#i just got the idea and had to do it okay?

[skyeisabarnes]

Soldat

She and The Winter Soldier are each other's only solace on the H.Y.D.R.A base.

The Winter Soldier X Reader

Bucky Barnes X Reader

"I need to know, kid-"

The snarl that left her lips was animalistic. "Don't call me that," she said, her voice low enough to be a growl.

A sigh left Steve's lips as he stared at her. But his blue eyes weren't intimidating, not in the slightest.

Not compared with what she was used to.

He held up a picture. "Do you know this man?"

It wasn't a clear picture, not in the slightest. Nearly impossible to make out who the picture was of. But she knew. Of course she knew who he was. He was the most terrifying man she had ever met.

"Have you got a date with death, Captain America?" She mused, tugging at her binds. "Because that's all you'll get by seeking him out."

A single flame appeared on her fingertips. She held it against the rope around her wrist.

Steve let his head fall, shoulders slumping forward slightly. "Why are you doing this, kid? Why do you want to work for H.Y.D.R.A?

She clenched her jaw. "I told you, Captain, don't call me kid." She smirked at him as her flame singed at the rope. "I've fucked men older than you."

Pink dusted his cheeks as he turned away from her.

"And," she continued, "for the record, I don't want to work for H.Y.D.R.A. Just like your friend, I don't have a choice."

Her words weren't supposed to be comforting, but warm blossomed in Steve's chest. Of course Bucky wasn't doing this out of choice. Somehow, he was being forced.

The rope fell away from her wrists, but she stayed still.

"He will come for me."

"The Winter Soldier," Steve said and she nodded, confirming it.

But then Steve crouched in front of her, his arms resting on his legs. "Good."

Her fist connected with his face. Not yet surrounded by fire, that would come if he didn't let her go. "Trust me, Captain, I'm saving you!" She yelled as he stumbled away from her, giving her room to stand up. "The Soldier won't hold back when it comes to me."

It wasn't supposed to be a brag, but it was. When you have Earth's most dangerous assassin at your beck and call, it's kind of hard not to brag.

Each step left marks in the floor, soot in the shape of her boot. "If it wasn't for him, I'd thank you for getting me out, Captain." She said it with such sincerity, Steve could only stare. "But I can't leave him there."

Her fists were on fire as she walked away from him. Captain America should have been putting up more of a fight, but he let her go, watched her walk away from him.

At the sounds of screams from outside of whatever building she was in, she broke into a run. Through the empty halls of the building and through the doors, out into the light of midday.

Whatever plan Captain America had, it was a bad one.

He stalked towards her, killing everything in his path. The mask and goggles covered his face, but she knew it was him. She would always know it was him.

"Soldat."

His movements were slow, purposeful as he moved towards her. He said nothing as he became hurried, almost desperate.

This wasn't the first time she had been his mission. She had never been afraid of him, of the danger he possessed.

He held his gun in his metal hand,his other arm stretched out towards her. He spoke in Russian as he took her hand and pulled her into his side.

"I'm okay," she said back to him, switching to Russian. "I'm safe, Soldat."

He was silent as he took her away, his hold on her tight. She wrapped her arms around him as he took her away on his bike. Her arms were tight around him, face pressed against his muscled back.

All the while, she had no idea she was being tracked.

***

He held her tight as H.Y.D.R.A tried to pull them apart. But The Winter Soldier wasn't going to let her go.

"Soldat," she whispered, thumb moving over his cheek. "I'm okay. You can let me go."

A grunt left his lips, but he made no move to release her. But then they started to say those fucking words. "Longing."

"No!" She cried. She searched his blue eyes, tried to work out who he was. The Soldier, or the man he used to be.

"Rusted."

"Soldat." His hand came to rest on top of hers, his other arm still holding her tight.

"Furnace."

He drew in a sharp breath, but he didn't let go of her. He wouldn't let go of her, until his mind wasn't his own.

When they finished those damned words, The Winter Soldier released her. He was still reluctant, moving slowly and unwillingly.

But, as soon as he let her go, they grabbed her, took her away from him. Unlike the Soldier, she wasn't brainwashed. She didn't need reconditioning.

She struggled as they took her away from The Soldier. But she would find her way back to him, she always did. The last time H.Y.D.R.A tried to keep them apart, The Winter Soldier slaughtered everybody in his way to get to her.

"Kidnapped by Captain America," said her handler, her researcher as he stalked towards her, notebook open. "I thought you were trained better than that."

She stared at him, resisting a scowl. "Father," she said and held her chin up. "I don't understand why I am here."

Her father released a chuckle. "We need to understand how, Darling. How did a highly skilled killer get kidnapped by Captain America."

She shrugged her shoulders and looked down at her boots. "He caught me by surprise," she mumbled and shoved her hands into her pockets.

"How?"

"James."

She stopped in her tracks upon hearing his name, her mission forgotten. She knew that name. James. Her Soldier.

"You know James."

Her hands shook at her sides, ready to swing. "No," she managed to spit. But her voice was strained, as if it hurt to say.

But really, she didn't know a James. She knew The Winter Soldier, not the man he was before. The man he was before wasn't hers to know.

"Sorry about this, kid."

"I'm not a-"

But something hit the back of her head, and she crumpled to the floor.

"I don't know," she answered, her voice shaking. "I wasn't concentrating."

He wrote something down.

"It won't happen again."

"It won't happen again, what?"

"It won't happen again, sir."

They dragged her away after that, dragged her back to her soldat. But they didn't have to drag her, she went willingly. All she wanted was to get back to him. Her steps were hurried, her guards holding her back.

As soon as she was in the cell, she was upon him. "Soldat," she whispered as she stood before where he sat on the bed.

His legs were already parted, but he gave her enough room to climb between them. His hands settled on the backs of her thighs as he stared up at her.

Again, she couldn't tell who she was looking at. The Winter Soldier, or James.

Her hands settled in his shoulders. "Soldat," she whispered again. "James."

"I know that name," he whispered.

"It's yours, according to the man that kidnapped me."

A sigh left his lips. His hands moved up, settling on her waist. "Did he hurt you?" He asked, blinking when she pushed his hair out of his face.

She shook her head. "No, but he wanted to get to you," she answered and kissed him. It was only quick, testing what James would let her do.

He kissed her back, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"What if I could get you out of here?" He whispered, his flesh hand moving up her back. "Would you want to come with me?"

This was all she had ever known. But she hated it. There had to be better for her out there, better with him. With James, with her Soldier. She would take him any way she could get him. As James. As the soldier. As Bucky.

She nodded her head as she climbed into his lap. "In a heartbeat," she whispered as she laid her head against his shoulder.

His hand closed around something around her back. He tugged it from her shirt and held it in his palm. "I think I've found us a way out, sweetheart."

She was so damn scared, but she had him by her side. Her James. Her Soldier.

[kronik1312]

I get that playing pretend and doing the social script of "how are you?" "I'm good thank and yourself?" " I'm good ...yada yada" has a good routine and expectations with 0 social responsibility beyond pleasantries.

But when mental health started being a topic of regular discussions, one of the points that was constantly repeated was "normalise not being okay" and that included breaking the social standard script.

Often, it looked just like that, someone breaking social script, brushing it off, and moving along. Which surprisingly actually encouraged people to reach out and for others to probe little more and maybe even for others to also admit maybe when they weren't okay even if they had no idea what to do after admitting that.

Which also got people suddenly resenting the fact other were more willing to admit they were struggling, these people often carry large amounts of shame and fear (for many reasons such as culture, religion, personal or generational truama etc) so to justify these feelings they lash back out telling people to stick to the script, to put the emotions and confidence to admit those emotions back behind closed door and mouths. So that they never have to face any sort of social accountability to the emotions of those around them, who may be planning, attempted or may very well experiance mental health issues if not attempt to end their own lives.

-i could rant on about how after covid with social media peoples overconfidence to say the quietest most fucked and unquestioned thoughts and opinions loudly and proudly, with 0 expectations to take accountability for these absolute truama dumping or straight up pure unfiltered racist, bigoted, transphobic, misogynistic, homophobic propganda/indoctrination and or violent rhetioc. But whilst that is connected to why we see a surge once again to be conservative socially again (including a push to stick to nuerotypical social scripts based on white lies), I lack the time and comprehension skills to explain in a way I would be confident would be minimally misunderstood.

hate when someone asks how are you and you say good how are you and they say "oh not so great" or something. it's always like ohh okay i see we're being honest i thought we were playing pretend. can i have a do-over

[enwoso]

silver lining | alessia russo x teen!reader x leah williamson

-> based on this request:)

grumpy masterlist

leah knew it was a bad idea.

scratch that. she knew alessia was going to think it was a bad idea.

but when her fourteen-year-old daughter came to her with your hopeful glimmer in your eye asking if she'd take you to get your belly button pierced — leah had found herself hesitating for all of less than ten seconds before muttering a probably irresponsible "yeah, alright."

leah never could learn to say no to you.

but that was the thing about you — you were impossible to say no to when you gave her the look. the same one your mum had mastered all those years ago when you were little, the same one that leah was yet to, ten years on.

and besides, leah could remember what it was like to be a teenager, how desperate she's been to do something, anything which made her feel a little more grown up.

so that was how the two of you found yourself standing outside the piercing studio. you, practically bouncing on your feet, a bundle of excitement wrapped in your hoodie which was far to big for you. but leah had to admit, she admired your confidence.

"you're sure about this right?" leah asked, shifting on her feet waiting to be seen by the lady on the desk.

you gave your mama a deadpan look, crossing your arms as if she just asked the most ridiculous question ever. "you're the one who said 'yeah alright'" 

leah sighed as she watched you quote her exact words, before humming, "that was before i thought about how i might actually die when your mum finds out."

you just grinned, "nah you won't die, she loves you too much to do that”

leah groaned, rubbing a hand over her hand. "and that's exactly the reason why i might die."

but there was no turning back now. you had done your research, picked a proper studio, and leah had already signed the consent form. you were in this together. and really, how bad could this be? It wasn't like you were getting a massive tattoo or something.

...okay, yeah, alessia was going to murder her.

—

by the time they got home, you were still high on adrenaline, lifting the hem of your hoodie every few seconds to admire the small silver barbell now in your belly button.

leah, on the other hand, was feeling increasingly queasy about the conversation she was going to have with a certain blonde.

you, in your infinite wisdom, had suggested you both just not tell alessia.

to which leah had responded, "oh yeah, because she definitely won't notice that the daughter she gave birth to suddenly has a hole in her stomach."

so, when you both walked through the front door, leah braced herself.

alessia was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove, the scent of tomato sauce filling the air. she looked up when they entered, her sharp blue eyes scanning them. she never missed a beat.

her gaze narrowed. "why do you two look so guilty?"

you, traitor that you were, immediately took a step back. "i'm just gonna—"

"lovie." your mum's voice was sharp. yeah, you were in trouble. you froze mid-step.

leah sighed. "okay, so, funny story..." alessia's eyes snapped to her. "leah."

leah winced.

you, apparently deciding to just rip the band-aid off, lifted your hoodie to reveal the new piercing. "i got my belly button pierced!" you announced, as if it was the best news your mum was going to hear all year.

alessia's expression did something complicated—her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again, before she turned to leah, eyes blazing as she smacked her with the tea towel she was holding. "you took her?!"

"ok, ow" leah held up her hands in surrender. "okay... okay yes, and before you yell at me, she really wanted it, and it's not that bad, and i figured better with me than some sketchy place with her mates in a few years—"

"that's is not the point, leah!" alessia huffed, rubbing her temples. "we were supposed to talk about things like this!"

you, ever the opportunist, chimed in. "mum, i did try to talk about it. but you said 'no.'"

"because you're fourteen!" alessia shot back, quickly.

leah winced. "technically, she's nearly fifteen..."

alessia turned to her with a glare that could have melted steel "do not start." so leah wisely shut up. not wanting to spend the night in the dog house.

alessia exhaled sharply before fixing you with a firm look. "you know you have to clean it properly, right? no touching it with dirty hands, no swimming for a while, no—"

you nodded enthusiastically. "i know! i did all my research, and the lady gave me a care leaflet!" you grinned taking the leaflet out from the pocket in your hoodie.

alessia crossed her arms. "oh yeah? and what about football? what's your plan for training? you think you can just run around like normal with that?"

leah nearly laughed—she could see the exact moment you realised you had been waiting for that question. because you, in all your determinations, stubborn glory, had prepared for this. prepared for every outcome.

"actually," you said, pushing your shoulders back, "i already checked. the lady said, i just have to cover it with a proper bandage during training, and i can't do contact drills for a couple of weeks. plus, i'll be extra careful, and if anything starts feeling weird, i promise you, i'll tell you straight away. and i won't touch it with dirty hands, and i'll clean it every night, and i definitely won't let any of the girls at training try to poke at it—"

leah watched as your mum's frustration wavered, giving way to reluctant acceptance. she knew her wife—knew that despite the initial anger, alessia was already moving past it.

finally, alessia sighed, shaking her head. "you two are a nightmare, you know that."

you grinned. "yeah but you love us." alessia huffed. "unfortunately."

leah slung an arm around her wife, pressing a kiss to her temple. "you'll forgive me eventually, yeah?"

alessia groaned but didn't pull away as the undeniable smile arose on her lips. "yeah, yeah. just wait until she asks for a tattoo."

leah paled. you, on the other hand, lit up.

"...oh, for fuck's sake."

[bucktommyyendgame]

bucktommy - general - post ep 8x15

cw: main character death

Buck has no idea how he gets outside, but someone helps him out. He only comes back to awareness when he hears the voice, the familiar arms around him, hell, even his scent is something to hang onto right now.

"I've got him," Tommy says in a low voice, wrapping his arm around Buck.

He doesn't hear the response, but he's in Tommy's arms and he feels safe enough to sag against him.

"Tommy," Buck says on a sob. "Tommy, Tommy."

"I know, baby," Tommy whispers. "Come on, Karen's going to take us to the hospital, okay?"

Buck nods against him.

They go to the hospital to be with Hen and Chimney. They hug, they cry on each other's shoulders, and Tommy is there the whole time, rubbing Buck's back, hugging the rest of their family, getting water and coffee. When it's finally time to head home, Tommy calls an Uber and soon enough, they're pulling up to the house.

Tommy turns to him. "I can stay or I can go. I need to get my truck from Harbor, but I have time. Tell me what you need, Evan, and I'll do it."

Buck swallows against the tide of tears that haven't stopped in, what feels like, hours.

But he doesn't have to think about it. "I need you. Please stay."

"Okay," Tommy answers softly. "Okay. I'll stay."

Tommy thanks their driver, helps Buck out of the car and into the house.

"Shower," Tommy says gently. "Come on, I know you won't feel better, but..."

"It's..." Buck sobs again. "It's better than nothing."

Tommy just kisses the top of his head. He guides Buck into the bathroom, helps him undress, and Buck has the presence of mind to be grateful that Tommy had helped him ditch the turnouts at the scene, so they don't have to deal with that.

Tommy turns the shower on, lets it warm up then helps Buck in.

"Your clothes are still in the bottom drawer," Buck says. "I, um, I didn't have the heart to get rid of anything. Brought...brought them with me."

Tommy smiles at him softly. "Okay. I'll change. Holler if you need anything."

"I will."

Buck lets the water fall against his face. He doesn't make much effort to scrub himself, but the water feels a little better against the grime of the day. Once he gets out, the house smells of eggs and bacon and Tommy's in the bedroom with the bed tray.

Tommy holds up a hand against Buck's protest that he's not hungry. "I know. But you really should eat something. Please?"

Buck sighs, wipes his hands along his still damp cheeks. "Okay."

They manage a few bites each and Buck notices the sadness on Tommy's face.

"You lost him too," Buck says softly.

Tommy looks at him. "I was never as close to him as you were, but yeah, he did...he did a lot for me. More than I ever had the chance to thank him for. I'm going to miss him."

Buck sobs. "I miss him so much."

Tommy moves the tray onto the top of the dresser, then pulls Buck into his arms, lays with him as Buck cries. He feels the way Tommy's tears drip onto his face too and that makes him cry harder.

At some point, their crying stops and they just hold each other.

They fall asleep wrapped around each other. Buck has no idea how long this is going to feel as awful as it does.

But he's glad he's not alone.

[astroellies]

imgonnagetyouback (prologue)

ellie williams x reader

moving somewhere new was never easy. especially in the apocalypse. and especially when you think your crush despises you.

warnings! villianization of cat (i’m sorry). ellie and reader are around 16 in the flashbacks, 18 in the present day. loser reader. loser ellie. miscommunication trope. useless lesbians. slight rivals to lovers. substance/alcohol use. this is kinda just background.

TWO YEARS PRIOR

your parents had been saying for weeks that jackson was finally getting close.

weeks of ten hour hikes, followed by sleeping bags and hard ground or moldy mattresses. weeks of hunting for your meals and eating them burnt. weeks of soggy socks and mosquito bites.

when your parents had heard about the possibility of refuge they didn’t put much thought into leaving the qz. they packed you and your stuff and headed towards wyoming.

what they didn’t think about was the absolute shit show that would stop them from completing their journey.

hordes and infection took them out. now you were left, alone and helpless with no idea where the fuck you were.

a week ago you had manage to find a supermarket to hideout in to sob into your hands and accept death. your food and water supply were nearly depleted. days were getting colder, even if you found game to hunt and a water source you couldn’t fight off the cold with just the clothes on your back.

you curled into the fetal position in a corner of the building. wallowing in self pity and grief, you had no way of getting yourself out of this one, so you cried again.

light muffled voices came from outside of the building and you froze. you strained your ears but couldn’t make out what the voices were saying. you weighed your options, do you reveal yourself and beg for help? or stay put? what if they were enslavers looking for more workers? your mother had told you about large groups that forced their captured to work to the death.

you decided the the latter. you held your breath as the voices got closer. you heard a thud against the boarded off doors to the store. then another and the doors gave way.

“see, ellie, i told you that would work.”

“yeah, yeah. just check for supplies, tommy is gonna to be pissed if we’re not back soon.”

from your spot you couldn’t see the the speakers of the voices. both girls. they sounded young, your age.

“mmm but i like being alone with you.” said the first girl. you could heard the voice drop, low and sultry. gross.

the footsteps closer to you now. you swallowed hard, trying your hardest not to move.

the second girl half scoffed, half chuckled, “seriously, cat, we need to get back so-” the voice cuts as the girl rounded the corner and made eye contact with you.

she clearly wasn’t expecting anyone, infected or otherwise, in here. she has a baby face, cheeks still round and wide green eyes. her chest rises and falls in quick breaths, trying to see if you’ll attack. you stay curled up on the ground.

“ellie you okay?” the first voice gets hers closer then comes up behind the girl, ellie, and says, “oh fuck.”

“i’m not infected!” you say, panicking. they have guns and you really, really don’t want them to shoot. “i- i can prove it!” you’re pulling your clothing to show them you’re clean.

“ellie, what do we do?” cat asks.

ellie has been staring at you the whole time, but she seems to snap out of her daze when she hears her name but doesn’t pull her gaze away from you, “uhh…we take her to tommy.”

“you alone?” she asks.

“yeah, yes.”

she nods then she raises her gun at you, but her finger isn’t on the trigger. “get up.”

you scramble, throwing your backpack over your shoulder and standing on wobbly legs.

“are you armed?” ellie asks.

“just a knife. it’s in my bag.”

“give it to me.”

you hand her the knife and she swallows. no one knows what to do next.

“um…cat you lead, i’ll…i’ll follow to make sure she doesn’t run off.”

cat nods then turns her gaze to you, looking you up and down, “this way.”

the three of you hike, you don’t know if ellie is still pointing her gun at you, but you’re too scared to look back and upset her. so you take in the girl in front of you. a teenager, she was probably a year older than you at most. she has short black hair and you can see tattoos on her arms peaking out from under her jacket.

you follow cat into the suburbs, old rickety houses and some completely collapsed. she leads you into a fenced off yard of one of the houses and you find a middle aged man and a teenage boy.

“tommy! we found a girl at the supermarket. she says she’s alone.” cat yells out.

the man, tommy, and the boy turn towards the three of you. “she hurt?” you know he isn’t just asking if you have any scrapes or bruises, the real underlying question is is she infected?

“no, she’s clean.” cat says, and looks back at you.

tommy looks at you and points with his chin. “what’re you doing out here alone?”

all the attention turns to you and you suddenly feel very small. “my parents had heard rumors about a town, jackson, somewhere out here so we fled from a qz. they uhm…they’re dead now. i was staying in the supermarket.”

all three of the teens turn to tommy, gauging his reaction.

he’s quiet for a long while then says, “jesse, grab the horses. you can come with us.”

you panic, you don’t know these people or their intentions. what if they were slavers your parents had warned you about? or raiders? or cannibals?

“what? where are we going?” you should have lied, should have told ellie you didn’t have any weapons so you could run and hide, curl into the corner of the supermarket and die.

“you’ll see.” tommy hops onto his horse and holds out a hand to pull you up. you look around and the others have all mounted their horses as well. you don’t see that you have much of a choice you you take his hand.

the group rides for a while, all you see is forest and abandon buildings and your heart is racing. who are these people? is tommy their leader?

you’re starting to feel as though they don’t know where they’re going either when you crest over a hill. in the distance a large fence closes off building from the rest of the world, and inside the walls of the fence you see lights.

“is this-”

“jackson.” tommy says, waving a flag above his head, “we don’t let many new people in. you’re lucky.”

when you entire inside the gates you stand off to the side, waiting for the group to put their horses in the stable. the town is different from anything you’ve seen before, it looks like the movies from before. kids run around the town freely and people are laughing. it’s nothing like the qz.

ellie is the first out of the stables. she approaches you from the stables and hands you your knife.

“sorry if we scared you earlier, we’re just cautious of newcomers. i’m ellie. and here’s your knife back.”

“no it’s okay! i mean, this place is fucking insane i get why you’re protective of it.” your fingers brush her palm has you take your knife and butterflies erupt in your stomach. she’s got the cutest mole under her left eye that scrunches up when she smiles.

she’s quiet, as if debating what to say, “i came here a couple years ago, if you need someone to show you the ropes let me know.”

“okay! thank you.” you feel your face warm.

“ellie, we gotta go! we’re going to be late for movie night.” cat comes out of the stables.

“sorry i have to go. i’ll see you around?” ellie says, rubbing the back of her neck.

“yeah!” you say but she’s already turned, walking towards cat. as the two walk away throws a cold look over her shoulder.

the next few months were a blur. lots of questioning from maria about how your parents had heard of jackson and what their intentions were. how they died. then assimilating you into the community. maria often partnered you with jesse, dina, ellie, or cat for patrols. she made you tag along to their hangouts, she told you they’re good kids, most of them had been in your situation once too.

A YEAR AND A HALF PRIOR

it had been six months since you arrived in jackson. winter was coming to a close and it had been gloomy for weeks with no sign of the sun coming out anytime soon.

dina sits across from you in the mess hall, picking at her bread and soup. her and jesse were on a “break” again and she wouldn’t stop talking about how he was ignoring her on group patrol today. you had stopped listening a long time ago.

“anyways! we’re having a bonfire tonight just outside the gates, you should come!”

“i dunno,” you push your heel into the ground, dina had been almost overly welcoming to you when you first arrived in town but you weren’t sure of the others. it just felt like you were bugging them when you tagged along. “who’s gonna be there?”

she lists off people on her fingers, “me, of course, jesse,” she rolls her eyes but continues, “cat, ellie, some others”

you let out a puff of air “why do you say her name like that, dina?”

“because it’s literally so obvious you have a massive crush on her.” she says like it’s common knowledge. maybe you weren’t as subtle as you thought.

“i do not!” you feel your face heat up and you hide your head in your hands.

dina laughs, “yes, you fucking do! you actually listen to me when i talk about her!”

“ugh stoppp. i don’t!” you whine.

she just gives you a look.

“i don’t!” it’s a lie and you know it but you couldn’t handle dina teasing you in front of ellie or the others.

“i’m serious, though. you should come,”

you sigh, “fine, i’ll go.”

that night after dark you meet up with everyone at the northern gates.

nights were still frigid, you pull your coat tighter around you.

“is this everyone?” you ask dina.

“yeah. anddd i stuck into the tipsy bison to get us something to keep us warm.” she winks and pulls the top of a bottle from her back.

“dina! we’ll be in so much trouble if we get caught!” you look around to make sure no house lights turn on.

“we won’t! ellie and i used to throw full on parties at a campground a few miles south. this is nothing.”

you give her a pointed look and wait for jesse to finish opening the gate.

the group makes a hike into a spot on a lake just outside of jackson. there is already a pit for the fire and jesse and ellie get started on lighting it. ellie’s got her hair back in a low bun, pieces around her face falling out. her cheeks and nose are rosy from the cold.

her eyes glow with the light from the sparks, “got it!”

you end up perched on a log between dina and ellie.

“dee, you got any on you?” ellie asks.

“only if you say please.” dina says, already reaching into her bag.

“pleaseee.” ellie flutters her lashes dramatically.

“eugene rolled it and everything.” ellie reaches across your body for the joint, as she retracts her arm it brushes against you and you hope no one notices you freeze up in the dark.

ellie takes lights it then takes a hit, “ah, i was wondering why it looked so nice. you always fuck it up.”

“i do not!”

you giggle and shake your head. the two fought like sisters.

dina pushes you with her shoulder, “you smoke?”

“uh, no i don’t…i haven’t before.”

“oh my god are you serious? do you want to?”

“i guess…i’ve just never had the chance to.”

ellie plucks the blunt from cat’s hand as she brought it towards her own mouth.

“ellie!” she yelps, annoyed.

“cat she’s never smoked before, let her take a hit.”

you look at ellie’s outstretched hand and up at her eyes. she gives you a playful squint, almost daring you to take it from her.

you slowly bring the joint to your lips and suck in but the smoke gets stuck in your throat and you cough so hard your eyes fill with tears. “what the fuck!”

everyone laughs. everyone except for cat, who stares you down. her eyes flicker between you and ellie and lock on yours. you turn away, her gaze too intense.

jesse throws you a bottle of water, “take in easy.”

the rest of the night is filled with giggles. dina shares stories of how joel walked in on her and ellie hotboxing ellie’s garage.

jesse checks his watch, “i hate to be a downer but it’s getting late and some people have patrol in the morning.” he looks at ellie and cat.

“yeah, yeah grandpa, we can head back now.” ellie grumbled.

the group disperses while ellie and jesse take care of the fire and dina picks up her bottles. you stand off to the side, facing jackson, waiting for dina to come back. you hear footsteps approach and look to find cat. she stands next to you, facing out towards the town.

“hey.” you say, giving her a close mouthed smile.

“hi.” she crosses her arms over her body, mirroring your own posture.

“tonight was fun.” you feel a bit awkward, she’s lingering but her presence isn’t comforting like dina or ellie’s.

“mhm.” she turns to look at you and leans in, “just so you know, you’ve been making ellie really uncomfortable with you staring problem but she’s too nice to say anything about it.”

you feel your heart drop down to your ass. you didn’t think she had even noticed your glances, let alone be upset by them.

“what? i had no idea, should i apologize?” you look behind you, ellie’s laughing and shoving jesse away, playfully calling him a dick.

“no, but i’d really appreciate if you stayed the fuck away from my girlfriend.” she says in and overly sweet tone. she looks back to the others.

“guys c’mon it’s late!” she says, already making her way back towards jackson.

ellie rushes to cat’s side and gives her a kiss. you try not to flush with embarrassment, you didn’t mean to upset her.

dina falls into step with you. “you okay?”

“what? yeah.” you laugh, it sounds forced and unnatural, “just tired.”

she side eyes you, “okay, weirdo.”

[spiteful-opossum]

I’m gonna go with dead tired just cause that’s my favorite.

Tim was having a stressful day. He’d had a rough patrol the night before. He then woke up later than he should’ve, which was still really early for him because he had a virtual meeting with a team in a different time zone. The espresso machine at the only coffee shop that would give him 10 shots of espresso was broken. And to top it all off he had to deal with a new board member who was trying to convince him get rid of the company’s robust maternity/paternity leave program to increase “shareholder value”.

So to sum it up Tim’s day had been stressful but not unbearable. But that was all over now. He was finally done with work for the day and wasn’t scheduled to patrol for the night. He was gonna go home and have a nice, relaxing, entirely average evening where nothing big or important or unexpected was going to happen. The idea of spending the night relaxing with his boyfriend, Danny, was the main reason Tim didn’t try to kill the new board member.

When he finally got home and opened the door he was greeted by the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen, Danny. Danny was currently doing homework for one of his classes on the couch. Tim went to go take a quick shower and get changed into something more comfortable before making Danny take a break. He’d learned the hard way just how much Danny can get consumed by his astronomy homework. His passion for astronomy was something Tim loved about the guy, but sometimes he could lose track of time.

When he came back he was not expecting Danny to have finished whatever he was doing and moved to the kitchen table. He must’ve taken longer in the shower than he thought. But when he went over to his boyfriend to say hi he got concerned by the expression on his face. His usual relaxed and unserious expression that he even maintained while being kidnapped was gone and replaced by a very serious one. Tim was officially alarmed because in several years of dating he’d never seen him like that.

“Danny? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Tim couldn’t help but asking. Every worst case scenario in the world and how to deal with them was running through his head right now. It only got worse when Danny looked at him a bit concerned and had to take a deep breath. He was also fiddling with something that he couldn’t quite see as it was covered in a paper towel.

“Tim we need to talk.” Danny said “i have some big news, you should probably sit down for this.” And Tim did as he was told taking a seat next to Danny at the table.

When Tim sat down he put his hand on Danny’s arm and said “Whatever it is I can handle it.”

“I really hope you mean that,” Danny responded before taking another deep breath and continuing, “I know we’ve only been together for a couple years, but they’ve been the best years of my life. But I don’t know how you feel about this and I’m worried how you might take it.” Then he pushed whatever he was fidgeting with towards Tim. When he unwrapped the paper towel he was shocked. He didn’t know what he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t this. It was a pregnancy test, a positive pregnancy test. He picked it up and just stared at it for a few seconds, then back up to Danny wanting to confirm he was seeing this right.

“You’re pregnant?” He asked not bothering to hide the hope in his voice.

“Yeah,” Danny started, “And I get it if you’re not quite ready for this, I know I’m not, but I want to keep-”

Tim didn’t let him finish that thought before pulling him into a tight hug. “I love you, and I agree. I’m definitely not prepared to be a dad but I’m going to try to do my best to try anyway. This is great news and no matter what I’ll always be right beside you.”

Accidental Parenthood

DP x DC Prompt

Danny's life is pretty good right now. His parents have accepted him as Phantom. Vlad remains a Thorn in his side that won't go away. The Justice League had tried to put him on one of their young hero teams after his parents flagged them down about the GIW and the Anti Ecto Acts. He refused them because he's petty that they ignored the calls he and his friends made whenever they thought they needed help on something that looked out of their control. He's accepted to just being a person that they call on for help whenever they need it.

He's only in Gotham now, after he graduated high school and the whole business of the Justice League trying to get him to be part of their little group, because it has the only university that's crazy enough to enroll a Fenton.

He's found a balance between his university life, his Ghost King duties, and the Justice League needing his aid on a few occasions. He had to deal with a few unexpected instances where he was mistaken for a Wayne, but those were handled when he was, reluctantly, saved by the Batfam (he's still got the pettiness in him from being ignored for most of his high school years).

That might have been where his life started to change, as he soon found himself in a secret relationship with one of the Wayne boys, who even accepted him when he told them that he's Trans.

Near the end of his scholarship at Gotham University is when he learns of something that will definitely be a turning point in his life.

He's in the Far Frozen, having Frostbite check up on him because he's been feeling pretty weird the past couple of days. And it's here where he's told that he is pregnant.

[xoxosierralane]

| ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴʟʏ |

✎ from sierra: hello hi there, my first time posting a fic on tumblr let’s hope i did this good..! and i also hope you guys enjoy this little chapter and lmk if you would like another, im also open to any ideas and writing tips. also ty to @sierrale8ne @thaatdigitaldiary & @bueckersbitch for some tips when i asked they def helped, you guys are lovely also check them out 🌺

✎ synopsis: when an overworked pre-med student wakes up late for class, the last thing she expects—aside from the existential spiral mid-lecture—is to be roped into tutoring UConn’s star point guard, Paige Bueckers. Paige is charismatic, cocky, and somehow always talking. The reader is sleep-deprived, sarcastic, and trying desperately to avoid any and all distractions. But when tutoring sessions turn into unexpected walks home, avoiding Paige becomes impossible. She’s not just a classmate—she’s a slow, sneaky problem. And worse? She lives next door.

✎ warnings: language

There are few sounds in this world more horrifying than your alarm going off thirty-five minutes after your class already started.

The second my eyes fly open, I know something is wrong. It’s that eerie, sun-too-bright, birds-too-loud kind of wrong. That creeping, soul-leaving-my-body realization as I blink at my phone screen and see the time:

9:53 AM.

Class started at nine. I should be halfway through pretending to understand biochem pathways by now, not halfway to a heart attack in bed.

I launch out of my sheets like a woman possessed, nearly tripping over the half-folded pile of laundry on my floor and banging my shin on the corner of my desk. (Why do dorm room desks always have the sharpest edges known to man?)

“Okay, okay, it’s fine,” I mutter to myself, pulling on the first pair of jeans I can find and a hoodie that may or may not have toothpaste stains on it. “You’re only, like, an hour late. People have survived worse.”

My hair’s still in the braids I did last night, thank God, because if I had to fight edge control and lateness at the same time, I would’ve just dropped out on the spot. I grab my bag, shove in a half-closed notebook, and toss a granola bar in my pocket like it’s some kind of sacrificial offering.

By the time I get to the lecture hall, I’m fully out of breath and lightly sweating. Cute. Nothing says “serious STEM major” like showing up late and looking like you just ran a 5K.

I try to sneak in, pulling the door open as quietly as possible (which means it creaks like it hasn’t been used since the Civil War), and immediately feel a hundred pairs of eyes swing in my direction. My professor pauses mid-slide.

“Nice of you to join us,” he says dryly, not even bothering to hide his smile.

“Sorry,” I mumble, keeping my head down as I scurry to the only open seat in the second row, of course. Because the back row? The safety zone? Taken. God has favorites, and I’m clearly not one of them.

I sink into the seat and pretend I didn’t just make a grand entrance. The girl next to me—blonde, tall, looks suspiciously like someone who could dunk on me if given the chance—glances over with a raised brow and the tiniest smirk.

“Rough morning?” she asks, her voice warm, a little teasing. It’s got that slightly drawn-out edge to it, like she grew up saying “pop” instead of “soda.”

I shoot her a look. “Don’t.”

She puts her hands up in mock defense but doesn’t stop smiling. Great. A morning person with cheekbones. Just what I needed.

I turn back to the lecture, trying to catch up on whatever enzyme he’s ranting about. Paige—yes, Paige Bueckers, UConn’s golden girl, sitting next to me like this is her seat or something—keeps glancing over at me every few minutes, like I’m the entertainment for the day.

Which, fine. I probably am. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

The lecture drones on, a blur of chemical structures and way too many acronyms. My brain’s already in fight-or-flight mode, and I’m trying to copy notes from the slide like my future depends on it—which it kinda does, because if I bomb this class, there goes med school, and if I don’t go to med school, then what? Sell overpriced vitamins on TikTok? Start a podcast about burnout?

I sink lower in my seat, hoping to disappear entirely.

“Alright,” the professor says, tapping his remote like it owes him money. “Can anyone explain the mechanism here?”

Silence. Beautiful, holy silence. For a second, I think we might all get away with it.

Then—

“Maya?”

I freeze. My neck actually creaks when I turn my head up to look at him. “Sorry?”

He smiles like this is fun for him. “The mechanism. For the rate-limiting step of glycolysis.”

Of course it’s glycolysis. Of course it’s this unit. I glance down at my notes, which may as well be scribbled in a dead language, and I swear my soul briefly exits my body.

Okay. Think. You’ve studied this. You’ve done flashcards at 2 a.m. like a responsible, sleep-deprived adult. You can do this.

“…Hexokinase?” I offer, which I immediately realize is wrong because his eyebrow twitches.

“Not quite,” he says. “Anyone else?”

I want to melt into the floor. I want the Earth to crack open beneath me and swallow me whole like a Greek tragedy. Why would you call on someone who was just 50 minutes late and visibly unwell?

I drop my gaze to my notebook, which now has a sad little doodle of a frowning mitochondrion in the margin, and let myself mentally spiral.

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me to give up and open a dog café somewhere in Portland. Maybe academic success is a capitalist scam designed to break me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Maybe—

“You were close,” a voice whispers next to me, low enough that only I can hear. “It’s phosphofructokinase.” I glance over. Paige’s lips are twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.

Oh. So she’s not only annoying and smug—she’s smart, too. Fantastic.

I give her a blank look, then scribble it in the margin like I knew it all along. I don’t thank her. I’m not that gracious yet.

The professor moves on. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and slouch back into my seat.

I don’t even know how Paige knows that answer. I swear she’s never said a single academic thing in class before—usually just nods like she’s vibing through the lecture, and now suddenly she’s a glycolysis expert?

I glance at her again. She’s leaned back in her chair like she doesn’t have a single worry in the world. Her hoodie sleeves are pulled over her hands and she’s tapping a pencil against her notebook, looking out the window like she’s half-listening, half daydreaming.

God, I hate her.

Not really. Just enough to feel mildly personally attacked by her existence.

By the time the professor finally wraps up, my brain feels like someone stuck it in a microwave on defrost. Half-melted, barely functioning, and emitting a faint hum of defeat.

I’m already halfway through mentally mapping my route to the dining hall—food, nap, forget this day ever happened—when I hear the worst possible words.

“Maya, could you stay back for a second?”

I freeze with my laptop halfway into my bag. No. No. Please no. My stomach drops, already bracing for the we’re concerned about your academic performance speech. Or maybe he’s just gonna roast me for being late. Publicly. Again.

Next to me, Paige doesn’t move. Which is weird because usually she’s the first one out the door, bouncing off to whatever practice or photoshoot or press interview she’s contractually obligated to pretend she enjoys.

“You too, Paige,” the professor adds casually.

Ah. So it’s a group scolding. Cute.

I glance at her. She shrugs, and somehow even her shrug is smug. Like she already knows what this is about and I’m the one being dragged into something against my will.

Once everyone else filters out, the room goes quiet in that awkward way classrooms do when it’s just you, your mistakes, and the person paid to evaluate them.

The professor folds his arms. “I’m going to get right to it,” he says, eyes flicking between us. “Paige has been… struggling a bit to keep up.”

I blink. Paige?

She doesn’t even flinch. Just shifts her weight to one leg and tilts her head like, yeah, and?

“She came to me earlier,” he continues, “asking for extra support. And I mentioned you, Maya.”

My brain short-circuits. “Me?”

“Yes.” He gestures vaguely, like this makes perfect sense. “You’ve got one of the top quiz averages in the class. And I know you don’t have a lot of free time, but I thought you might be willing to help.”

I open my mouth to respond, and nothing comes out except a confused squeak.

Paige, meanwhile, is suddenly all charm and dimples. “Only if it’s not too much trouble,” she says sweetly, looking at me like I’m the answer to her prayers instead of the barely-holding-it-together girl who almost cried during a glycolysis question.

I stare at her. Then the professor. Then back at her. This is a setup. Has to be.

“I mean,” I say slowly, “I guess I could… help out. A little.”

The professor claps his hands once, like this was the easiest part of his day. “Great. Work out whatever schedule makes sense. Maybe start after the next lecture?”

“Sounds perfect,” Paige says, and I swear there’s a glint in her eye. Mischievous. Knowing.

I nod numbly, the weight of this decision already settling on my shoulders like a second backpack full of regrets.

As I head for the door, I mutter under my breath, “This is going to end badly.”

“Sorry?” Paige pipes up behind me.

“Nothing,” I lie, faster than a reflex. “See you later.”

She grins, following me out with way too much pep for someone allegedly struggling. “Can’t wait.”

And I suddenly remember: this is the same girl who walked in late the first week, said “yo, do we need the textbook for this?” in front of the whole class, and then somehow got a laugh out of the professor.

God help me.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in the library, clutching three textbooks and a syllabus I plan to set on fire. This day has already been long enough, now apparently, Paige “needs a little help” with some of the material. And apparently, I am just the student for the job.

I hate when people say “it’ll be good experience.” It always means work I don’t want to do for free.

The librarian waves at me as I step in—Ms. Marie, always with the peach-colored cardigans and peppermint candies. “Back again?”

“Like a bad habit,” I mumble, shooting her a smile. “Just grabbing some stuff for tutoring.”

“Ooh. Teaching now?”

“Trying not to cry in public,” I answer, and she laughs like I’ve said something adorable instead of tragic.

I spend way too long in the aisles, gathering books and stalling. Mostly thinking about how good I’m gonna sleep when I get back to my apartment. Seriously. The second my cheek hits the pillow? Instant peace. Probably coma-level sleep. I should be studied for science. Sleep is my love language. Sleep is the one thing in my life that hasn’t betrayed me.

I’m still mentally composing a love letter to my bed when I round a corner and see her—Paige, standing near the checkout desk, talking to one of the guys from the men’s team. He’s smiling like he thinks he has a chance. Good luck with that. Paige Bueckers is gay as fuck.

I snort before I can stop myself, just a short, soft laugh—but she hears it. Her head turns. Our eyes meet.

Oh.

She looks surprised. Not mad, not even curious, just… like she wasn’t expecting me.

And now I’ve made eye contact. Like a dumbass. I quickly duck back behind the shelf, gripping a biochem book like it’s a shield.

Great. Just great. Nothing says “competent tutor” like spying on your student and laughing at her across the library.

—

I give it a minute before circling around the long way and heading to the study room Hanes booked for us. Small, quiet, lots of windows. I stake out the seat closest to the door in case I need to make a dramatic escape.

Paige walks in a few minutes later, all long legs and blonde hair and that basketball-player stride—like she owns the space without trying to. She doesn’t say anything at first, just drops her bag and slides into the seat next to me.

I brace myself. Here we go.

She pulls out a notebook, then a pen. Then nothing. Just sits there.

I glance at her, waiting for her to do… something. Say something. Start. Breathe.

“Are you gonna, like… open the textbook, or…”

“I was letting you do your thing first,” she says, like I’m the one who showed up five minutes late and smelled like citrus gum and lavender hand cream. Her voice has that easy, confident rhythm to it—Minnesota smooth with a little edge, like she grew up chirping boys on the blacktop.

I give her a look. “My ‘thing’ is desperately trying not to cry while re-reading the same paragraph seven times.”

She smiles, wide and real. “Relatable.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward exactly, but quiet enough to make me weirdly self-aware of how close our chairs are. I pull out my laptop to have something to do with my hands.

“So,” I say, flipping to the study guide, “Professor Hanes said you’re struggling with the last few sections. You’ve looked at the review packet?”

Paige shrugs, leaning back in her chair a little too casually. “Kind of. I just—I don’t know. I get the gist, but some stuff doesn’t stick.”

“That’s usually how it works when you don’t study.”

She raises a brow at me like she wasn’t expecting me to have teeth. “I do study.”

I raise mine right back. “Instagram Reels don’t count.”

Her mouth twitches. It’s either amusement or offense. Could go either way with girls like her.

“You always this friendly?”

“No,” I deadpan. “Usually I’m meaner.”

That gets a laugh out of her—low and genuine, like it surprised her. She leans in slightly, chin propped on her hand.

“So why’d you agree to help me?”

“I didn’t,” I reply, flipping a page. “Hanes kind of voluntold me. Said it would be ‘good practice.’”

“Bet you were thrilled.”

“Overjoyed. I love giving up my one free evening to explain gen chem to someone who probably uses Gatorade as a chaser.”

Another smile from her. This one lasts a little longer.

“You always this funny?”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” I mutter, but my mouth won’t quite stop twitching.

We get into the material slowly—me talking through concepts, her asking questions here and there. She’s actually more focused than I expected. Still fidgety, still Paige Bueckers in all her tall, confident, knows-people-are-watching energy—but she’s trying. I can give her that.

Halfway through, she lets out a sigh and scrubs a hand over her face. “Okay, but why are there so many exceptions to every rule? Like, who made these up?”

“Science,” I reply. “Also colonialism.”

She tilts her head. “You’re not wrong.”

Another beat of silence. Then she asks, “What’s your major?”

“Pre-med. Bio track.”

She whistles, low. “Damn. That’s sick.”

I shrug. “It’s fine. If you enjoy stress-induced migraines and disappointing your family.”

Paige grins. “Bet your mom’s proud of you.”

“She is,” I admit, softer now. “But I also think she thinks I sleep more than I do.”

Paige’s voice is light when she says, “You don’t strike me as a slacker.”

“I’m not,” I say, yawning. “But if I had one wish? It would be to sleep for a solid twelve hours. Maybe fourteen. Maybe forever. I love sleep. Like, I would marry it. I’d elope with sleep to another country and never text anyone back.”

Paige chuckles. “That’s dramatic.”

“That’s survival,” I correct, grabbing a pen to tap against her notes. “Now stop stalling and write that formula down before I cry.”

She leans in again, not writing yet. Just watching me. “You kinda mean.”

“You’re kind of loud.”

“Touché.”

We keep working, but the space between us softens just a little. There’s something about the way she shifts a little closer when I’m showing her something, or how she asks questions like she actually wants to know the answer. She’s still full of herself, but in a way that makes me want to roll my eyes and pay attention.

And then there’s the eye contact. God. Paige Bueckers and her Olympic-level commitment to staring directly into my soul.

Like—I’m trying to explain the electron configuration of potassium, and she’s looking at me like I might be the answer to something she’s been trying to solve for years. Icy blue eyes, lashes curled to the heavens, a little swipe of mascara like she knew she’d be making people nervous today.

And by people, I mean me. Specifically me.

It’s honestly kind of rude. Intimidating. Possibly illegal. There should be a warning label or something: DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH PAIGE BUECKERS UNLESS YOU ARE READY TO BE HYPER-ANALYZED AND POSSIBLY SEDUCED.

Because I swear—I swear—the way she looks at me? It’s not just eye contact. It’s eye-to-future-entanglement contact. Like she’s trying to hypnotize me out of my panties with just her stare and that stupid smirk she keeps trying to hide behind her hand.

Focus. I need to focus. This is chemistry. Not chemistry-chemistry. I’m not gonna be another gay kid that fails a class because I couldn’t stop thinking about some pretty basketball player with really good hair.

No offense to everyone else who’s fallen into that trap. (none taken)

“Okay,” I say, tapping my pen against my notebook and not looking at her eyes again, “that’s ionic bonding, which means we’re finally done with chapter four.”

Paige stretches her arms above her head with a small groan, the hem of her hoodie lifting just enough to flash a sliver of skin. I look away instantly, like a respectable person. Like someone not currently battling the urge to spiral into a gay panic over five seconds of midriff.

“Thank God,” she sighs dramatically, flopping back in her chair like she just ran drills for two hours. “You know, I think I actually learned something.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I am surprised,” she grins, tugging at the sleeve of her hoodie. “You’re kinda scary-smart.”

I blink. “Scary?”

“In a good way,” she adds quickly. “Like, in a ‘you could probably build a robot army and take over the world but choose not to’ kind of way.”

“…Thanks?”

She smiles like she means it. Like maybe that was a compliment in her language. And for some reason, it sticks with me.

I start gathering my things, stuffing pens and half-crumpled notes into my backpack like the burnt-out academic I am. “Well, we’re scheduled again next Thursday unless your Coach pulls you for something.”

Paige doesn’t move to leave. She leans back in her chair, arms folded behind her head, watching me with that same annoyingly intense gaze.

“You always study here?” she asks casually, like she didn’t just spend two hours fighting for her life over basic chem.

“Sometimes,” I reply, zipping up my bag. “It’s quiet. And the librarian doesn’t hate me.”

“That’s a plus.”

“You?”

She shrugs. “Ehh usually with the team. Or, like, wherever has food.”

I hum, trying to keep the conversation from stretching too long. I’m not great at lingering—especially not with people like her. The kind of person who walks into a room and owns it without even trying.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, already planning my post-study nap in vivid, loving detail, but before I can escape—

“You wanna walk out together?”

I pause, blinking at her.

Not because it’s weird. But because I hadn’t expected it. Most athletes don’t even remember the names of their TAs, much less offer to walk them out of the library like it’s some sort of… soft exit interview.

I glance at the clock. It’s getting late. But also, she’s looking at me like I’m someone worth lingering around.

“Sure,” I say. Casually. Like my heart isn’t already doing cartwheels.

She grins, standing to her full height (good holy 6ft..), and my only thought as we walk side by side toward the doors is God help me, I might be in trouble.

Because Paige Bueckers is something else.

And apparently, she’s not going anywhere.

—

The night air hits us as we step out of the library, and it’s just cold enough to make me regret not grabbing a hoodie. Of course, Paige doesn’t seem bothered at all. She walks like she’s immune to weather. Or like the wind parts just for her. Probably both.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Awkwardly so. My favorite kind.

Then, Paige starts talking.

And when I say talking, I mean talking. Like she hasn’t spoken to another human being all day and I just unlocked the floodgates.

“So, like, I’ve had the same pair of slides since I was fifteen, right?” she says, hands in the front pocket of her hoodie. “They’re disgusting. Like, actually offensive. I think they’ve developed their own bacteria strain at this point. But I can’t get rid of them. They’re like emotional support shoes. You ever have something like that?”

I blink. “Uh…”

She barrels right past my lack of response. “And then Aaliyah tried to throw them out once when we were on the road and I almost tackled her in the hotel hallway. She was like, ‘Paige, they smell like shit.’ But they don’t. They smell like loyalty.”

She grins at her own joke. I say nothing.

Not because I don’t want to. But mostly because what?

I nod along, mostly to be polite. Or maybe out of shock. I’m not really sure.

She keeps going. “Also, can I ask you a question? Why do all chemistry textbooks weigh as much as small toddlers? Like, what are they putting in there? Guilt? Disappointment?”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, which unfortunately only fuels her further.

She talks about basketball. Then her best friend’s dog. Then how she’s still mad Chipotle took her favorite salsa off the menu. She has opinions on everything from cafeteria chicken to the superiority of Apple Music over Spotify (she’s wrong, but I let her have it).

And the weirdest part?

It’s not annoying.

It should be. But it’s not.

I listen. Mostly because I’m stunned by how easily she fills the space between us, how her voice softens when she gets excited and how, even when she’s rambling, she makes it feel like you’re part of the story.

It’s… unsettling.

I don’t do people like her. I don’t get people like her.

And yet here she is. Walking next to me. Talking like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

And then, as if this night couldn’t get any weirder, she slows down in front of my building.

I stop too.

Paige pauses, looking at the entrance. Then looks at me. “Wait—you live here?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly, pointing to the left. “Top floor.”

She blinks. “Shut up.”

“I will not.”

She grins, pointing to the right. “That’s my building.”

I stare at her for a second. Then glance up. Then back at her.

This cannot be real life.

“You’re telling me we’ve lived next to each other this whole time and this is the first time I’m finding out?”

I sigh. “This is just great.”

“Great?” she echoes, clearly amused.

“Yeah. Fantastic. Love this for me.”

She’s still smiling like this is the best coincidence to ever happen. Like fate just personally delivered her a win.

I just shake my head, digging my keys out of my pocket. “Well. Thanks for the walk. And the verbal TED Talk.”

She bows slightly. “Anytime.”

I turn to head inside, pausing with my hand on the door.

“Hey,” she calls.

I look back.

“Same time Thursday right?”

I nod once. “Sure.”

She salutes me with two fingers, still grinning, then turns and jogs up the steps to her building.

I stand there for a moment, key still in hand, trying to process everything. The tutoring. The talking. The proximity.

This is going to be a nightmare.

I let myself into the building, already craving sleep and silence and maybe a three-day nap. But even as I make it upstairs and fall face-first onto my bed, one thought keeps bouncing around my head like it’s got a key to the place:

Paige Bueckers is going to be a problem.

[havenhyunjin]

safe space — bangchan

the one where you would do anything to be a safe space for him. word count: 1k

warnings: discussions of grief and loss, although not extensively. merely trying to process complicated feelings. hurt/comfort. angst.

a/n: i’m not trying to speculate on any grieving process chan is going through, but as he’s been vocal about his struggle with the loss of a friend, i created this also hoping that he does actually have loved ones to rely on and he allows himself that grace <3. rest in love, moon.

————————————————————————

The soft vibration of the diffuser was getting to your nerves. So was the sizzling meat in the pan you were cooking on. Even the sound of an opening door proved to be unsettling. That’s when you realized the sounds weren’t bothering you; you were simply on edge for entirely different reasons.

You knew how to deal with your own grief and loss wasn’t a foreign concept. You could manage it, and you did.

Not knowing how to deal with Chris’ grief was unnerving. You had no idea how to help him, if he wanted or needed help at all, and it left you feeling powerless.

Chris closed the door behind him and greeted you softly, as you replied for him to know you were in the kitchen. He walked closer to you, and gave you a soft peck on the lips to greet you with an almost imperceptible smile.

“How are you?” you asked, although you were fully aware it was a stupid question.

He shrugged and laughed without a hint of happiness. All you could come up with was a hug that you hoped would express everything you didn’t know how to say or show.

I love you. I’m here. I’m sorry. I got you, if you need me. I hate seeing you in pain. But your pain is not a burden. And you don’t have to talk about it. I love you. I got you.

As Chris melted into your embrace, you knew he understood, like he knew you understood him. Even in the unspoken nature of the entire process, you both could count on each other unconditionally and while it didn’t get any easier, Chris was certain that your patience and your love were a lifeline he would never let go off.

He kissed you in as a thank you - gently, no rush, hoping it would convey a part of the convoluted emotional state he was in.

I love you. Thank you. I don’t ever want to burden you. One day I might be able to talk about it. I’m grateful for you. I love you. Please stay.

With the way you kissed him back, enveloping him around your arms, he was entirely sure you would stay, and it meant everything.

The only reason you pulled away was realizing your food was going to burn otherwise. He laughed a little bit at you rushing to turn off the flame, and grabbed plates for both of you to have dinner. You sat down together to eat on the couch in front of the TV, playing a documentary that neither of you were really paying attention, but the point was being close to each other as you finished your meal in silence.

Chris was used to retreating and isolating himself whenever he was having a hard time; there was no reason to bother anyone else with his problems and sadness. One of the many ways you turned his life around was opening him up to the opportunity of relying and leaning on someone else.

He was still uncomfortable not showing up all the time as the strong, invincible leader he was supposed to be, but he decidedly knew now that is not what you expect from him. You just loved him, in every version.

You were still having a hard time accepting that you couldn’t fix everything for him either. There are some things that are inevitably debilitating for him, and as much of a rock as you tried to be for him, you couldn’t make this one go away. Chris, of course, doesn’t expect you to fix anything.

Regardless, in the comfort of your steady hand holding his, and in the comfort of his sad but loving eyes looking into yours, you both felt that everything would be okay.

With a display of vulnerability that was rare but welcomed, Chris moved to lay down in your lap. He curled up next to you, laying his head down and closing his eyes.

Chris didn’t know how to deal with his grief either, and he wasn’t sure anyone really knew how to do it. The fluctuation, unpredictability and non-linear nature of his process was excruciating. He wanted control over himself back desperately, but it didn’t work like that.

As you decided to lay down behind him instead, embracing him against you as your head rested on his back, he was reminded that not being in control all the time was natural. He closed his eyes, trusting you to hold him through it all, and for one night handing over the tight, heavy leash he has been trying to keep on himself.

Even though you didn’t see it, you knew he was tearing up and all you could do was hold him tighter.

I got you. You can let go with me. I’ll stay with you forever.

Even though he was crying, he was relaxing into you at the same time.

You’ve got me. I love you. Thank you. I love you.

The sadness, pain, loss and grief would not go away, but he had one less thing to worry about; hiding it. You know that you can’t make it go away, even though you wished you could, but what you could do was stay right here with him in his terms and that was good enough.

“Chris?” you called out to him softly. He hummed to reply, sniffing his nose while still letting his long held back tears out.

“I’m right here,” you said, although it was a universally acknowledged truth. Vocalizing it felt like hugging his soul, desperately letting him know verbally, physically, emotionally, that here you stay.

He nodded. He knew. He felt it.

“I know, baby,” Chris said, turning around to face you while you both laid down and held each other close. His troubles felt soothed, and damn near healed as you began pressing soft kisses against his face. He was smiling, each little peck reminding him that although life can be mind-numbingly painful, it can also be all-consumingly wonderful.

You are the living proof of every good thing the world has to offer, and he’s grateful. He was so eternally grateful for his safe space in you.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a compass. l Joel Miller

Summary: your idea was good, but not everything went as it should

Warnings: angst, two infected, shooting, some blood, angry Joel, Ellie is in it, unprotected sex (don't do that), Ellie and Joel argue

A/N: .

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

“Have you found anything?”

“Not yet!”

You glanced at Ellie quickly, then looked around the room that used to be a sporting goods store. Most of the stuff had already been stolen, but she wouldn't give up.

When Tommy had secretly told her that Joel's birthday was coming up, she had wanted to give him a present. She had come to you that evening, asking you to take advantage of the fact that he was going on patrol. A visit to the mall should be quick and easy.

“We should hurry up.” You pointed it out to her. “It’s almost evening and I’d rather be out of here.”

“Give me a second.” Ellie groaned, struggling to open the last drawer. “I’m sure I’ll find something here.”

You smiled to yourself. Neither Ellie nor Joel had spoken of emotions, but you knew how close they were to each other. Joel did everything to ensure her safety, and she, although she pretended not to care, took his opinion into account. You started to wonder what you could give Joel as a gift when a strange noise caught your attention.

"Ellie?" you mumbled, gripping the gun tighter, "We should go."

"Just a moment." Ellie was shuffling through more boxes, "I'm sure it'll be here..."

You quietly took the next steps, trying to hear as much as possible. You were already close to Ellie when the girl raised her hand, gripping something tightly.

"I've got it! I've got it!" she shouted.

At that moment, several things happened. Somewhere behind you, you heard the sound of a cabinet falling, and then a sharp squeak. You grabbed Ellie's arm.

"Gun, gun!" you said quickly when you noticed movement, and then two clickers rushed straight at you.

You fired without thinking, hitting one in the shoulder, and then hitting him in the head. "Ellie! Hide!"

The girl jumped behind the counter. Although she aimed for the other infected, she missed. The monster hit you and you both fell onto the glass case behind you. You fell, feeling something painfully cut your skin. But you didn't have time to think about it. The infected rolled off of you, but he was already getting up. You grabbed the gun in both hands and shot him several times until he finally fell to the floor, lifeless.

"Shit! Shit!" Ellie climbed out from behind the counter with a terrified look on her face. "I didn't hear them! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think so..." you replied, getting up carefully.

"Shit, you're bleeding."

Ellie approached and carefully took your hand in hers. Several pieces of glass pierced your hand, which was bleeding. It didn't look good, but it was a small price to pay for both of you still being alive.

"I should get this bandaged up." Ellie said, but you just shook your head.

"We have to go back. There might be more here." You said, pulling out a few of the larger pieces. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yeah." She held out her hand and showed you the compass. It was really nice, in a neat little box that could fit in the jeans pocket. "Do you think Joel would like it?"

"I'm sure."

"You have to help me bandage this and I'll say I broke a glass while washing dishes." You said as soon as you entered the house and quickly took off your jackets.

"I'll get the first aid kit." Ellie declared, but she didn't even make it to the kitchen when she stopped dead in her tracks.

You took off your shoes with difficulty, because your hand hurt a little, but when you straightened up, you understood what had stopped the girl. Joel came out of his workshop and was watching you with a frown.

"Hi. I didn't know you were back already." You greeted, trying to smile and hide your hand behind your back at the same time.

"We did it quickly today." Joel replied. You could hear the tension in his voice. "You didn't say you were going out with Ellie."

"I..." you started, but she interrupted you.

"I wanted to check something out. You know, in that mall nearby and..."

One look from Joel was enough for Ellie to fall silent. "Have you been outside Jackson?"

"Yes." There was no point in lying. "But we're back now. How was your day?"

You tried to downplay the whole situation, but Joel wasn't fooled.

"Show me your hand."

"Joel, please."

"Show me."

You held out your hand without a word, showing the already dried blood and lots of small wounds. Joel took a deep breath.

"It was my idea." You said quickly. "I wanted to..."

"No! It was me!" Ellie suddenly blurted out. "I talked her into going to that mall with me. I wanted to find you a present for your birthday. Look what..."

"You risked her life over some stupid present?!" Joel roared so unexpectedly that you both stepped back. "Ellie, for God's sake!"

"I didn't know there would be infected there!" the girl squealed. That only made things worse. Joel's eyes darkened with anger, but also with helplessness.

"Were they infected?" he asked, and you nodded.

"Two. I eliminated them, but I ran into a glass case. Nothing else happened and..."

There was silence for a moment. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, but Joel must have felt even worse. Up until now, he thought you were somewhere in Jackson, but with every passing moment, your story seemed more and more terrifying to him.

"Joel..." you began quietly, trying to approach him, "I just wanted to..."

"Don't defend her. You keep doing this, and she has to finally understand." he said in a cold voice, "You risked your life for her. You could have... Fuck! You could have died because she wanted to find something. Some stupid shit!"

The girl's eyes shone with tears, but her face was expressionless. She stared at Joel as if she was ready for more accusations.

"That was irresponsible, Ellie!" he hissed. "I'm trying to protect you, and you do something like that?"

"I didn't go there alone." she replied quietly.

"Because you knew she would go with you! Because you knew she would do anything to protect you! How could you risk her life because of your own stupid whim and..."

"Stop it!"

Joel looked at you, surprised. Tears were also shining in your eyes, and your lips were quivering nervously. You looked at Ellie with horror, she was on the verge of breaking down. With each subsequent word that fell from Joel's lips, she began to fear more and more. This was not how it was supposed to end. She just wanted to find him a gift, something that would remind him of her, something that would be only his and show how much she cared about him.

"Ellie, it's not like that..." you started, but the girl didn't answer. Before you could put your hand on her shoulder, she turned around and ran out of the house, slamming the door. You both stared at the spot where she had just disappeared.

He did what he did best. He hid. The workshop was his escape from the world, a safe haven. Especially now when emotions were boiling inside him.

Joel felt angry and helpless. He didn't want Ellie to run away from home like that, but at the same time he knew he couldn't ignore what had happened. Your life and Ellie's were in danger, he was in Jackson and he would only find out if you didn't come home. He could have reacted differently, he could have let her say what she thought. But when two people so close to him did something so irresponsible...

A quiet knock on the door brought him back to earth.

"Can I come in?" your quiet voice reached his ears and Joel felt as if something soothing had washed over him.

"Always," he replied quietly.

You slipped into the room, bringing with you the scent of soap and shampoo. You were already wearing shorts and an oversized t-shirt that you wore to bed. Joel closed his eyes as your fingers slid into his curly hair just above his neck.

"Don't hide from me, Joel." you said quietly, your voice warm and soothing.

"I'm not hiding," he replied. He sighed softly as you kissed the top of his head. "I'm sorry for what I said. I shouldn't have."

"The only thing you shouldn't have done was yell at her. She meant well."

"But she did..."

"Stupid, I know." you interrupted him, leaning against the desk and looking at him softly. "And I should have asked Tommy or Shane to come with us. I am an adult. I failed. It's my fault too."

A colossal hand stroked your thigh slowly. You could see that Joel still didn't have the courage to look you in the eye. What had happened was eating him up inside. 

"Ellie is already fifteen. It's a difficult time for her. It was for all of us. She needs to know that she has our support, that she can count on us, that we love her."

"I try to understand her, I really do. Sometimes I have the impression that she does everything differently just to piss me off. You're the only one who can get along with her."

You put your hand on his cheek and turned his face towards you. Your heart broke every time you saw him trying to deal with all of this. Joel was stubborn and sometimes difficult to deal with, but he loved you both and would do anything for you.

"Ellie won't learn anything from our mistakes, she has to make her own. We just...accompany her as she grows up. We have to show and teach her what we can, and then let her live."

Joel sighed and finally looked at you. His eyes were gentle and sad. "I'm afraid that I'll lose you both. That I'll lose you."

With a quiet sigh, you straddled his lap. The sweet weight he adored so much. His hands rested on your hips, pulling you as close to his body as possible. 

"Ellie found out it was your birthday. She wanted to give you something personal. She asked me to go with her. Those infected surprised us, but I managed to deal with him." Joel opened his mouth to say something, but you didn't let him. "The situation was dangerous, yes. Next time, we'll ask someone to come with us. I'm sorry, Joel."

He nodded silently, and you took his face in your hands and kissed his lips tenderly. "I love you so much. And Ellie loves you too. I know it's hard." You added quietly. "Don't be mad at us."

"I'm not mad, I just... I feel so helpless sometimes."

"I know."

You let him snuggle into your arms. His safe place, a place where he didn't have to pretend he was strong, where he could truly be himself. Holding you in his arms was something that delighted him every time.

Your quiet voice broke the sweet silence. "Happy birthday, Joel."

He snorted. "Are we celebrating that I'm another year older?"

"We're celebrating that we can be together that day."

He could celebrate that. With you. He kissed you with affection, taking in this pleasure as much as he could. And when you rolled your hips, rubbing against his crotch, he understood immediately.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" you asked as he kissed your neck, his hands wandering under your shirt.

"Here is good, baby." he whispered.

He didn't need much. Finally, all he had to do was slide off his sweatpants and push your shorts aside. After a moment, he sank into you, sighing quietly. Since your conversation about the baby, every sex has been something extraordinary and full of tenderness. Joel didn't know he would ever feel like this again. He wasn't sure if he ever had.

"So good..." you moaned in his ear as his hands gave rhythm to your movements.

You were his, really. In the middle of the end of the world, you found him and let him be with you. Maybe it was one of the two good things that happened since the first day this all started. Joel wanted to draw from this, he wanted to live and have another chance.

Your quiet sighs filled his ears, he felt that you were close and soon your walls would squeeze him tighter. The movements became stronger, his hands held you more and more hungrily. You tilted your head for a moment to catch your breath, and Joel's lips found your neck, kissing you.

"That's right, baby, that's right..." he panted "Give it to me. I want to feel you all over..."

You came with a quiet moan, feeling his hands press you tightly to his chest. Joel was right behind you, filling you to the brim. You were both breathing heavily, still stuck in the embrace.

"Stay." he said when you twitched as if you wanted to get up "Give it a moment longer. Let it take it."

You chuckled quietly. "Do you want to conceive a child in your workshop?"

"Any place is good." He kissed your temple tenderly and, holding you in his arms, let the moment last a second longer.

It was late when the front door slammed quietly and Joel recognized familiar footsteps.

"Ellie?" he left the kitchen and came across a girl who already had one foot on the step "Can we talk?"

She didn't seem thrilled. She pushed her hands deeper into her jacket pockets, but didn't go upstairs, she stayed with him. He had his chance.

"I wanted to apologize to you." Joel began uncertainly "For what I said and how I said it. I should have listened to you first. Both of you."

"Have you talked to her?" she asked without even looking at him, he nodded. "You should listen to her more often. She's smart."

"I know. Much smarter than me." he replied. A shadow of a smile crossed Ellie's lips. "Listen... I know I'm a pain in the ass and overprotective, but I care about both of you a lot. I'm going crazy at the thought of something happening to you and me not being able to help you."

Ellie looked at him, her face devoid of emotion, though her eyes were shining. "You can't protect me forever, Joel. You know that."

He nodded again. "But that doesn't mean I can't try. I'm sorry, Ellie. I shouldn't have said all that. She told me why you went there and... and... I feel so fucking stupid."

"Good. I wanted to get you a present and you yelled at me. You know perfectly well I wouldn't have risked her life if I had known what was waiting for us. She's important to me too."

"I know, Ellie."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Finally, the girl's hand pulled something out of her jacket pocket. Ellie hesitated, but finally took a step toward Joel and held out her hand. Inside was a small metal box with an ornate lid.

Joel took it and slowly opened it.

"This is a compass. May you always find your way home."

When he looked at her with his brown eyes, in which tears shone, Ellie felt that she, too, was about to cry. Without a word, she walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling into him.

"Happy birthday, old man."

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait

[puck-luck]

hi andy! this is my first ever ask but i just love your writing so so much that i had to participate. could i please order a chai latte with peppermint for any of the hughes brothers, you pick, i trust your brilliant mind- best friends brother trope. congrats on one year! 🫶

i am so honored to be the recipient of your first ever ask<3 i went with jack for this blurb (1.9K) and reader is luke's best friend.

warnings: possessive jack, guilt from reader, unprotected p in v, kind of insecure luke (sry lulu), spit kink, DIRTY talk, uhhhh without spoiling it... having sex in... someone else's bed.

You were doomed the first time Luke told you that he sometimes feels like he’s just Jack’s little brother. You were at Michigan with him at the time, hanging out in his dorm room while Dylan was out, when you and Luke had your first real deep talk. It was late at night and you both were overtired, but you weren’t willing to go back to your room just yet. Luke didn’t want you to leave, either. You both were having a lot of fun talking and bearing your souls to each other.

“I love my brothers, but sometimes it feels like people only want to be my friend because of them,” Luke had admitted quietly. “I wish more people were interested in, like… me. Not ‘Luke Hughes,’ but… just me.”

You hadn’t met the brothers at that point, although you felt like you knew them from Luke’s stories alone. Without telling him, you vowed that you’d never feel more for his brothers than you do for Luke. You’ve become friends with each of them over the years, and friendship was fine as long as they didn’t overtake Luke as your best friend, but things took a turn this spring.

It’s your final semester at UMich and you’re trying to make the most of it. When Jack got injured in March, Luke had asked you to keep an eye on him while he was living alone in the lake house and recovering. Luke was worried that Jack would become hermitish and sullen in the wake of his injury and another surgery, so you’d been more than happy to send Luke updates.

Jack was lonely in the house. You started spending more and more time there, keeping him company. You’d spend the afternoons there when you were done with classes, studying and hanging out with Jack so he didn’t feel quite so isolated. You started spending the night because it was too late to drive an hour back to Ann Arbor and Jack promised it wasn’t putting him out at all. In fact, it was his idea.

Then it happened. Things went too far one night and you ended up breaking your own vow. The first time, you thought it was a fluke. You avoided the house for a full week until Luke texted you and asked how Jack was doing, cornering you and forcing you to go back to see if he was okay. It happened again… and again.

You regret it every morning, feeling like garbage for feeling something more for Jack when you swore you’d never make Luke feel like you’re just friends with him for his brother, and yet you can’t seem to stop yourself from succumbing to Jack whenever he looks at you like that.

He took you out to a bar tonight, celebrating the end of the school year. All you have left are your finals and then you’ll be done, graduated, and on the job hunt. You’ve been looking, but haven’t found anything yet, and you’ve got a full summer to apply and hope for the best. 

You’re both tipsy when you make it back to the house. Jack was kissing you in the Uber and kisses you all the way up the walkway, pressing your body into the front door as he fumbles with his key and blindly lets you in. You almost fall backwards into the foyer when he opens the door, but Jack wraps a strong arm around your waist and keeps you upright. He keeps your core aligned with his bulge, showing you just how badly he wants you.

The house is dark as you make your way upstairs. You’re lost in Jack’s kisses, allowing him to guide you in the general direction of a bed. One of his hands has snaked its way up your shirt and taken it off, dropping it in the hallway, and is now working on unclasping your bra. His mouth trails down to your neck, sloppily licking over your jaw and sucking a hickey beneath your earlobe.

You and Jack collapse against the mattress, his body solid on top of yours. He rolls his hips down, between the juncture of your thighs, and you moan into his mouth. The uninhibited thrust of his covered cock against your clothed core was satisfying in the way that it only can be in this state– tipsy and drunk on the lingering taste of beer on Jack’s tongue. 

He finally removes your bra and gets his mouth on your tits, sucking blemishes over the soft skin as his fingers unbutton your jeans and wiggle inside your panties. You’re already dripping from all the times his tongue sparred with yours on the journey up to this room, so Jack is met with no resistance when two of his fingers make their way inside of you.

“So fucking wet,” Jack praises, his voice a low growl. “God, baby, you’ve soaked your panties already. All because I gave you a few kisses?”

You whimper and grind into his touch, his fingertips close to but not touching your g-spot. “All for you,” you confirm in a wanton voice, saying anything that’ll speed this up. Your abdomen is a dam that’s waiting to burst. 

Jack takes your nipple in his mouth and hollows his cheeks, suckling harshly and flicking his tongue over the bud. He looks up at you with those deep blue eyes, dark and glinting through the shadows of the bedroom, and a strand of hair falls over his forehead. The heel of his palm rubs against your clit, applying pressure as his fingers beckon inside of you quickly. He rolls his hips into your thigh, his hard length getting some well-deserved attention through his own pants. He moans against your nipple, tongue flat and eyelashes fluttering, and switches sides before rolling his hips again. He bites down on your nipple and his fingers dance against your g-spot, the stimulation against your clit too much to hold back, and you come with shaky legs because of all of Jack’s efforts and how pretty he looks with his pink lips wrapped around the peak of your breast.

“Atta girl,” Jack continues, licking over his bottom lip in a way that is almost predatory. “You want this?” He thrusts against your thigh again, overexaggerated and slow. “Want me to fuck you, pretty girl?”

“Jack,” you plead. He’s still wearing his t-shirt, so you fist the fabric and try to pull it off. 

He chuckles and gets his hands on the back of his collar, tugging the shirt from his body and throwing it across the room. He lays a kiss on your mouth before standing at the edge of the bed and unzipping his pants, frantically shimmying out of them. 

You do the same, matching his pace. You’re writhing on the quilted blanket atop the bed, which is weird because you could’ve sworn that Jack has a comforter, given the fact that he runs cold, but you’re more focused on freeing your legs and removing your panties so that Jack can hurry up and get inside you.

Both sufficiently naked, Jack stays at the foot of the bed, pulling you towards him by your hips. He brings one of your ankles to rest on his shoulder, allowing the other one to dangle. Your foot finds the floor and Jack kicks it wide, making space for himself. He fists his cock and slaps the head against your clit before finding your gaping, seeping entrance with the blunt tip. 

You arch your back when he thrusts forward sharply, half of his length working into you at once. He draws back out and fucks inside of you entirely on the second thrust, filling you up and knocking the breath from your lungs. “Oh my God,” you moan.

Jack smirks at that. “Oh, yeah?” he asks. He plants his hands on either side of your shoulders, hinging forward so he’s hovering above you. The stretch in your hamstrings is enough to have you humming in relief, then Jack catches your mouth while it’s still open and launches a glob of spit onto your tongue. 

Your eyes roll back in your head and you swallow the saliva, feeling Jack’s hand move down to grasp your throat. In the already dark room, your vision dances with black spots from the deprivation of oxygen. 

“Touch yourself,” Jack commands in a strong voice, leaving no room for argument. “Rub your clit. Make yourself feel good while I fuck you.”

You nod helplessly, right hand finding the apex of your legs and struggling to make proper contact with the sensitive nerves due to Jack’s rough thrusts displacing your body. Once you’re able to get your hand in the right place, you’re circling your fingers uncontrollably, hips jerking into your touch and into Jack’s brutal, ramming movements. 

Your brain is fuzzy and your eyes are screwed shut and Jack’s hand is on your neck and his mouth is poised right next to your ear and he whispers–

“Does it feel good, huh? Are you about to come, baby?”

“Please, Jack, can I? I’m so close,” you babble, lips touching the curve of his jaw and tasting the droplets of sweat that have formed there. 

You feel his smile, his evil, beautiful smile, form. He licks over your earlobe and traps it between his lips, gently tugging. “Let go whenever you’re ready, sweet thing.”

You shudder and your free hand goes around the nape of Jack’s neck. Your fingers curl into the long strands and he hisses at the pressure against his scalp, but he doesn’t stop moving. He drops another line of spit into your open mouth, then kisses your lax lips.

You feel like what you imagine a supernova feels like– a bright, hot, abrupt flash of energy collapsing against itself and becoming completely destroyed. 

Jack clicks his tongue and talks you through it. “Oh, there you go… what would Lukey think if he could see you now, hear all the nonsense you’re saying while you come all over his big brother’s cock? On his bed, baby? You’re such a slut, God, so perfect for me, just for me…”

He drives his hips into your heat, bodies slapping together in a wet symphony until Jack trembles and releases his load right in your pussy, flooding your cunt and claiming you. 

You breathe heavily, gasping and trying to catch your breath after that intense orgasm. It’s the strongest one that you’ve ever experienced and it’s followed by a terrible comedown– the abrupt comprehension of what Jack just said and how you’d desecrated your best friend’s bedroom with his older brother, the one that everyone seems to adore more than sweet Luke. You’re mortified as Jack pulls out of your cunt and grins down at his handiwork, teeth glinting in the moonlight that seeps through the window. You feel frozen in place, ice running through your veins as Jack’s hot cum leaks out of your pussy and onto Luke’s quilt. 

His words were possessive. He growled them in your ears with full confidence and worse, he was right. You’re a slut for Jack, you’re drunk on him, you keep falling into this trap and digging yourself deeper, and there’s no way Luke can ever know. You’re screwed– but you also can’t stop. It’s too good, Jack is too good, and you feel empty without him around. Fuck.

[oddlylovingaddiction]

; Coming Full Circle.

CLEARLY you all are desperate for an actual story on this blurb I quickly wrote up, so if this part 1 does well, I’ll make it into a series! I also can’t decide who I should ship reader with… Conner Kent maybe?? Let me know if that sounds good ♡

CW: Reader is pregnant BUT is gender neutral only being referred to as you, if you don’t have the ability to get pregnant you do now (in this potential series). Neglected reader x (platonic.) bat family. reader is somewhat introverted and is describe loosely as attractive. Reader is probably around in your 20s (21 - 25) and is the 5th(??) oldest. READER ALSO HAS NO IDEA THAT THE WAYNE FAMILY ARE SUPERHEROS (for now…)

TW: Abuse in the form of emotional neglect, Reader’s mom is dead, Pregnancy and rich people.

You weren’t a kid anymore. Part of you wonders if you ever got the chance to be one. Your mom died when you were pretty young, barely 6 at the time, you don’t remember much about her. She was pretty though, maybe that’s where you got your looks from?

You spent 4 years at an orphanage after her passing, until one day a car came and picked you up and took you to a big manor. Apparently Bruce Wayne was your father, but not just an adoptive one, your biological father. That was definitely shocking, You looked so much like your mother that you really couldn’t see the resemblance, maybe if you really focused you could see some aspects of the new father you suddenly gained.

You only met Bruce a handful of times, the first time was to greet you. He seemed particularly disinterested, you were only just a bit younger than Jason which he was currently focused on at the time. Bruce showed you to your room it was way bigger than your room in the orphanage then promptly disappeared, Alfred (who you came later to learn was the butler and NOT your new grandfather.) showed you around the rest of the Manor, claiming that Bruce had paperwork that needed more attention than his newly gained child, okay, he didn’t put it like that but that’s basically what he ment.

The Manor was big and rather empty, you wonder what the point of all this space was as a child. As you grew older you grew to understand and appreciate its big and emptiness, because then you couldn’t run into any of your other siblings. Whenever you meet them, it’s awkward, like you’re an outsider. Which you suppose you are, but it’s different because you later learn that all of your siblings were adopted, minus Damian but you only gained him as your sibling towards the end of your stay in the Manor. So why did they treat you like you were the odd when out, when they all should know perfectly how that feels since they were also outsiders at one point? To this day you have no clue.

You quickly grew adjusted to not being around your family. The first the phew years was difficult, you craved their attention like any normal child. You remember you used to cry at night as a kid wondering what you did wrong for them to barely even glance your way, to not even love you… but after the third birthday with the exact same gift you got on previous birthdays from Bruce, continually getting rejected by all your siblings on your offers to hang out and occasionally catching wholesome moments between your siblings and Bruce where they were chatting and laughing without you, You naturally gave up on trying.

You instead grew as a person without them, you made friends at school, developed your own personal fashion taste, you discovered your hobbies and your personality. You occasionally heard news about your family from Alfred (You never got used to only hearing news from him), like how Jason died, Tim was brought in, turns out Jason was alive and at some point Damian was also brought in. The timeline was messy. Honestly you didn’t think much about why Bruce adopted so many damn kids nor did you bother to concern yourself with their affairs.

Instead you discovered somethings more important. Number one is your huge allowance, you knew Bruce was a billionaire and filthy, disgustingly rich, but not to the point your allowance was in the MILLIONS. The second thing is nobody cares about you, to the point one time when you were around 17 you stayed at a friend’s house for two days without telling anyone, came back and apparently no one had any idea you even left when you asked Alfred.

Those two things got you to where you were now, a stunning and safe apartment with the most beautiful view in the whole of Gotham, a loving husband who would do practically anything for you, heavily pregnant in your 20s and currently surrounded by your shocked family.

You had a fight with your husband and you were livid at him deciding to spend some time at the Wayne Manor just to cool off (and to somewhat teach him a lesson), You honestly thought that nobody would care when you came waltzing back. Since nobody cared any other time.

However you were sorely mistaken. To the point you regret not just staying at a hotel or something. When you first walked through the door, Alfred greeted you. You were occasionally in contact with him, but you neglected to tell him about the pregnancy, let alone the fact you were married mainly because you knew he’d run and tell the entire family and you’d rather keep your life private from them. Which is probably why he stopped mid greeting to stare at your belly. It looked like he was buffering as he let you in and led you to the kitchen, you texted him on the ride there that you were a bit thirsty, so he prepared you some tea.

“My word, you’re really pregnant?” Alfred finally said once you sat down at one of the counters, which earned a chuckle from you as he slid your tea over to you.

“Last time I checked… which was in a mirror and when I felt the little gremlin kicking around in me on the drive here, I am.” You say with a smile before proceeding to chug your tea. “May I ask-” Alfred starts but before he can finish he’s interrupted by Damian, who entered the kitchen to grab some snacks at some point but instead noticed you.

“What on earth is that.” Damian hissed, he looked disturbed and disgusted as he pointed at your belly, like he just discovered a bug. Which ticked you off.

“An Alien, no use your head what does it look like?” You sarcastically reply. Normally Damian would’ve retorted however you quickly decide that you want to relax in the living room where you could continue your conversation with Alfred. As you and Alfred quickly leave, abandoning your empty tea cup, and finally settling in the living room. However you suddenly hear a STORM of footsteps from inside the house. You turn around and realize Damian followed you to the living room, phone in hand and clearly had texted the entire family about his new discovery.

“Fuck me…” you mutter softly, your peaceful days of being ignored were probably officially over. All thanks to your one dumb decision to come here. While you silently regretted your choices, almost the entire Wayne family had run into the living room, Tim was the first to run in shouting “WHO’S PREGNANT?”

You only really snap out of it when you notice the entire Wayne family staring at you, they got here faster than expected. Not all of them were here but most of them.

‘Maybe I really am carrying an Alien’ You ponder momentarily before you begin to speak, “Listen I’m only here momentarily because I had a small disagreement with my husband—” “HUSBAND?” Dick squeaks out his voice breaking in shock. “Yes— wait why are you all here anyways?” You say as it dawns on you how ridiculous this whole reaction was. Hell even BRUCE WAYNE, the supposed father you were under the care of, that you never saw for the majority of your life was even here.

“Well cause you know Bruce is always bringing home kids it’s the first time someone other than him is bringing home one, let alone an unborn one.” Cassandra pointed out, which you promptly agreed nodding your head. That explains it, to this damn family it must be pretty alien.

“Okay, well I’m pregnant. I get it shocking and stuff but there’s no need to—“ You say trying to calm down the situation when you are interrupted by Damian who’s pointing at your belly where your baby, as if sensing the crowd of spectators, decided to do its own acrobatic routine.

“Ew why is it moving….” Damian said, You’re starting to wonder why you even talk. “Don’t say ew. It’s just kicking, if you want you can touch my belly—” you regret those words instantly as around 20 hands immediately fly to touch your belly where the baby continues to kick. You’d almost find the whole situation adorable if it weren’t for the fact they were your family who previously didn’t give a flying fuck about you.

All of a sudden Bruce, noticing your uncomfort, clears his throat. When he does the 20 hands resend from touching your belly, “How far along are you?” He asks calmly but you can clearly hear his voice shake slightly. “7 months.” You reply calmly to which Damian opens his mouth again.

“Jesus when is it going to come out— wait how does it come out…” He still look horrified to which you suppressed a laugh. “Did no one teach you where babies come from?” You laugh and then pause when the room goes silent.

“Oh my god…” you mutter, no wonder he’s so disturbed. You hear Bruce quickly whisper to Selina “I thought you told him!” To which Selina fires back, “Me?! It’s your job!”

That’s your cue to leave before you have to witness a very uncomfortable conversation. “Okay, I’m going to go to my room, I’m tired.” To which everyone nods giving you space to leave.

Phew hours had gone by and you were relaxing in bed on your phone, when you heard a knock on your door.

“Come in!” You call, assuming it was Alfred but instead the one who came waltzing in was Damian. He looked awkward and you definitely felt that as well.

“Hello.” He said as he walked over to you staring at you where you were lying down.

“Uh… Hi Damian… how can I help you?” You ask praying he just going to briefly insult you and walk away like he did in the past. Instead he looks curious.

“I have been educated on where kids come from. It is very disturbing.” You chuckle at his statement and at his face full of regret while putting your phone away.

“It’s not too bad, at least you learned from your parents and not your friends half way into high school.” You say smiling reaching out and patting his small shoulder at your own memory of your shocked friends as they held your hand in the bathroom and slowly explained it to the poor naive you.

“Yes that sounds way worse.” He admits as you laugh at his sentiment, to which he scowls a bit before snapping out of it. “Anyways, like I said, I have been educated and although it’s very disturbing I commend your bravery for creating life.”

Damn it, he made it awkward again. You resend your hand awkwardly and place it back on your chest, Damian continues speaking though. “I also did some research and apparently the fetus can hear around the 5th month, and since you said it’s in the 7 month stage it can hear. Which means it heard me insulting it.”

You nod at his words, encouraging him to get whatever he’s planning on doing over with already. When he sees your nod, he removes his hands from behind his back, he’s holding a book.

“So to replace my negative words I have brought an educational book, normally I know perhaps the other parent my read so the baby gets used to both your voices, however since your a single parent—“

you give him an incredulous look “no… I have a husband.” To which he stares at you like your pants are on fire, that’s how much of a liar he thinks you are.

“Yes… right.. well since this supposed husband isn’t here to read to your child I shall.” He plops himself beside you, not accepting any protests from you about how you really do have a husband, he begins to read, you give in closing your eyes, clearly you’re going to be here awhile. “Law 1. Always make those above you feel comfortably superior…” you scrunch your face at his words as he reads. Half way into chapter one your eyes fly open and realize that he’s actually reading.

“Are you reading 48 laws of power right now?” You say staring at the book he’s holding as you prop yourself up on your elbows. He gives you a look like you just said the sky was blue.

“Yes of course? It needs to come out smart. Now please lie back down.” He says pushing you to lie back down. You give in once again, you’re too tired to protest against Damian anyways…

At some point both you and Damian passed out, the book could only hold both your interests long enough and the warmth of your room was just perfect for a nap. You stare down at the still sleeping Damian, whose head is currently resting on your belly, contemplatively. In someways you were jealous he fit in perfectly with the Wayne family and was actually treated like their sibling and child. However on the other hand you were honestly glad you were not loved like he was, because if you were you would’ve never met your husband (that you are now starting to miss…) and you also would’ve never been given the opportunity to create your own family, one that will love you truly.

You didn’t like the fact that Damian used to insult you occasionally in the past, but it’s not like you held it against him and you also don’t regret making fun of him back. Although he was a brat at times, he was still a child. A child in a huge messy family that just happened to be your little brother. Perhaps that was the gnawing feeling in your heart. The knowledge such a small kid like him will probably struggle in someways you used to is weighing heavy on you. He was earnest, and clearly tried his best from the fact alone he came to your room to read a book that he knew would help the baby… even if that book was the laws of power and was incredibly boring (in your opinion.)

He was just like you when you were smaller. That thought made you gently reach down and stroke his head. “I hope you’ll only make smart choices, but even if you don’t I’ll still love you, my dear. Just remember, don’t hold onto people who will never hold you gently and lovingly. After all, You are the most precious thing to me and you will be precious to so many others. You are worth your weight in gold.” You whisper to the sleeping boy, the same words your mother said at her passing. You feel yourself getting chocked up, after all this day was full of emotions for you. And you aren’t quite ready to face those emotions so you close your eyes.

After saying all those words and remembering the things you’d almost rather forget you find yourself pulled back into sleep. This time though, Damian had a small smile etched on his face as he slept..

[captain-huggy-bear]

Congratulations on 1,000 followers! Can you please do Michael Kesselring + “I'm sorry I was so grumpy last night.” can I also request that the reader is pregnant in this prompt?

Dad!Michael makes me happy <3 He's also looking so good lately...don't tell Clayton. 1000 Followers Celly Currently ongoing 🥳🎉 (please read the rules) Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

You wake to kisses being pressed across your face; little pecks to your cheeks, your nose, your chin before Michael's hand grasps your chin and pulls you into a kiss. It's the sort of wake up that has you smiling even as your back hurts and your baby kicks you like she's trying to decide whether to be in the NFL or Rugby Union.

"Morning, baby," He mumbles against your lips, sugary sweet, as you blink your eyes open to take him in. He's gorgeous in the mornings; curls across his forehead, chain swinging towards you, chest bare and tattoos on display.

"Morning..." You sigh as he leans over you, waking up a little more, smile dropping as you remember that night before, how grumpy you'd been, how snappy. “I'm sorry I was so grumpy last night.”

Michael helps you to sit up, pillows being plumped behind your back to support you as you move. Your belly making everything 10 times harder as you get closer and closer to your due date.

The grin he gives you is a little goofy, forgiving and sweet as he pulls one of your ankles into his lap, long fingers massaging the swollen area without being asked, without being told.

"'s okay, baby...you're kind of carrying an entire human in you right now. I'd probably be grumpy too." If anything his forgiveness and understanding makes you feel guiltier, like you need to explain your behaviour because you were a real terror last night and Michael's been nothing but wonderful the entire pregnancy.

"I just... she was kicking real hard last night and I was tired and hungry but I can't have half the things I'm craving because it makes me sick..." Your favourite foods had become inedible, even the smell of some of them made you queasy. An unfortunate symptom of your pregnancy and Michael had promised to bring you all your favourite foods for your first meal after giving birth.

Your eyes shift away from him out of guilt, Michael's hand stills on your ankle, "Hey, look at me."

You flick your eyes back to him, rewarded with your ankle massage ongoing, pressing into the tightness there, "You don't have to explain, I get it. I mean, I don't get it because I'm not pregnant, but I understand. You feeling better this morning, mama?"

"A little...I'm just really tired." You feel like staying in bed all day, not moving, just curling under the covers for an entire day until you feel like maybe you have some energy again.

"I know, but you've got to get your body moving, baby, the doctor said you can't be lying down too much."

"I know..." You hate that he's right. You'd been told to stay active, that not moving would make birth ten times harder on your body, but it didn't make it any easier to keep active when you were so goddamn tired all the time.

"What if you came to the rink with me? To see the boys?" He's pulling out the big guns because Michael knows you love going to the rink, you love watching practices and most of all you love the team. The guys treat you so well that sometime Michael has to remind himself that you're married to him, that he doesn't need to worry.

"Yeah?" He considers it a victory the moment you start smiling at him even if you haven't agreed yet.

"Mmm, and after at least 5 of 'em will try to buy you lunch but I'll do it because I'm your husband and that's my job," You can already imagine the scramble to pay for your lunch, the rush to hold doors for you. Each of the guys has been overly considerate of you since your pregnancy was announced, attentive to the point of overbearing like having a hockey team of brothers, uncles and fathers.

"Yeah? Subway?"

"If that's what you want or Wendy's or Taco Bell or anything you want." Michael scoots up nearer to you at the head of the bed, hand reaching out to cup your cheek and brush a few strands of your hair behind your ear.

"Do you think Logan will wear those stupid sunglasses for me?"

"Do you want him too?"

"Yeah, he looks silly in them, makes me smile."

"Give me a sec..." He's already reaching for his phone, shooting off a text message to Cools to demand he wear those ridiculous shades to make you smile. The response is quick, one word, a simple yes because Logan Cooley has no issues having a bit of fun if it makes you smile.

Michael grins at you, thumb brushing against your jaw, "Yeah, he's gonna wear 'em for you...should I be concerned that you have my entire team wrapped around your pinkie?"

"No, cause I only want you." You try to lean over to kiss him but barely move before Michael's doing the leaning for you, to ease the strain on your neck and back. You kiss him brief and soft, barely moving away, just enough so both of you can talk.

"Yeah?"

"Mmm, love you the most." You do love the entire team, but it's different, oh it's different. They're the mad group of gremlins who make you smile but you're not in love with them like you are Michael. You'd pick him any day of the week.

"Uh, so you love them?" There's that little jealous pout that brushes your lips, a reminder that Michael ultimately loves you so much that the idea of you loving anyone else even platonically sets his hackles rising.

"Well, they do buy me food..." You tease knowing he'll bite, he always does.

"Okay, but you love me most, right?"

"No doubt about it."

"Good, cause I love you the most too,"

"Even more than Logan and Josh?"

"Oh, fucking 100% more than those two idiots."

[redhoodsdeer]

on wheels (tired!reader x mechanic jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: where the reader's car decides to mess it up on the worst day possible, fortunately the mechanic jason was quite willing to help.

a/n: i finally posted again, and tbh, i didn't really like this one, but i have a thing for mechanic jason that just can't be put into words, i hope you guys love this as much as i love mechanic jason.

It was 10pm on what seemed like the most stressful day of your entire life, everything you wanted was to get home and take a shower long enough for your neighbors to think you were dead, but since this was definitely the worst day of the year, of course you couldn't, and of course your car broke down on a dark Gotham street at 10pm.

Every little thing that could go wrong today, did. Your ran out of coffee and you were way too late to stop by a coffee shop, your work clothes that you were supposed to pick up at the dry cleaners yesterday? still stuck there, your important meeting with your boss? the biggest disaster of your whole career.

All you wanted to do was curl up in an fetal position and cry on the floor until this day became a really distant memory, but instead, you were calling the tow truck at 10pm on a terribly suspicious street in Gotham.

After what seemed like hours of no one answering your calls, you finally got an answer and arrived at the garage, which seemed to be the only 24-hour garage in town, and you were infinitely grateful for that.

Okay, now, you were expecting a mechanic twice your father's age, on a dirty white tank top and a beer belly, you didn't expect that at ten o'clock at night on the day that seemed endless, you would come face to face with a greek god who had escaped from Olympus.

Biceps so big they could break you in two (and you kinda wished they did), the most angelic face you've ever seen, not to mention the white streak in his hair, because of course your mechanic had to be absolutely divine, on the day you were absolutely mundane, your tight skirt stained with coffee (which wasn't even yours!), your face as tired as a construction worker's on the end of the day, and your makeup had abandoned you three disasters ago.

"Ma'am, so what's the deal with the big guy here?" he asks, his voice so deep you thought you might melt. Your voice barely came out, your eyes struggling to stay on the car between you two.

"I don't know, I was on my way home when it broke down, I have no idea what happened, my dad was the one who used to take my car to the mechanic."

And of course the perfect day for you to get used to going to the mechanic by yourself was the same day you tripped in a mud puddle on your way to work and had to walk three blocks back just to take a shower.

He stares at you like you're from another world, before shaking his head and lifting the hood of the car, looking for whatever was wrong with your car.

Your eyes followed every move of his methodically, as if, if you looked away he would disappear and be replaced by a regular mechanic with a beer belly and a bad attitude.

And when he took his grease-stained hands off the hood of the car and turned his blue-gray eyes to you, you felt like you might faint.

"Lucky for you, it's nothing really bad, you've just been a while without an oil change and it's easy to fix." The raspy voice echoes through the shop and you feel your heart beat faster as you slowly nod your head to show that you understood.

"And how much will this cost?" Your voice asks, politely, already searching through your bag for your wallet, which was a bright pink, because you simply felt like everything around you was black, white and gray, and you wanted to have something colorful to remind you of the existence of colors.

As he walked around the workshop, just before he put his grease-stained hands on the hood to open it and change the oil, he gave a little laugh that could have been mistaken for a smirk, and coming from that man, you felt like you needed to lean on something to keep your composure, more specifically, him.

He finished and closed the hood of your car, wiping his hands on a cloth that was lying on a shelf, it might have just been because it was him doing it, but every movement he made sent a wave of heat over you, because everything looked so fucking hot.

But before you could even find your card inside the colorful wallet, a smirk appeared on the man's face, who was now leaning against the side of your car, looking as attractive as humanly possible.

"Chill, it's just some oil change, it's already 11pm on a Tuesday night, you look exhausted, it's on the house, maybe that way you'll become a regular customer" His voice teases and you swear you just felt your heart entangle with your lungs.

There was no way this divinity in human form was flirting with you, of all people, you, at your worst, you were sure your hair that you had delicately styled the night before had given up a long time ago, and you swore you looked as much of a disaster as you could.

But still, there he was, openly flirting with you. "In the face of such an irresistible proposal, maybe my car will break down more often around here, who knows, maybe I'll forget to change the oil again." You shrug, putting your wallet back at your purse and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you smiled at him.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he tossed your car keys back to you. “Maybe you should get my number in case you need help and you’re too far from the shop.” He shrugged, just before writing his number on a worn-sided post-it note that was stuck to the counter and handing it to you.

Your hands touched for least than half a second, and as cheesy as it may sound, you swear you felt an electric wave run through your body the moment your hands touched.

And right there, on the scribbled paper, was 'Jason' written in a sloppy handwriting that made you smile to yourself as you read it.

"Jason, huh?" You ask, looking up from the small note. He just shrugs, a silly smile on his face.

"You'll have to call to find out."

As you drove out of the garage, driving your now, not-quite-broken car, with a smile so big they might think you were leaving a casino after winning a jackpot, finally get to you that this interaction had actually happened, and that the neatly folded post-it note inside your pink wallet really had the number of the hottest guy you had ever seen.

And now, you were hopefuly waiting for your car to break down, willing to even crash into a tree if it would make him appear faster.

It turns out, in the end, your day wasn't so bad after all.

[littlelovelunette]

Okay, I have this funny idea. Where Vi and Reader are babysitting Isha and they were having fun. Isha saw candy and went to see some, but when she got over there. There was a 20 year old man who was talking and told her, you are so pretty, I can’t wait to see you grow up. Isha smiled and went back to Vi and Reader. Vi asked, you alright? Isha asked in hand sign language about, “hey what does the man said that he can’t wait to see me on 10 years? When she said that Vi eyes widened and Reader face changed into something dark. Vi saw Reader’s face and in her mind she thought, “oh shit she is pissed.” Reader sweetly told Isha to stay with Vi. After that, Reader found the man and she said in a dark voice, “If you ever go near her again, I’ll make sure you will never be found and that is a damn promise.” The man was scared of his life and he flew. She got back to Vi and Isha and let’s just say Vi was turned on.

Confronting

Vi x Wife!Reader

Contains a creep who's a pediphile, mentioned death of said creep, vi is horny, violent talk.

Isha mutely pointed towards the cotton candy stand and you were Vi were taking a break on the bench. God forbid taking care of a kid could've been so physically straining. "You want that?" You asked and Isha nodded.

"Go ahead then, we can watch from here." Vi said, her legs man spread as she absentmindedly licked her ice-cream cone.

As Isha stood in line for an ice-cream, she looked up at the man that approached her. He wasn't too shabby looking, just very tall and he had bags under his eyes.

The man crouches down to Isha's height, "You alone in here, kid?"

She gave him a long silent stare before she shook her head, pointing towards you both. The man looked at the pair of you having a playful banter and some ice-cream on the bench. Vi's muscles seemed to make him visibly shiver.

"What's your name, sweet thing?" The man asked Isha, clearly not getting the hint that she's mute. Isha didnt reply to him verbally, and gestured to the man selling candy to give her one. She paid with the change you gave her.

"Oh, so you don't speak." The guy speaking to her straightened, standing up and rolling his shoulders. "Good, I like my girls quiet. No backtalk."

Isha tilted her head at the man in confusion. He laughed. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart, for now you only worry about growing up. Pretty little thing."

Isha blinked before fixing him with a toothy grin, her innocent mind could only comprehend so much. She hopped away towards the both of you with her cotton candy.

"Hey, there you are, bunny!" Vi picked her up, doing a dramatic swirl with Isha before settling her onto her lap, "Got your candy?" Isha nodded with a big smile, slowly starting to enjoy her cotton candy.

"Who was the raccoon-looking man?" You asked her as you watched the guy stealing glances at the three of you. Isha shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly before signing. "He said I would be really pretty when I'd grow up."

Your jaw clenched and Vi blinked. "Huh?" She looked at you and she knew it. You were pissed. You hated these child predators since you were a child yourself and now one of them targets Isha? That was it.

You got up and Vi cussed under her breath, "Oh shit, she's pissed," Vi held Isha on her lap, letting the smaller girl devour her cotton candy.

"Stay with Vi." You told Isha before pressing a kiss to her head and you turned on your heel, fixing the man across from you with the deadliest glare known to mankind. You strode towards him, heels clicking with a dominant aura.

The man looked up, grinning wolfishly but you wiped it away with a careless smack of your hand to his cheek. He recoiled, "What the—" you grabbed his collar and roughly pinned him against the wall.

"You go anywhere near that kid again, I will make sure you will be gone for good, and trust me when I say this," you laughed darkly, "Your traces won't ever be found."

The man audibly whimpered, trying to merge with the wall, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just leave me alone!" He said, shaking at his legs.

That's all it took? Too pathetic. You let go of his collar, giving him a glare. "Better watch it now. Or I will gut you."

The man shivered, "U-Understood..." He stammered and shakily breathed in fear of his life. You gave him one last dirty look before you stalked back to the bench.

"Fuck." Vi muttered when you sat back down. "That was kinda hot."

"Vi," you sighed and rubbed your temples. "Keep it in your pants."

[diqldrunks]

pleaseee headcannons about lando x frenemies to lovers cause I feel like that’s so fitting for him idk (if u want to ofc)

okay three facts about meeee

I loooove partying with close friends ESPECIALLY during summer, I love sad music and I have terrible sleeping problems 😚

don’t stress yourself tho if no ideas pop up lovely!!

you’re genuinely the sweetest <3 and yes lando absolutely embodies this trope 🤭 (i hope you enjoy it 🙏💕)

an: for some reason this made me think of roommate!lando? thoughts? 🫣

HEADCANNONS:

my inbox is open!! [nav | inbox | masterlist]

FRENEMIES TO LOVERS: ft. lando norris

truly, you don’t even why lando aggravated you to such an extent.

he wasn’t rude to you in any way

just, annoying

what you do know, however, is that regardless of his irritating smirk and sarcastic quips, you couldn’t help but be pulled to him.

in a crowded room, you could be found bickering in a corner together, closed off to the rest of the world.

it was always over something ridiculous — him claiming your shoes were ridiculous and you countering on his horrendous jumper.

at get togethers with your friends, something frequent in the summer months, you would often be arguing about everything.

about the music:

lando removing from queue, and outrightly refusing to play, your music (deeming it ‘depressing’).

you ‘accidentally’ disconnecting the bluetooth from his phone.

about the food and drinks:

lando adding way to much alcohol to the punch that you two had been tasked to organise

you ordering way too much food ‘just in case’ (it’s fine, it was on lando’s card anyway)

lando objecting to the insane amount that people now need to eat (okay so maybe you did go slightly overboard-)

he however, (rarely) could be a godsend:

maybe you were on a group holiday, renting a villa in the outskirts of a quiet town.

it was late, and you couldn’t sleep.

and, it was late enough that your phone touch was needed for you not to fall down the flight of stairs as you made your way to the lounge.

you got the fright of your life when you span around the corner and saw a silhouette sitting on one of the sofas., only a lamp illuminating him.

your phone clattered onto the floor in a loud noise.

you were expecting a snarky comment about your dramatic entrance, or the mismatched socks that you wore.

he must have seen the darker circles under your eyes from your lack of sleep, but he didn’t mention them.

all he did was move over slightly so there was room for you to sit next to him.

wordlessly, he draped the blanket that had been previously folded next to him on you.

you sad silently, watching the crappy crime show that was over 40 years old, that lando had on.

after the repeated plot formula becoming obvious after 5 episodes, your eyes finally felt heavy.

you didn’t notice that you fell asleep with your head on lando.

you didn’t know that he refused to move — even to grab the remote — as to not wake you.

you didn’t find out until morning and one of your friends had taken a photo of the two of you together, that he fell asleep too.

for the rest of the holiday, there were jokes of if you two were ‘going to take an afternoon nap together’, or if lando ‘misses you when he slept’.

one thing your friend said seemed to stick with you a little more than the others: ‘i knew you two had a thing for each other — don’t you see the way lando looks at you?’

(this was not proofread-)

lando taglist (lmk if you want to be added); @formulaal @landossnorriss @maxivstappen @bunnisplayground @sarx164 @itssssstiiiiimmmmmeeee @alex-lba @nichmeddar @djoenthusiast @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bowielovesyou @ln4obsessedb1tch @fairywriter-oracle @elieanana @weekendlusting @awritingtree @scorpiodiosa @papayadays @loxbbg @freyathehuntress @sunny44 @kodeelynn @lottalove4evelyn

[raytoebiter]

xv. young blood spills tonight (written work)

It's a really, really beautiful fucking day. That's no doubt. Like, at all.

Why's that, you ask?

Well, simply because the endless sea above you is winking at the little organisms with their clear blue skies devoid of the usual cotton white. Then, there’s also the breeze that has been blessing (bugging) everyone's asses by flipping skirts and sending papers flying.

And well, yeah, those are the usual signs that your day is going to go well.

The biggest catch, whatsoever?

Shitty Asshole (Scaramouche) finally decided to stop acting like there was a permanent stick up his ass with every interaction he had with you.

Or in simpler terms, he stopped bothering you.

And hey, going by your definition, it really means that he hasn't called you names nor did he prolong a conversation by unabashedly acting like a fuckboy to grind your gears.

And, well. That? That's really fucking strange.

Some people (Hu tao) may suggest going to the person, and asking, “hey, are you okay?” considering that the asshole looks like he got hired by a shitty animation studio and was overworked during the weekdays, but considering how much he irritates you on a normal day?

You would dare say; hell, no. You don't have any damn plans in crossing the lines of rivalry just to reignite the spark of hatred that's holding your relationship with him. You also don't got any damn clue if he stopped simply because he felt guilty for pushing you down (which, going by your interactions with him on Monday, doesn't seem to be the case at all) nor if he stopped because his ginger friend is finally shooting his shot (which also doesn't seem to be the case since it's unreasonable as hell).

Either way, you'd rather enjoy this blissful predicament rather than finding the catalyst behind it.

(You completely, and resolutely ignore the gnawing itchy bitch inside of you that keeps moaning about the fact that you haven't had a proper argument with the Asshole since Monday.)

And besides, it's not like it's any of your business to pry on his personal problems, right?

So yeah, the angel on your shoulder (that annoyingly sounds a lot like Hu tao) can fuck off, and the beautiful day you spoke of can continue on without any grape-hair bothering you.

A giggle left your lips, the sound utterly high. If you were in the right state of mind, you would've been nauseated with how you're acting.

But.. right now? You’re quite literally bouncing off from, holy shit, I'm gonna go on a date with Childe—to—Oh my god, what am I even gonna wear!?—to—He’s such a flirt, god, he's so attractive–

—and then, finally—wait, hold on, I need to fulfill that damn request, fuck!

With that, disgust burns your esophagus and you're instantly upset, because fucking hell. You have to hang out with the guy that's been avoiding you for.. what? A fucking week? Just ‘cause of some shitty obscure reason?

Like, seriously, come on. Pushing you off the stairs is nothing but a damn stepping stone for your hatred to go onward, right? It's really nothing, so why the fuck is he doing this cold-shoulder thing?

You scoff as you turn on your phone, opening the contacts app, then scrolling until you see the infamous, “the insufferable asshole whom i shall not dare interact”.

God, the nickname was such a great idea.

The conversation that lit against your face brings some sort of annoying churning in your stomach, and you scowl at the feeling. Don't tell me I'm feeling sentimental about this shit.

Then, as you shudder from the prick needles poking at your skin, you instantly chuck the thought to the murkiest depths of your mind; hoping to never be seen again because, holy fuck.

Deeply sighing, you clicked on the call button, index finger lightly tapping and making circles on the counter as you pressed the phone to your ear.

The phone luckily rings until it makes a familiar clicking sound.

“What—”

“Shut up, where are yo—actually, no, scratch that. Come here early, like right now, ASAP.”

A notable silence on the other line. You briefly wonder if you should've let him finish, but then again, any pleasant business the other had could fucking wait.

“Yeah, no. I'm on my way to the entrance road, dipshit,” the other bit out after a moment. There's light sweeps of air in the background, and a fleeting thought occurs to you that the Asshole might be walking considering the lack of engine noise.

You cross your legs, squinting at the door because wasn't the entrance road atleast 3 miles away from the café? isn't that so far?

“...Don’t tell me the Grand Scaramouche is actually walking? Whatever happened to your Porsche, hm?”

Scaramouche simply chuckled, the sound reverberating through your spine, sending shudders along the way. You end up reaching for the blanket that, fuck, was currently perched on a damn desk chair a feet away from you.

For a few seconds, the words simply hung in the air.

You have half a mind to ask what the fuck was up with him, only to absolutely shrug it off as you finally snatch the blanket, fabric warm and just so fucking perfect, goddamnit.

It's then the Asshole finally makes a noise and—

“Well, might as well enjoy the shitty scenery before I quit, right?

Your entire world stops. Not in the sense like those shitty romantic scenes, of course, but in the sense that you just discovered something so fucking shocking that your world quite literally stops functioning for a second.

Because, seriously, what the ever-loving fuck?

Don't tell me I fucking did something wrong? I didn't even do anything. Like, shit. But didn't we just have a talk in monday? didn't we, like err, fucking.. glare at each other in wednesday? What the fuck is up with this guy? Is he jealous? Wait no, that's not really reasonable. Is it Childe? Is he avoiding me because Childe told him to just so he could shoot his shot? Wait, maybe it was the push—no, fuck, wait. What was all that talk about, ‘wanting to stay here a little bit fucking longer, then—

A snort. A really, ugly and mocking snort, “you do realize you've been muttering all that like a stupid ass ESPN commentator, right?”

And right now, as tempting as the idea of screaming, “what the fuck do you mean!? what was all that beating for then!?” to him really is: you, a beloved fuckin’ saint, instead, made the very difficult and extremely mature decision to not push your luck.

And that is to hang the fuck up, LMAO.

Might be an overreaction considering that you once chanted a whole ass pseudo-manifestation on Scaramouche quitting for some inexplicable reason but..

..It's an embarrassment to your dignity to admit—but, fuck it, anyway.

You'd rather take a barrel of a sailor’s vocabulary ebbing out of his mouth rather than this odd silent treatment he's been doing with you.

It's not that you missed him or anything—god, no—it’s just.. really anticlimactic considering that the only connection the two of you have is your rivalry with him; with all the shitty remarks he makes, the brawls you have with him, and the constant bickerings that happens on a daily basis now that you were coworkers.

At some point, you've always kept the notion of having a relationship more than just hatred in the damn Pandora’s box, simply because you couldn't really fathom something stable and promising with him, especially with the Asshole’s personality being equivalent to having a fire up your buttcrack.

Not only that, there's no fucking way that asshole is getting away after pushing you off down the stairs (1), doing a whole pep-talk about wanting to stay in the café longer (2), offhandedly showing up to the first day with his goddamn porsche whom you haven't seen in a few days now and you miss it so bad (3), get into a brawl only to have your beloved grandmother see it and force the two of you into a 30-minute lecture on why fighting brings bad benefits (4), and be one of the sole witnesses of you having a panic attack (5) only to fucking leave?

Well, atleast he's got the fucking balls.

Feeling the rush of adrenaline, you pocketed your phone, the initial plan of changing out of your clothes completely and utterly forgotten as you hurriedly scurried to put on your shoes and bursted out of the room.

Your grandmother furrowed her brow at the sight and sound of the door slamming against the wall, “dear? where are you headed to? why are you still in your clothes?”

You grabbed your necessities (phone, check, money, check, food.. nah, scratch that), and sent a reluctant glance at your confused grandmother, “can I take the shift off today? I.. need to catch up with a friend super, duper quickly and apparently the ass—ass.. something is leaving today. And they didn't even tell me about it so—”

“Alright, alright,” Your grandmother gently interjected, attention now fixated on whatever was on the counter, “you ought to tell me these earlier though, okay? I'll call Xiao to help out.”

A groan left your lips, hand already twisting the knob as you turned one last time, “tell him to not act like a stuck-up dick though!”

And distantly, “make sure to bring an umbrella!” along with the cracked laughter resonating in the air as you took off.

–

The wind howled through the trees, sending chills up your spine. Your grandmother was fucking right. You should've bought a damn umbrella.

You rubbed at your arms, slowly contemplating whether to go back to the café and just endure the agonizing back pain for a couple of days, or wait in the goddamn bus stop since most likely, the Asshole will probably go through there.

The latter is so, so fucking tempting, especially with how there's light rain dotting the pavement now—

Wait, light rain?

Panic strikes, you cautiously and hesitantly glanced up at the sky, as if it was some blood-curdling demon drooling at the sight of a frightened prey. Fuck, you should've known it was going to fucking rain cats and dogs the moment you saw the skies being abundantly clear as fuck.

And, holy shit. The café is atleast a mile away and the bus stop is still at least 3 blocks down, fuck wait, what do I do!? Should I call the Asshole? Surely, he brought a fucking umbrella, right? Hold on, shit. Fuck this motherfucking—

Just as you’re about to curse the entire fucking mother nature bloodline, the featherlight droplets tapping onto your shoulders turns into something much, much more overwhelmingly heavier, soaking your head then your clothes.

A fleeting thought of jumping off the river near the café crosses your mind, but you immediately shrug it off.

Eventually, an exasperated groan left your lips, gaze now facing forward as you stared at the foggy mist that now started to descend on your way. Your back still aching even after a few days doesn't help, and the heavy rain patting your clothes, gradually soaking it certainly doesn't fucking help either.

God, a sick leave on Monday doesn't really sound like a happy-go-lucky choice, doesn't it? Sighing, you reach for your skirt pockets, rummaging through until you find the familiar device.

Immediately just as you take it out, it gets drenched.

Am I really going stupid?

You annoyingly frowned, slightly lowering your body to cover it from the rain as you frantically pressed the power button and—

Fucking voila! It's fucking dead! The bright 0% winking at you like a delicious fucking meal on the table!

For several fucking seconds, you frigidly stood there, hand loosely clutched around the jackshit motherfucking device, with your nervous system going haywire, and the absolute urge to snap your spine in half coursing through your body like blood flow.

Oh, and there's also the impending chill down there that holy fuck, you're going to get sick.

What a fuck-up day this is. All because of that damn Ass—

Okay, that's too unreasonable. You did choose this, after all.

Still. You shouldn't have fucking gone out. Hell, you should've listened to your grandmother.

A crackle above snaps you out of your thoughts, all suddenly aware of the fabric clinging to your skin with the coldest motherfucking sensation, and you shudder, pocketing your phone.

Right. Shelter.

–

After squeaky shoes, near-death instances (one of which being almost tripping over a damn dead toad in the middle of the street), and the occasional middle fingers from Mother Nature, you finally reached the bus stop. And as per usual, it's devoid of the crowd that used to piss you off when you were a kid.

Muscle movement from all over the years has you reaching out to the bench and lightly dusting it, only to realize what you were doing, deadpanned, then reluctantly sat at the wet bench. An embarrassing squeak of your shoes bringing heat to your cheeks.

Years ago, these roads, now looking as if they've been deserted, used to be the lone passageway to Qingce Village. A small, remote town near the Inazuma borders. However, because there were a shit ton of animals running around bare-assed (take the shitty toad as an example), the officials or whatever had to force the roads to shut down.

Now, it's officially been recognized as a restricted area.

Well, not really. Considering that some kids can still do shitty hide n’ seek once in a while, but it's often discouraged.

Well, fuck the discouragement, you can do whatever you want. Besides, it's not like the Liyue Qixing actually gives two fucks about it, especially now that Qingce village looks more like an abandoned town rather than an actual village.

Though, some tourists and occasional students seem to like the idea of abandoned places, so they’re often seen in the area doing whatever.

Your eye twitches when a drop falls just right in front of your nose, thoughts immediately halted. Fuck, should you really wait here for Scaramouche to show up? The biting cold fabric against your skin is really, really not comfortable. But in some way, it does kind of help with your back ache, so there's some benefits to that.

A shiver. Then, a sneeze.

Man.

You're so dead the moment you come back. You don't even know what time it is for fuck’s sake! But guessing from the time you left and the time you walked to get here, it must be around 4:35PM already. The rain is still moderately heavy, and the shitty roof, that's basically worn out rust, has holes in it, so it barely just does the job right.

The faint pattering of the rain against your shoulder feels soothing in some way, and the slight fog seems to disperse from all that shitty walk so now, the area is a bit visible.

And man, what a fucking calming shitshow. You ought to thank Scaramouche for this.

Wait, hold on, speaking of Scaramouche, hasn't it been at least an hour since you called him? And 3 miles is atleast..

You nervously chuckle, no way, right?

No way he reached the café while you were out here, shivering and dying from the rain, right?

It's been an hour. A full fucking hour!

No way. Yeah, nope. Nope. Nope, no, fucking nope.

There's just no way. You’ll see him in the street, wave him over, reprimand him until he stays, then force him to hang out to fulfill the request.

Yeah. Definitely.

And, anyway. What the hell was the Asshole up to? Out of nowhere, he just wants to.. quit?? What is up with that? You certainly know it's not about the environment, or anything. So, what the fuck was it? Not only that, he seemed casual about the ‘pushing’ incident too, so, really, what the fuck is he really up to—

A hand. A shadow of a hand creepily loomed over your form, creating a shadow just below your toes, and you jolted, heart suddenly skipping a few beats as you hastily turn around and holy shit—

“Scaramouche!?”

He carefully surveys you, the seconds feeling like an eternity as his hand idly floated mid-air, before he leered in disgust, “god, you look so fucking horrible right now.”

A dull ache throbbed in your temple, already feeling the Scaramouche-Induced-Migraine settling in the hypothalamus of your brain, “yeah, no shit. I look terrible, and ugly. Ever wondered why that is?”

Right now, the Asshole is clutching a beautiful, useful umbrella and there's a plastic bag hanging off of his forearm. A droplet falls right on top of your head, kindly reminding you once again of the beautiful, useful umbrella in his hold.

“Are you going to stop looking at my umbrella, or what? I'll share with you, don't worry.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, “you didn't bring an extra one?”

He rolled his eyes, turning to the side, then to you, “are you stupid? your granny chased me out of the café to ‘find’ you. what idiot even goes out in a weather like this?”

His head tilts slightly upward in gesture, while you spiralled down in the fact that, fuck yeah, I was right. He really did reach the café first.

“Well?”

“Got bored,” you easily lied, shrugging your shoulders for the extra effect, “I didn't think it'd rain this.. hard.”

“So, you really are stupid.”

"Shut up! I just got bored, okay?"

“Well, blah blah, anyway. Let's go back to the shitty café,” he turned sideways, reckoning you over with his head like you were some shitty dog.

It only struck you as your eyes drifted to his in pensiveness that—this was the first conversation you've ever had with him since Monday. And, he was going to leave. Just like that.

And, god. You've gone two years. Two years without talking to him except the occasional blistering arguments on social media that still pissed you off to this day. Hell, you even went on four days without having a proper conversation albeit the fact that you saw him everyday in that.

You've managed just fine. Felt no difference. Felt nothing.

But.. fuck?

Why does it feel different when he's talking to you, then?

Why the fucking motherfuck does your heart feel the fucking need to feel fucking restless to the fucking point of fucking beating so fucking loudly?

You suddenly, and viciously regretted locking gazes with him, considering how there was now a huge ass stretch in silence as you two stared each other down; the gaze neither intense nor did it ebb hatred.

Though, the way his eyes settled over to yours do feel like he's stripping you down from your skin to your heart, and oh fuck, don't tell me he can hear my heartbeat? holy fuck, this is embarrassing, what the fuck do I do? why is he staring at me like that? don't tell me I have a leaf over my head?? wait, hold on. should I break the stare or what? this is so fucking embarrassing—

An amused sound between a snort and a laugh. Presumably an involuntary one as he covers his mouth in reciprocated shock.

“What's so funny?”

An slight smirk creeps at his face “you're such a mumbler.”

A frown, “that's not even a word—”

“Are we going back to the café, or are you going to keep standing there like an idiot who just got dumped? Because you really look like you got stood up by a piece of shit right now.”

Okay. Calm. One, two, three..

You tried not to let the indignance take over your face as you held up a pseudo smile in agreement. Scaramouche eyed you for a moment, and then sighed before turning around.

There goes my plan in taking him to hang out. Maybe I'll ask him after school tomorr—

Wait. Hold on.

“Wait, uh. Do you—”

His feet halted, just right in the center of your vision and only then did you realize you were looking down like an idiot. God, this is so embarrassing.

You hesitantly looked up, confidently glared at him square in the eye (since glaring has always been your forte with him) and blurted, “hang out with me. like, right now.”

Silence. You can already feel the regret creeping in when all he does is fucking watch, and watch with those shitty fucking ass purple motherfucking eyes with the imperceptible fucking glint shining in them and—

“What on the fucking earth,” his expression was flat, but he did have that aghast-amused tilt to his eyebrows.

That's how you knew it was a success. All doubt and humility instantly drained out of you as you grinned, the mean and confident one that you knew made your features look devilish, “what? it's gonna be your last shift anyway, and I had to take a shift off—don’t give me that look and don't ask why—so, why not just hang out with me? I'm sure grandma would let you off.”

“O..kay?” he drawled in incredulity, a brow curiously quirking up as he turned to you fully, “so, what the fuck are we doing today, Dora the Explorer?”

“Uh, we could—erm,” you tried. you failed, “I don't know! I haven't thought that far!”

“Okay, jack-ass. We're going back to the café—”

“No!”

“And drink some shitty warm water—”

“Nope!”

“And—”

Before he could fucking finish because it really was starting to piss you off, you tore the beautiful, useful umbrella from his hold, stumbling him forward as you slowly took a step back.

You watched the realization slash amusement crawl over his pale features, twisting it up to a scowl, “give it back.”

A blink, then an idea came to you along with an impish grin, “well.. you'd just have to get it from me, then.”

And with that, you took off.

Scaramouche gaped at you, looking absolutely debauched as he realized what you were the fuck up to. And at that moment, you smiled.

You give it at least three counts.

One… his head swerves left and right.

Two… his gaze locked onto you.

Three… then, he made a break for it.

A wet ass road isn't really a good place to run a marathon in along with the (still) heavy rain blurring your vision as you dashed to who-the-fuck knows where, but right now?

As the cold nips against your skin like some sort of fucking leech and the Asshole few meters away from behind you chasing like a madman..

It feels like a whole otherworldly experience.

You'd never imagined running in the rain, soaked and absolutely feeling the impending doom already, with your rival, out of all people.

–

“You're a real fucking idiot, you know that, right?”

Okay. Maybe you are a fucking idiot by, what? Running into the rain with what you presume was one of the best experiences you've ever had but had the shittiest fucking consequences? Yeah.

Presently, the two of you are fortunately situated on a cliff with a bench. Totally I-Know-a-Spot vibes with an abandoned ass gasoline station just right off the side. Though, how did the two of you manage that? Well, your dumbass decided to run off the forest and somehow managed to end up here.

At some point during your whole life living in these parts, you've always seen the cliff in your peripherals but never had actually gone through the effort of going to it. So, yeah more or less, it's really your first time being here and, holy fuck is it divine.

The sun kissed the area with gold, blessing the two of you with the warmth it gives. The scenery is really the fucking catch though; with the sun infront of you, half of the village seen just below, café being literally quite just under the cliff and whatnot.

Oh, and yeah. The rain stopped mid-way as the two of you ran, so right now, you're currently dying with the left-over chill.

A shiver runs through your body, and you breathed out a sigh, “you enjoyed it, anyway. you can't really complain, you know?”

He glares at you, awfully looking like a stray hissing after being dumped with water, “fuck, no. I almost tripped twice. Heard that? Fucking twice, [Name]. That was not fun.”

As if he didn't stifle a laugh when you accidentally dropped the umbrella, “yeah, sure, Mr. Nonchalant. Also, I stepped on a dead toad on the way here, so.. again. you can't complain, I've had it worse.”

A roll of his eyes, and god, one more roll and I swear to the universe, I'm gonna make that permanent, “okay, piss grenade.”

“Piss—excuse me, what?”

“You know, explosive and lethal piss? Stuck in a grenade, and when you throw it, it becomes a piss shower?”

Silence.

“Yeah,” a scowl formed on your face as you conjured an image, “that's not really..”

He narrowed his eyes, “don't kinkshame me.”

“What—”

“So, when is the hang-out actually gonna start?” you can see the shiver creepily crawling over his body, and he tensed like a cat.

Ha, cat. Cat…

You awkwardly cleared your throat, murmuring, “I don't know.. actually. Wanna—uh. Wanna stay here and like, I don't know, watch the shitty sunset, or something?”

And again, his face comically deadpans. You can probably see the iconic SFX behind the background as he watches you with keen, fucking purple eyes.

“Is this really the same [Name] [Last Name] that told me to fuck myself on Monday?”

A snort escapes your lips as you nudge him by the ribs, “haha, very funny. Yes, I am, you asshole. God, you really do have a derogatory kink, don't you?”

His eyes glint in mischief, voice raising a playful lint, “oh, yeah? don't tell me you have a praise kink? Come on, don't get turned off, I'll praise you just fine.”

Your jaw gapes, like absolutely gapes and drops, before dramatically scooting further away from him, “yeah, no. I'd rather eat my own hand than have you praise me like that ever. Please stop the harassment.”

“Sure, fruitcake. And we're soaking up the entire bench, and it feels so fucking disgusting. When are we gonna get back?”

Oh. That's right.

“Are you…” you gulp, heart fucking doing somersaults, “are you actually going to resign?”

And at that—a glimmer in his eyes caught your attention as he turned to you; a permission to open up, to spill whatever bullshit he wanted, and you? Well, who are you to refuse?

“No,” he answers, “well, after today and that shitty run, I decided to shove the middle finger to my mom and maybe ask to postpone the offer.”

A hum left your lips, swaying your feet back and forth, “what’s the offer about anyway?”

“A modeling offer. I was given a chance to undergo some sort-of fuckin’ teaching class about modelling—which, I don't fucking want, by the fucking way. But. Ugh, my mom forced me. After that, I'll probably inherit her company or some shit.”

That doesn't really..

As if reading your mind, he continues, clutching the edge of the bench a little tighter, “and the reason why I don't want to take it is because it completely fucks up my schedule; after-school hours? fucked, cowgirl style. weekends? fucked, missionary style. Hell, even holidays? fucked, mating press style.”

He sharply chuckled as you gaped at him, and you mumbled, “your mom is too..”

“Selfish? Annoying? Fucking overbearing? Yeah,” he interrupted with a scoff, the sound laced with so much bitterness, “and anyway, I think I'll postpone it until I'm done with Senior High School. I have plenty of reasons anyway.”

You slowly blinked, still trying to process how.. weirdly dictatorial his mom was. You don't really give a fuck in that part of the industry, considering that you're way too focused on school to actually give a fuck about anything else other than being a barista (and speaking of school, fuck, you still had that physics assignment that's due by 11:59PM).

And, anyway. Holy fuck, you're absolutely going to have a hard time processing the fact that you just had your first ever official uninterrupted emotional conversation with Scaramouche. Or anything that involved non-rivalry things at all. The others are definitely going to have a field day with this and, ugghhh, you can already feel the undeniable burn in your eyes and the sting in your throat—

“Okay, thanks for listening,” he states dryly, eye-judging you as a droplet from his hair falls, “so awesome of you to go on a mumbling tirade while I was pouring my whole shitty sou—”

“Shut up, you asshole! Jeez, my grandma’s gonna kill me after this. I left without saying anything, I didn't even bring the umbrella she gave me! All because I chose to hang out with you, ugh."

“Aww, scared I'd be out of your sight, fruitcake? you must love me that much, huh.”

“No,” you bluntly say, “absolutely fucking not. Gross, by the way. I was just worried about you since we stopped talking for a week, and now you're dipping? no way, you're still my rival and I'm not letting you go until I see you in second place in the final rankings.”

He raised a brow, “we could still be—”

“Shut it.”

“..Okay, you sap.”

“Gross.”

And for the first fucking time ever, a comfortable silence settles in and goddamn, you missed the sunset. Slowly though as you watched from above, the blue-ish fog dissipated from the sky, leaving an endless sea of ink with dotted white.

And of course, as usual, the Asshole opens his gasbag mouth with his gaze transfixed on the skies above, “I really don't like stars.”

Just as you're about to retort, or atleast shove him to the sides and tease him, he continues, eyes still fixed to the sky but this time with a frown, “it looks so unreal, sometimes. Like, what the fuck do you mean those are just huge balls of hot gases winking at us like we're some useless specimen? I'm not useless, goddamnit.”

You blinked slowly, then levelled the Asshole with such a deadpanned look, “are you really saying that.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Of course, it would involve your ego. Of course. At this point, it's probably as big as the whole space.”

Scaramouche smugly smirked, “Yeah, ‘cause the fucking space is as big as my dic—”

“—Well, how else do you spend your time than just.. sit and not contemplate about life then?"

“..I don't fucken know? I don't spend my time looking at shit like this and going, “oh! I'm gonna think about my life and how utterly depressing it is!” like most people do. I just do whatever shit that is worth my time.”

You gave him a blank look, “so pessimistic. You must be so fun at parties. And, hey, we don't just immediately start thinking about life and all that. Sometimes, we just, you know, come here to relax.”

“If we're talking about that, then I’d rather look at city lights from above.”

A shrug, “guess that's more like you.”

He scoffed with a smirk, “makes me feel like I'm the star looking down in all those shitty specimens.”

“Ooh,” you cooed absentmindedly, “okay, city-boy.”

That familiar scowl settled in and you jolted, not expecting the nickname to hit a nerve, “oh, fuck off!”

A blink. Then, another blink before the drawl of the nickname left your lips with a higher lint, “city-boy!”

“One more and I swear—”

“City-boy!”

“Fuck—”

“City-boy likes to look at species below and—”

“Fuck the fucking hell off, you fucking mumbling gnome!”

You two didn't share a laugh that night, but you did continue the relentless teasing until, until he had to forcefully drag you down all the way back to the café at Eight-Something in the Post Meridian hours.

Needless to say, the lecture that came after was as warm and soothing as chocolate milk with cookies, after a whole evening of teetering between just outrightly dying of hypothermia, or having to go on because life still wants you in its grasp.

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───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (50/50): @toekissers , @raineyun @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @feiherp , @scaraenthusiast1 @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @court-jester-stuff , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu @kazemiya @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari @saechiro @franaby , @swivi , @vixialuvs , @heusalettle @kunikissr @yomishen @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi, @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages , @okukura , @azzumei @lucid1tty @iloveescara @usagiarchive @kyouzki @theunhingedmf @kangyeonie @mi2ukiss @bubblebellaz @eternallykira-143 @lumiicch

• featured song - into the night by benny mardones

• notes - i've been planning to use this exact song for this chapter for MONTHS like i swear it was one of the first ideas that came to me when i first started the drafr outline for this smau LIKE UGHHH

• "i'd take you into the night," [name] taking scara to the cliff

• "and show you a love like you've never, ever seen," [name] and scara hanging out there and talking about life and silly shit hajdnsjn

• "it's like having a dream," cue "You'd never imagined running in the rain, soaked and absolutely feeling the impending doom already, with your rival, out of all people." HELLO??? I COOKED CHAT I FUCKING COOKED

so yeah that shit above was what i wrote in the draft LMAO

authors' notes - hey freaks guess who's back😝 supposedly, i was gonna post this like two days ago but then BUT THEN a shitty migraine fucked me ten times over the course of two days leaving me absolutely dead ass on my bed so. yeah. and anyhoo, any comments about this is SO much appreciated considering i spent the last week making this while in writer slump (5,3k WORDS BABYYY) and holy shit chat??? we're 50-notes away from??? ONE THOUSAND??? WHATTTTTTTT that was so fugkcing fast HRLP ME thank you for all the support regardless tho😞

p.s - might update more now since WOOHOO SUMMER BREAK IS FINALLY FUCKING HERE

(ask to be added or removed)