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le-fruit-de-la-passion · 5 months ago

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Press One for Love, Two for Regret

Chapter 3

Summary: Proper confessions should never happen over the phone. Viktor knows that. So how did he get here?

Pairing: Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 5.3K

Warning: Mature (mentions of explicit content, explicit in last chapter)

Notes: Yup, this started from a silly lil 1K prompt, don't ask me what happened, I wouldn't be able to say either. This chapter is pretty heavy on feelings, self-reflection and angst, but I think y'all will find it enjoyable ❤️. There's one more chapter left (the SMUT yeehawww), but I've written chapter 3 in a way where you could technically stop reading the story here if you didn't want to read the smut, and it would still be a satisfying conclusion. I know most of you are in it for the smut too, so don't worry my beloveds, it will come 😛💕

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 4/End)

The humanities faculty room always smells horrible.

It's hard to tell where the pungent scent even comes from; it feels like it's in the air, in all the furniture, in the walls themselves. There's no window to even attempt to vent it out either; it’s in the oldest wing of the university, built at least sixty years prior to the construction of every other unit. Most teachers avoid it like the plague, preferring to work in any other available space on campus, so it's almost always empty.

But it isn't today.

“Melllll,” you moan, shoving your face into the leather couch’s pillows. The smell is somehow worse, imbued into the fabric. If you had to describe it, you would just call it old. Like rancid coffee forgotten on the kitchen counter for too long, or ancient damp books abandoned in an attic. Old. “Why do I always mess up everything I do?”

Mel looks up from the paper she's grading with a sigh, adjusting the small reading glasses on her nose.

“You don't mess up everything you do,” she argues softly. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, and you say what you think without feeling ashamed. That's not something for everyone, but it's not a flaw, either.”

You can only groan into the odorous leather as an answer.

Viktor had been your very first friend at work, but he had been a lot more. Without him, you would have never met Jayce, and without Jayce, you would have never met Mel. And you would have no one to cry your woes to on a Friday evening, a whole two weeks after the most disastrous phone call of your life.

“And I believe Viktor is equally at fault here. He knows better than to play hide and seek with you forever,” Mel hums pensively, crossing her legs. Her olive eyes narrow, her nose scrunching up slightly in thought.

“He's stalling, trying to figure a way out without confronting his feelings or yours. He's smart enough to know there isn't one, but he's stubborn,” she points out, tapping her manicured nails on the wooden table. Tic, tic. Like **the sound of seconds passing on the clock, never-ending and all-consuming.

At first, both Jayce Talis, mechanical engineering PhD and researcher, and Mel Medarda, political science PhD with five peer-reviewed books published under her name, had been two extremely imposing people to interact with. You already felt unworthy enough talking to Viktor, but after learning of the kind of people he usually hung out with, you felt like an absolute loser. Jayce and Mel are both unreasonably attractive and accomplished, and when Viktor joins them, there's no denying he belongs to their world, and not yours.

In those moments, the differences between the two of you seem much more glaring: the university professor with a collection of awards and a PhD in biomechanical engineering, who is dedicating his life to creating life-altering prosthetic limbs and transmitting his knowledge to a whole new generation of scientists… and you.

The guidance councillor who can't shut up.

It’s not that you're ashamed of your job; you love what you do. You love being able to help people figure themselves out, and orient them toward what will make them happiest.

But when you stand in the same space as Viktor, it's hard to see anything other than how much greater of a person he is than you will ever be. He's like a star in the sky, shining brighter and brighter every day, and you get the privilege of watching him through the lens of a telescope. That should already be enough for you to be satisfied.

But it isn’t, not anymore. It hasn't been for a long time. And you want to do so much more than look at him. You want to touch him. You want to kiss him. You want to be someone worthy of shining alongside him; but you never believed that would ever happen.

And for so long, it felt so much easier to just date people whose very existence didn't make you feel like you would never be enough to reach their ankle. People who just wanted something casual and meaningless, some sex, maybe the semblance of a romance. And that's how you ended up with a string of disastrous relationships with men you barely even liked.

You contort your body uncomfortably on the couch to face Mel; it squeaks awkwardly under you, like it's threatening to break.

“Did you know? Did everyone but me know?”

She rests her head on her hand, the hint of a smile on her lips, seemingly slightly amused by the question:

“Depends on who you mean by everyone. No one outside his circle of close friends, for sure. He's not the type to scream about his love life over the phone,” she adds with a teasing glim in her eyes. “No offence.”

You groan, shoving your face back into the roughed-up leather. God, it still smells.

“But Jayce did know,” she confirms, and you hear her straighten her chair to return to work. The comforting sound of her fountain pen starts up again, but you know she's still giving her conversation with your full attention. Mel is like that, able to carry on a hundred tasks at once without breaking a sweat; you wish you had an ounce of her composure.

“Viktor told him after he got drunk last year at the faculty cookout. I believe his exact words were…”

She pauses to do a dramatic imitation of Viktor's voice and tone, “‘Jayce, she is wearing that dress just to put me into an early grave’.”

Not only is it pretty accurate, but God, you know exactly what dress.

The skimpy little sunflower dress that you knew showed way too much chest for a work-related event. You had worn it in the hopes of eliciting any sort of reaction from Viktor; but he had barely spoken to you that afternoon, constantly vanishing every time you entered a room. You assumed you made him uncomfortable with something you said, like you always ended up doing with everyone else.

So you had left the party on the arm of some nameless T.A. from the law department, hoping it would help you forget Viktor, just for a while.

It hadn't.

“And I knew,” Mel continues smoothly in her regular voice, “because I know what it's like to want someone to notice you so badly. To want someone to love you back.”

You detect something very personal in the way she pronounces the word ‘love’, almost like it's painful to even say.

Mel rarely talks about herself, preferring to listen to the stories of everyone around her. Everything about her gives an air of mature confidence and independence, and if she ever has any issues in her personal life, she never shares them with you, or anyone that you know of.

She's not cold by any means, and she helps everyone with genuine care, that, you are absolutely certain of. But you can feel there's a side of her she desperately wants to keep to herself. She's only ever mentioned her mother once, in a drunken haze, muttering something under her breath about never being enough for her.

You wonder if that's the person who’s love she’s longing for.

When she speaks again, there is something akin to nostalgia lingering in her voice:

“You get that special look in your eyes. You both looked at each other just like that, but neither of you ever noticed.”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes. Fucking ironic. You can never seem to stop talking, but now, the words you want to tell her just won't come.

Mel doesn't seem to mind, though, and the sound of pen scrapping paper picks up again. You force yourself out of your leather cavern, sitting up on the couch to look at her directly.

“…Why didn't you say anything?” you ultimately settle with, but it rings much more fragile and hurt than you wanted it to.

She gives a small shrug without looking away from her documents:

“Not my place to. Viktor needed to confront his feelings head-on, and you needed to realize you were never not enough or too much for him,” she states matter-of-factly, “It's that simple.”

Everything always seems so easy when it comes from Mel's lips. But in your mind, thoughts are jumbled, emotions are running wild, and everything you thought you knew about the last four years is falling apart.

Maybe, that time on New Year’s Eve when he told you there was no other place he'd rather be, he hadn't meant at the party. He had meant with you.

Maybe, when he had taken your hand, it wasn't just because you were excitedly counting down the last seconds until midnight. It was because he wanted to touch you just as much as you wanted to touch him.

Maybe, at the end of that night and in those early morning hours, when he had said you would make someone really happy one day…he was asking if it could be him.

“Maybe,” you **exhale bitterly, enunciating the world like a curse, “it would actually be simple if he just answered my texts, or my calls. Or anything I do to try and reach him.”

Yeah, you're to blame for being so blind for so long. For noticing the smallest things about everyone else, but missing all the signs when it came to him.

But so is he for refusing to talk about it now that you finally see it.

“At this point, I’m seriously starting to consider lock-picking their apartment,” you grumble, more in tiredness than anger; you can't even manage to stay mad at him for longer than a minute. “He’s the one who showed me how to do that, did I ever tell you that?”

She lets out a soft laugh at that; but when she glances over to you, there's a hint of something new in her eyes.

“I'm sure he would enjoy seeing you put your training to use, but there might be another way to see him. I think he's had more than enough time playing hide and seek.”

You know that glint in her forest-green stare; she knows something you don't, and she’s chosen to reveal it to you. You almost jump off the couch with your eyes wide, so quickly you almost lose your balance:

“Mel, what do I do?”

She snorts as she motions for you to sit back down with a calming wave of her hand, amusement clear on her face.

“Calm down. I wouldn't tell anyone about this normally,” she begins, lowering her voice in secrecy, as if you’re not the only two in the room, “and I want to make it very clear you did not receive this information from me.”

You nod eagerly in agreement, hanging on to her every word.

“Go to their apartment,” she declares with certainty. “If you keep going after their door and to the end of the corridor, there's a big potted plant on the window sill. An orchid.”

You frown in confusion.

You've only been to Viktor and Jayce's apartment a few times in the couple of years you've known them. Usually for relaxed group hangouts, or an occasional game night. You remember very little about it other than the all-consuming childish excitement of being in Viktor’s home, and the absolutely not innocent thought of his bedroom being barely a few feet away.

Why don't you ever remember the important things?

You try to muster every memory you have of the apartment complex itself instead; they live on the third floor, and their door is the second one on the right after the elevator. The hallway is a straight, narrow line, and you've noticed how dark it always is every time you’ve visited.

Dark, yes, that's right, because aside from a cheap light fixture, there’s only one window that lets any light into the hallway, at the very end of the corridor. One window, that is almost entirely blocked by the world's most decrepit potted plant.

“The… really ugly one?” you ask with uncertainty.

Mel snaps her fingers in confirmation, a hint of perfect pearly white teeth shining between her lips.

“I think you may find something of interest under it. Jayce told me about it for whenever I want to…” she hesitates on her next word, uncharacteristically a little bashful, “visit.”

Oh, you fucking knew it.

“I totally-” you start triumphantly.

“Yes, I know, you knew it for months,” she interrupts, waving her hand in dismissal. Her lower lip sticks out slightly, almost like she's pouting. You've never seen her this embarrassed. “It's incredible how you notice everything about everyone else, but when it's about you, you suddenly forget how to use your own eyes.”

Touché.

You've sensed it for at least a year now, the unspoken electricity between the two of them. How her arm sometimes lingers just a second too long on his shoulder, how his hands seem to always accidentally brush her waist. For as subtle as they were being, there was no mistaking the fire when they looked at each other.

Did Viktor ever look at you like that, too?

Why hadn't you ever noticed?

“Wait, wait,” you interrupt your own train of thought. “The orchid. Why is the orchid…”

You pause when the realization hits you like a bucket of cold water.

Oh.

“Do… do they have a set of keys under the orchid?” you ask slowly.

“I didn't say that,” Mel says, bringing her two hands up in self-defence; but the smile lingering on her lips tells another story. “And if you say I did, I will deny it and throw you under the bus with every inch of my power as the advisor for the debate club. Are we clear?”

You could kiss her.

You settle with a tight hug, holding her with as much force as you can muster. The scent of her perfume, bitter and floral, masks the decrepit smell of the room for just a moment. Is there any problem Mel can’t solve?

“Mel, you're the best,” you grin against her ear.

“So I'm told,” she hums. She gently detaches herself from the hug, giving you an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Now go. I don't like seeing you mop around my teacher's lounge, and I can't stand when Viktor performs his little disappearing act instead of talking things out.”

She picks her pen back up, giving you one last genuine look of support, voice soft, sincere: “You two are really meant for each other. Give him hell.”

—

Viktor is much less attentive than people give him credit for.

That’s not to say he’s oblivious or careless. In fact, when it comes to his work, he could instantly notice a tenth of a millimeter discrepancy from a mile away. He could hear the slightest abnormal murmur in the heart of any machine, and pinpoint its exact origin within seconds. Throw a blindfold on top, and he'd still know exactly where to place each and every single component of his prosthetic models.

But when it comes to the world outside his lab, his attention to detail just plummets.

If a bomb went off right outside his apartment, he probably wouldn't even look up from his notes. Jayce usually has to call his name thrice to pull him out of the trance-like state he gets into when he's sketching up a new idea, and that's only because he's used to Jayce's voice; for someone else, he might not hear it at all.

Even walking home from campus, he pays no attention to his surroundings, lost in his thoughts of valves, hydraulic cylinders, and flexion plates. He mechanically follows the same path he's walked thousands of times, a habit so ingrained in him it allows him to fully disconnect and think of nothing but work.

He's glad he has such a strong grip on his own mind, because if he didn't, he would let his practical ideations slowly morph into thoughts of nothing but you. You, who he hasn't seen in two weeks, because he likes to pretend change can't happen if he simply refuses to acknowledge it. It's much better to focus on what he actually has control over, to lose himself entirely in the things that make sense to him. To forget the world burning around him.

And that's exactly why he doesn't realize you’re in his apartment, sitting on his couch about ten feet away from him, until you make a pointed cough to signal your presence.

“Ah,” is the only thing he manages to get out.

He wishes he'd be surprised, but then again, he knew you would find your way to him eventually. He could keep trying to bury himself in work and avoid you with every inch of his power, you would not stop until you got answers to your questions. You’re just as stubborn as he is. That's part of why he fell for you.

So, there's nothing he can do, but let out a defeated sigh.

“I would ask how you got in here,” he starts flatly, taking off his coat robotically to place it on the hanger, “but I have a feeling it doesn't really matter.”

You don't react to his distant, tired tone, your expressive face unusually devoid of emotion when you speak.

“I didn't use your lockpicking lessons, if you're wondering.”

He can't help but snort at that:

“Disappointing.”

You both stay silent as he slowly takes off his boots and removes his wool scarf. The atmosphere isn't exactly awkward, but it's not comfortable either. Like a cheap, stiff version of the warm intimacy you usually share.

You've always been so easy to read, and anything that didn't show on your face always came from your lips. He always knows how you feel: he's observed every single expression on your face, from the slightest pout to the biggest grin, and committed it to memory with the dedication he only ever puts into his projects.

From the day you literally crashed in his life four years ago, utterly drunk and analyzing him with astonishing accuracy, he's felt the need to analyze you, too. To decipher every part of you, understand each component, each reaction. He craved the idea of knowing you like a cartographer knows the maps of the world, like an astronomer knows the place of every star. To understand you as you had understood him, with a single glance.

Right now, he has no idea what you're thinking.

In typical fashion, you're the one who ultimately breaks the ice first:

“You could kick me out,” you declare, staring him down almost challengingly. “I'll leave if you really want me to.”

There's clear apprehension and hurt in your voice, a bitterness you're trying your best to hide, but failing. He despises being the one to make you feel that way. He's become no better than any of your exes.

“We both know I won't do that,” he exhales. He's still standing in the entryway, just a few steps away from the threshold of the living room. There's no hiding anymore, no backing out. You're here, and he has to face you. Even if it breaks him.

“In the kitchen, second drawer on the left,” he says, making his way inside resignedly. “There's a rather large bread knife inside it. It hasn't been sharpened in a while, but it should do.”

Your passive expression falls for a second and you stare at him in confusion.

“Do for what?” you ask, eyebrow raised.

“Killing me to spare us both the embarrassment of this conversation,” he answers unenthusiastically.

You're the one who snorts, this time. If he could forget why you're here, he could almost pretend this is just a regular talk between close friends. Almost.

You get off the couch without hurry, stretching your limbs lazily; he wonders if you've been waiting for him for a while. You're still in your usual work clothes, but your hair is dishevelled, and your makeup is a bit smudged. Had these been different circumstances, this would be the kind of look he would imagine you in when he's alone in bed, but that's exactly the kind of treacherous impulse that's led him to this situation in the first place.

There's a strange shimmer in your eyes when you look at him again:

“You got any booze in that kitchen ?”

He’s starting to realize no matter how many years you give him, he’ll probably never be able to completely figure out what's going on in that brain of yours.

“You want to drink. Right now,” he states in disbelief.

You shrug:

“Seems like you listened to me when I was drunk last time. Maybe that'll get your attention again.”

There's an undeniable bitterness under the light sarcasm. It's deserved, frankly. And maybe a drink would make what's inevitably coming less difficult.

“First cabinet to the right. You can take the clear unlabeled bottle,” he offers.

You hum in approval, making your way to the kitchen without looking back at him. He makes his way to the couch, sitting at the opposite end of where you had been.

You come back with the bottle in one hand, and two mismatched shot glasses in the other. One is his, a souvenir from an academic conference in Marseilles; the silver lettering simply states ‘Ainsi va la vie’, ‘such is life’. He has to wonder if you chose it on purpose, to taunt him.

Although, the other one is Jayce's, and it's shaped like the torso of a woman with huge breasts in a bikini top with the colours of his old college. So it's equally as likely you just grabbed the first ones you found.

He always overthinks when he's anxious.

You put the three items down on the rectangular table in front of him, before sinking into the couch next to him. Your bodies aren't touching, shoulders an adequate distance from each other, but the proximity is still unnerving. The smell of your perfume, usually so comforting, makes him feel slightly ill.

You pour the alcohol into the shot glasses unhurriedly, progressively filling them both to the brim.

“Did you know Mel and Jayce are together?” you ask, not looking up from your task.

“Unfortunately so,” he mutters sourly.

You pause at that, perplexed.

“No, that is not what I meant, I am very happy for them,” he clarifies quickly. “But their decision to keep it a secret has been rather… precarious for me.”

You slide a glass towards him and give him a smile; the first one of the day, the first one in two weeks.

“You walked in on them fucking, didn't you?”

He groans, and you laugh. God, he missed that sound.

“I have never been more embarrassed in my entire life,” he complains, wrapping his hand around the shot glass. He notices with gratitude it's the plain one and not its heavily endowed sibling. “Being able to run had never seemed more appealing.”

You grab your own glass, the smile on your lips genuine, but fragile. The words still left unsaid hang above you both, and he's forced to remember this is but a moment of respite before everything falls apart.

“Maybe a drink will help you forget,” you joke, holding up the glass in his direction.

How he wishes it would.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he simply answers, bringing his glass to yours until they hit with a light clink. “Cheers.”

Your gaze holds his captive as you speak, like you're reaching into the depths of his very being.

“Na zdravià.”

You throw your head back and down the shot before he has time to voice his surprise, so he does the same, not wanting to break the unspoken rules of the toast; his ancestors would roll in their graves.

The liquid burns his throat almost instantly, the familiar warmth of alcohol settling into his body. It’s strong, powerful, but there’s a recognizable hint of plum and almonds that's comforting to him.

He can’t help a discreet, fond smile as your face scrunches from the sharp taste.

“I-I don't think I've ever had that before,” you cough out, your eyes slightly watery. It's endearing that no matter how much you drink, you never seem to build a tolerance to the sting of strong spirits.

“Slivovice. Plum brandy. The homemade ones are noticeably sharper than what they sell in stores here. Although… perhaps not as legal.”

You let out an amused cough, wiping away any tears before they get the chance to fall, smudging your mascara even more. But you're still smiling at him, decided, bold, never letting yourself be defeated by anything. It's like he's falling for you all over again in that single moment, outside of time and space.

Even in his darkest moments, when all else crumbles, you remain the unwavering light he can always find in the sky.

“I am a little surprised you remembered how to say that,” he admits softly.

What he had meant as a compliment seems to come off as a reproach in your eyes, and the smile falls, ending the magic of the instant.

“It may not always look like it, but I listen to you, Viktor,” you mumble, hurt. “I'm not an idiot, either.”

“I did not mean to imply-” he protests, but the words die in his throat. He opens his mouth by reflex, before closing it again; the sentence lingers incomplete in the air.

“…Why did you hang up?”

Here it is.

“Ah, so we're jumping into the questioning already. Alright,” he sighs. He chooses to stare at the bottom of his empty glass to avoid seeing your reaction. It's pitiful, but it'll spare him some of the pain and embarrassment. “I did not want to listen to what you would say, this once. I was scared if I heard your answer, it would all be real. Unchangeable.”

Change. Viktor had never been scared of the concept before. Change means something new, passing from one state to another, an evolution. It means progress. Nothing could ever be as gratifying, as glorious, as making the changes you want to see in the world.

But he didn't want you to change. He wanted you to stay just as you are, always excitedly talkative and brilliantly observant. Always shinning. A star brighter than any other, that could never fade no matter how the world treated her.

Revealing his feelings for you would have put that in harm’s way. You might think he had never truly been interested in your conversations, in all those ideas and words you feel so self-conscious about, and lose the trust you had in him as a friend.

He couldn't take that risk.

“So… you avoided me for two weeks ?” you scoff in disbelief.

He lets out a short, bitter laugh:

“I would have attempted longer if you did not break into my apartment.”

The poor attempt at a joke doesn't seem to land very well with either of you. The atmosphere feels still and heavy, the strange tension palpable.

“Ok,” you exhale, leaning your head back against the back of the couch. “You can ask me a question now.”

He glances at you in surprise:

“A question? Why?”

“So it's equal. I ask you one, you ask me one,” you explain simply, like it's the most basic rule of conversation in the world. “I haven't been attentive to what you were trying to tell me, for a long time. I need to change that.”

He hesitates for a second. There's a lot he wants to ask you. Had things been different, would you ever have considered him as someone you could fall for? If he could change the timing, the place, the words, would anything have made it so you could have loved him?

“You read people so easily,” he almost whispers. “I always assumed you knew how felt for you, but were too nice to tell me off. That you did not want to break what we had.”

It’s time. It's time for change. There is no other choice than to move forward. He continues:

“I am… sorry that I fell in love with you.”

Ah…

The weight seems slightly lighter on his chest. It's not a good feeling, exactly, but there's a certain peace that comes with finally having said it.

The expression on your face is yet again one he doesn't recognize.

“I'm not. I’m not sorry, Viktor,” you breathe out, hardly any louder than his respiration.

Your hand touches his, just barely, and he flinches, pulling away. But you refuse to back off. You reach for him again, your fingers timidly touching his own.

“Maybe I did know, in a way,” you reflect, a single digit moving across his knuckles, the ghost of a caress, “but I wouldn't let myself believe it. I didn't want to lose the only person I’ve ever felt wanted to listen to me. So… I stopped listening to my instincts, I guess.”

You let out a shaky laugh.

“I talk all the goddamn time and I don't even listen to myself.”

He turns his hand around, letting your index trace the lines of his palm instead.

“A fortune teller who can't read her own cards,” he teases gently. “Ironic.”

You scoff with a smile; your fingers intertwine, tentative.

“You're one to talk, asshole,” you huff playfully, “the big smart professor who can't figure out when someone is in love with him.”

His heart stops beating in his chest.

“Ah. You... you lo-” he stops himself before finishing his sentence, scared of pronouncing the word. He takes a shaky breath before he attempts again: “You feel the same way I…?”

He leaves the question open. He's still hesitant to make it real. Of saying the words that'll shift things. Because damn it, yes, Viktor is scared of change when it comes to you.

“I’m in love with you, Viktor,” you smile, like it's the most natural thing in the world. “Did the part where I broke into your apartment just to talk to you not give that away?”

What a strange feeling. He's dreamed of hearing those words from your mouth for so long, never believing they would, and yet it feels so right. As if you had told him a thousand times before this moment.

Maybe you had, in your own way.

He squeezes your hand, the sensation of your skin against his making it all feel impossibly real.

“I suppose we're both idiots,” he sighs gently, eyes locking into yours. “The blind oracle, and the clueless teacher. What a dynamic duo we make.”

Your forehead meets his, your nose just barely tickling his.

“I'd say we make a good duo. You and me,” you grin. You're so close he can feel the warmth of your breath on his lips. He smiles.

“I'd say so as well.”

Taglist Darlings ❤️ : @soniiyi , @mischievous-piltovan , @just1cefor4ll , @luv-urself-first, @girlidkthinkofsmth , @starflesh-moth , @raynoway, @vyshnevaka , @ash-84321 , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane #viktor x reader smut #arcane smut #viktor x reader fluff #viktor x reader angst #arcane viktor #my writing ✍️#mine #fruitforthoughts 💭#mel medarda #jayce talis #meljay #jaymel #archive of our own #ao3

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bettystonewell · 23 days ago

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TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 13

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 7.1k words

Chapter Warnings: smut, Dean in rut, garage sex, pregnant sex, dirty talk, fluff, angst, language

A/N: Yeah, I had fun with this one!

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

How ironic. Exactly like that stupid song, with the crappy Canadian singer, who would’ve thought it? It certainly figured, and Dean kicked the ground beneath him like a petulant child.

“Aw, c’mon,” he said. “Not my Baby.”

But he quickly drew that kick back in as he realised just as quickly that the jackass Casper they’d been hunting was not only in the driver’s seat of his beloved car. She’d stepped on the gas and floored it.

Fuck.

Baby’s engine roared and her tires screeched as she took off straight towards him.

Fu-u-u-u-u-ck.

There wasn’t much time to think, let alone scratch his own ass. He spun on his feet, though. Twisted his torso, almost tripping over but then bolting in his boots over the pavers of the shonky old bridge.

It was always a bridge, always in the middle of the night. Always up high with nowhere to go but forward or down if you felt like swimming.

Which he did not. He’d tried that once before, and he’d found river slop stuck in the crevices of his sack days later because of it.

So, he raised his knees higher, only for his bow legs to jolt them again and again on the downward. Thump after thump after thump. Yard after yard after yard. Each breath, more and more haggard as his beloved Impala inched closer and closer with every new inch he took.

His old bones creaked beneath his weight. The wood and steel did the same, yet still he ran and it was a wonder the whole damn thing didn’t come tumbling down under him. It would seem luck was on his side until he reached the end where the suspension turned to gravel road and the sides were no longer railings and he flung himself off a la Superman with arms stretched out.

Then he rolled. Then flailed those same arms in the air, attempting to stop the inevitable. Of course, it did jack and his face planted into the dirt with an “urgh.” Or something close to it came from his mouth as he spat out all that had entered it.

That’s when he heard the loud thunk, the crash, and the definitive crinkle of shattering glass as your words from the Salina diner eight weeks ago repeated in his mind.

“What would you do if Baby got totalled?” you’d asked him.

Well. He’d fucking flip his lid is what he’d do, but “Please, Baby, please,” he said in the moment. His eyes, wide shut in prayer as his elbows lifted him up off the dusty grass.

To Dean’s horror, the transmission shifted, and the car moved again. Followed by the crunch of a tree and another shift that had him leaping up just in time to run - again.

Why did this always happen to him? Why did it have to happen to Baby? Why did you have to go and…say all that crap you had about her getting totalled?

Yeah. You. This was all…

…your fault.

Well, not really.

How could it be when you were five hundred miles away in Kansas, awaiting his and Sam’s return? You weren’t psychic. You certainly didn’t know this would happen when you’d compared your mate’s most prized possession to your own loss. Something you regretted since the moment the initial shock his car had attacked him delved.

Your phone pinged with another message from Sam, and you looked down to see a simple thumb emoji flash over the map you had opened on the screen.

Thanks for the warning…

Dean may have been in a foul mood, but now, three days after the incident on the bridge, his pin had moved to right outside, signalling their arrival, and thank god. He’d assured you he was okay. You just weren’t sure you believed him.

“Daddy’s here,” you said sweetly to your bump. What little there was of it.

At fourteen weeks, your pup was the size of a peach. Or a kiwi, an apple, or a nectarine, depending on the chart you looked at.

You had no idea which was correct when an animal one you’d found online said they were the same size as a hedgehog, however big they were, and another mentioned a scoop of ice cream.

Whatever the comparison, it was safe to say you’d likely eaten all of it all together at once. What with the waistband of your jeans rather tight against your skin, leaving ugly marks that continued to irritate the spaces long after you removed them.

Not that you were complaining.

Things had gotten better with you on that front, for sure. In fact, right until you smelt the first whiffs of citrus and bitter chocolate coming from your growing stomach, you’d been freaking out every other day.

But the more they grew, and the more the weeks passed, the more you became comfortable. Still cautious, but comfortable.

And two more visits with Doctor Cameron in between Dean’s ‘pest control clients’ had helped.

You stood up from where you’d leant against the stair railing and felt the pressure ‘round your middle subside. Baby’s distant rumble had filtered down through the darkened tunnel, and you noticed a squeak accompanying it. That did not sound good.

Sam warned you it was bad. It just hadn’t crossed your mind her engine was in trouble too when Dean could still travel close to his usual speed.

You tried to catch glimpses of your mate behind the wheel as the Impala rolled out onto the polished cement, but the dim lighting only made the one remaining headlight brighter. it wasn’t until he pulled her up in front of you with a very obvious jerk that you got a good look at everything.

Her hood was bent. The roof caved in the middle like someone had tried karate chopping it. Her windscreen, gone. How he hadn’t been pulled over for having marble sized clusters of glass in its place was anyone’s guess. Yet, here she was, mangled. And here he was unscathed with a pout frowning his handsome face and a single scratch framing his cheek on its side.

You scented the air, making sure nothing else was going on; finding traces of oil and regret amongst the despair and frustration lacing his underlying buttery aroma.

All that you were expecting. Well, the regret, not so much. Especially when teed with sex and that muskiness that only came when he did, leading your mind into conclusion jumping. He made it worse when he turned to Sam in the passenger seat before turning to greet you.

‘There has to be an explanation,’ your inner omega whispered, soothing the hurt that was trying to rear its ugly head.

And she was right. She had to be. So you put on a brave face with the warmest, cheeriest smile you could, which wasn’t hard when Dean was involved. With Baby’s current state, he needed you to be his rock for a change and you scooted back a step, waiting for him to shut the ignition off and open the door.

It took not one, but two shoves of his elbow, and a creek that rattled your ears worse than nails on a chalkboard for him to free himself. But the second he did, you leapt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and squeezing them tight.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean chuckled into your ear.

“Welcome home.” You grinned before pressing your lips to his and sampling the remnants of coffee and powdered sugar on his tongue.

“‘S good to be back,” he said as you pulled away.

Unlike you, he wasn’t convincing.

There was a strain in his voice that told the opposite. He hadn’t even kissed you back, and though you tried your best to hold the tears, truly you did. It became obvious it was a losing battle when you realised he’d tensed under your touch.

You unhooked yourself, took a step backwards, and swiped at your eyes before anything could fall.

“Woah. Hey.” He cupped your chin and gripped your elbow, stopping you from moving any further when you scowled. “What’s wrong, omega?” he asked.

What was wrong? You should’ve asked him that, but you didn’t. No. Oh no. You jumped right off the deep end with a decimal loud enough for Sam to hear from the other side of the car, and said, “Why do you smell like sex?”

You didn’t care that he was there. You were all adults, and part of you hoped, if anything, he’d clue you in on what was going on, especially after all those warning messages he’d sent on the way home.

Funny that he hadn’t told you about your mate’s change in scent.

But the acoustics in that throat clear of his caused you to huff and Dean’s brows to crinkle in the centre. “I’ll, ah, catch you two later,” he said, sauntering off down the stairs with a spring in his step, into the main part of the bunker behind you. That traitor. What the hell?

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean grumbled. The regret you’d noticed in his scent, coming in tenfold, with another chuckle, only after Sam’s footsteps trailed away and he’d looked over your shoulder to make sure.

“There’s no need to get jealous. It was my time of the season.”

Your eyes opened wide, catching the smirk that would’ve had you falling head over heels in any other circumstance.

Now though? Now you wanted to punch him as he’d shown you months ago. A good knee to his knot wouldn’t go astray either.

“You had a rut, and you didn’t tell me?”

“No. Hey. No, no. I got my hands on some suppressants.” Said hands raised in the air to placate.

Suppressants? “But that’s worse!” Though the implication that he went out and dealt with it with someone who wasn’t you was just as bad.

“How? You were here. I was on the road dealing with Miss Daisy’s ghost.” He thumbed behind him to Baby’s mangled, no longer sleek on the side metal. “And I can’t risk coming home to you like that.”

His eyes flicked down to your bloated stomach, fingers tracing the waist of your pants as he took you in further, igniting tingles down your spine. They hopped, skipped and jumped through muscle and tendons to pull a familiar warmth between your legs as his mouth stretched up into those brilliant greens of his. “When did this happen?”

“Don’t change the subject.” You smacked him on the shoulder, but Dean wasn’t listening.

He dropped to his knees, much like he’d done the day he’d pointed out your pregnancy to you. Placed both palms on your firmer, popped out belly. He couldn’t contain himself. He shucked your shirt up and his nose soon tickled your navel as he pressed a tender kiss over the obvious dip there.

“Well, now I’m jealous.” You grinned down at him, running your hands through his travel-blown hair. If you weren’t pregnant already, your ovaries would’ve self-combusted.

“Least your mom’s no longer mad,” he whispered against your skin.

He wished.

Alright, mad, like the word hate, was a stretch. Frustrated. That fitted. Just as he had been, and still was over Baby two days later.

It was going to take him weeks to repair her. At least, that’s what he’d told you the last time he’d resurged from the garage. But, hey. It meant he wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon, and you’d no longer be stuck alone reading dusty old books.

There’d be no more hours with no one to talk to other than the pup, because you had Sammy to keep you company. Or Dean, if you wanted to hang out with and watch him go through the effects of taking the suppressants he’d “found” in Wyoming.

Yeah, nope. You were still working on that. Something needed to be done if you wanted him to live long enough for your pup to present as an alpha as he’d predicted.

The problem was, he was worried he might harm you or them on account of his rut being abnormal. Years of suppressant taking had led to heavier ones when he’d allowed them, but he wouldn’t take into account this one had come on naturally, and therefore was different. No. He was adamant he wasn’t risking it. Even when you insisted, his instincts wouldn’t allow him to get rougher than you could handle.

He was stubborn. He knew it, you knew it, and it was unfortunate you were also above dumping them down the toilet while you emptied the contents of your stomach.

Him hovering over you while your head hung low in the small bedroom sink wasn’t the most opportune of times, either.

“You okay?” His fingers smoothed over your hair.

Urgh, no, though you didn’t have the energy to say it. If anything, you were helping his stolen suppressants do their job because who’d want to touch you like this?

One hand twisted the tap on full force to wash away the mess. The other patted the cool porcelain surrounding it in search of the cloth you’d replaced that morning, only to knock it off.

Dean swooped down beside you and picked it up, manhandling you next. He straightened your back with a gentle nudge from the front and behind. Supported you and your body with a firm grip, soaking the cotton under the bubbling water and your heart in waves of serotonin. It was the most he’d touched you since coming home.

“You heard me?” you said as he dabbed the newly damp cloth to your forehead with the gentlest of touches that didn’t match the grease coating his hands.

“Only ‘cause I had to hit the head.” His crow’s feet framed his eyes as he shrugged. “Good thing I didn’t hold it.” He moved his hand to your cheek, puffing out his own. “I thought you’d stopped throwing up?”

You bit your lip. That little detail was just another notch on the growing list of erroneous things you’d done to make your lives easier, and your jaw clamped harder before it let go.

“Just when I think it’s gotten better,” you said, shaking your head with a slight jiggle. “The juice I had with lunch didn’t sit right.”

Dean frowned. He pushed those cheeks of his into a full pout. Nothing like the one he’d given you in the garage, but accepting enough until he said, “You wanna come hang out with me?”

Did you? When you knew there was an ulterior motive to keep those crow’s feet of his on you?

Even if you hadn’t wanted to, Dean didn’t give you a choice, and you soon found yourself watching him as he worked on Baby. Which was fine. For your own motives.

From the comfort of a picnic blanket he’d placed on the hood of an old-timey car, you tapped your foot to the beat of Highway to Hell playing on the stereo. You were livin’ easy, but you weren’t lovin’ free because queasy and overly emotional pregnancy symptoms aside, your body craved your alpha. His delectable scent, his touch. More so when he stood before you, in the form-hugging t-shirt that highlighted his pectorals and worn jeans that fell from his hips.

Yeah, the grease monkey look wasn’t helping. Neither was the way he showed just how good he was with his hands. Soon your teeth were chowing down on your lip for another reason altogether as your lower ones flooded with their own kind of lubrication.

Okay, you had it bad, but he was flaunting it all in front of you by bringing you down here. And after two days of him hiding away with Baby and his scent lingering throughout the rest of the bunker, taunting and tugging you into some weird denial loop, how could you be blamed?

You squirmed in your spot, stretched out and fanned your legs with the skirt of your dress for some much needed cooler air. Not only did the breeze work a charm, it drew Dean’s attention to you, too, and you loved that.

“You alright, sweetheart?” He looked up from his lean over the engine. With the angle hiding his face, you relied on your nose to read him.

“Mm-hmm.” You nodded, tantalised by the musk you’d found wafting through the gap of the cars. He was sex on a stick, and he’d kept it from you for too long.

What the hell were you doing over here, when he was right there?

You slipped off the edge and closed the gap between you. “How’s it going?” you asked, resting your palm on his lower back where his muscles tensed again.

“Can’t do much without the new parts.” He sighed and twisted something.

Well. His arm shifted up and down. Metal scraped against more metal, and there was definitely a clunk or two as he worked with whatever tool he was using.

So your hand moved from him to the lip of the engine cavity and Baby’s not-so-black-anymore paint. “The dent’s gone,” you commented. What else could you say? You had no idea what he was doing there, and if Baby held his attention, you’d use her as a way to his…heart.

“Yeah. First thing I did. And here.” He pointed to the underside of the hood, tracing his fingers over the middle crease with pride. You were more interested in his arms as the muscles underneath his skin rippled with the stretch. “Got rid of all the glass, too. Now it’s just a waiting game.”

He pushed himself up, dropping a featherlight kiss on the crown of your head as he stood tall.

And…was that it?

No.

God.

Wait.

Really?

You were gonna complain about that? At least he’d kissed you.

Barely…

“How long?” you said, leaning yourself back against Baby as he dug through his toolbox. You watched, more like examined, the rest of his skin that was exposed, and covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Couple of weeks.” He chuckled, wiping his hands on an old rag. “Guess you guys are stuck with me.”

“Or you’re trapped here with us.”

He hummed at that. Lips pursing into a rueful smile as he pulled out another tool. “That won’t be a problem in a couple of days.”

“But it’s a problem now?” you said, and it was almost venomous. Almost because you were still the sweet submissive omega. The one trying not to burst yet again as your hormones took over your body in too many directions all at once.

Stuck was an insult. Sort of… Well, in that tone, it was.

He’d been so gentle. He always was. Washing your face and soothing your hair while you hacked your guts up. He’d held you close, then got you all comfortable on the other car. Made you the sandwich you’d washed down with that awful juice, but those things didn’t make up for the avoidances, the flinches and the sigh of frustration he wasn’t hiding.

“We’ve been over this.” He dropped the tool back down, spreading more grease over his brow with the other hand.

Screw his tools. His car. The hairs on his head were getting more action than you were, and that was… this was… God, you were pathetic. But that thought didn’t stop you from tearing it up. “No. You made an important decision without me, and then holed yourself down here the second you got home.”

So he’d go into rut if he succumbed and ditched the suppressants? It was far better than endangering himself further with a prescription that wasn’t his. It was a miracle he’d knocked you up first time after years of…medicinal abuse.

Alright. Alright. You were his soulmate, and a little pissy. Okay, a lot. But you doubted his inner alpha would harm you if he took control. The pup was also his, technically, and you stood up and reached for his hands, only for him to pull them back.

You were going to tell him you were worried about him. You would’ve begged him to stop. Would’ve. Were. Hah. Not anymore. You sure snapped instead. “You won’t even touch me?” May as well have been diseased with the way he was avoiding you, but he had no qualms about biting back.

“I held your hair while you hurled.”

“Gee. Thanks,” you said, not caring that it sounded ungrateful and bratty. He’d only done it because he’d walked by, and the jackass blinked at your sarcasm.

“I’m doing this to protect you!”

“And you’re hurting yourself in the process. It’s just sex, Dean.”

“No. It’s a rut!”

“With your mate!” Again. His alpha knew you were pregnant. You knew it wouldn’t be as full on as he thought. They also taught you this in school, for fuck’s sake. Okay, maybe you were a little worried, and…no. No. He’d never hurt you.

But then he snatched at your wrist and took you by surprise. He pulled you towards him and dug his fingers into the soft, fleshy globe of your right ass cheek, and it was good. Very, very good. Especially when he pressed you into the growing bulge in his pants, and his hot breath fell into your ear.

“You think I don’t wanna bust my knot in you?” The aggression rolled off his tongue, landing smack bang in your core. “‘Course I do. I’d bend you over the hood right there and rail ya.”

“Then do it.” You reached between your bodies with what little space there was, gaze searching for any more opposing arguments.

He jolted your arm, still in his grasp. The twang it caused rippled through the bone and into your elbow, but it didn’t stop you. Even when he warned you with “Omega,” you just purred.

Yeah, the submissive act contradicted your fingers looping round the fine metal detailing and worn leather of his belt, but he wasn’t challenging you. He never demanded you move your hand. His hips swayed with you as you tugged the end free, though, and that was a good enough sign he wanted this as much as you did. He’d told you himself. His alpha, so close to the surface. Only—

“I can’t,” he said in a pained voice.

“You can.” He could, and you popped the button on his fly and undid the zip one - tooth - at - a - time. Testing, teasing, and, most importantly, proving him wrong, even as he twitched at the slightest touch of your palm. His cockhead straining against the denim confines had a life of its own.

“Help me down,” you said, and there was no shoving or pushing or rushing when you bent your knees. His hands just gripped yours and helped you lower with ease. Not letting go until you looked up and his fingers were brushing the strands of hair away from your face. Keeping them there against your temples, and god, he was beautiful.

His sun kissed face from years behind the wheel and those sparkling greens would have captivated you for longer in any other moment. But in this one, your fingers brushed over him too.

You took hold of his jeans and shimmied them off his hips. One side, then the next, loosening the belt loops and repeating the process until there was enough room to pull him free and meet him, face to…head.

It was rare he let you do this. Blow jobs usually required catching him by surprise first. That in itself was hard to do when his senses went off at the slightest shift of the most minuscule things. Bed sheets moving. Your toes of your shoes squeaking on the floor beneath you when you shuffled your legs (that had you looking up to check).

The joys of being mated not only to an alpha, but one who thrived on acts of surprise himself. Ones you hoped to get out of him after he spilled down your throat. Maybe back in your bed, or in Baby. Didn’t matter. You just needed him to let go, and then some, for his health’s sake, and yours.

You brought your lips to the slit, tasting the first drops of salt on your tongue. Widened them over the width of the crown. Wrapped your entire mouth around the tip, and looked up with a pucker. A certain air of innocence, even though you were far from it.

He grunted. His head fell back. You were certain his everyday conscience was no longer in the driver’s seat when his nails scraped over your scalp and clasped a sizeable chunk of hair, twisting and turning it through his fingers.

The pull urged you on. The resistance made you splutter until you relaxed your jaw and tried again. Down, down, down. Inch by hardened inch, thick and long, filling your mouth and throat with musk and more saltiness that dripped down into your stomach with a warmth like no other.

Your hand wrapped around him, warm. Your legs and between them. Fuck. Warmer still. Your cheeks and tongue that lay flat below the lip of his head. His swollen knot below your fingertips that throbbed and quickened as you attempted mimicking your walls when they clenched. It all left you tingling in need and in pride.

Your free fingers danced over his skin where they could. They scratched and embedded the tips of your nails into his freckles and battle scars. Along his spine. Up his chest and across his stomach.

That grunt was because you touched him there. That growl, thanks to that squeeze on his knot. The low rumble that reverberated in your ears as they passed below his navel and over the chiselled V directed you south to cup his balls, had you pretty pleased with yourself.

You fondled them. Rolled them in your palm, feeling the heaviness and the heat under the silky, rough texture. Another growl from above when you tugged ever so gently, stroking the sensitive skin at the base of his perineum at the same time. You needed to remember that.

“Omega.” He caressed your chin. “Need you.”

And you flattened your tongue and dragged your teeth along his underside in response. Over the vein, catching on the lip of his velvety head, releasing him with a wet pop as you caught his heated gaze.

“You have me,” you said, but he was tugging you up, doing the same to your dress and bra once he’d pulled you to your feet.

From head to toe, he drank you in. His eyes, focused on your fuller breasts and rounded tummy on the second sweep, flushed your cheeks and had you feeling exposed.

Did he have to look at you like that?

Swallow? Clench his jaw. His hands were nowhere near you. The gap between you suddenly felt very wide. When you tried to close it up again and reached for the hem of his shirt to make things fair, he was pushing you off.

His own fingers moved to your bloat. That apple, peach, hamster and ice cream scoop beneath your skin weren’t as large as his calloused hands. Though it sure fit in them snug.

“Look at ya,” he said, but you were looking at him again. The fiery red tip of his cock twitched along with his lips as he stepped closer. “Getting all round with my pup. Shame I can’t fuck another one into you.”

There went your already soaked panties. Your ovaries, blown.

“You can always try?” And this time when you went for his shirt, he didn’t stop you. Nor when you pounced.

Your mouth came over his free neck and shoulders first. With a strong desire to worship, you trailed nips and kisses over his jugular, Adam’s apple, and up to his ear, where you nibbled on the junction of his jaw. Everything you knew he liked, every piece of skin he found erogenous. Your mouth and hands were there, as were his.

They kneaded your breasts with perfect pressure. Massaging and caressing the uncomfortable aches and itches out of them you’d been feeling for days. He smoothed down your sides, eliciting tingles that yanked the strings connected to your core.

His tongue licked you there and his thumb pinched and pressed in that sensitive spot he knew with his eyes shut, working your body like he was fine-tuning an engine.

Huh.

Ironic when you had oil on your hip from the perfect imprint of his pinky.

He had pre-cum on his foot until he spun you around and swiped it all over your lower back, cool and wet, when he cradled his arm over your middle.

Your heart melted and more slick pooled at your entrance, even as he pushed it back inside with two thick digits and a delicious squelch. The pad of his thumb circling your clit strained and stretched the remaining material covering your mound and ass. It accommodated him. Turned your insides to goo with the tickle, and another pinch you could definitely get used to.

“I’m, ah, supposed to be taking care of you,” you said as he patted your juices back against your sensitive skin.

“You will.” He chuckled, rutting his hips against you until you mewled.

How the hell did he do that? You were in control for all of five minutes, but now you were the one whimpering at his touch. Full of anticipation as he inched your thighs apart to make room for him.

It throbbed still. It warmed you again, only now from your entrance in. Your muscles clenched over him, trying to draw it in and push his fingers out, because you needed him ploughing into you. Needed that full feeling. Needed his knot.

Whether he took the hint of you adjusting to catch the tip at your entrance or he decided he was ready to thrust into you was neither here nor there. He pushed your shoulders into Baby, and your aching tits, the cool glass that wasn’t broken.

He lined himself up, and you caught it all in the side mirror. His hips as they shoved up into your tight hole. Knot and all, in as far as your body would allow. Forehead as it thumped onto your upper back. His jaw dropping and mouth opened wide in a beautiful display of lust and relief.

That sublime stretch and sweet friction of his knot already catching on reentry each time had the skin there buzzing and fluttering under the surface.

Fuck.

You could almost come undone there. All that energy convincing him to fuck you had you fit to burst and desperate.

So when he pulled out and forced himself back in on trembling legs that shook against your clit, you drenched him. Crying out, shaking and trembling yourself as the little shockwaves flooded your nervous system, and you were grinning like an idiot. Unable to close your mouth, unable to hold still.

“Fuck. Is all this for me, omega?” He paused and gave you a feral smirk when he caught your reflections and you raising your head to stare back at him. “Guess you like what you see?” And with his fingers resting on your ass, he leant back and watched, too. His chin, down and smirking as he pumped with languid strokes, in and out, slower and slower.

“Alpha,” you begged ‘cause fuck, his ego could wait. You needed more.

“All knocked up and still needing my knot, huh?” He snapped up, and you whined at the sweet, sweet fullness. Whining again when he pulled all the way out. Legs still shaking beyond belief.

“Dean?” you said the moment you could, but he was guiding you to spin around and face him with a grin you wanted to smack off of his. Before you knew it, his hand had lifted your leg by its knee, tucked your heel snug behind his ass and pressed into you, and you into Baby’s side.

“Can’t knot ya like that.”

Your back arched over her metal.

“Gonna give Sammy a show.” Wait, what? You slid back down, still twitching. Breath staccato’d in your throat and nose. A whimper following.

“Walk with ya still on my cock…and…”

But you didn’t hear the rest. You weren’t even sure he’d said anything after you still being on his cock because, next minute he’d pulled your tit into his mouth, and all coherent thoughts went out the window.

Yup. Mm-hmm. That wet soothed the ache. Every bump on the topside of his tongue felt as he swirled it round and round. Suckled and sucked with expertise until your budding nipple and surrounding skin strained.

And then his hips found their rhythm.

Tension. Tingles. Titillating tugs and nips. You grabbed onto him for dear life as that familiar euphoria bubbled up and down the base of your spine.

His knot swelled, yet still he pumped, grunting, growling, forcing it in and out of your tight cunt. Catching on the seam where your body ended, and he began. So good. So…so…just so. And just when you thought you were about to pop again, his teeth were on his claim and they sunk down deep as he popped himself and stilled.

The pulse of his cum quickening out of him, pulled you from the sting and doused your inner walls with more warmth, flooding you with a high like no other.

You’d float away if it weren’t for him, looming over you. Hearing every pant next to your ear as he licked the fresh wound. The tang of blood on your tongue when he pulled up and kissed you with such force, his lips squashed yours back.

That’s the kind of kiss you’d expected when he’d arrived home. The fire you needed. Such passion and intensity, that had you sniffing the air and breathing all of him in.

He was in full blown rut.

Cum, slick, sweat. His earthy undertones and musk against butter, whisky, and the motor oil he’d been using. Your apple mixed and collided with it. But the sweetest and best of all?

Bitter chocolate and sweet citrus still laced the air under everything else.

They were okay. Just as you knew they would be. Still safe and sound, if only feeling them kick to be certain wasn’t weeks away.

Your hand slipped down between you and stroked the side of your bloat, though. Your gaze flicking down away from him to see the swell where your tummy and his toned muscles pressed together.

“You happy now?” he said, cupping your chin to look into your eyes. “Got yourself all full of me?”

“Mm-hm.” You hummed, wiggling your hips until he growled lowly. “I need more.”

“No. You need rest,” he said, scooping up your other leg under the knee and digging his fingers into both of your ass cheeks.

Next thing you knew, he leant back. Let you fall into his warm chest as he moved towards the stairs like he hadn’t just busted his nut in you, and something about Sammy getting an eyeful crept into your mind.

He wouldn’t…

…but he did.

And when he next came to be in control, however many hours (or days) later, Dean remembered it all. Only unlike the beast within, he held remorse. You were both lucky you hadn’t run into Sam as he trailed both your naked asses through the bunkers’ halls and given him an eyeful.

No doubt he’d smelt the ruckus. Or at least, no, definitely heard it.

The garage had great acoustics, and the halls echoed every damn footstep, boots or no. Even here in your bedroom, noises carried because of the stupid grate in the door.

Sammy would’ve heard everything. The grunts. The snarls. The slap of his sack swinging against your clit when he took you from behind, here on the old bed. His alpha, railing you in the shower after you’d insisted you needed a bathroom break, telling you to “take it,” against the bathroom tiles.

He hadn’t even had the decency to get you into a stall first. Although, come to think of it, what had transpired was safer. No chance of complications, including slippage from leftover water by the drain.

Besides, Sam was the first to tell him he was a fool to take the suppressants before you’d even figured it out. Sam being so smart would’ve known to stay clear. Probably put you up to all this.

Not that you’d had any complaints regarding the four knots he’d given you.

No. You purred in content now. Snuggling next to him on the memory foam. Your head further into the fluffed pillow and his arm, not so fluffed under that.

Yes, you were pressed into his chest, warm and snug in his embrace as was his pup in your belly. His cockhead, still catching on the natural dip your walls made as they relaxed, spilled inside of you on each twitch and pull.

He sniffed the air and his claim. Nuzzled into it, giving another lick to soothe the inflamed skin there. His hand caressed the tiny bump below it, as he looked over your shoulder and surveyed your face for any distress.

Of course, you were still recovering from all the sex, but a piece of him still held concern for you. What if he’d been too rough? What if he’d hurt you or…him?

Hmm. Him.

Those lips of his curled and his torso swelled on the inhale as he breathed it all in again. Apple, orange, chocolate, and traces of motor oil, still on his hands.

Spendings.

Home.

His family.

Even though he missed you warming his bed and the shower pressure of the bunker. Going out into the world to deal with witches and dead grandmas was all worth it, knowing he was coming home with less of them out there to harm you both.

Even if Baby suffered.

“What d’ya say to a bath once we’re free?” he said. Hopefully, you’d add some of that perfumed salt crap you liked that got all up in his cracks and tingled him delightfully.

“Probably a good idea, seeing we didn’t get that far last time.” Your fingers stroked his topmost arm.

“You had to take a leak.”

“Yeah.” Your hands moved into pinching the hairs on his arms. “And I had you hovering over me.”

Technically, that was his alpha, but he was at attention, too, making sure you stayed upright on account of the jello legs from all the fucking. “Well, you poked the bear.” He chuckled, but… shit. Screw bears Your scent flared, and he was about to deal with one released kraken.

“I had to.” Your body tensed in his arms.

“And I didn’t wanna hurt the pup,” he said, knowing any mention of him would calm you right down.

You may have hid it. Even convinced yourself you weren’t still worried about losing him though you were in the ‘safe zone,’ but he saw the constant checking. The way you scented for him every morning before you got up and every hour after. Through each knot and subsequent refractory period. You did it again now, as he just had.

But this business over his rut was getting old, and he sighed, more in content than anger. “We had some good sex.” You couldn’t deny that.

“Yeah,” you said again, but the quiet in your tone had him wary. You’d better believe what he said next was to keep the conversation light and not piss you off any further.

“Should make the most of it before we’re dealing in diapers and zero sleep.” He hummed.

You looked up. Turned your head so he could see your pout and eyes boring right back into the other side of his skull. “Does that mean no more suppressants?”

“Well, no more stealing them.” His tongue peaked through his lips.

You smacked his hand, and his body jolted in reflex. He felt his knot pull. But it didn’t hurt, and you didn’t have any grievances. Not for this, at least.

There was no gasp of pain. No flinching or jolting yourself. So he looked down to your join, leaned more into it and tugged, just a little, able to slip out with another.

The added spillage of cum and slick oozing out onto your leg had him raising his eyebrows at the sight and he smirked. He fisted himself and, with his still sensitive tip, pushed it back in before rolling you over and pinning you down in one swift movement. His weight, on his elbows. Knees and ankles caught in the fray of sheets.

“You want me to knock you up first heat after this one? You got it.” He grinned. and took your breath away before you could say anything against it. Mouth locked on yours and tongue dipping in for the kill with his signature move. He soon had you keening again.

It’d be one kid at a time, for sure. Contrary to what he’d just said. He needed to survive you through the rest of this first, only slightly worried about his hand and the future of his sack. He’d be at your head end during the birth if he could help it.

All jokes aside, he pulled back and gazed over at you, licking his lips. The swell of your stomach. The glow. Your scent. This suited you. Your fuller rack suited him, too.

But he could do without the frown. Those lines between your brows only looked good when he hit your g-spot.

Your hands came up, splaying over his chest, stroking over his skin and tattoo with delicate slides and eliciting tingles. “That’s not what I meant,”

Well, obviously. “I know. But the job… it’s dangerous. It’ll probably kill me first.” His tone was lighter on purpose, even though it was a harsh truth, no matter how many times he’d tell you.

“That’s…not helping.”

“You want me around ‘til I’m old and grey? Missing teeth and driving you to hurting innocent cars?” He didn’t want to end up like Seymour. You wouldn’t end up like his mate Alice if he could help it. Crazy. Most likely from him. Dean would have to make sure Baby passed to Sammy or the pup instead of you, just in case.

“I want you around.”

“Well, you have me for at least a month. Maybe even here for the next scan.” He smirked. Then stole another kiss.

He didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t imagine leaving you and him alone and early. But what could he do? He was a grunt, remember? He’d go stir crazy like old Alice. Driven to despair, and attempt murder that wasn’t provoked.

No. He was good. He loved his life, for the most part. He loved you. He just had to find a way to not get ganked too early, and stick around.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Gah. Friday snuck up on me and I was frantically getting this one ready to post here. Oops.

Coming soon- Dean in a baby store. See a little tid bit below 👇❤️

Chapter 14: Announcement - 22/05

Where to start? The music with its whiny drone and high-pitched piano? The mish-mash of colour, dominated by rainbows and construction truck yellow? The smell of snotty noses, diapers and Cheez Doodles? Had every kid pooped in here or was there something wrong with the plumbing?

Alright, a salvage yard would’ve had none of these things (might’ve stank a little), but the pup store had the upper hand for worst, simply on the fact you were there, amongst people he didn’t know.

He’d slung his arm over your shoulders and directed you around the other shoppers with the widest of gaps possible between you and them, following the signs to the wall of strollers on the left. You passed the conveniently located nesting section right by the cash registers on the way, of course. Full of all things fluff, including stuffed animals.

Dean may have glared at another alpha who got too close when you stopped. He may have sympathised with another who also found himself stuck while you and his omega eyed one fugly looking cushion, but he said nothing. Neither did the other guy. Though there was an eye roll when your scent peaked in full delight as you ran your fingers through the fur that could’ve passed for a muppet.

Oh god. His world was going to be full of Elmo and Cookie Monster, wasn’t it? Or that blue thing with the Australian accent he kept seeing as you walked by older pups sitting in the main part of their parents’ carts with eyes glued to their screens.

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573

@lyarr24 @salemslostwitch @mostlymarvelgirl @ladysparkles78 @multiversefanfics

@31miw-inkpsycho @yoursrosie @Theantisoci-alone @roseamie13 @krazykelly

@my-stories-vault @amberlthomas @levine-23 @ultimatecin73 @district447

@hobby27 @aylacavebear @stellawritesstories @middleearthlife @yeehawgiddyup13

@redwinexsupernova @artemys-ackles @kimxwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @impala67rollingthroughtown

If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

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sayruq · 1 year ago

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Hello , I hope you’re doing well 🫶🏻

Me and my family need your help to survive from genocide in gaza,here our goFundMe link just read our story and help us if you can or just share it, we appreciated everything you would do.

https://gofund.me/38cab03b

Hello, I'm Khader Abu Sha'ban, and I'm 20 years old, I have a twin brother his name is Ragheb, and we are from Gaza City, We started the second year of our degree (designing and programming mobile applications). We live with a family of 9 members, they are all educated and have university degrees in the fields of engineering, programming, information security, administration, and law, We are the youngest in the family and we are the only ones who are still learning and we didn't end our degree yet.

Don't forget our beautiful cat - Kelwa – whom we consider a family member and we adopted him during the war when he was homeless in the street, however, he filled our lives with joy.

Before October 7th, Our life was full of goals, ambitions, and hope. and because we are identical twins I and my brother share everything in life and we have the same hobbies, actually we have the same life So we practice sports such as football, table tennis, and basketball and we are professionals in video games. we spend our time learning English next to our university education in the field where we found our passion which is Programming, and we have a small online store (Candles Store) to sell candles that we manually made. We have a goal to finish our university life as fast as we can to join the labor market of IT and open our startup company for techniques and applications with the great passion that we already have. this dream is growing day by day, but because of the war and the current circumstances, the dream started to fade, during the war educational institutions and Universities were destroyed in Gaza and the study was arrested. during the previous 8 months we have been unable to complete our education and estimates indicate that restoration of university status in Gaza will take time and may exceed years. The war came and destroyed our lives, our dreams, and our souls, My family did not decide to displacement to the south, despite all the suffering we had passed during this period and we decided to stay at home and not leave the beautiful memories, the idea of displacement to south and go to an unknown place that we don't have any relatives there was the most difficult for us to leave everything and not return back, so the decision was steadfast, non-displacement and patience on the suffering, but the war has been partially damaged our house because of targeting the house next to us, and damaged our beautiful memories and become ineffective to live, but thank God no one of my family has been hurt. The house went and we lost a lot of our beloveds (14 members of my cousins) and witnessed a lot of suffering in Gaza we were forced to internally-displacement east and west more than 5 times and it was very difficult to escape under the shelling at night and under The voices of aircraft and bombing and moving from a non-safe place to another non-safe place and don't forget the starvation that we still live in northern Gaza and dumping bombs, rockets and insecure until life became black for us. We won't forget the night of December 18th, when we lived the most terrifying night in our lives when we woke up at night to the voices of bombs and shells of nearby tanks and the glass and shrapnel on us, and I do not forget the voices of crying and the sounds of the SOS and we are unable to move even unable to breathe because of the hole of the smoke bombs that have thrown on us, I swear the horror of this night will accompany me to the last day My life. The horror of this night is repeated daily and there is no end and life has already black for us, after all this suffering we have reached a plan to rebuild the rest of our lives again elsewhere after we lost our house and members of my family as well as we lost the source income of my family this led us to seek help through this campaign, the raised funds will cover travel expenses for 9 people outside Gaza (where the travel coordination costing $ 5,000 per person) and $ 5,000 for addition costs for initial stability Abroad and $ 5000 initial amount to complete the study abroad for me and my brother. If the situation improves in Gaza we will use funds to restore our house and complete our education in Gaza or abroad, according to appropriate conditions.

These brothers have been raising funds since May and they've only received €678 so far. Please share and donate. Help save lives !!!!!!!

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #support palestine #palestine donation #palestinian donations

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lovelytsunoda · 1 year ago

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uptown girl // mickey "fanboy" garcia

soft kisses shared in the bar light after a game of pool

she would do anything for her nerd boy. except maybe meet his friends in a crowded bar with a pool table where she can make a fool of herself in front of all of her boyfriend's friends. it's a good thing that mickey is a good teacher.

pairing: mickey "fanboy" garcia x female! reader

author's note: he had like four lines and i was prepared to go to war for this man.

the hard deck hummed with activity as she parked her car, flicking off the manual headlights before glancing at her phone, which was pinned to it's magnetic holder on the dashboard.

it wasn't too late to text mickey and tell him something had come up, was it?

as she was thinking it, as if mickey could hear her, her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a text message from her beloved.

mickey: hey sweet girl, are you almost here? everyone is so excited to meet you!

she sighed, switching the music off and cutting the engine, sitting in the dark car and waiting for the heated seat to lose its warmth. her relationship with mickey garcia was still very new.

they had only been together for a few months, having met at an eighties rock-and-glow dance night. she was standing by the stage, dressed in skinny jeans and a white t-shirt that glowed fluorescent in the blacklight, an old-timey glass sprite bottle in her hands as she sang bonnie tyler at the top of her lungs. he was the best dancer there, with a goofy personality that captivated her from the moment he grabbed her hand and pulled her into a slow dance to 'heaven in your eyes'.

deciding to rip the band-aid off, she grabbed her tote bag from the passenger seat and slipped out of the car, sea breeze cutting deep and sending a chill down her spine as she walked up the weathered steps to fightertown's navy bar.

her sweet boy was impossible to miss, his smile lighting up the whole bar as he stood next to the pool table, his short-sleeved button shirt untucked from his crisp blue jeans.

as nervous as she was, it was hard not to smile when she saw him, watching as he leaned over the table to delicately knock a striped ball into one of the pockets in the corner of the table. after the shot, he looked up, and infectious grin breaking out over his face when he saw her.

"hey, pretty girl." he beamed, passing his pool cue to a woman in a black turtleneck and jeans before he sidestepped the table and pulled his lover into an embrace. "i'm glad you came."

"hi, mickey." she smiled, kissing him softly. "i've missed you."

"are you ready to meet everyone? or do you want something to eat first? i can order you a plate of onion rings-"

she laughed softly, taking his hand in hers. she loved how attentive and sweet he was, always trying to dote on her whenever he could. when they were together, he hated letting her pay for things, even if it meant dipping into his not-enormous navy salary "mickey, it's okay. i have time to meet your friends before i order."

with a soft kiss to the side of her head, mickey looped his arm around her shoulders and they headed towards the pool table. "guys, this is y/n. my girlfriend."

she underestimated how much her heart would swell at hearing mickey say those words. hearing someone declare to the world that they had chosen her.

"y/n, this is natasha, jake, robert, bradley, hallie and javy."

"hello!" she squeaked, waving at the group. "nice to finally meet you guys, mickey has told me so much about you guys."

robert laughed, reaching out to shake her hand. "and mickey has told us even more about you. fanboy loves to talk."

she never though she'd meet someone who talked as much as she did until she met mickey. they could talk for hours, about anything and everything. when they were together, she suspected it would drive the people around them insane. except she didn't know how his friends would react, what they would think of her.

they made small talk for a little, while some of the guys and natasha all took their turns at the pool table. it was team game, although the teams seemed to be a little unbalanced in terms of skill level. mickey had pulled her into his lap, gently rubbing circles on the skin underneath her peasant top.

jake leaned over the table, his pool cue hitting the white ball, white harmlessly dusted the side of the ball he was aiming for, plunking down in the basket.

"god damn it, hangman!" javy groaned

natasha laughed, high-fiving bradley. "sucks to suck, bagman!"

mickey shifted in his chair, hands running up her sides. "our turn, pretty girl. do you want to try?"

she turned back to him, a small glint of panic in her eyes as she took his hand in hers. "i'm not very good."

bradley snorted, taking a sip of his budweiser. "we're miles ahead of hangman, you could break the table and we'd still be ahead of them."

"go on." mickey encouraged, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder blade. "i'll guide you."

she stood up, still clutching his hand in hers as she moved towards the pool table. hallie passed her a pool cue, and she stood nervously by the table until mickey came up behind her. his hands were warm through her jeans, his back against hers as he guided her into the correct position.

"you got this, sweet girl." he said quietly, kissing the side of her head gently, his hands over hers on the cue. "it's a straight shot into the basket."

mickey stepped back, his hands still on her waist as she took the shot, hitting with just enough force for the white ball to send the orange solid ball into the basket.

one fell swoop.

mickey's side of the pool table started to cheer, and her cheeks flushed pink as she turned around to wrap her arms around mickey, hiding her face from the crowd.

"great job, my darling girl." mickey laughed, kissing her softly. "are you sure you haven't played pool before."

"my grandfather had a table in his basement." she said sheepishly, leaning the cue against the table to she could slip her hands into mickey's back pockets. "but i haven't played a proper game since I was twelve. he sold the table when they sold the house."

"maybe you'll have to play more often." mickey said, leaning in to kiss her softly. "i love you."

"i love you too."

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @thatsdemko @lorarri @sidcrosbyspuck @cartierre @httpiastri

#mickey garcia x reader #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #top gun imagine #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #fanboy x reader #fools in love! event

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sashaisready · 1 year ago

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This Must Be The Place: Chapter 15 - Hit me on the head

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Nothing I don't think? Some angst!

Hi again! Sorry a bit of a shorter chapter as the next one is quite long and I'm still fiddling around with the dialogue. Also...sorry for making Peter Q the bad guy...I don't know why that happens often in my fics hehe.

You sat in the car considering your options. Too far to walk home, especially at night by yourself. Too far to walk back to Peter’s – not that you’d want to, anyway. God, no.

You caught yourself replaying the events of what had happened with him and screwed your eyes shut. Not now. Leave that in a box for the time being, concentrate on getting home first.

You tried to pull up a mental map of the area in your mind, but you didn’t really know it well enough beyond the way back to Granny’s place and the fuzzy outline of everything else. You were pretty sure there was a gas station not too far from here that would surely let you call a tow or Wanda, but you weren’t sure of the exact direction it was in, and you didn’t want to set off the wrong way in the dark by yourself.

You got out of the car and popped the hood, trying to use the dim light of the nearby streetlamp to illuminate the inside. You attempted to fiddle with a few things, but the poor visibility and your limited knowledge of engines meant you didn’t get far. Everything ‘looked’ as it should…in the dark at least...so you sighed heavily as you admitted defeat and slumped back inside.

After running through every possibility, including hitchhiking (too murdery) and trying to push Sally a little to see if that nudged the engine (too superheroy), you got out of the car briefly and wandered down the road in both directions to see if you could find any signs of life – but there was only the occasional car in the distance, too far away to notice you, and the sounds of the interstate nearby.

Sally’s digital radio said it was 11pm and you accepted the best option you had was to camp out here for the night, then regroup when the sun came up. You would set off to find the gas station, maybe try flag a passing car to use their phone. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all you had.

Fortunately, you had a blanket and old hoody stashed in the trunk, so you splayed across the backseat and attempted to get yourself as comfortable as you could. You kicked off your heels and wrapped yourself up. You laid in the dark, stifling a derisive chuckle as you thought about how ridiculous this all was. Your body already pulsed from the discomfort of your position and the dinner from earlier felt heavy and acidic in your stomach. But you did your best to ignore it all, closing your eyes and hoping to catch at least a few hours of sleep.

You must’ve somehow drifted off as sometime later you were awoken by something. Your eyes blearily focused as your initial confusion cleared and you grimly remembered where you were. You couldn’t see the car’s clock from this angle, clueless as to what time it was.

You heard a noise, a loud hum that seemed to be getting closer. That must’ve been what woke you.

You sat up, groaning at the stiffness of your limbs as you wiped the condensation from the back passenger window and peered outside – finding nothing but darkness. It was still nighttime, you leaned over the seat and saw on the radio it was a little after midnight.

The humming noise was getting louder and louder, it sounded like a lawn mower…or a chainsaw. You couldn’t make sense of it. It felt familiar but you couldn’t place it in your sleepy haze. Groggily, you pressed your face to the glass as your brain caught up.

You saw it then, the bright light that illuminated the road and Sally as the noise became deafening, and you suddenly understood.

A headlight.

A motorcycle.

The bike came to a sudden stop in front of the car and the noise ceased, causing you to sit up sharply and check the doors were locked. You unsteadily shrank back under the blanket as a figure approached the car. Was that…?

“Sugar?” called the voice as the figure moved around the car, muffled through the window glass but still unmistakeable. “Is that you?”

“B-Bucky?” you croaked in surprise as he came into view, squinting as he shined his phone torch through the windows at you.

Relief flooded you as you saw him lean over and squint as he looked in, his face concerned and confused.

Thank God for that!

But your feeling of respite soured as embarrassment surged. As grateful as you were…why did it have to be him of all people? Even another member of the MC would’ve been fine, although you knew beggars couldn’t be choosers. You were still furious with him, still wounded by his earlier betrayal, and now here you were – intensely vulnerable and desperate for his help. You hated that he would now have this over you, that you had no choice but to lean on him.

But you did have a choice, even if it wasn’t the right one.

He knocked on the window, “Sugar? I was just passing saw Sally parked up. What’s going on? Are you alright? Did you break down?”

You turned away, mortified.

“Sug? Open up. I can help”.

“No…” you said quietly.

“What?”

“No!” you snapped, loud enough for him to hear. “Leave me alone, Bucky. I don’t want your help…”

“Sug…”

“No!” you shouted again, unable to stop the tears from falling. “I said no! I’d rather take my chances by myself”, your voice was shaky.

You knew you were being wholly unreasonable. But you couldn’t help it. After the night you’d had, how tired you were, you simply didn’t have the bandwidth to add him to the mix and ‘owe’ him this favour.

“You’re being ridiculous…this is stubborn even for you,” he chastised, “C’mon. You’re sleeping in your car on the side of a road miles from home, for fuck’s sake. Just open up. And what’s happened to your face…?” He paused, softening as he watched you through the glass, “Look…it’s not safe out here, let me help you”.

You frowned at his admonishment despite knowing he was right. You could go home! Help was right there! You were being a stubborn baby! You were drowning at sea, and someone had thrown you a life preserver!

But why did it have to be that person who found you, of all the 7.9 billion human beings on the planet?

Even in your worked up state you knew full well you were acting insanely, logic was not winning out.

“No! I’m still mad at you, and I’m always gonna be mad at you…” you scoffed childishly.

He exhaled in frustration, pressing his hand against the glass as he looked at you defeatedly. “Sug…”

You turned away from him fully, burying yourself under the blanket and trying to stifle your sobs.

“Okay…” he sighed, “Have it your way”.

You laid perfectly still, keeping your eyes shut and hoping to somehow skip all of this and get straight to morning. After a few minutes you peeked out, but Bucky was gone. You weren’t sure why you felt a faint glimmer of disappointment, as he’d done exactly what you asked him to, but today wasn’t a day of rational emotions. Thankfully, tomorrow would bring a new day. Maybe you’d be a little more sane by then.

Your eyelids weighed heavily as you settled back across the seats, and rest finally came.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #this must be the place fic #biker!bucky #motorcycle club au bucky

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drivinmeinsane · 5 months ago

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Stranded : 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Two ❆ Driver / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas 2024 Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

❆ Summary: A little car trouble gives you and Driver a moment alone before you visit your family for the holidays. ❆ Rating: No mature content. ❆ Content/Tags: domesticity, holiday travel, fluff, no use of Y/N ❆ Word Count: 1551 ❆ Author's Note: Pulling so much overtime at work kicked my ass in December and is still kicking it with no end of these 70+ hour weeks in sight, but I'm sure we can muster up a little seasonal coziness in January for some overdue Goosemas prompt fills. 🤞

Your eyes are like starlig-

“Nope,” you mutter under your breath and twist at the knob to change the station—abruptly cutting off yet another Christmas song crooning over the old speakers.

Much to your chagrin, the Malibu is too old for a CD player by about a decade, leaving you at the mercy of whatever radio stations Driver’s beloved ‘73 can pick up through its warped antenna. In a bid for sanity, you have made a game out of dodging all the holiday tunes that have floated across the airwaves. Working a shitty job during December is enough to make almost anyone want to leap out of a moving vehicle at the first jingle of bells.

Your dramatic reactions and desperate lunges at the dial have coaxed a few lopsided smiles out of Driver as he takes you up north for your annual family gathering for the season. The mechanic’s presence behind the wheel is a welcome comfort. Even more welcome is the hand resting on your thigh. Each movement of his thumb back and forth over your clothed skin softens the tense lines of your back until you’re tucked into your seat like it’s a comfortable armchair.

The peace is shattered when the car starts jerking—stuttering like an old woman in her death throes. Driver pulls his previously relaxed hand off your thigh and drops it onto the stick. You don’t have time to do more than let out a startled gasp at the sudden jostling. He ignores your surprise as he shifts down in gear, struggling to keep the wheel steady. The Chevy bucks against his efforts, fighting him with every rotation of her tires.

Driver takes to the shoulder. The action forces the vehicle’s momentum to slow as the wheels catch on the snow that has been pushed to the side of the road by the snowplows that have been working since before the rise of the sun to make the miles upon miles of pavement traversable.

You barely hear him let out a frustrated exhale of air while the car idles roughly in park before he kills the engine. The resulting silence is loud without the crackle of the old radio and the persistent hum of the engine. Driver leans down and fiddles with the loose wires hanging down underneath the steering column. He’s talked about getting a lower dash panel, but still hasn’t found one that will properly fit.

Eventually, the sound of the hood popping free from its latch reaches your ears through the solid body and glass of the car.

Without a word, Driver pushes the keys to the Malibu into your hand for safekeeping. The rabbit’s foot is soft in your palm. He’s giving you his luck.

The wind that darts into the car after he opens the door is cold enough to bite at you through your layers. Despite her state of constant repair and modification, the vehicle does have a good heater and you already miss it. You tug your coat tighter around yourself.

You wince in sympathy while you watch the mechanic round the front of his car. He always runs cold, layering up even in the heat of the West Coast. You’re surprised that you can’t see him shivering in his jackets through the rapidly fogging windshield.

While he works, you pull out your phone out of your pocket and flip it open with a satisfying click of the hinges. No bars. The signal doesn’t improve upon extending the antenna.

“Shit,” you groan, putting the phone away.

A faint sense of worry starts worming its way into your mind. If Driver can’t fix whatever problem has the old car acting up, it’s going to be a long wait until either someone else comes along or your family sends out the cavalry hours after the two of you were due to arrive.

In the effort to dispel your growing concern, you pop open the glove compartment and poke through the items. The space is mostly empty. There is the insurance information, an unopened air freshener, and a chipped screwdriver. Some takeout menus… a map and a pen. There is nothing of note to be found, nothing that screams personal value or sentimentality.

Would it kill this man to allow himself a little clutter?

Movement catches your eye and you startle into shutting the compartment as you see a flicker of your partner dropping to his knees in the snow in front of the vehicle. He falls completely out of sight. You unbuckle your seat belt and open the door with a creak that makes your jaw clench with the sheer volume of the sound in the snow-muffled quietness.

“How’s it going?”

Driver has worked himself underneath the front of the car, you realize as you move to stand by one of the headlights. You pass concerned eyes over him from the thighs down. Snow and asphalt salt are doing their best to soak into his clothes.

“Complicated.”

Dropping into a squat beside him, you wobble slightly on the uneven surface and steady yourself by grabbing his knee. He doesn’t startle at the unexpected touch. The two of you are long past any wariness.

“Want any help?”

“Toolbag, please,” comes the reply. You have to strain to hear him over the wind.

Easy enough, you decide and stand up to inch your way around the car. You lean against the cold metal to keep from slipping and making Driver drag you back up the embankment should you slide right off the road’s shoulder.

You twist the key in the lock of the trunk and pull out the heavy bag once the lid opens. It feels as though he has crammed the entire contents of a mechanic’s shop inside the confines of the bulging leather.

The bag lands with a thud when you complete the slightly perilous journey back to Driver’s side. It nudges against his leg. Before you can ask what he needs from it, his hand shoots out and he fishes out a tool by touch alone before withdrawing the appendage back out of sight. Clanking noises and the scraping of metal against metal ensue for just a moment.

He emerges from underneath the Malibu, holding onto a metal cylinder. His hair is mussed and your eyes drift and latch onto the band of his bare stomach from where his jackets have rucked up. The skin turns a pretty pink in the cold, triggering him to shove the thick material down with chilled hands. He rolls onto his knees and picks up the tool bag as he rises to his feet with a crunch of salt and snow.

“Go sit. Just need to clean this out,” he says, slightly raising the object he’s holding. It looks like something pulled out of a pile of scrap in junkyard,

“What’s that?,” you ask. You’re already opening the passenger side door, not needing to be told twice to get out of the air so frigid that your breath steams with every release of your lungs.

“Fuel cylinder.”

“Cool.” What he said means absolutely nothing to you. As you smile at the mechanic, you make a mental note to ask him for details. It’ll be worth it to see him get that soft sparkle in those blue eyes and actually talk.

The leather has cooled slightly in your brief absence. Settling into the seat is a process of suppressed hisses at the temperature and the relief of being out of the wind. It’s not long before Driver is throwing himself back behind the wheel and tossing a clean rag onto the dashboard followed by a less grimy looking part. It’s streaked with moisture from where it was hastily scrubbed with snow and wiped off.

‘’s cold,” he says, close to complaining as he ever gets. “How ‘bout your family moves somewhere warmer?”

You laugh. “They like it up here, besides, if they did, I would have less opportunities to do this…”

His questioning look turns into the widened eyes of mild outrage as you lean over the gear shift and put one cold hand under the hems of his layered clothing to press it against the warm expanse of his stomach. He exhales, sharp, catching your wrist in one large hand. He makes no effort to actually end the contact. His fingers are even icier than yours.

“Might as well get the other one over here,” he says, dry.

You take him up on his suggestion and proceed to work your left hand higher up on his body than your captured right. The winter sunlight is strong enough through the windows that the fine trail of hair on his abdomen lights up gold.

“You should probably warm yours up too,” you remark, leaning over even further.

Driver meets you in the middle with an eager kiss. His free hand skates over your coat, fingers seeking the edge of the garment to find your heat of your bare flesh. You hum appreciatively into his mouth at his efforts. You won’t be able to touch him as much as you’d like around your family without raising some eyebrows and being that couple. It would be a shame to not make the most out of your time while you wait for the cylinder to dry.

<- previous day // next day ->

#drive #drive (2011)#drive 2011 #driver #driver x reader #x reader #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #12 days of goosemas #goosemas2024 #.my posts #.my work

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the-janitor-esc · 2 months ago

Text

*sorting mail in the mail room, making sure everything is actually going through an x-ray; trying to teach the Cuscus2 janitorial cyberspiders to x-ray packages, but it is not sticking*

*flipping through the mail with cleaning gloves on and pauses at a vanilla envelope**would be sweating if they could at the fact it is addressed to "Inky" rather than "The Janitor"* *tucking it into their apron*

[a hour later]

*shutting themself in an abandon lab since Spice is living in their office now* *recognizes the handwriting from the roses and drone warning* *opening the envelope*

[A picture, irreparably burnt but well remembered. If it was whole, it would show six people, the interns sitting and the doctors standing, around a glass aquarium containing a black sphere. Half the photo has been burnt away, but a portion of one of the interns' faces remains. Along the bottom, a familiar handwriting has written "Lab 5, 2004". Something has been written on the back in unfamiliar handwriting; it says, "trust us."

The Janitor traces their thumb across the familiar writing and the half burnt, beloved face. It's a struggle to contain their sorrow, but they don't want to lose this photo to glitching. ]

[ ((memory below the cut for cw)) ]

*leaking ink from their face, staining their bandages and the neck of their uniform cyan* *vibrating for a while* *getting up and going down to Sub-basement 5.5 to place the picture on Furi Groshawk's cryopod in the janitorial quarters* *resting their face on the cryopod while making a note to clean the ink from it later*

((ooc: LONG POST! Cw for abusive family environment, illusions to transphobia and homophobia, swearing, being trapped in a fire, being swallowed alive, and fate unknown))

= 1999, Groshawk Household =

[The patter of rain]

[Two parents' voices screaming at each other] [the sound of a heartbeat in xir ears] [the slam of a front door] [the sound of a heartbeat in xir ears] [The sound of a tv turned up as loud as it can go on the other side of a bedroom door] [the sound of a heartbeat in xir ears] [the sound of a car peeling out of the drive]

[the soft sound of a window being jimmied open from the inside and a body slipping through out into the rain] [the splash of footsteps on wet pavement out to a shed]

[the sound of a bicycle's tires on wet asphalt] [the shifting of wet clothing over muscle] [the purr of car engines and shriek of brakes and distant radio music behind glass] [the continuous patter of rain]

[the clink of a bicycle being parked in a rack and locked in] [the squelch and squeak of gym shoes on a tile floor]

"Francis, bro, what the fuck. If I knew your old man wouldn't loan you his ride, I would have picked you up."

"It's just some water."

"You're soaked through to the bone. James, give me your keys."

[the jingle of keys being thrown to an outstretched hand]

"You boys stay here. I'll go grab some clothes out of the car for you, Francis."

"Thanks."

[the sound of dry shoes on tiled floor; the fwoop of an umbrella opening at the door]

"What happened to your lip?"

[nervous shuffling] "Got into it with the old man. Jules let me borrow her jacket...the pink one, and he saw me wearing it..."

"Ask me next time; I'll loan you my Letterman."

"That won't go over well. I'll just make do next time."

[a silence]

"Yeah, I guess. Fuck that bastard though. You sure you don't want me to kill him?"

"Yeah."

"Alright." [the sound of a body leaning against a wall] "...I'll give you a lift home after the talk. Jules'll be beside herself if you go back out in that."

"Thanks."

[a silence]

"Back! Get in that bathroom and put this on; hurry up, we're gonna be late."

[a door opening and shutting] [the wet sound of clothes coming off and dry going on] [pausing briefly to stare in the mirror] [a door opening and shutting]

[two bodies being yanked by their hands after a third]

"Hold the door!"

[three bodies piling in at the back of the room, part way into the introduction of a talk]

"It is my pleasure to introduce our guests speakers tonight from the Mercury Innovation and Experimentation Complex, Dr. Inez García Montoya and Dr. Dominic King Jr."

[applause]

"They are well respected in the bio-engineering and environmental monitoring communities respectively. They will be discussing some of their latest research and opportunities for interns with Mercury."

= 08/13/2004; Mercury Innovation and Experimentation Complex =

[the crackling of fire] [a groan of a building suffering] [the wheezing of a person who is pushing xirself onward, but is turned around in the smoke] [coughing]

"Dr. Chekhov..."

[the slow, unsteady tread of sensible shoes] [a stumble] [a fall] [a groan] [a body at rest, trying to will itself back up]

"Fuck, not like this" [coughing] "Come on, Furi" [coughing] "Get up."

[a body pushing up on to its knees] [the ominous groan of the ceiling above] [a terrifying cracking] [a half-scream]

[a rapid heartbeat, in xir ears and above xem] [a low inhuman rumble]

"C-cas-per?"

[the wet squelch of a human hand petting a gel-like surface weakly]

"Don't be scared." [coughing] "We'll...we'll get" [coughing, prolonged, painful] "out of here."

[the ominous groan of the building] [the shifting of a body sinking back toward the floor]

[a distressed inhuman sound] [the squelching of a gel-like surface breaking apart to encapsulate a friend, to try to take xem to safety]

#The Janitor Arc 2

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mercurygray · 1 year ago

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Trying NOT to be obvious and ask for something with Diana (beloved) again, so how about a new girl - Freda, with "Cloying sweetness on the back of your tongue" from the Sensory Prompts, please?

And she thought she was supposed to be the welcome wagon.

"Miss Fred, Miss Fred!" Two small boys came running up to meet her jeep, waiting at a respectful and safe distance until she'd turned the engine off and gotten her box out of the back. She was on the lunch run today, and the turkey and cheese sandwiches weren't going to keep if she left them out in the sun too long.

"Well, hey there, Adam. George. What's doing?"

"Have you got any extra doughnuts today, Miss Fred?"

Fred shrugged theatrically, setting the heavy box-tray down at her feet. "'Fraid I don't, fellas. But I do have these cookies - er, biscuits - the mess hall just finished making. I was bringing them for Ken and the crew but I might have a couple extra. How do you feel about chocolate chips?"

You could have knocked the boys over with a feather. "Chocolate CHIPS?? You make biscuits with chips in 'em, Miss Fred?"

"How do you get the chips to taste like chocolate? I think my mum needs that."

Fred cycled through a a moment of brief confusion until she realized the mistake. Chips…crisps…fries…oh.

"What, you fellas ain't ever had chocolate chips before?" Ken asked, coming out from underneath the engine with a grin on his face. "You're missing out. Are those all for me, Miss Fred?"

Freda passed over the container to Ken, who made a big show of opening it and investigating what was inside while the two boys looked on, still absolutely sold on the idea of cookies that somehow managed to have fried potato inside.

"Maybe if you're real nice to Mr Lemmons he'll share," Fred suggested, holding in a smile.

"Naw, I don't think so," Ken said, hamming along for the sake of the joke. "I think me and Wink and the boys are gonna eat 'em all ourselves."

"Yep," Wink said, nodding very seriously. "Takes a lot of cookies to keep one of these things flying, you know."

Ken made a noise and suddenly drew his hand out of the box like he'd been burned. "Oh, darn. Would you look at that. This one's broken. Definitely can't eat that now, Wink, it's spoiled."

Up went the waiting hands, the two boys practically bouncing in place. "We want it! We want it!"

"Are you sure?" Lemmons looked the both of them over with a skeptical look. "Eating broken cookies can be dangerous."

"We love danger!" George said, loud enough for the both of them.

"Well, all right," Ken said, like he thought he might regret this, carefully picking up the broken cookie like he was handling broken glass and gently depositing it into Adam's outstretched hands. "Looks like this one's broke, too, George. 'Fraid you're gonna need to take both."

Both boys bit down hard, chewing carefully to investigate. Adam frowned. "Why, this is just bits of chocolate."

"Well, that's what Miss Fred said, isn't it?" Lemmons replied, clearly enjoying himself. "Chocolate chips?"

"Ohhhhhh." The light finally went on, and the boys giggled, still eating their cookies with glee.

"Chalk one up for American English," Fred said, watching the two boys run off through the tall grass.

"I don't care what anyone says, those are still fries where I'm from," Wink declared, pulling another half a cookie out of the box in Lemmons' hands and chowing down. "Thanks for the grub, Fred!"

"You're really good with 'em," Fred said to Lemmons, sitting down on the tarmac in the shade of the wing and watching as the rest of the crew ambled over for the sandwiches and apples, pulling handkerchiefs out of pockets to wipe off oily hands. "The kids, I mean. Some guys wouldn't take the time." How many 19 year olds would stop and play with their kid brother of ten?

"Helps, you know? Keeping it all in perspective. And I figure, if you make 'em listen here, if you really need to keep 'em out of trouble they'll listen later, too. Might even learn something." Lemmons nodded, mostly to himself. Ken Lemmons, you're a wise man and a scholar. "You eaten yet?"

She smiled and shook her head, taking the cookie he offered and biting down slowly, the chocolate cloying and sweet on the back of her tongue, still just the tiniest bit warm and gooey. Shortage of sweet things in this world at the moment. I'm glad human kindness isn't one.

Freda is one of my many OCs - if you liked her here, you can read more about her at her tag on my blog! More of my writing, and more OCs, are found at the mercurygraypresents tag.

#i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #freda torvaldsen #Ken lemmons

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dirty-bosmer · 2 years ago

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by my very kind and talented friends @skyrim-forever @elavoria @kookaburra1701 @ladytanithia @lucien-lachance @mareenavee @thequeenofthewinter

Tagging: @atypicalacademic @justafoxhound @paraparadigm @gilgamish @rainpebble3 @throughtrialbyfire @orfeoarte @sylvienerevarine @wispstalk @nuwanders @miraakulous-cloud-district @sheirukitriesfandom (tagging you for the new week heh) @flymmcargo

From Chapter 3 of Slither and Writhe. Sorry this one ended up being kinda long, but I really wanted to get to the necromancy bit cause necromancy 😈 I have thoughts (thots) on it

The sigh that left Fathis was as weathered as a cliff face and mantled in as much dust as the specimen jars lining his shelves. It was the only sign of his true age beneath all that sorcery and elven blood, for truly no creature’s sigh could carry as much weight as that of a tired old man’s.

“So,” he said, a brow arched expectantly as he settled back into the chair. The leather squeaked as he shifted, and he lifted his glass to his lips, drinking down the sujamma with as much ease as spring water. Sylawen resisted the urge to wince. “Care to explain what you were doing outside my tower looking like a scamp dragged you in by the heels?”

“Not if it can be avoided.”

“Does your mother know that you’re here?”

“Well…” She attempted an innocent grin. Somehow, they always failed her.

“Sylawen.”

“What? Why must she know? Perhaps I only wanted to stop by and say hello. I have two legs and a modest sense of direction, and really you should be happy anyone comes by these days. Place is an absolute dump.”

Fathis hummed out a little chuckle, wagging his finger at her all the while. “Don’t think it’s not abundantly clear to me you’ve run off again. This must be, what, the fourth time this year? I thought the long summer of travelling was meant to dull that wanderlust.”

“Ugh, you and my mother both act like it’s an affliction. As if I’m some stupid dog hellbent on running headlong into a carriage.” Sylawen snorted, and Fathis tipped his head toward her, gave her one of those looks that made her feel as if she were bound by vellum instead of her own skin. “Well, I didn’t realize returning home meant I’d agreed to wear a leash.”

“You slipped the collar on yourself, my dear.”

Sylawen’s stomach knotted. She tried to laugh it off, but there was too much scorn still lingering in her voice, and its echo scorched red at her ears. She could feel her smile beginning to quiver and swirled her sujamma in another circle. The whirlpool within looked suddenly inviting.

“Another accident, was it?”

“Don’t say ‘accident,’ Fathis. I knew perfectly well what I was doing.”

“That’s what every young mage says before they blow the roof of their house.”

“Please,” Sylawen sneered. “That’s so rich coming from you. You and my mother and that blasted disciplinary board at the University, all wanting to act as if their entire beloved campus isn’t powered by necromancy. Every glittering little ring on their fingers, every augmented sword at their side. The marvelous feat of Dwemer engineering cooling the very room we sit in! Why, every one of the soul-gems that breathed magic into these enchantments is fueled by the life force of another being, and here you are scolding me about—”

“B’vhek, I wasn’t scolding you, Sylawen,” Fathis said very gently, a bit patronizingly even, but Fathis had an air about him that always made her feel as if she’d rightfully earned the reproach. Rude bastard. She looked away, cheeks aflame. “You forget where I’m from. The disciplinary board would shit their robes if they knew what I did behind Telvanni doors when I was merely a boy. Now enough whining. Come on. Finish your drink and let’s get you cleaned up. Seriously, I’m impressed. Just what hole did you crawl out of? I’ve seen cleaner Kwama in my days.”

Sylawen slouched. “I wasn’t whining.”

“Up! Out! To the bath with you, and don’t forget to use soap!”

“Dibella’s grace, I’m not a barbarian. Of course. I’ll use soap.”

“And I really should let your mother know that you’re safe. I’m sure she’s absolutely frantic.”

Sylawen rolled her eyes. The note of paternal severity that he’d suddenly adopted never quite fit him, and she wondered what he was like when Savos was young, if he kept his grip on the leash as loose as her time with Savos had led her to believe. Of course, Savos never had to deal with his parents breathing down his neck. Then again, having heard the rumors of what was going on in Winterhold, perhaps somebody somewhere should be.

#Slither and Writhe #Wip Wednesday #skyrim fic #Yes I made Fathis and Savos related cause fambly #tesblr #tes fic #sonny writes

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salami-dono · 1 year ago

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Meme time!! I replaced most of the images from the original. Dr. Jester comes from a strange mix of Archie, Sonic X and game canon. There are so many characters he hasn't met.

I think some of these relationships need more context.

Sonic - His loathsome nephew, potentially. (Prerequisite: Chuckster marriage. 😹) As for curiosity, he knew about Sonic and his extraordinary feats before facing him in battle. This curiosity came with a twinge of fear. He feared the kind of power it was said Sonic could tap into. He simply had to witness it firsthand! And he did.

Unbeknownst to him, he almost killed Sonic in their real first meeting by tossing him and Neon into a lake. Ah, almost.

Tails - Respects his skills as an engineer and his ability to outwit Eggman. Dr. Jester captured him the first time they met. He's Sonic's brother, so technically he should see him as family too. Loathsome nephew #2.

Shadow - Yes, Dr. Jester knew Shadow. Hypothetically, if Shadow came to Dr. Jester claiming to be Eggman's android, Dr. Jester would then respond by giving him a nice gash across the abdomen. Androids don't bleed. But Shadow died so that will never happen. (He doesn't know he's still alive.)

Rouge - Friendly rivalry. They met before the events of SA2. I very much wanted to mark Rouge as a friend but neither can trust the other. Dr. Jester expects betrayal. He still likes her. She has style. And guess what? They both love pretty rocks!

Charmy - A bee that looks like Kandy! And he's alive?! How curious!

Eggman - He feels every emotion for Eggman.

Sir Charles/Uncle Chuck - No notes, just Chuckster!

Dmitri - This relationship is intense but not romantic. I just really like the red circle. It's eye-catching. They're physically affectionate, which might sound odd considering Dmitri is only a cyborg head encased in a glass orb. He does have bionic tendrils though! I call this ship Jestri.

Metal Sonic - Never met. I'm very sad to admit that. Dr. Jester would tease Eggman about Metal Sonic looking like him. "He looks more like me so he must be my son."

Jules - Never met. Again, Chuckster (their relationship) would have to be serious before Chuck even considers introducing Dr. Jester to his beloved family.

E-123 Omega - Dr. Jester doesn't mind his quest for revenge, as long as Omega will allow him to step aside before he starts blasting Eggman's robots.

Chaos - In my own version of Sonic Adventure, Dr. Jester's Chaos (the one from his world) and the canon Chaos became one. A Chaos-Chaos. My Chaos had control of the body first and lost control by Chaos 4. One Chaos was driven by hatred, the other by fear. Dr. Jester wanted nothing to do with them. He skipped the final showdown.

Thank you for reading!

🦔💎🏳️‍🌈

I thought a little more about dear old Uncle Chuck...

In the Archie comics, there were these retcon events that introduced new continuities. In the Post-Super Genesis Wave timeline, Charles is no longer related to Sonic due to SEGA mandates--but he wasn't completely discarded.

I imagine Uncle Chuck would have no memory of Dr. Jester in the new continuity. There would be no Jules, or Dmitri. Dr. Jester would remember what was lost. I could torment myself and my OCs with this sadness. Call it the New Game+!

Nah, I won't do that. It's easier to play along with canon and rewrite some memories.

Dr. Jester cannot lose Charles. Do you understand?

#Dr. Jester #sonic oc #oc meme #archie sonic #i'm a chuckster #my artwork #my ocs

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jambiscuits27 · 1 year ago

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Hello , I hope you’re doing well 🫶🏻

Me and my family need your help to survive from genocide in gaza,here our goFundMe link just read our story and help us if you can or just share it, we appreciated everything you would do.

https://gofund.me/38cab03b

To anyone who can see this, please donate to Khader’s and Ragheb’s gofundme to help their family !!! Reblog/share if you can’t !!! Every € or share is appreciated !! As of writing this only €723 has been raised out of their €55,000 goal !!!!

Description under cut:

English:

“Hello,

I'm Khader Abu Sha'ban, and I'm 20 years old, I have a twin brother his name is Ragheb, and we are from Gaza City, We started the second year of our degree (designing and programming mobile applications).

We live with a family of 9 members, they are all educated and have university degrees in the fields of engineering, programming, information security, administration, and law, We are the youngest in the family and we are the only ones who are still learning and we didn't end our degree yet.

Don't forget our beautiful cat - Kelwa – whom we consider a family member and we adopted him during the war when he was homeless in the street, however, he filled our lives with joy.

So we practice sports such as football, table tennis, and basketball and we are professionals in video games. we spend our time learning English next to our university education in the field where we found our passion which is Programming, and we have a small online store (Candles Store) to sell candles that we manually made.

We have a goal to finish our university life as fast as we can to join the labor market of IT and open our startup company for techniques and applications with the great passion that we already have. this dream is growing day by day, but because of the war and the current circumstances, the dream started to fade, during the war educational institutions and Universities were destroyed in Gaza and the study was arrested. during the previous 8 months we have been unable to complete our education and estimates indicate that restoration of university status in Gaza will take time and may exceed years.

The war came and destroyed our lives, our dreams, and our souls, My family did not decide to displacement to the south, despite all the suffering we had passed during this period and we decided to stay at home and not leave the beautiful memories, the idea of displacement to south and go to an unknown place that we don't have any relatives there was the most difficult for us to leave everything and not return back, so the decision was steadfast, non-displacement and patience on the suffering, but the war has been partially damaged our house because of targeting the house next to us, and damaged our beautiful memories and become ineffective to live, but thank God no one of my family has been hurt. The house went and we lost a lot of our beloveds (14 members of my cousins) and witnessed a lot of suffering in Gaza we were forced to internally-displacement east and west more than 5 times and it was very difficult to escape under the shelling at night and under The voices of aircraft and bombing and moving from a non-safe place to another non-safe place and don't forget the starvation that we still live in northern Gaza and dumping bombs, rockets and insecure until life became black for us.

We won't forget the night of December 18th, when we lived the most terrifying night in our lives when we woke up at night to the voices of bombs and shells of nearby tanks and the glass and shrapnel on us, and I do not forget the voices of crying and the sounds of the SOS and we are unable to move even unable to breathe because of the hole of the smoke bombs that have thrown on us, I swear the horror of this night will accompany me to the last day My life.

The horror of this night is repeated daily and there is no end and life has already black for us, after all this suffering we have reached a plan to rebuild the rest of our lives again elsewhere after we lost our house and members of my family as well as we lost the source income of my family this led us to seek help through this campaign, the raised funds will cover travel expenses for 9 people outside Gaza (where the travel coordination costing $ 5,000 per person) and $ 5,000 for addition costs for initial stability Abroad and $ 5000 initial amount to complete the study abroad for me and my brother.

If the situation improves in Gaza we will use funds to restore our house and complete our education in Gaza or abroad, according to appropriate conditions.”

Arabic:

مرحبًا,

أنا خضر أبو شعبان ولدي أخ توأم اسمه راغب، نحن من مدينة غزة وعمرنا 20 عام، كلانا في السنة الثانية من نفس التخصص وهو (تصميم وبرمجة تطبيقات الهواتف الذكية) في الكلية الجامعية للعلوم التطبيقية الواقعة في غزة.

نعيش مع عائلة مكونة من 9 أفراد – أب وأم و 4 أخوة وأختان وزوجة أخ - كلهم متعلمون وحاصلون على شهادات جامعية في مجالات الهندسة والبرمجة وأمن المعلومات و الادارة والقانون, ولا أنسى قطنا الجميل – كيلوا - الذي نعتبره فردًا من أفراد العائلة والذي تم تبنيه خلال الحرب حيث كان بلا مأوى في الشارع والذي أملأ حياتنا بالبهجة.

نحن الأصغر في العائلة ونحن الوحيدان ما زلنا نتعلم ولم ننهي درستنا بعد.

قبل السابع من أكتوبر كانت لدينا حياة مستقرة نسبيًا مليئة بالأهداف و الطموحات و الأمل ولأننا توأم متطابق فأنا و أخي نتشارك كل شيء في الحياة ولنا نفس الميول و الهوايات، فنمارس الرياضات كلعب كرة القدم و تنس الطاولة وكرة السلة ومحترفون بألعاب الفيديو ونشغل وقتنا بتعلم اللغة الإنجليزية بجانب تعليمنا الجامعي في المجال الذي وجدنا شغفنا فيه وهو البرمجة ولدينا متجر لبيع الشموع اونلاين و اسمه (كانديل ستور) لبيع الشموع التي نصنعها يدويًا.

لدينا هدف في هذه الحياة وهو أن ننهي حياتنا الجامعية بأقصر مدة زمنية لنتفرغ لسوق العمل ونفتتح شركتنا الخاصة بالبرمجيات والتقنيات والتطبيقات بالشغف الكبير الذي نكنه لهذا المجال حيث من الصغر ونحن نهوى كتابة الأكواد ونبرمج المواقع ونكتب أكوادًا لتصبح تطبيقات وهذا الحلم يزداد يوماً بعد يوم و لكن بسبب الحرب والظروف الراهنة فهنا بدأ الحلم يتلاشى شيء فشيء حتى أصبح صعب التحقق, حيث خلال فترة الحرب تم تدمير المؤسسات التعليمية في غزة وتم توقيف الدراسة وخلال ال8 أشهر السابقة ونحن معطلون دراسيًا وغير قادرين على استكمال تعليمنا والتقديرات تشير إلى أن استعادة وضع الجامعات في غزة سيأخذ وقت وقد يتجاوز السنوات.

وجاءت الحرب و حطمت كل شيء: حياتنا, أحلامنا, وأرواحنا ، ومع ذلك لم تقرر عائلتي النزوح إلى الجنوب رغم كل المعاناة التى مررنا بها خلال هذه الفترة وفضلنا البقاء في البيت وأن لا نترك الذكريات الجميلة، ففكرة النزوح جنوبًا والذهاب إلى مكان مجهول لا نعرفه ولا اقارب لنا فيه كانت أصعب علينا من ترك كل شيء والرحيل وعدم العودة، فكان القرار الصمود وعدم النزوح والصبر على المشاقة, لكن طالت أمد الحرب وقد تضرر بيتنا المليء بالذكريات الجميلة بسبب استهداف بيت الجيران المجاور لنا وتضرر جزئيًا وأصبح غير قابل للسكن ولكن بحمد الله لم يصاب أحد من عائلتي المصغرة بأي أذى.

ذهب البيت وراحت الذكريات معه وفقدنا الكثير من أحبتنا (14 عزيز من أبناء عمومتي) ورغم ذلك تجاوزنا الكثير من المعاناة كالنزوح داخل مدينة غزة شرقًا وغربًا اكثر من 5 مرات وكان الأمر صعبًا جدًا الهروب تحت القصف في الليل وبالظلام وتحت أصوات الطائرات والقصف والانتقال من مكان غير أمن الى مكان غير امن اخر ولا ننسى المجاعة التي حالت علينا في شمال غزة وإلقاء القنابل والصواريخ و عدم الامان حتى أصبحت الحياة سوداء بالنسبة لنا.

لا ننسى ليلة 18 من ديسمبر حيث عشنا أكثر ليلة مرعبة في حياتنا حيث استيقظنا ليلًا على ��صوات القنابل والقذائف من الدبابات القريبة منا وانهار الزجاج والشظايا علينا ونحن نائمون وتم القاء قذائف علينا وعلى الحي الذي نسكن فيه بأكمله حيث لم يبقى بيت واحد في الحي لم ينل نصيبه من القذائف ولا أنسى صوت البكاء وأصوات الاستغاثة ونحن محاصرين عاجزين عن الحركة وحتى عن التنفس من هول القنابل الدخانية التي انهالت علينا اكاد اجزم أن رعب هذه الليلة سيرافقني لأخر يوم في حياتي.

ورعب هذه الليلة يتكرر يوميًا وليس هنالك نهاية وأصبحت الحياة سوداء بالفعل وبعد كل هذه المعاناة توصلنا الى خطة لإعادة بناء ما تبقى من حياتنا من جديد في مكان اخر بعد أن فقدنا منزلنا وأفراد من عائلتي وكذلك فقدنا مصدر دخل عائلتي وهذا دفعنا إلى طلب المساعدة من خلال هذه الحملة حيث ستغطي الأموال التي سيتم تجميعها نفقات السفر ل 9 أفراد خارج غزة - حيث تكلفة تنسيق الخروج من غزة باهظة الثمن وتقدر ب5000$ للفرد الواحد - وبالإضافة الي 5000$ تكاليف أخرى للاستقرار المبدئي بالخارج و 5000$ مبلغ مبدئي لاستكمال الدراسة بالخارج لي ولأخي.

وإذا تحسن الوضع في غزة فسنستخدم الأموال لإعادة ترميم بيتنا واستكمال تعليمنا في الداخل أو بالخارج حسب الظروف المناسبة.

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