Jay, I'm so, so grateful. I'm grateful that I'll never have to worry about a bullet in the dark or getting taken off the street. Mostly I'm grateful that I won't be used to hurt you. But I'm also so very sorry Jay that you had to kill again." He shudders at that, closes his eyes and squeezes your hands tight tight tight. "I know that you were trying so, so hard not to kill, to live by your family's rules and I'm so sorry that you had to break that promise to yourself. Can you forgive me for putting you in that impossible position?"

"I— I don't need your forgiveness, not for this. But don't you see? I'm the reason you were danger. If I hadn't a been quick enough, if there's ever a day when I'm not fast enough, then you'd've died." At that he stops, swallows thickly, like he's considering a world where he doesn't save you. "This doesn’t end just ‘cause Black Mask’s dead. It’s every enemy the Hood has ever made knowing that my heart’s walking around outside my body.” And that, that makes your breath catch in your throat. Stuns you enough that you’re not fully prepared for what he says next. “So this, you and me, it's gotta be done. I'll move out tomorrow, pack things up later. I won't leave you unprotected, I'll— I'll still patrol but you won't have to see me again. You can have a clean start."

Now, now you are angry. Pushing off his chest you lever yourself upright, forcing him to look up at you. Straddled across his lap your balance is precarious at best but you need him to see you, to realize that what you say next is what you mean with every wretched part of you.

"No."

"No?" He's looking up at you, glazed eyes and mouth open wide with shock.

"No. Jason Peter Todd you do not get to make this decision for me." With every word you push your finger into his chest for emphasis, your whole body shaking with the force you're putting behind your words. "I knew the risks because you told me about them. I decided that I could live with them if it meant having you. I told you always and forever. I meant it then and I mean it now. So this, you and me, it’s over when I agree it is. I gave you my fucking heart and this is me not accepting it back. You tell me I’m free to leave anytime, well I’m not.” His hands have fallen to your hips where they clench and unclench. “You haven’t been able to keep me out of your sight lines for more than three minutes tonight. You can’t go a day without touching me, feeling me up and getting your cock wet. I know you don’t sleep half so well if I’m not in your bed and neither can I. I know the way you look when you think nothing you’ve done has ever been good enough and the face you make when you feel like a hero. I know you to your bones and you know me. You want me to live a life that you’re not a part of, well I won’t." Suddenly fed up with the chafing of the towel on your poor inner thighs you try to shift, when you feel him hard under the thin layer of the bath towel. You feel Jason freeze up, time crystallizing around you before speeding back up like a poorly wound tape.

“Off. Off now” You start pawing at the blasted towel unsuccessfully, before giving up and going for your own sleep pants. You’re half way through wiggling them off before Jason’s brain catches up with you and then he’s scrabbling to tear the towel off and get you bare. You grab his hardening cock and guide it to the entrance of your cunt. You’re still not slick enough for this, didn’t spend ages getting opened up on fingers first, but you’re desperate enough to make it work. His hands around your thighs are like iron, clinging to you like a life preserver. You take it slow, letting gravity do the work of spearing you open on his cock, unable to take him to the hilt in one swift motion the way you ache to. Jason’s a big man, always towering over you in size, and his cock is perfectly large to match. Already the stretch is just the other side of painful, the thickness of him cleaving you in two. You gasp like you’ve been punched with every inch downwards. By the time your hips meet his pelvis his stomach muscles are clenched and twitching from the effort of not just fucking up into you and taking what he wants. His fingers are buried in the couch cushions. Deliriously you wonder if the cushions will still be intact by the end of this conversation.

"So tell me again," you pant, "tell me why you think you can just walk away from me and all the love we have like it's nothing." Jason groans at your words, buries his face in your throat, hips still twitching with aborted thrusts.

"Please, please baby. Let me move— shit, let me make you feel good. God, sweetheart you're so fucking tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me." The growing roll of his hips is distracting. He's so fucking thick, this position making him feel like he's somewhere in your stomach, every flex of his muscles bullies him deeper, threatens to shake all the thoughts out of your head. That just won’t do. You take back control with a soft hand on his chest pushing him back until he's leaned right back against the couch cushions.

"You started this conversation Jay. It’s not done until you finish it. Besides, you’re the one that wants to put a stop to all this." You punctuate your words with a single calculated grind of your hips, make him claw at your hips with abandon. Revel at the weight of him inside of you. Trail your hand up his chest so you can thread your fingers into his damp curls. "Why should I let you move, hmm? Give me that list of reasons, and maybe I'll let you fuck me when we're done talking." His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the colour of his eyes anymore.

It takes a few false starts before he can put a coherent thought together. "Being— being with me makes, oh god, makes you a target. People'll go through you, tryna hurt me. You're gonna get hurt cus'a me, could die fr'me." He's trembling all over now, words slurring together and gasping for air. He settles a little when you run your other hand down his chest to trace his y-shaped scar, lean in and kiss him slow and sweet. Nip and tease at his already abused bottom lip.

"Love that ship went and sailed the first time you talked to me," you say. "There's no putting that back in the box and hoping everyone will forget that we were us." Taking your time, you mouth along his jawline, feel his hand slide under your shirt to come settle on the small of your back. "Say we split up, what then? Doesn't matter how often you swing by, someone'll always try and find a way. Tonight was just a reminder. How does breaking both of our hearts make that go away?" Nuzzling into that sweet space below his jaw, you can feel the way his pulse races and cock twitches in you. All the while you keep your hips tortuously still, warming his cock with your cunt, enjoying the stretch of him. A tug of his hair gets him talking again.

"I'm not a— not a good man. I've killed a lot a people, don't even regret most a'em." He can't look at you as he says it, eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder. His hand on your back flexes, fingers tightening around your hip bone.

"Didn't we just go over this? Jay I'm glad you killed those men, and if that makes you a bad person so am I." This time its him that goes in for a kiss, latches on to the plush of your lips, licks his way inside. Cradles your skull and pulls you closer, has to stop kissing you to gasp when that shifts his cock inside of you.

"Sweetheart, you're the best person damn person I know," he breathes into your mouth. Traces over your cheekbone with the tip of his nose. "You're the best fuckin' thing to happen to me. But you shouldn't hafta decide if you're okay with me killing people. Shouldn't be something you gotta think about at all." There it is again, that tinge of self-loathing. And that's what it’s really all about isn't it?

"You're not making me do anything. You think I didn't know who I was saying yes to when you asked me out to dinner? That I was unaware of Hood's brand of justice? That unlike your family, I didn’t already approve of your methods? Love, I was grateful for you before you'd even walked into my life." Its a confession you hadn't said out loud before, but maybe you should've. Something about your faith in him has Jason whining at the back of his throat like a wounded animal. He tries to buck his hips but freezes when the hand in his hair forcefully tugs his head back, exposes the vulnerable line of his throat.

"Can't just say that sweetheart. Can't just say that and not let me fuck you full." Another tug at his hair has him moaning, the cords of his throat standing out. "C'mon, c'mon. You're so wet and so warm for me. I'll make you feel— feel so good." On the last word he tries to thrust up but you were expecting this, dig your knees into the couch to leverage up off of him at the same time he moves forward. You bite down on the soft skin of his throat before pressing a kiss to the forming bruise. Let go of his hair to clasp the side of his neck, rub your thumb over the hinge of his jaw. Let his head fall forward to your chest, resting his brow on your collarbone.

"I said after our conversation, didn't I? And those aren't your only reasons, are they?" you tease. "You can fuck me whenever you want Jay, you just have to be honest first."

He’s torn, you can tell. Caught between chasing his pleasure at the steep price of his darkest fears, but also wanting to do right by you, as misguided as this attempt is. But he’s been so truthful so far, deserves a reward for how good he’s been. So you clamp down, hard, feel his cock brush against that soft part of your gut that makes you shiver with pleasure. Enjoy the punched out sound that wrings from him. Grind your hips down in a filthy circle, once, twice. Then just as suddenly stop. Let him pant and shake, breath warm in the contours of your throat.

When he finally speaks, his voice is so small you can barely hear him. "M'scared." He shudders as he says it. Something in the curve of his spine screams vulnerable, sparks an itch in your fingers to touch and so you do.

"Think 'm too broken for you to love. Think 'm too broken to love you right. Scared one day that the pit's gonna burn too bright and I'll hurt you." Like a broken dam, the words come tumbling out so quickly now. All you can do is keep stroking his back, this giant of a man rendered so small in your arms. "That I'll wake up one day and it'll be my hands covered in your blood." The hate and self-loathing is almost palpable, an oil slick shadow creeping along the floorboards. You could cry from the way his voice shakes and cracks.

“Oh, love.” And this time it’s your voice cracking. “I’ve never thought of you as broken. There’s never going to be a day where I think you’re too broken for me to love. If the day ever comes that you do break, I’ll pick up all the shiny pieces with my bare hands if I have to. I’ll put you back together again even if it cuts me open because that’s what we do Jason. You don’t think there aren’t parts of me I’d rather smooth out too? You don’t have to love me perfectly to love me right.” He’s straightening up now, trying to get a better view of your face, needs to see the truth of your words. His arms have moved around you like a vice, holding on as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. “You’ve never hurt me Jason. Scratch that, you’ve never hurt me before tonight and your stupid, noble attempt to break up with me. But not once have you laid your hands on me and not once have I been afraid of you.” He tries to interrupt, opens his mouth to speak but you’re not finished. You lay finger over his lips, force him to let you say your piece. “But I know that the problem isn’t my trust in you, it’s yours. Besides Black Mask and his thugs, did you hurt anyone else tonight?” At the shake of his head you continue. “There you have it. Even tonight, when you had every reason to spin out of control you didn’t hurt anyone you didn’t mean to. So talk to me. We’ll figure this out. Hell, we’ll find you a therapist if that’s what you want. So trust me, at least, even if you can’t trust yourself.”

You’d swear there were tears in his eyes if you didn’t already know never to trust the early morning light. It’s past dawn now and in the silence Jason looks like something out of a fairytale. The weak golden light makes him look so alive, so vibrant. He sits there still as stone, holding you tight in his lap, dumb with the weight of your love and acceptance. His grin, when it breaks over his face, is a little watery but possibly the most precious thing you’ve ever seen.

“There’s really no scaring you off, is there?” It’s a weak joke, but he’s trying.

“No. There isn’t.” If your words don’t convince him then the tone of satisfaction ringing through them would. Pushing at his shoulders you maneuver him as close to lying down as you can manage on your old couch. Tearing off your oversized sleep shirt (stolen from Jason of course), you’re finally as bare as he is. Perched over him, you enjoy the view of him splayed out like an offering. Reaching for his arm, you find his hand, place it on the curve below your belly and lace your fingers over the back of it. You push his palm down into you to feel the hard swell of where his cock is curving you out, carving out a place in your guts and moulding your cunt to the shape of his cock. You can see the exact moment his restraint snaps when he realizes he’s feeling himself through you. Let him jack knife up into you, feel the way his hardness moves under his palm. Enjoy the way it feels to finally have him drag his cock through you. But he’s trying to be respectful and you haven’t given him the go ahead yet. He restrains himself to shallow rocking motions, unable to stop himself completely, but the effort this is costing him is clear by his straining muscles and wide eyes.

“You paying attention Jay? This—” and this time you clench down on his cock as you press his hand to the shape of your womb just to hear him choke, “is yours. And you left it aching and empty for hours. You made such pretty promises earlier.” For this last part you lean down real close, brace yourself with an arm over his shoulder, wanting to make sure he doesn’t miss a thing. “And our conversation just ended.” He takes it as the permission it is and slams into you, deeper than before like you can feel him in you throat. Hands an iron grip around your waist, pulling you down to meet each sharp rolling thrust. Bullies his cock into you until he finds the angle that has sparks running under your skin, keeps hitting that angle with all the precision and aim of a sniper with his marksmanship. At this angle, his head’s at the perfect height to mouth at your breasts. You can feel him smiling around a nipple as he listens to you moan, only detaching to give the other breast the same kind of enthusiastic attention. Your arm finally gives out, falling down onto his bare chest. Limp, you let him manoeuvre him how he wants you, a rag-doll for your mutual pleasure. All the while he doesn’t stop fucking into you, any semblance of earlier control gone.

“Fuck, sweetheart you don’t know— don’t know what you do to me.” He’s gasping between each word, but the meaning of them still makes their way to your blissed out brain. The slick drag of his cock head along your clenching insides making everything else fade away. You can feel your orgasm building, heat pooling and growing with every thrust. Jason can feel you tightening up around him, knows the signs of your body so well. He starts circling your clit with his fingers, alternating pressure with his thrusts. The long drag and stretch of his cock, almost too much for you to take, never falters. It bumps up against your cervix, fills you up so completely that there’s room for nothing else but it and the pleasure it rips from you. Your release tears through you like wildfire, and for a moment dark spots cloud your vision. You know that you’ve clamped down, tight and hot and slick by the punched out groan from Jason, the way his head falls back onto the couch. But through it all he still keeps pumping into you.

He bites and sucks at your throat, a distraction from your over sensitivity. He leaves your clit alone, stops assaulting all your senses so viciously. Listens to you mewl from how sore and sensitive you are from having taken his cock nearly dry, having held it in you for so long before getting your cunt battered by it. “M so sorry sweetheart. Didn’t wanna hurt you. Gonna— gonna make it up to you. For the rest a m’life.” Now he’s rutting into you, all rhythm and finesse gone in pursuit of his own pleasure. Fire is running through your veins, gathering in your cunt and burning you whole. Your legs are weak and trembling where Jason’s placed them, hands trailing down your thighs to hook under your knees and pull your legs wider. Like this you’re trapped, pinned against him by the spread of your cunt, clit wet and grinding against his pubic bone every time he fucks back into you. You’re so close to another orgasm, quicker than you’ve ever been before.

“Please— Jay please, don’t— don’t stop. Need you. Need you har— harder. Jay. Jay” Jason being Jason, obliges. Your whole body jolts from the force of him inside you. You’re so frustratingly close, dancing on the knife’s edge of oblivion. Jay’s close too. You can tell by the way his breathing speeds up, the way he wraps one arm over your shoulder to keep you in place as he fucks your cunt raw. What sends you both over the edge is Jason taking his other hand and pushing down hard on the swell of your abdomen, the both of you feeling his cock kick and spurt inside of you. Heat paints your walls, and it’s that combined with all consuming pressure of his cock remaking you in his image that has you crying out your orgasm. Jason doesn’t pull out right away. Stays inside you and lets himself grow soft. Kisses featherlight over your face and eyelids. Strokes your flanks and combs his fingers through your hair. Soothes you into a light sleep.

When you wake up, it’s to full sunlight streaming into your bedroom. Turning your head, Jason meets your gaze, propped up on an elbow to watch over you. The both of you are still naked under the blankets but he must have cleaned up the mess between your legs. He pressed a kiss between your eyes before you can get too swept up by your thoughts.

“Hiya sweetheart.” The corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles like this. You think they’d make him look kind when he’s older. “I’m not going anywhere now, I promise.”

“Always?”

“Forever.”

[notjustjavierpena]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT Husband Javier and the reader are fighting the whole day but trying to repress it because of their kids- After they're asleep the two are arguing again and then boom makeup sex 😋 thank you angel !!!!

Fight

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This request literally had me up all night, and now it has come to life and possibly turned into one of the most sensual pieces I’ve ever written. I’m obsessed with them. 

Summary: You feel overlooked and unappreciated. Javier says the wrong thing and hell breaks loose, but he also knows how to say sorry. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (mdni!), domestic life and dynamic, grownups being assholes to each other, hurt/comfort, saying sorry to each other and to your kids because I’m healing my inner child, crying, pregnancy, pregnancy sex, passionate and rough sex, MAKEUP SEX!!!, clit stim, creampie, dirty talk, praise kink, love love love, they are just crazy about each other 

Word count: 4.2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49596877

Fight

Chucho Peña is coming over tomorrow and that’s fine. 

You’ve made plans to make plans at this point though. The list of things you need to do before he arrives still gets longer every time you have a moment to think about it to yourself, teeny tiny details adding up to a day that’ll keep you busy from the moment you wake up. It would have been fine if you didn’t have to get the kids out of bed and prepared for school, and then go to work too, right on top of cleaning, shopping, cooking, and hosting — at 34 weeks pregnant.

Javier is Javier about it, reassuring you that it will be fine and that you just need to take a breath whilst he stands in the door to the garden, back towards you and smoking his morning cigarette whilst you try to tell Inés that she should have cornflakes instead of lucky charms for breakfast. 

“Oh,” Javier says after stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray that Lucas has made for him in arts and crafts class. He turns around and rests against the doorframe, “Can we have that chocolate cake you made last time? The one with the white chocolate frosting?”

You never personally thought that you’d ever get into an argument about chocolate cake. If you’d said this to the child version of yourself, she would have laughed out loud and told you that nobody could ever be angry about anything to do with dessert. Especially not chocolate desserts. Yet here you are, letting your fatigue get the better of you.

“Sure,” you let out a loud sigh, dragging it out to really let your husband know that you are not happy about his input, “Sure, Javi, I’ll just add it to my ever-growing list of things I need to do for your father.”

You hear it as soon as it leaves your mouth but you’re too stubborn to backtrack, watching Javier go rigid in the door. He furrows his brow in confusion, and then his expression turns into a frown and eventually a scowl. He doesn’t look downright angry but not happy either. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks defensively, body language telling you that he is getting ready for another attack. He enters the kitchen like he is walking on eggshells, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I only asked you if we could. You have every right to say no, and not be pi—“

Inés looks up at him with big brown eyes that are similar to his own. He swallows down the word, replaces it with something more child-friendly, “And not be rude about it.”

“Say no and watch you be a giant toddler about it? Great, I’ll definitely choose that,” you scoff, running on autopilot and clearing the kitchen counter whilst you argue. Out of the corner, you see Inés starting to squirm in her seat but you’re too far gone by now, “It’s not even my father, and I have to do everything for the preparation because you’re oh-so-important.”

“So we’re just never having my dad over ever again?” Javier seethes, mouth twitching in anger and threatening to put on a violent smile. He has some kind of ability to piss you even more off when he is just about to smile during arguments. 

“That’s not what I said, and that’s not the point,” you stubbornly bend down, hand on your round belly, to put your own plate into the dishwasher. Sebastian is due soon, kicking you as your pulse rises due to anger. Javier looks like he is contemplating whether to help you straighten again or not. 

“Then what is the point?”

With a hand on the edge of the kitchen counter, you manage to stand upright once more. You face Javier, finally scowling right back at him and he seems to shrink a little underneath your fury, “I’m exhausted, Javier. When do you think I have had a night to myself? I know you have a busy schedule, I do, but God—“

You drag the last word out, running a hand through your hair in frustration, “But you went out with Steve just days ago. I need to cook, clean, do the grocery shopping, take care of two kids, and - by the way - do it all with someone kicking my bladder every goddamn minute of the day. Which - by the way - is your doing.”

There is no reason to sound as venomous as you do, but you suspect that half of it is exhaustion and the other half is hormones getting the better of you and ridding you of better judgment. 

“Fine, you win,” Javier makes a display of holding his hands up in surrender but he mixes it with a roll of his eyes, and you almost go for his throat, “I’m a terrible husband.”

“Oh, you did not ju—“ You raise your voice.

Suddenly, you hear sniffling beside you. It pulls you right out of your head and makes you observe your surroundings, and with the way that Javier flinches, it seems to be doing the same to him. 

Inés' little voice breaks your heart, the sight of her even more so when you see she has covered her ears with her hands, “Mamá. Why are you yelling at Papá? Don’t you like each other anymore?”

Javier sends you a look that makes your stomach drop, something that tells you that you are not done here. He looks absolutely furious with you, especially after seeing his daughter cry.

But then he sucks in a deep breath and crosses the room to crouch down beside Inés. He rubs her back soothingly, “Nos gustamos mucho, mija.”

Your legs have made you join them before your brain can even get the idea. Ever so gently, you run your hand over Inés' hair, “I’m so sorry, baby. We won’t shout anymore. Sometimes we get bad feelings. Remember when we talked about those?”

Javier looks at you with his mouth still a thin line and you glare back at him without Inés seeing. He straightens to get a piece of paper towel, first dabbing his daughter’s eyes and then blowing her nose afterward. 

Lucas Peña peeks into the kitchen from the hallway. He looks like someone who has just woken up, hair sticking out in the same way that his father’s sometimes does, but it’s accompanied by a concerned expression on his face as he watches the scene in the kitchen, “Why were you fighting?”

“We weren’t fighting,” you reassure and hold out your arm. Lucas goes to press into your side, and you respond to his affection by resting a hand on his head, “Okay?”

“Okay,” Lucas replies but he doesn’t sound convinced. 

From the outside, it probably looks like the perfect family portrait but you can feel Javier is fuming underneath the surface. He leaves Inés’ side to throw the snotty paper towel out, his shoulders still tense.

“Lucas, can you take your sister into the bathroom and brush your teeth?” You say as neutrally as you can muster, faking a smile down at him as he looks up at you, “I’ll be right there.”

“What about breakfast?” He asks.

“I’ll make you a sandwich for the bus ride. Whatever you want, but we’re already late,” you tell him, and it seems to work as he takes Inés’ hand in his own and leads her out of the room.

When Javier and you are alone again, an uncomfortable silence settles between the two of you. Javier stands against the counter, palms flat on its surface and you can hear the sound of the clock in the background, ticking by as the silence stretches. 

You are just about to apologize when Javier turns around. His eyes are wild with fury, not at all as submissive as just moments earlier when you had been the angry one. He points at you, mustache twitching with disgust that you are sure must be directed at himself too, because he says, “Never in front of the kids. I don’t care how angry you are. We don’t do that.”

You can feel your bottom lip tremble. 

Javier leaves the kitchen instead of comforting you. 

You force a smile, trying your hardest to sound cheerful while tears spill down your cheeks, “Lucas, what do you want on your sandwich?” 

*

The rest of the day goes by without any resolve, and it feels like there’s a brick lying heavy on your chest and making you on the verge of tears all day. Despite this, you manage to get everything on today’s list done before dinner and yes, you buy the ingredients for the stupid chocolate cake, making an effort to ‘casually’ leave the recipe on the counter for Javier to see. It results in him emptying and refilling the dishwasher without a word. 

During your bedtime routine, Lucas looks worried. He tugs at your hand when you are just about to leave and you can see the cogs turn in his head as he strings together a sentence, “Mom… It’s okay if you and Dad were angry at each other. I just don’t like it when you cry and… and I want you to say sorry. That’s what you make me do when I get angry at you or Dad. Or Inés.”

Your heart hurts from the love that’s barely able to be contained inside of it. With every single muscle in your body being strained, you manage to bend down to hug his head close to your chest, “Mijo.”

“No, don’t be sad,” he says quickly, hugging you back. 

“I’m not, baby. These are good tears because I love you so much,” you kiss his head, “I’m so proud of being your mom, baby. You know this, right?”

Lucas pulls back and you quickly wipe your tears away. He studies your face for a second, “Y-yes, I love you too, Mom, but you need to say sorry to Dad.”

You nod, struggle a little as you try to get up and say your final goodnight. On the way out, you desperately brush more tears out of your face because looking at the photos in the hallway makes them well up in your eyes once more. 

Javier is tying the strings of his pajama pants as you enter your shared bedroom. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you strip yourself naked except for your underwear, and not even when you pull a tank top over your head that’s barely covering your pregnant belly anymore. You’re unsure of what to say to get a reaction from him. The silence screams. 

“I’m sorry,” you eventually settle for. 

Javier turns to you then. His eyes rest on you for a moment before he speaks, “I’m sorry too. I get it… wanting time to yourself. I just didn’t know that was what you needed.”

He is hugging you soon after, strong arms around your exhausted frame. Your round stomach bumps against his flat one, and he lets go with one arm in favor of resting a hand where Sebastian usually kicks during the evening hours. It’s thankfully quiet right now, as if he senses that you need it.

“I wish you could just see how much invisible work I put into this house,” you say softly into his shoulder, “I feel so underappreciated and overwhelmed sometimes.”

“And I wish you would tell me how you’re feeling instead of treating me like a damn mind reader,” he sighs deeply, and you respond by getting defensive again. You’re just about to pull away with an annoyed groan. 

“No, no, c’mere,” he tugs you back into his arms and you let him because you’re feeling generous. His hands cradle your face, “I don’t wanna fight. Please. I hate fighting with you. I’m sorry.” 

“You make me so furious,” you whine as he bumps your nose with his own, feeling tears prickle at the corner of your eyes and one sliding down to drip from your chin. Javier tuts, catches it with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, baby,” his mouth curls downward as he says it, puppy dog eyes on their highest setting, “I know how much you do. I do. I’m just— you know how I am. Don’t cry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Javier embraces you once more as you blink tears away, dragging in a deep breath. The air in the bedroom smells like him, comforting and safe, and it makes it hard to keep concentrating on your fight and easier to fall into him. 

“I love you,” you mumble into his shoulder, and holy fuck, you do - every single day, hour, minute and second. He is your best friend, your husband, the face of your children, and most importantly, you know that he does his best for you.

It seems that those three words are exactly what he wants to hear because you feel his hands curl around the hem of your tank top. You don’t protest, relishing in the gentle touch of his fingertips against your back as he pulls the piece of clothing up and over your head. 

Your shoulders come down to relax from having been tensed up. You haven’t even noticed how much energy you have been using on straining your muscles, but now that you are calming again, you can feel how upset you’ve actually been throughout the day. 

“I love you too,” he promises. Your heart drums in your chest. The way he says it makes arousal burn below your belly button, a gentle tingling, and swirling sensation pleasantly taking over your whole pelvic floor. 

You look down between the two of you to see that Javier is already half-hard in his pajama pants, words seemingly having had the very same effect on him too. You start untying the strings of his pants slowly until you can tug them down over his hips, and he mirrors you to remove your underwear. 

Both of your bottoms pool around your feet, and when you have both stepped out of them, Javier pulls you close by your elbows. He catches your mouth in a desperate kiss, and you melt into him in a way that an apology could never make him feel. 

He pushes you back towards the bed whilst never breaking the searing kiss. Your hair is a mess in his hands, heartbeat speeding up as everything moves so fast from then on out; he helps you down onto the bed like the gentleman he is, manhandles you onto your side like the man you were swept off your feet by years ago and finally presses his front up against your back.  

“I want you,” you say in unison, and it makes you giggle at how in sync you are with each other despite having spent the day fighting over something already long forgotten. Especially when his arm scoops underneath you to cage you against his chest, hand tightening around your shoulder to hold you in place. 

Javier leans over you slightly to kiss the giggles away, bends your knees a little with his free hand so he can let it wander over you. He touches you up along your thigh as you place a pillow under your pregnant belly, takes his time holding you tightly, “Get hotter and hotter every day, mi amor.”

You press your ass back into his crotch, cunt throbbing with impatience as you hear the tiny groan that he lets out. He is so hard against the roundness of your behind, cocktip leaking steadily against your warm skin when he grinds right back into you. 

“Put it in,” you plead softly. Your hands come up to grip his forearm that is secured just above your tits, “Javi, please. I need it so bad.”

He is silent behind you as he works. The anticipation is unbearable when it is mixed with the unnerving need to have an outlet for all the intense emotions that you have just been through, your pussy quivering in desperation to be deliciously stretched out to transform your feelings into something physical. 

Suddenly, you feel the thick head of his cock between your thighs and you ready yourself for intrusion. Luckily, he doesn’t make you wait, guides himself into you in a slow motion until he is fully sheathed inside you. 

“Fuck,” you whine as quietly as you can, nails digging his arm from how hard you are gripping it.

“I know, ahh fuck, shhh,” he soothes but the way his voice sounds makes you believe that he is just as close to losing his mind, “Be quiet, baby. Just let me make you feel fucking amazing. Need a pillow between your knees too?”

You nod, and he is right there with his own pillow to help you get even more comfortable in bed with him. God, why were you even fighting? Something about cake? Either way, it seems beyond ridiculous. 

His nose is in your neck, his hand travels up to cup your breast and then he moves his body for a very first thrust inside of you. It makes your eyes nearly roll back into your skull when he keeps the pace lazy and deep, barely pulling out with each roll of his hips. 

“You feel so good,” he praises whilst mouthing along the most sensitive spot on your neck, “Makes me never wanna leave. Wanna live here.”

“Inside me?” You chuckle breathlessly. 

“Forever,” he gives you a slightly harder thrust, the first where the noise of his skin slapping against yours resonates through the bedroom. You moan in surprise, and he hushes you once more, “Don’t let them wake up and think momma is in pain.”

“Definitely not in pain.”

Javier lets out the quietest laugh. It’s almost unfair how good he is at keeping it down compared to you, but you don’t think you’ll mind having his big palm cover your mouth if you end up causing trouble. It almost happens when he pinches an overly sensitive nipple, making it harden immediately under his touch. 

“Help me spread my legs a little more,” you beg at a low decibel. 

The hand on your tit gropes obscenely and shakes for a moment before it slips down and caresses your belly on the way. Still lying on your side, he smacks the fleshiest part of where your ass and thigh meet before he cups the back of your knee so he can lift.

The move gives you the access you need to rub your cunt, two fingers going in taut little circles around the swollen nub. You rock with him too, and it goes on until you come with your back arched, releasing a short and hot breath that you didn’t notice you had been holding until it turns into a loud and accidental moan. 

“That’s my girl,” he moans too as you clench rhythmically and choke his dick when you release the built-up tension. When your orgasm reaches its peak, Javier’s hand on your shoulder moves to cover your mouth at the fear of you making enough noise to have the door burst open with unwelcome visitors, “I know it’s hard, mi vida, but - shit - but be quiet.”

You take the opportunity to let out a drawn-out and helpless cry into his hand as the sweet pleasure goes on for a few moments more. Then you slump, and he gently moves your leg down again to put less strain on your body. 

“My God,” he talks into your ear, thrusts never slowing down and you swear that you can feel his cock jump with every weak noise you make, “I love you so much. Love your little cunt too, she takes me so well.”

Javier’s hand comes down to grip the extra pounds on your hips. He tugs at the flesh almost painfully, but your exhaustion and dopamine overload are making you too delirious to notice that it’s to the point of bruising. He holds tight and uses the grasp that he has on you to pull you down onto his cock over and over. 

It takes no time to make a second orgasm stir in the pits of your stomach. Your moans change once more as your body starts responding to him fucking you so hard. 

“You think you can come again?” He rasps into your ear, and when the head of his cock slides teasingly over your favorite little spot inside of yourself, you nod frantically and it feels like you are about to cry actual tears. Fuck yes, you can come as many times as he wants. 

“Mhm, won’t take long,” you whimper and use all your willpower to lift your leg over your husband’s thigh until you are spread widely. Your belly is still comfortably supported in the new position, but now that your front is stretched taut and fully exposed like a well-trained and submissive animal, it enhances the feeling of Javier gliding over your g-spot repeatedly.

Javier removes the arm that he has caged you in with, but whereas it gives you a moment to heave a breath of air into the very bottom of your lungs, he quickly takes it away from you as he reaches up with his other hand to grab your throat. He doesn’t squeeze like he normally would when you are not pregnant, but the anticipation of him doing it makes your head swim. 

And then he is absolutely brutal in his thrusts, and before you know it, you are coming with your clit untouched and a strangled sob. The convulsions are so intense that your thighs shake, your toes curl and your eyes screw shut. 

You reach up to put your hand on the back of Javier’s head, holding on tightly as he pounds into you from behind throughout your orgasm. The way he pants tells you that he is close, and when you yank the tiny curls at the nape of his neck, he starts to chase his release. 

“Javi,” you whisper loudly as he slams into your sensitive cunt, “Give it to me. Pleasepleaseplease. Need you to fill me up.”

“Fu— oh shit,” Javier swears in a low, rough growl as he snaps his hips a few last times before stilling inside of you. He feels impossibly big inside your cunt as he pumps you full of his come, cockhead resting at your cervix and coating you in warmth. 

“Jesus, we’re terrible at being quiet,” you whisper as he pants. You let your leg come down onto the other once again, a giggle suddenly building up in your chest. He starts laughing whilst still inside of you, hugging you tightly into his chest and nuzzling his nose into your cheek.

“They sleep through it, don’t gotta worry about it much anymore, I think,” he notes without care, kissing your cheek repeatedly despite still not having calmed his breath. You smile widely as you stare at the ceiling, overtaken by the love you feel for him every time he gets you to post-orgasmic bliss. 

“We need a date night soon though, Jesus. Perhaps Pop could take the kids home with him tomorrow after dinner and I could… do this again,” he smacks your ass playfully, then strokes your hip in soothing circles, and you almost purr like a cat at the gentle move, “Without a mute button on my pretty wife’s mouth, of course.”

“I’d like that,” you say with a soft and sweet sigh, acknowledging his attempt to make things from earlier up to you, “Been a while since you’ve made me scream. Wanna take our time.” 

Javier reaches down between you to pull out before he is completely soft. You hiss at being left empty when you are so spent, but Javier quickly distracts you with another string of kisses to your cheek and the corner of your mouth. He adds to the fantasy, “And then I’ll draw you a bath and you can spend as much time alone as you want. Don’t gotta be no one to anyone.” 

He moves on the bed as far as his arm that’s trapped beneath you allows him, going for the packet of wet wipes you keep on the nightstand. He had suggested them when it had become too hard during your third trimester for you to get out of bed after sex. He hands you a few and you hold them over your mound, enjoying the coolness of them.

“You know the way to my heart,” you say, wiggling a little and feeling his come seep out. It makes your nose crinkle.

“Well, I did convince you to marry me,” he replies. 

“Worst decision I’ve ever made,” you tease. Javier wraps his other arm around you, hand splayed on your belly. 

The position you are in is uncomfortable; Javier’s arm underneath you has got to be asleep by now and you feel damp with sweat due to him being like a furnace against your back.

Still, you both drift off slowly into the soundest sleep. You don’t wake up until two unexpected visitors barge in at the most ungodly hours of the morning, causing you to scramble for the blanket to cover your bodies up and hide the come-stained wet wipes in the nightstand drawer.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 45!

what a week... i'm greatly enjoying all of the post-8x06 buddie fic (many more recs to come!) and took some time to revisit old favourites, which can be found in previous rec lists. enjoy!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

all that we need | not1_2write | 26.4k | M

When Buck buys a Powerball lottery ticket he doesn't think much beyond his need for change to air up his tire. He forgets all about the ticket until word spreads that the winning ticket was sold in LA and hasn't been claimed yet and pretty much dismisses it. After all, there's no way he won the lottery. Turns out no, he really did win the Powerball, to the tune of 295 million dollars and just in time for Christmas. He's going to make sure the 118 has the best Christmas of their lives. And just maybe he'll have a good one too. idk about all of you but i do dream about winning the lottery regularly (way too often for someone who's never bought a ticket, that's for sure). this is such a lovely look at what buck would do with a whole lot of money <3

i take this magnetic force of a man | playinginthunderstorms/@playinginthunderstorms | 9k | M

Turns out, he isn’t actually afraid of commitment. He’s just afraid of committing to the wrong thing, or the wrong person. Ana, obviously, had been a mistake, because he hadn’t been ready, and he’d put other people’s expectations above his own wants and needs. With Marisol, he’s done the same thing. Moved too fast, doing what he thinks is the right thing according to who? His parents? For Chris’s benefit? Again, pushing past his own comfort, discarding any doubt because it doesn’t fit like… Like Buck. blanket rec for one of my favourite authors who has been posting incredible fics lately!! this one in particular is so beautifully written and so romantic and just so very buddie <3

if i need to rearrange my particules i will for you | thelikesofus/@thelikesofus | 7.9k | GA

Eddie catches a cold and Buck takes care of him while having a minor, non-platonic emotional crisis. this is definitely influenced by the fact that i've been ill myself but wow truly nothing hits as hard as buddie taking care of each other when one of them isn't feeling well. the bed sharing in this is so good <3

let me | facewithoutheart/@facewithoutheart | 1.6k | T

Eddie doesn't think he needs romance. Buck, respectfully, disagrees. AKA the fic where Buck picks Eddie up and kisses him breathless against a wall. and buck is so right for doing that!! i love it when buck turns eddie to jello <3 so lovely!

second child, restless child | lesbianrobin/@lesbianrobin | 23k and counting| M

how Evan and Maddie make it out of Pennsylvania, and Buck and Maddie build a family. okay so listen these past few weeks i've been doing this thing where i only rec finished fics, and every time i scroll through my ao3 history for these rec lists, i come across this one and go oh i wish i could rec this already. and then i realised wait it's my rec list i can do whatever i want, and so then i did. anyway, mind the tags for this one, but wow are you in for a treat here! i love the character dynamics (chim is brilliant in this!! and maddie!!) and i'm so so excited to see the rest of this fic unfold <3

said that i was fine, said it from my coffin | justhockey/tumblr | 7.3k | T

And it doesn’t matter that he feels like he’s dying. Like the version of himself that he’s always been is suddenly a stranger to him - just a mask he’d spent his entire life hiding behind, without ever even realising he was wearing it. It doesn’t matter that Eddie is…that he’s gay. Because he knows - as surely as he knows that the sun will rise again tomorrow - that the only person he has ever, and will ever, truly love is Buck. And Buck isn’t his to love. another blanket rec for an author who's been posting incredible fics!! this one in particular has such brilliant eddie characterisation and i just devoured it the second i got that little ao3 email hehe

there's no place like home-spun | icewhisper | 4.1k | GA

Buck has spent most of his life trying to find something to settle fidgeting hands and the restless need for a home. He found the key to the latter when he was thirteen. He finds the former in a cozy home on South Bedford Street with two of his favorite people. (AKA the Buck-crochets fic that literally no one asked for.). this fic makes me want to learn how to crochet. i am the least crafty person ever and i have like minus time but just know that if two weeks from now i'm posting about yarn and crochet hooks and whatnot, it's all thanks to this fic. i love buck who crochets so very much <3

you get your dreams for free | llovely/@butchdiaz| 14.9k | T

five times buck and eddie cuddle drunk and one time they cuddle sober. buddie bed sharing my absolute favourite. i read this late at night curled up under three blankets and it hit just right <3

[st-eve-barnes]

Sanctuary

(Osferth x fem Reader)

Summary: The night before he leaves for battle Osferth seeks comfort from you.

(Baby Monk has stolen my heart so I had to write something for him. I'm only on season 3 of TLK so this version of Osferth is mostly based on the ending of season 2)

Word count: +3100

Warning: 18+ for explicit content and language. Virgin Osferth, cock warming, seriously so much cock warming I have no idea where that came from but it's his thing now.

Comfort smut (cause apparently that's my thing), lots of fluff and cuddling. Uhtred is the best wingman. Quite a bit of angst as well, I may need to write a Part 2 ;)

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

It was a quiet night in the ale house of Winchester where you served the customers. The majority of the crowd that night already went home hours ago, it was only Uthred’s men that hung around a little longer, wanting to prolong their last night before preparing for battle.

The group had settled in your little town a couple of months ago and they had quickly become your favorite regulars. Unlike some other locals they always treated you with respect, even when they had too much to drink they never forgot their manners. Both Finan and Sihtric as well as Uhtred had jumped in numerous times to help you deal with rude or too handsy drunken assholes and you had come to respect their group not only for their strength as warriors but mostly for their kindness. Having them around made you feel safer.

You were cleaning up behind the counter when Uthred came to you.

“Lady Y/N,” he leaned against the bar, greeting you with a big smile,”We will be out in a little while, I am sorry for keeping you here so late tonight.”

“That’s alright, I know you guys are leaving tomorrow. And I have no one waiting for me at home so…take all the time you need.”

He looked at you and shook his head,”How does a lady like you have no one waiting for her at home?”

You put down the glasses you’d been cleaning and gave him a smile,”I don’t know, the men in this town are idiots.”

“They must be,” he agreed, making you smile.

“Did you come here to flatter me or was there something else you wanted to ask?”

“Actually…I did have a question for you.”

You leaned against the bar to look at him,”Ask away.”

“We are leaving for battle tomorrow.”

“Yes, I have heard. Again?” you raised your eye brows at him.

He shook his head with a small grin,”Unfortunately again.”

“What do you need?”

“It is not me,” he explained,”But my friend…your favorite baby monk.”

You couldn’t help your lips from curling up into a smile at the mention of him. “What’s with my favorite baby monk?”

“He is very anxious tonight.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on him all the time and show him some more compassion.”

“He does not need compassion from me, my lady, that would not benefit him.”

“And what would benefit him then?” you asked, knowing precisely where he was going with this but wanting to hear him say it.

“Maybe…he just needs someone to be soft with him, tonight.”

“Be soft with him, huh? Uthred of Bebbanborg, you’d better not be suggesting what I think you are…”

He lifted his hands in innocence,”I would never suggest such a thing, my lady. I am merely…opting that maybe you could offer him some…comfort on this difficult night.”

You rolled your eyes at him,“I’m thinking maybe you should ask someone in the house next door.”

He was quick to shake his head at your words,“That is not the kind of comfort he seeks. I think he would much prefer…someone he knows well…someone he likes.”

You stayed quiet.

“You know he has the biggest soft spot for you,” Uthred then added, putting a smile on your face.

“Yes, I do.”

“And you for him?” he asked.

You sighed and smiled softly. “Maybe, yes,” you confessed.

Uhtred smiled. “Well then, he is by the river, just outside of the castle walls, should you wish to find him. Don’t tell him I sent you.”

****

You found Osferth an hour later by the river just as Uhtred said, sitting in the grass by himself, eyes fixated on the water in front of him. It was dark but still warm, the summer breeze a welcome solace after another hot summer’s day.

When you moved closer you could see he was clutching at his cross and his eyes were teary. Year heart sank.

You had come to care for the monk more than you’d ever expected over the course of the past months. The most quiet one out of Uhtred’s group with his sweet smile and innocent eyes, he had caught your attention quite early on and stole your heart just as easily. The two of you had built a friendship that involved a lot of playful flirting but neither of you ever crossed that line. You knew his group was only passing through and you had no intention of getting involved with someone who was likely going to leave soon. You had known enough heartbreak already in your short life.

But tonight you didn’t care about any of that. Looking at him now you just wanted to crawl into his lap and cuddle up to him, kiss away his sorrow and just hold him close, in your arms, where you could keep him safe. 

You carefully stepped closer.

“May I join you?” you asked, making him look up. His lips instantly curled into a smile at the sight of you and he nodded.

You sat down next to him, close enough for your knee to bump into his. Osferth didn’t seem to mind, instead of pulling back he let his leg lean into yours.

“I didn’t see you at the tavern tonight,” you stated.

“No, I…I preferred solitude over ale tonight,” he explained, looking away from you and making you hesitate.

“Maybe I should leave you to it then.”

“No!” he was quick to grab your wrist before you had a chance to move,”No, please, don’t go.”

His eyes met yours again and you could see the tears he was trying to hide from you.

“Stay, please, my lady, stay with me,” he begged quietly, keeping his hand on your arm. 

You placed your hand over his, giving him a soft smile,”I’ll stay, as long as you want, my sweet baby Monk.”

He smiled through his tears and leaned into you, letting his head fall down onto your shoulder. You didn’t hesitate to put your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. Osferth melted into you, arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight while he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel his heartbeat against yours and after a while you also felt his tears on your skin, making you hug him even tighter.

You sat like that for quite some time, just letting him cling to you while you caressed his hair and his back, trying to soothe him. 

Uhtred hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Osferth was anxious. It took him a while to stop shaking in your arms and you gave him all the time he needed.

When he finally pulled back his eyes carefully locked with yours, his hands were firmly locked on your waist, not planning on letting go any time soon.

“We leave in the morning,” he then explained.

”Yeah, Uthred told me. You’re going with them? Into battle?”

He nodded.

“You don’t have to do that, you know? You have nothing to prove, Osferth.”

”No, I know but…I want to fight, I want to help, it’s just…,” he bit his lip and shook his head,”why am I so terrified?”

You cupped his face and pressed your forehead against his.“It’s okay to be afraid, it’s normal, they should all be afraid.”

“I just…want to be useful,” he said, letting his eyes rest on yours.

“And you are not useful if you don’t fight?”

“I don’t…”

“What about me then, huh? I don’t fight, am I not useful?”

He just stared at you before a soft smile played on his lips,”How can you think that you are not? My lady…your beauty makes my life worth living. Your smile…makes me feel like I have a reason to fight, that no matter how dark it gets there is so much light here and all I have to do is…look into your eyes to find it. You light up my whole world.”

Your heart was melting and for the first time in your life you were completely lost for words.

His hands were caressing your hips and he softly nuzzled your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he then whispered shyly,”That was too much, wasn’t it?”

You smiled and leaned into his touch.”No, it wasn’t, that was…the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You could feel him smile against your cheek and you both cuddled up to each other. You moved your fingers through his hair and Osferth sighed into it. HIs shyness disappearing a little more with every touch.

“Can I stay close to you tonight?” he then whispered into your ear.

“Yes,” you answered softly,”I’d really like that, Osferth.”

You both leaned back to look at each other. There were no more tears in his eyes now but something else, something more pressing.

“May I kiss you, my lady?” he breathed.

You nodded,”Yes, please.”

His lips found yours in a soft but needy kiss, you pulled him closer and when his tongue found yours you knew you would given him everything he wanted tonight.

You didn’t do anything more than kiss for a long time, melting into each other. His kisses were addictive and the way his hands kept caressing your back and your hair, gentle but with purpose, was only making you want him more.

“May I kiss your neck?” he asked after a while, his voice merely a whisper against your lips.

“You may kiss me everywhere you want, you don’t need to ask.”

Osferth carefully pulled you closer into his lap and you went willingly, legs on either side of him as you straddled him. He kissed your neck, soft and slow, letting his tongue trace patterns all over your skin, tasting you.

“Fuck,” you breathed,”I didn’t know monks could kiss like that.”

He smiled bashfully,”How did you expect monks to kiss then?”

“Not like that,” you breathed and bit your lip, letting your hands move through his short hair while your hips rolled against him.

It had been a while since you’d been with a man and even though you’d had a little crush on Osferth for some time now you had never imagined being with him like this. But right now, feeling his lips and feverish breath on your skin and his growing hardness between your legs, you couldn’t imagine ever thinking of anything else.

“Osferth,” you moaned his name and he bucked his hips in response.

“Is it too much, my lady? Do you need me to stop?” 

You shook your head and looked into his eyes,”No, it’s not too much. It’s…it’s not enough.”

He licked his lips while keeping his eyes on yours,“You sure?”

You nodded and moved your hips again, making his cock twitch in response.

“Give me more,” you breathed.

He kissed your lips again, hot and sloppy and with a need that matched your own. Osferth pushed your skirts up, hands finding a way underneath to cup your ass over your underwear, holding you down on his, by now fully hard, cock.

“Will you have me, my lady?” he whispered against your lips,”All of me?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He started fumbling with his own clothing, trying to get rid of the many layers between you both. Your hand slipped into his breeches to wrap around his length and stroke him slowly, Osferth’s mouth opened in the most delicious moan.

“My lady,” he whimpered,”I need…please….oh god…”

“Have you ever laid with a woman, Osferth?” you asked.

He was quick to shake his head,”No, I have not, my lady.”

Your eyes met his and you halted your movements.

“No, don’t stop, please,” he begged.

“Osferth,” you cupped his face, forcing him to look at you,”Look at me, baby. Slow down for a second, are you sure?”

He frantically nodded his head. “My lady…I want this, I’ve wanted this for a while now…with you…I want this with you. I want you.”

HIs lips found yours in a deep kiss and any hesitations you may have felt faded. You wrapped your hand around his length again, pushed your underwear aside and guided him between your legs, Osferth was quick to move his hips, pressing his erection against your clit, making you lose focus.

You moaned into his kiss, encouraging him to do it again, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds and then teasing your entrance.

“I want to feel you,” he breathed into your mouth.

You lowered yourself down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He was bigger than you’d expected, and it took you a few moments to adjust and catch your breath.

Osferth was clinging to you, burying his face against your neck, teeth grazing your skin while he breathed hard and tried to control himself. You both stayed still, bodies wrapped around each other and his cock buried deep inside of you.

“Can we…can we just stay like this?” he then asked softly,”For a while, please.”

You nodded and hugged him close, foreheads pressed together. 

“You feel so good,” he breathed,”so warm…and so safe. I just…want to stay.”

You closed your eyes and tried to calm down your breathing. The feel of him, stretching you and filling you up was heavenly but it was more than that. It was the way he touched you, so much longing in every kiss, the desperate way he clung to you and that soft fondness in his eyes every time they locked with yours. 

You had never felt so full or so wanted in your life.

You didn’t want this moment to end, didn’t want him to leave you in the morning with the prospect of him not returning to you. The thought suddenly made your heart sink with anxiety. You clung to him harder and Osferth kissed your forehead and your jaw to finally land on your lips again, his kiss slow and unhurried.

“It’s okay, my lady,” he smiled softly into the kiss.

Both of you allowed yourselves to get lost in the moment, prolonging the inevitable and doing everything you could to make it last. You forgot how long you sat there, just kissing and coming up for air to stare into each other’s eyes, the moonlight and soft waves of the river your only companions.

After some time you both lost the fight, your hips started moving against his and Osferth was quick to join you, soft little whimpers escaping his lips as he buried his face into your neck and surrendered to his needs. 

He grabbed you and slowly pushed you down onto your back on the grass. You protested when he carefully pulled out but your protest was silenced with another kiss as he pulled down both your underwear all the way, giving him easier access. 

He slid in again with ease and then he was fucking you, slowly and thoroughly, pushing into you deeper with every snap of his hips.

You moaned his name and held him close, meeting his thrusts. His lips were back on your neck, kissing and biting as his moans grew stronger and heavier. You knew he was close.

“My lady,” he whimpered,”I can’t hold back any longer.”

You grabbed his hand and pushed it between your legs.

“Touch me, here,” you begged in a needy whisper.

“Teach me,” he breathed,”Show me what to do.”

Your hand moved over his, guiding his fingers over your clit and slowly circling it,”Just touch me…like this.”

Osferth was a quick learner, he pushed your hand aside and took over, his fingers putting the perfect pressure to make you see stars. You clenched around him and with a few more deep thrusts he filled you up and came with your name on his lips. He crashed on top of you when it was over and you wrapped both arms around him to hold him in place, close to you, his head on your chest as he listened to your racing heartbeat.

He didn’t pull out for the longest time after that, still wanting to stay inside of you, neither of you wanted to move.

You were the first to eventually speak, caressing his hair and kissing his forehead,”Osferth, we shouldn’t stay here, you need your sleep if you are to leave tomorrow.”

“No sleep…all I need is you,” he whispered against your neck.

“You can sleep in my bed, if you want,” you offered with a little smile and he reciprocated instantly, lips curling up into an eager smile as he leaned back to look at you and nodded his head. You couldn’t help but laugh,”Come on then, baby monk.”

The rest of the night was spent in your bed, but it didn’t involve lots of sleeping. Osferth made love to you twice more that night, once more fast and needy in the heat of passion and then once more slowly and relaxed afterwards, the both of you relishing every touch and every caress as if it would be the last. Because it might very well be.

You both eventually fell asleep when the sun was already starting to come up, his cock still buried deep inside of you.

You said goodbye to him a few hours later, clinging to him as he stood in your doorway. You had done what you’d set out to do that night, take his anxiety from him, only you had done it literally. Osferth was calmer that morning, evidently feeling stronger and more determined than the night before. But you were shivering in his arms, feeling weaker and uneasy, terrified to let go of him and have him disappear from your life.

Being so intimate with him last night made you realize how strong your feelings for him were and now the thought of losing him was the scariest thing in the world.

“Come back to me,” you whispered in his ear.

“I promise you, my lady,” he whispered before leaning back and giving you a reassuring smile. You pulled him into one last soft kiss before letting him go.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you then sighed and avoided his eyes. 

Osferth cupped your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb while he stared deep into your eyes.“Have some faith, my love.”

But faith wasn’t your strong suit, you were a heathen, much like Uthred. Worse even, you didn’t believe in anything, not even Valhalla, yet the following weeks you were on your knees every night praying to any God that would listen, begging them to bring your baby Monk back home to you safely.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Grew in my Heart

It's finally done you guys!!!! This is my take on a foster Pony au, loosely based on this idea from @freak-l0rd-certifed. It's currently unedited but I'll post it here anyways, and then cross post an edited version on my ao3. @pepsicurtis asked to be tagged when it was done based on a snippet I posted earlier, so here you go. This is part 1, part 2 is fully written and will be up tomorrow.

***************

The lady on the other side of the room is watching him.

That’s okay though. Ponyboy is used to people watching him. Social workers, foster parents, group home staff, police. Everyone watches him all the time but nobody cares, cares for him or about him, so Ponyboy doesn’t mind this lady joining in. He knows he looks weird, with his sticky out ears and the patchy haircut Mr. Fuller gave him and the bruise around his eye. So he understands why this lady is watching him, and doesn't begrudge her for it.  Besides, she looks like a nice lady. Nice ladies don’t usually watch him. If they do they don’t usually look at him with the kindness glowing in the woman’s shining green eyes.

The lady smiles at him and he ducks back into his book, ears burning. She wasn’t supposed to catch him looking.

When he peeks over the top of his copy of Great Expectation a minute later, she’s still watching him, smiling in a way Ponyboy would call amusement if he didn’t know better. He quickly hides again, cursing himself for drawing notice. It’s never a good thing. Never. Better he stay quiet, stay invisible. Invisible kids didn’t get hurt.

He hopes Ms. Summers will come back soon and take him to wherever he’ll be staying next, if only so that he can leave the waiting room, escape from where this nice lady and her nice family are no doubt waiting for them to bring a brand new baby to adopt. Probably one only a few days old, something sweet and cute and new they could love and pamper. Nice people only ever came to the child services offices to pick up babies. Anyone who came to pick up kids was usually about as nice as the people who dropped them off. 

He goes back to his book. Usually it’s easy to escape into the story where he can pretend to be a knight or a hero or anything but stupid, small, unwanted Ponyboy Hewitt, but he can’t seem to concentrate today. It’s not just because of the nice looking lady with the green eyes who keeps watching him, keeping an eye on him the same way she’s been keeping an eye on the three boys who came in with her. His head is also aching something fierce. That last knock from Mr. Fuller was kind of hard. 

Hard enough Ms.Summers thought he should move again anyway.

“Quit fidgeting, Soda,” an authoritative voice from the other side of the room says, and Ponyboy can’t help but glance over. He tells himself it’s because the speaker was kind of loud, but he knows deep down that’s not the case. It’s not because the boy is loud, it’s because he’s cool. He’s a lot bigger than Pony is, and older too, with wavy brown hair and broad shoulders. He could probably look Mr.Fuller square in the face and never be scared, not ever. “We have to show we’re the perfect family or they won’t let us keep Johnny.”

“Really?” The boy who answers has golden blond hair and rosy cheeks with a dimple high in one corner. Pony never really understood what books meant when they talked about eyes twinkling until the boy had pranced into the office a few minutes before, looking like a prince straight from a fairytale. His eyes aren’t twinkling now though: instead, they’re shining with worry. His shadow, a smaller boy with jet black hair and tan skin, looks the same, eyes wide and terrified in his peaked face. “They can’t do that just ‘cause I’m sittin’ wrong, can they mom?”

He turns anxiously to the nice lady who smiles and smooths down his hair.

“Of course not honey,” she soothes, “we don’t gotta prove we’re perfect to keep Johnny, we just gotta prove we love him. And we do.”

She turns her smile on the dark haired boy who flushes and ducks his head shyly, looking unfathomably pleased. Ponyboy swallows hard and looks away, his own ears reddening. It’s not fair for him to hate the dark haired boy, he knows it isn’t, but it doesn’t matter. In that moment, he kind of hates him anyway. 

The woman’s gentle smile has confirmed what he suspected all along. She’s a nice mom, the kind he’s only ever read about in storybooks. She probably kisses those boys goodnight- even the big one, even if he pretended it wasn’t cool- and probably smells like cinnamon and bakes birthday cakes sometimes, puts bandages on cuts, and never slaps them, not ever. 

He wants Ms. Summers to come back. He wants to leave. He doesn’t want to sit here and watch a boy his own age get adopted by the kind of family he wishes he could have more than anything in the world. 

The blonde boy sticks his tongue out at the cool one and makes a fart noise.

“See Darry? They ain’t gonna take Johnny! You’re stupid and wrong!”

“Sodapop Patrick Curtis!” A man Ponyboy assumed must be the nice lady’s husband and the boys’ father boomed, “What have I told you about using that kind of language towards your brother?”

“That it's not how we speak to our family,” the blonde boy, Sodapop, says like he was reading off a teleprompter. Clearly, this was not the first time he’d heard that particular reprimand, “but dad, I was only defending my other brother.”

“Be that as it may,” Mr.Curtis said, “I don’t want to hear that language from you any more.” He sounded stern, but his eyes were still glinting proudly and there was a smile hiding somewhere near the corner of his mouth. Not a scary dad then. A good one.

“Yeah Soda,” the older boy, Darry, grinned, seeming unperturbed by the insult. He was real handsome, Pony thought. If he was Sodapop he’d never call that Darry boy stupid, not ever. “Save that language for socs. Or Two-bit when he’s playin’ poker against Dally.”

Sodapop laughed then, any traces of animosity disappearing, Johnny grinning quietly beside him. 

Ponyboy decides he’s done watching them be happy, and goes to the washroom.

He does his business, standing on tiptoe to reach the sink when he’s done because it’s meant for adults not for kids and there's no footstool. He can’t reach the soap, even when he jumps, so he just settles for rinsing extra long. The paper towel dispenser is also too high to reach so he dries his hands on his pants and goes back to the waiting room. 

“Oh honey, wait,” he doesn’t realize the nice lady is speaking to him until she’s kneeling in front of him, tugging his shirt from where he hadn’t noticed it had gotten twisted and tucked into his pants, pulling it out and smoothing it down nicely, “there you go. All handsome again.”

She smiles, looking like sunshine incarnate, and Ponyboy kind of wants to die.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, sure he must be redder than a tomato, then flees back to his chair on the other side of the waiting room. They’re all watching him now, the nice lady and her nice husband, and the three boys who are now all sitting in a circle on the floor, playing a game of cards. 

He opens Great Expectations to a random page and stares at it hard, trying very hard not to cry. He’s almost seven years old, he’s not a baby anymore. He will not cry just because one lady was nice to him and now her perfect family is staring at him. He won't. 

“Hi!” Suddenly, blonde, beautiful Sodapop is in front of him, grinning like Ponyboy is the best thing he’s ever seen ever, “I’m Soda. Wanna play cards with us?”

He wants to, more than anything, but he knows if he does it’ll just feel worse when they leave and he doesn’t go with them , or when Ms. Summers comes to drag him away to whoever will bother keeping him for the next few weeks, so he can’t.

He shakes his head, unable to actually say no, and Soda deflates, eager grin melting into an unhappy pout, shoulders curling forward, and the twinkle in his eye dimming. He looks like Pony just ruined his whole day with one shake of his head. 

“Ok,” he sighs, dramatic and world weary, and it would seem like an act if his eyes weren’t entirely genuine, “if you change your mind, you can c’mon over anytime. It would be so much more fun with another person.”

He rejoins the other two boys who shoot curious looks Pony’s way, but he ignores them, looking back at his book. He’s not reading though. He can’t. Instead he’s listening to the boys playing cards, wishing more than anything that he could join them.

“I win.” Dark haired Johnny proclaims for the third time and Soda throws down his cards with a dramatic groan, while Darry just laughs. He seems real nice, not like the big boys at the group homes who liked to steal Pony’s books and shove him around. He hadn’t gotten mad at Soda or Johnny even once, not even when they were playing Go Fish and Soda cheated by peeking at his cards. 

“You little shark,” Darry ruffled Johnny's dark hair, the smaller boy flinching a little before leaning into the touch, “how do you keep doin’ that, huh?”

Johnny shrugged. “It’s a secret.”

“You’re cheatin’!” Soda accused.

“Am not!”

“Are too! No one wins as much as you.”

“I’m just good at cards without cheatin’.”

Soda huffed. “You’re lucky you’re my brother now or I’d fight you.”

“I’d win.” Johnny boasts, and suddenly he looks fierce, chin jutting and eyes fiery, like every kid in every home who fought grownups and just ended up beaten down worse. 

“That’s enough,” Darry pulls the two apart, practically picking them each up with one hand, “quit arguin' or I’m putin’ the cards away.”

“No!” Soda throws himself to the ground, arm draped dramatically across his forehead, “I’ll die of boredom!”

“Then sit up and be good,” Darry tells him, and Soda scrambles to do as he’s told. Pony feels his own spine straightening. It’s just because he’s tired, he tells himself.  It has nothing to do with wanting Darry to look at him with the same approval he looks at Soda and Johnny with. He needs to stretch out a bit, that’s all.

“Y’know,” Darry says, disarmingly casual, easily shuffling the cards the way Pony always wanted to but could never manage, the movement too deft for his clumsy fingers, “there's so many more games we could play with four players.” 

If he didn’t know better Pony would swear Darry was looking at him sideways as he said it, grinning conspiratorially like they were sharing a joke. 

“Euchre…gin rummy…spades…signals…”

Pony’s heart jumped. He loved signals. 

It was practically another invitation right? And Soda had said he could join anytime if he changed his mind…surely one game wouldn’t hurt. 

He scoots forward a bit on the chair, considering. 

“Well?” Suddenly Darry- handsome, cool Darry- is grinning right at him, one eyebrow raised, “You in or not?”

And well….that was an actual invitation. From a big boy no less! Usually boys like Darry wanted nothing to do with him.

Pony could feel what was surely a far too eager grin spreading over his face and he nodded, quickly taking a spot on the floor in between Soda and Johnny. Darry’s grin turned triumphant, like he was the one who’d just been invited to play cards by a cool stranger. 

“Nice. What’s your name kiddo?”

“Ponyboy.” He mumbles, bracing himself for laughter that never comes. Instead Darry just nods, starting to deal cards with ease. 

“Tuff name. I’m Darry, and this here’s Johnny.” 

Pony offered a shy smile in response to Johnny’s friendly nod, earlier vitriol forgotten. It wasn’t Johnny’s fault he was lucky. Pony shouldn’t hate him for it. 

“You already met Soda.”

Darry gives Soda a fondly exasperated look, and Pony focuses very hard on the cards being dealt so he won’t have to look at their faces.

Unsure of what to say, he just nods. Luckily, Darry keeps talking.

“Well Ponyboy, I reckon since you just joined you get to pick the game.”

“R-really?”

“Sure.” Darry smiled kindly. Golly he was nice. “We’ll play a few rounds and then switch it up if any of us are getting bored.”

“Can-” Ponyboy hesitated. Darry nods, encouraging him to continue, “can we play signals?”

“Sure. You okay to be on a team with me?”

“Yes,” Pony could hardly believe his luck. Not only were they playing his favourite game, but Darry wanted to be on a team with him!

“Ok,” Soda chirped, “me’n Johnny are going over there so you don’t listen to us pick our signals like cheaters!”

“Soda!” Mr Curtis warned.

“I’m bein’ nice!”

Pony giggled. 

“Ignore him,” Darry advised, scooting over to sit beside him, “I wish I could say he’s just bein’ crazy ‘cause he’s excited, but the truth is he’s always like that. He ain’t really mean though, just has too much energy.”

“I know,” Pony tells him, “I seen mean before. He ain’t it. If he was mean he’d have taken my book or followed me to the bathroom and put my head in the toilet.”

A horrified gasp makes him jump. He’d momentarily forgotten all about sunshiney Mrs.Curtis, but now she’s staring at him in horror, eyes filled with rage. 

What did he do? Did she not want him to be telling her nice golden sons about stuff like that? 

“I-I’m sorry I-” he can feel his ears burning and wishes more than anything he’d stayed on that hard plastic chair where he was safe instead of getting drawn in by the light of the family in front of him. 

“Whoa, hey,” Darry catches him by the arm before he can scramble to his feet, grip not bruising like he’s used to but gentle, reassuring, “where are you going? We haven’t picked a signal yet.”

His smile is so hopeful. Hesitantly, Pony settles back down. 

“Ok.”

“Well?” Darry nudges him gently, carefully. It seems to Ponyboy that someone so big shouldn’t be able to do that and not hurt him just a little bit, but somehow Darry manages it. “What signal do you think we should do?”

Pony glances across the room at where Soda is gesturing exaggeratedly and talking at Johnny a mile a minute.

“Something small,” he decides, “something they won’t notice.”

“Good thinking,” Darry’s approval feels like sitting in the sunshine and eating ice cream and reading a book all at once, “how about…rubbing our noses?”

He demonstrates, rubbing a finger under his nose like he’s scratching an itch and Ponyboy nods, copying the action. 

“Perfect.”

He raises his left hand then. Taps his ear. Waits a few seconds. Taps his ear again.

“What are you doing?” Darry wonders. 

“I have a trick,” Ponyboy informs him.

“Oh?” Darry’s raising a single eyebrow again, looking intrigued. A swell of unearned pride starts in Ponyboy’s chest. 

“Yep,” Pony nods, “they’re watching us right now.”

Darry follows his gaze across the room to where Johnny is watching them out of the corner of his eye, while acting for all the world like he’s still focused on Sodapop. 

“So,” Ponyboy continues. He taps his ear again, “if we do a fake signal now, like we’re practicing, and then do it while we’re playing they’ll call signal and get themselves disqualified and we’ll win.”

“Huh,” Darry reaches up and taps his own ear, “good thinkin’ kid.”

Pony glows.

“We’re ready,” Soda announces a second later, dragging Johnny behind him, “and we have the best signal ever. You’ll never guess it.”

“We’ll see.” Darry challenges, flipping the first card off the deck, and the game begins.

Pony checks his own hand. Two jacks, a two, and a seven. Deciding to go for jacks he passes the two facedown and slides it left to Johnny, picking up the ten Soda placed down for him on the other side.

He passes and trades cards for a few seconds, managing to pick up a third jack on the way. When it’s been long enough it’s not suspicious, he reaches up and taps his ear, trying to make it seem like he’s scratching an itch.

The trick works. 

“Block!” Johnny cries triumphantly, pointing at him and Pony grins, shaking his head. 

“Nope!”

“What?” That’s Sodapop, “We’re out? But-but I’m with Johnny! Johnny always wins!”

“Guess not this time,” Darry grins, raising a hand. It takes a second for Pony to realize he’s reaching out for a high five instead of to cuff him, but when he does he reaches out eagerly, tapping Darry’s palm with his own.

“How did you do that?” Johnny wonders, head tilted in confusion, “I saw you tapping your ear earlier when you were making your signal.”

“It was a trick!” Pony grins. Darry is pleased, and they just won a card game, and no one here has gotten properly mad at him at all. 

Johnny shakes his head, grinning ruefully. “Well it was a good one.”

Soda declared he wanted a rematch, so they played a few more rounds, until Johnny figured out their trick and then both teams had so many fake signals and everyone was too scared to block anyone and could hardly remember their real signals from their fake ones. Darry was just proposing they switch to playing crazy eights when Ms. Summers hurried out of the office, looking harried as usual.

“Oh! Ponyboy,” She looks surprised to see him sitting on the floor, “don’t go botherin’ these nice folks now. I know you’ve had a long day, and I promise I’m workin’ as hard as I can to figure things out so just sit tight and be good a few minutes longer. I just got a few more calls to make and I’ll get you some lunch, alright? C’mon and sit properly now, that’s a good boy.” 

She pulls him to his feet, not roughly exactly, but carelessly, the way he’s used to, and he ducks his head, shoulders curling automatically as she frog marches him back to the plastic chair in the corner of the waiting room she’d parked him in at seven o'clock this morning.

“He ain’t botherin’ us!” Suddenly Soda is on his feet, glaring at Ms. Summers. “We invited him to play. We’re havin’ fun.”

“He’s really no trouble,” Mrs. Curtis smiles, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder. Her voice is as sugar sweet as ever but there’s something hard in her eyes nevertheless as she stares Ms. Summers down, “the boys are all havin’ fun playing together and I have no problem keepin’ an eye on him for you. He’s a good boy, like you said.”

She turns the full force of her smile on him, her eyes suddenly all softness, and Ponyboy finds himself wondering what it would be like if somebody looked at him like that every day, like he was something instead of nothing.

“Well, if you’re sure, I suppose that's fine. You be good Pony,” Ms. Summers says, and then she’s gone again, back into the office, back to making phone calls to find someone, anyone, willing to take him in.

Pony stands where she left him, half dragged across the room, lost in the waiting room he’d spend what felt like half his life in.

“That lady,” Soda says, “was a bitch.”

Darry’s eyebrows shoot up, and Soda grins cheekily over his shoulder in a way that says he fully expects a reprimand, but to Ponyboy’s surprise Mr.Curtis just nods slowly.

“Y'know son, I think in this case you might be right.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Mrs. Curtis says, but it’s so half-hearted even Ponyboy can tell. Her eyes are fixed on Ms.Summers’ door, lips pressed into a thin line, and Pony gets the feeling she’s real mad but hiding it real well.

“She don’t know what to do with me,” Pony finds himself defending his social worker. She ain’t mean really, ain't even a bad person. She’s just busy. Too busy to really care. “It ain’t her fault. I cause her a lotta problems.”

“I have a very hard time believing that,” Mrs. Curtis says, “I don’t think you could cause problems if you tried.”

He could. He wasn’t like Curly from the group home, who did everything he possibly could and then some to cause problems, but Pony did create them sometimes. One time he’d burned Mrs.Delvine’s sheets when he was ironing because she hadn’t given him dinner the night before. And he’d put half a shaker of salt in Mr.Fuller’s soup after he gave him this stupid haircut. But he never tried to cause problems for Ms. Summers and he still caused them anyway.

He shrugs. “No one wants me. It’s her job to find someone who’ll put up with me. I can’t blame her for bein’ tired.”

“You’re still a little boy,” Mrs.Curtis shakes her head, and usually Ponyboy hates being called little but he finds he doesn’t mind too much when she says it, “she shouldn’t be takin’ any of her frustrations out on you.”

Pony wants to tell her that his own mother didn’t want to be stuck with him so he can hardly blame his social worker for feeling the same way. He wants to tell her about how tired he is and how much his head hurts and how hungry he is. He wants to tell her a lot of things. He doesn’t.

“Oh honey,” he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he’s wrapped in a warm hug, held protectively against Mrs. Curtis’ chest, his sobs muffled against the stretched collar of her pretty yellow dress. He’s sure he must be getting snot on her, but she doesn’t seem to mind, holding him closer when he starts to squirm away and apologize, cooing to him until he settles down, “oh honey.”

She scoops him up then, because she’s a grown up and he’s still pretty small for six years old, and she sets him on her knee and kisses his forehead, and even if it won’t last and he will never feel this again after today, for once he knows what it’s like to be comforted and loved by a mother. 

Golly he’s tired.

“You just have a sleep now,” she pulls his head down to rest against her shoulder, running a gentle hand through his shorn off hair, “you just have a good sleep and don’t worry about a thing.” 

He feels his eyelids drooping. She drops a soft kiss on his forehead, her fingers never ceasing their soothing motions in his hair.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby,” he hears her say as he drifts off, “I promise. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

He sleeps.