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deathbecomesthem · 5 months

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Roomies 7

Final Chapter | ~4.2K

A/N: This story has come to an end. I hope you all enjoy it.

Warnings: Lots of feelings, smut, a bit of talk of vomit. I wrote this, and I'm publishing it. As with the rest of this story, I chose not to spend a lot of time dwelling on the details.

---

You don’t think about Eddie. No, you don’t do that. You don’t think about what he thinks when he reads the note you left for him. You don’t think about the anger, the sadness, the confusion he must be feeling. You don’t know what he’s feeling. How could you, when you’ve hidden yourself from Eddie’s feelings since you became his unexpected roommate.

You’re a selfish person. You can admit that now that you’re not face to face with him, not listening to his sleepy snores through the too thin walls of your shared apartment. Not pressing your nose into the throw pillow on the couch trying to catch the ghost of his scent when he’s not home. Sitting on the couch in your sister’s townhouse across town from your own apartment, you feel it happening. You’re putting distance between you and Eddie. Brick by brick, you are expanding the road that sits between the two of you, and soon you’ll not even be able to cross it. Too much space. That’s fine, you’ve decided, because the only way out of this is with that distance, and maybe in the end you’ll find a way to salvage what might be left of the friendship that will always connect you.

“Oh, is that what we’re doing again today?” Jamie is making her way from her kitchen through the living room. It’s Friday, she has work this morning.

“Doing what?” You ask her, running your hand down your face and bracing yourself for impact. You can already feel the welcome has worn thin, and it’s only been 2 days since you showed up with an overnight bag asking for sanctuary.

“Moping. Sitting in your sweatpants and moping.” Jamie looks at you with her typical disapproving older sister expression. “Nobody died, you know. You’re being so dramatic. Just go talk to Eddie.”

“I can’t talk to him right now. It might ruin everything. I can’t lose him as a friend.” You tell her. This is the same thing you’ve been telling her since you walked through her front door. Instead of the sympathetic look she gave you on that first night, this time she rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, because everything seems so great right now. I hate to have to be the one to tell you this,” you know she does not in fact hate to be the one to tell you whatever it is she’s going to say next, “but the damage is done. You can’t rewind the clock. Take a shower, get your shit together, and get the fuck outta my house. I love you.”

Jamie strides back over to you and gives you a kiss on the forehead before turning and sprinting back towards her front door. With a bang of the door, she’s gone. You know she’s right, and the time away from Eddie has done nothing but make you more miserable than ever. You take the shower. You pack your bag. You put on jeans and your favorite sweater of Jamie’s, a small revenge that will take her months to realize. You go home to face whatever is left of your friendship with Eddie, and pray to the gods devils that he will accept what you’ve decided.

Friday. You promised him you’d be home. Time to face the music. Time to tell him that you’re sorry, and that you’re moving out.

—

Eddie’s been fine. After that first night, when he went down to the bar and drank until he puked in the sink of the men’s room, he had an epiphany. It was simple really. While the whiskey rose in his throat, the lightbulb went off. He wasn’t the first person to come to big decisions in that bathroom, he was just the most recent. Only two months prior, Lenny Hendricks had done a line of the sick that is now covered in Jack Daniel’s scented bile, and decided he was going to go to medical school. Maybe it’s something about the poetry scratched on the walls. As Eddie cleans his mess, he sees a fresh scrawl next to the mirror - Just start the set on time. She’s not coming.

Eddie had walked out of the bar that evening with a sense of purpose, regardless of the sour smell of his favorite Metallica tee. He walked up the steps to his apartment and went to bed knowing that it was all going to be ok. Everything would be right soon enough, because it had to be. How could it not be? He’s been so stupid. No more, though.

—

It’s heavy and weighing you down as you look up the stairwell to the dimly lit hallway. Someone, probably Eddie but you don’t know for sure, replaced the light with a red bulb sometime before you moved in. It suits your mood right now, the uneasy red tinted shadows trailing behind you as you ascend the stairs, the dread in your guts making your movements slower than normal.

You stand at the door and look at it. Do you knock? Do you use your key? Do you turn tail and go back the way you came, and check into the Super 8 Motel down the road until you can find your own shitty studio apartment that doesn’t make you wonder who you are and what the fuck you’re doing every time you step foot through the door? You try the knob and find it turns easily under your grip. So, you sigh and walk in.

Eddie is in the kitchen, back to the door. He’s wearing your apron, hands deep in a sinkful of soapy water. He looks back and smiles easily when he sees you with your duffel bag still hanging off your shoulder. This is not the way this scene played out in your head. The counters are clean, bottles of beer and cans of soda all sitting in the plastic bin underneath the side table next to the refrigerator. Is that -

“- did you bake bread?” you question, dropping your bag and heading to the rack sitting on the counter with a round loaf sitting prettily.

“Uh huh,” Eddie’s wiping his hands on a floral dish towel he has hanging from where the apron strings are tied together around his waist. “Smells good, don’t it?”

“Did you clean?” Another question that doesn’t need an answer, the proof is in front of your eyes.

“Don’t act so surprised. Who do you think took care of this place before you moved in? Gareth?” Eddie shudders at the thought.

You nod, not in understanding, because you don’t, but you nod because you accept what your eyes are seeing. Eddie’s fine. The place is fine. He didn’t burn it to the ground when you walked out of the door. You didn’t find him curled up in a ball on his bed. He didn’t punch a hole through the cupboard next to the sink when he found your note.

Eddie’s fine. So you nod, and make your way down the hallway to your bedroom, leaving Eddie in the kitchen. Your room, at least, is exactly how you left it. Bed unmade and drawers left open. A testament to the speed run you made out of this place. You shake your head, how stupid you’ve been. Eddie’s fine. This is all in your head, and there’s nothing else to it.

You startle at the quiet rapping of knuckles on your door. From the other side, Eddie says, “I made Wayne’s famous chili earlier. Want that for dinner, or wanna go out and get something?”

Wayne’s chili is your favorite. It’s the grape jelly he adds to it. You asked him so many times over the years for the recipe, but he wouldn’t budge. He won a cook off the year after you and Eddie graduated from high school, and that was when you discovered the secret. He didn’t know you were standing in the doorway of the kitchen trailer that morning, watching him take a jar of Welch’s grape jelly from the cupboard and unceremoniously dump it into the crock pot he had set up in the corner. He let the meat and jelly cook down before he added a couple of handfuls of diced jalapenos and a mixture of dried herbs.

“You got any Jiffy?” You asked him, leaning your head on the wall next to the door imagining it’s Eddie’s shoulder. You brush the door with the tips of your fingers and wait for his answer.

“Of course. Who do you think you’re talkin’ to?”

You’re talking to Eddie, and he would never forget the cornbread.

—

You re-enter the kitchen to find the table already set, cornbread still steaming in the cast iron pan on the stovetop. The crock pot full of chili, a twin to Wayne’s own crock pot, sits in the center of the small table. Cheese, sour cream, and Cholula are laid out along with the bowls and spoons.

“Wow, Munson. You know how to make a girl feel special.” You head over to the cornbread intending to pinch a taste of it, but Eddie slaps your hand away. “Ow. I take it back, you’re a tyrant.”

“Sit down, please. I’ll get your cornbread, don’t fuck with it.” Eddie has a potholder and takes the hot skillet over to join the rest of the food on the table. “Let’s eat, Baby.”

Baby, baby, baby, baby. The word plays over and over in your head while you float to the table. Baby.

Eddie puts a piece of cornbread in your bowl, and ladles chili on top of it. The way you like it. Baby. You watch his face, and he gives you an easy smile. Another one, like the smile he gave you when you walked in the front door. You suddenly feel like the ground is not as firm as you imagined it. Baby.

“How’s Jamie? She still got that stick firmly up her ass?” Eddie asks as he sits down across from you. You laugh, snorting a bit of chili upwards into your sinuses. You cough and take a drink of the lemonade he has set next to your bowl.

“She’s same as always. She practically threw me out this morning. She sends her love.” You reach for the hot sauce and splash some into your bowl. It’s good, but you think it lacks the heat of Wayne’s normal recipe.

“I’m happy you came home to me.” Eddie’s words come out easily, and you’re left yet again feeling like the floors are tilting a little.

You say nothing, just look at him with your spoon held in front of your face. Frozen, a deer in the headlights that are Eddie’s chocolatey eyes sparkling at you. You’re starting to wonder if you missed a very important conversation somewhere along the way.

“You know, I realized something important when you left. That first night was… not great, but I think it was a good thing. We’ve been dancing around each other for a while now, and having you not in the apartment got me thinking about a lot of things.” Eddie’s talking, seemingly unaffected by your stunned silence. He just keeps on going, looking at you straight in the eyes with that small smile on his face.

“I was thinking about how much it hurt to think of you not being in this apartment with me. Which is crazy, right? It’s not like you moved in here with some kind of long term plan to stay. We both knew it was the right thing for right now. So, why was I crying when I found your note?” Eddie takes a big bite of chili and looks to you in anticipation. He wants an answer, you realize.

“I don’t know, Ed. Why were you crying?” You ask him and place your spoon back into the bowl. Your hand moves instinctively to stroke the back of the hand he has resting on the table. “I’m sorry.”

“Because, Baby, I’m in love with you.” Eddie’s voice is firm. His words are spoken honestly, leaving no room for you to doubt them. You want to run, to stand up and bolt for the door. Eddie’s eyes hold you in your seat. Even as the floor beneath you feels ready to open up and swallow you whole, his gaze is steady.

“Eddie,” his name is a whisper, the breath from your lungs. You had thought that night with sighs of pleasure bleeding through the wall that separated the two of you was the point of no return. You were wrong. That point is right here in front of you. It’s sitting between you, Eddie, and the chili pot in your shared apartment. “What if it goes wrong?”

“What if I get hit by a car tomorrow? What if a tornado runs through town and takes me away? What if the sun explodes and burns us all up?” At some point, Eddie turned his hand over to hold your own. “I know you, and you know me. I’m telling you right now, I am in love with you. I want you to stay here, and I want you to bring your shit into my bedroom and make it ours. And if you tell me you don’t want that, ok. Fine. But the damage is already done, Baby. I can’t go back to not feeling like this, and I’m done lying to myself about it. You do what you gotta do, but don’t tell me you’re not feeling something. I know you.”

Eddie gets up without any preamble and begins to fill the sink with sudsy water, leaving you sitting stunned at the table with a bowl of chili that is now room temperature. You push it away from you and begin picking at the edge of the cornbread that’s left in the pan still at the table. And then you hear Eddie whistling quietly while he cleans up. A new feeling begins to creep inside of you, a familiar feeling. You’re annoyed with him.

“So, you think you can just decide that this is how it is, huh? That I’ll come home, you’ll pour your heart out, and I’ll do the same. And - what? Happily ever after, until you decide you’re bored with me? Because I fucking know you too, Eddie Munson.” Annoyance built to anger with every word that you spoke. You stood, grabbing your bowl of cold chili and head over to scrape it out into the garbage. Eddie’s whistling stopped.

You drop the bowl into the water, pushing Eddie out of the way of the sink with your shoulder. You turn to head back to the table to start putting away all the dinner fix ins, but stop dead in your tracks when a wide palm grabs your forearm. He pulls you close so that you have to look up to see him. He places both hands on your face, moving hair that’s fallen over your eyes so he can see you better.

“You don’t understand, so let me be very fucking clear,” his words are a whisper, his warm breath fanning over your face, “I have been in love with you for a very long time, Baby. I just didn’t know that’s what it was. But I know now, and this is it. I can’t make you believe me, and I can’t make you love me back. I just need you to understand, this is not just a fleeting thing.”

You reach up and push the curls away from his face to see him better. Bare faces staring at each other, the truth of this thing holding you in your places. You bring your hand to the back of his neck and tangle your fingers into his hair. You form a fist and squeeze tight. His mouth opens at the feeling, and you stare at him.

“When? When did you start loving me, Munson?” You hold his hair a little tighter. His eyes open again, pupils blown out by your touch and your words.

“Remember that summer when you bought that red bikini?” He asks. You see his cheeks are turning red, and with this close proximity of bodies, you can feel a bulge growing in his pants. You stand up higher on the balls of your feet.

“You’re a pervert, Eddie.” There’s no bite in your words. You turn your face just as he leans down to bring his mouth closer to yours and whisper in his ear, “I bought that bikini because I wanted you to notice me. The way you noticed those girls with the mini skirts and bad perms that hung out at the bar when you played your shows.”

You kiss the skin of his neck and are rewarded with a whimper from Eddie. His hands are gripping your waist, hard enough to leave a mark. You kiss his jaw and move down his neck stopping along the way to press your nose against his skin and breathe him in. You can feel him swallow against your lips. He loves me. You think that maybe you can try to believe it.

“Look at me.” His words vibrate against your nose as it runs along his adam’s apple. You look at him, desperately wanting the kiss you know he’s going to give you. Aching for it. He tells you, “I am so in love with you.”

Eddie tastes like chili, lemonade, and cornbread. Not at all unpleasant to your senses. Kissing Eddie is unlike kissing anyone else. The secret place inside of you that’s been hidden for so long has his light shining on it. His tongue dances against your lips, and you meet it with your own. A slow waltz, mouths moving together, noses brushing noses. Your faces are pressing together, trying to absorb as much of this moment as you can before you have to break apart. And then it’s heavy breathing, his sweaty fringe against your forehead.

“Fuck, do you feel that?” You don’t answer his question with words, but with your hands reaching under his shirt to feel his skin under your fingertips. “Baby, please.”

“Eddie,” his ears perk up like a dog’s at the sound of his name. The way it comes out like a whine. It’s that needy way you said his name on that movie night, and it grips him somewhere deep in his belly.

Eddie drops to his knees on the kitchen floor, head resting against the fly of your jeans. He’s nuzzling you, in an animal way, fingers gripped at the waist of your pants. He can smell you through denim and cotton. It’s not enough. He makes quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping, of peeling back the skin of the fruit his mouth is watering to taste. Your bare ass is pushed against the counter before you realize your pants have been completely removed, and he hooks a leg over his shoulder.

Eddie’s bulbous nose is fully breathing in your scent from the damp cotton of your panties. His nose is brushing against that hard button, and he’s smelling the way the blood is rushing to it. A coppery musk just for him. His finger pushes the cotton to the side so he can finally taste and feel you against him, and his whining mouth sends a rumble of pleasure through you. It’s like this, with his knees on the tile floor of your shared kitchen that he finally, finally, finds himself able to openly praise you until you’re shaking in rapture. The veneration of your body by this devotee is as genuine and beautiful as any congregant in any church the world over.

—

The food is still on the kitchen table, too far gone to save, but neither of you can care. The moonlight casts shadows around the otherwise dark room, it highlights the way your bodies move together. Joining, embracing, loving, and resting. And then it starts again. The moments your bodies are connected feel eternal, and as soon as you separate you feel an inexplicable grief. What is this, is something you have not voiced wonder in your mind.

No other man has made you weep this way. At the sight of the tears streaming down your face, Eddie’s cock buried deep inside of you, he did not wipe them away. He let his tongue taste it, running the firm tip up your cheek and under your eyelid. The feeling unravels that knot in your gut, and not for the first or second time tonight. And just like the other times, Eddie rocks himself with the wave of your orgasm, whispering into your ear, I love you, I love you, I love you.

It’s 4:30 in the morning when your bodies finally force a halt to your incessant love making, but your mind is wide awake. Eddie’s sweaty head rests on your breast, an arm lays heavy over your belly. You think he may be sleeping, but you need to quiet the thoughts that have started to invade your brain.

“Ed,” you shake his shoulder a little and he moans, “how do you know you love me?”

You feel a twinge of embarrassment at the question, but you need to hear his answer. Somehow, despite it being Eddie, you don’t know if you can trust it. What is love? It’s something you’ve learned you can’t trust. You try to not think of Drew, and fail. But it’s not just him, that most recent mistake - the list goes on and on. What is love, but a promise of future disappointment.

“I just know.” His breath fans out across your chest, and your nipple peaks at the feeling. Traitor.

“Well, did you just know every other time you loved someone? What happens if it’s like when you were with Naomi? Or Sandy?” You know it’s wrong to say these names in this sacred space, but the question needs to be answered. There’s a small spot that itches inside of you that threatens to grow. A spot, that if left to grow, will force you up and out the door. You know it, and you know Eddie knows it, too.

Eddie’s face peels from your skin so he can look to you. He runs a finger along the shadows of the lines of worry creasing your brow. It’s so tender, so loving. You feel a tear leak from your eye, unbidden.

“I don’t think I loved them,” Eddie says while his thumb rubs away the moisture on your cheek, “or maybe I did. I don’t know, I can’t remember. But, Baby, I’ve never felt this before. This is - this is it.”

“What does that mean, Eddie? This is it? Like, what, you wanna run down to the courthouse and get married? Want me to pop out a whole litter of mini-Munsons? What does ‘this is it’ mean?” Your voice is rising in frustration, but Eddie doesn’t turn away. He keeps his gaze steady on your face. He’s looking for something there.

“Baby, you don’t have to feel any particular way right now. You know that right? I’m not asking for anything. I just want you to know how I feel. I love you, and I’ve loved you for a long time. Long enough that those other girls never got the whole of me when I was with them. I’m not telling you this so you’ll make me any promises. I’m just telling you because I fucking love you, and I need you to know it.”

And that’s when you realize it, something that scares the shit out of you. Because love, that overwhelming thing that beats inside of you when you look at Eddie, does not come with a guarantee. It does not promise anything more than what can be felt between the two of you. Love is pain, because nothing lasts forever. You know it now, and it’s a relief. The wrinkles at your temple smooth out, and you run your fingers through his tangled hair. You love this man, and that’s a fact.

“Ok, I believe you. I just have one more very important question.” Eddie’s face relaxes under the touch of your fingers along the side of his pretty nose.

“Ask.” He says, kissing your palm.

You hold his face still, gazing deeply into his eyes. Black pools in the dark room that threaten to swallow you up. “Eddie, would you still love me if I was a worm?”

The tension in the moment is gone, and Eddie giggles like the boy you knew years ago. He pulls you down and kisses you hard on the mouth, pressing his body into yours. Warm, sticky flesh vibrating with bubbling laughter.

“If you were a worm? I’d set up a little enclosure for you,” he points to a spot under the window where the moon hangs low in the sky, “just there. I’d get you some really tasty dirt, and I’d write songs about the worm that is the love of my life.”

Your smile is a beacon in the night, Eddie can see you glowing. You kiss his forehead and tell him, “I love you, Eddie Munson.”

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #asks #eddie munson angst #roomies

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magmagpie · 2 years

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College George! 19 years old

wears a button up instead of the polo thing he wears as a child

i draw his fade shave thing harsher bc he's older

became lowkey obsessed with fun ties and has a blast choosing which one in his vast collection he wants to wear each day

still the type to go bouncing off the walls in excitement

studying Creative Writing

recently started dating Lisa

College Harold! 20 years old

paints his nails

pierced ears, owns the funkiest earrings

still hates confrontation and is considered shy and timid, but has noticeably opened up since childhood

has evolved from striped t-shirts to quirky, smartassy, witty, stupid t-shirts

studying Fine Arts

sometimes has to wear wrist braces bc of how he dealt with carpal tunnel in high school(i would've drawn it but y'know)

currently crushing on Billy

Both!

they share a dorm and have a bunk bed

they got one of those BFF heart necklaces, George put his on a bracelet bc it was uncomfortable to wear with a tie

they made matching bracelets with each other's favorite color scheme and wear them on the hand each of them use to write/draw their comics(i headcannon Harold as ambidextrous)

please ignore that neither of them are wearing shoes, they don't go well with my style and I'm bad at drawing them anyway. i think George would wear convers, and Harold would wear either checkered vans or boots

they both make sure to keep multiple fidget toys on them at all times

after a few years of experimenting, they came to the conclusion that ADHD meds weren't for them and they refuse to take any ever

finally caught a break with teachers and have professors that let them work together on a lot of their assignments and actually enjoy having them in their classes bc of their creativity and spirit

//SH WARNING UNDER CUT//

when they were in high school, Harold really started having a rough time. he was separated from George for most of his classes, he was being picked on again, his mom was becoming more strict, the teachers just seemed to hate him and always told him to be better even when it was clear he was trying his best on his own and still failing. he hid it for as long as he could, but each day just weighed heavier and heavier on his back, and he couldn't bring himself to ask for help. not even when his report cards came back with nothing but red marks and his mother stopped letting him go to the treehouse after school. George could feel him slowly pushing him away every time he tried to get him to tell him what was up, but he didn't know what to do. on top of it all, Harold started realizing why he didn't think of girls the same way the other guys did, and he didn't know it was okay to prefer oogling at the cute boy in his science class than the hot girl in gym. after months of trying to repress it and lying to himself about who he liked, and battling his own mind in many other ways, he went and got baptized as a desperate attempt to 'fix' himself. when it didn't work and he only felt himself sinking even more, he made the attempt to take his own life. George found him on the floor of his bathroom one weekend, and managed to call the ambulance to get him to hospital just in time. Harold finally got the help he needed, accepted it, and was off the anti-depressants by the time they went into college. the scars from his attempt are still very much there, and it overwhelms him some days to see them, but they fade and are gone completely by the time the events of the last books have happened. he has a semicolon tattoo on both of his wrists, i just didn't think about it before i finished the drawing.

#woah that was a lot #sh warning #suicide mention #captain underpants #george beard #harold hutchins #my art #digital art #theres a lot going on here #dont even get me started on grace's wife #i dont have much to say about it but im still working on her shes not ready #future au #kinda?#i think so?

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unrequitedloveletter · 4 months

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F-150

Okay!! I said that, in the absence of fics, I would post a bit of original work here! That's what this is. I was in the truck we have today, hence the pieces title.

Trigger warnings for: mentions of the death of grandparents, and a few mentions of a car accident (it was non-fatal. Nobody in the accident--myself, my parents, and one unfortunate car, which thankfully nobody was inside of--was killed. Everyone except for the empty car made it out unscathed)

Getting in the truck has always felt like some kind of messed up happy-nervous-excited pit in my stomach.

The happier connotations that are derived from sitting in the truck have come from memories both new and old. Driving an hour out to see my grandparents for the weekend when I was younger and all four of them were still alive, spur of the moment trips to the valley where we go to the same stores, just forty-five minutes out from the place my family calls home.

Newer memories are mostly mundane--getting into the truck to go with Dad to get Mom from work, to shop for groceries and breathe in the air that does not circulate through the 1200 square foot hellscape I currently call home, but instead circulates through a thousand different places at once.

Getting to run my own errands while my dad listens to his dad-rock type music, occasionally going with my sister when she runs hers and listening to them talk, occasionally adding my two-cents to their conversation.

The nervous connotations are derived from memories of the first time I actually acknowledged that the one person in the house with a drivers license is probably less suited to be on the road than he used to be, and the memories of recent accidents and almost-accidents, which I keep in my head like a messed up near-rear-end merry-go-round.

I brace my shoulders every time my dad gets a little too close to the car in front of him and the accident alert that's supposed to go off fails to do so, am reminded of the last time it happened every time it happens again.

When I sit in the front passengers side of that truck and we're near the store where the depth of my fathers health issues really hit me, I mentally kind of brace my shoulders like I'm waiting to be looking at my phone one minute, feeling my seatbelt against my neck as the truck jumps over a sidewalk and my phone flies out of my hand the next. My anxiety kicks up like I'll hear my mothers panicked voice as she tells me her glasses fell off and my fathers voice asking what happened and telling us he blacked out.

There are other versions of the store we can go to, so we don't go to that one anymore. Nobody died in that accident, which is a tremendous relief, but I realized just how direly I needed to start trying to get my license in the name of getting my father the hell off the road that day and I remind myself to start studying for my learners permit again at least once every two weeks.

The more excited connotations of getting in the truck are derived from memories of going places. Going to visit my Nana and Papa before my Nana passed away, going to my aunts hotel so that we get the chance to see her before she leaves the city.

Going to my friends houses to laugh at their shitty jokes and get to be hugged and experience platonic love that I am now entirely certain I wholly deserve. Going to the mall to meet with said friends and walk around, occasionally dipping into stores to see if they have anything interesting and laughing in the odd time someone sees something with comedic potential and decides to turn it into a joke.

Going to the movie theatre with two of my favorite people in the entire world to watch FNAF and sprinting into the theatre because we were late, talking to them about it and waiting for my dad to come get me because one friend had offered the other a ride and I hadn't needed one.

Taking the truck with my sister so that we could watch Oppenheimer and then Barbie on Saturday of Barbenheimer weekend, talking with her while we sat in the parking lot of a grocery store that both of us loathed. Listening to her tell me about the guys in her romance books and not really getting to talk about my interests but being fine with it for the fact that I've never really been good at talking anyway.

Being in the truck is like a jolt of happy-nervous-excited-scared, and yet I keep getting in. Until we get a new car I know I'll just keep disregarding it, keep being happy to breathe in the cold air of January when I step out of the truck and head into a grocery store, keep being nervous every time the rear end of a car gets a little too close or expecting a car to rear end the truck again at complete random like it did during senior year, keep being excited every single time I get to go see my friends at their houses or at the mall or wherever we've chosen to meet up, keep being excited for every movie my sister wants to go see with me.

#writeblr #writing community #writer #written piece

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worksby-d · 2 years

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𝒮𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 ℒ𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒴𝑜𝓊

Pairing: best friend’s dad!Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friend's dad helps you forget about your recent break up.

Warnings: Age gap (reader in her early 20s), unprotected sex (kind of. birth control is mentioned, I guess), oral (f receiving), fingering, slight choking, pet names (babygirl, princess), calling him “daddy,” dominant!Andy but still very soft because he can't help it, dubcon since she’s in a vulnerable state (but she’s the one that initiates it), 18+

Word count: ~2,500

Part Two

· · ┈─────── ⋆៹ ✩۪۟۟≭ ───────┈ · ·

Making his way down the hallway, Andy braces himself to walk by the guest bedroom, willing himself to not pop his head in and come up with an excuse to talk to you more.

As it was, he spent the entire evening kicking himself anytime he caught his gaze lingering on you for too long.

When Jacob told him he was bringing a friend home, letting them stay over for a night on their way to their family for the holidays, he didn't expect you– didn't expect to be rendered speechless, almost nervous, by the young woman he's heard about countless times over the past couple months.

He immediately made up an excuse for stumbling over his words as he greeted you guys. “Sorry,” he rolled his eyes, slapping his hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “I'm just always worried I'm going to embarrass my boy in front of his friends.”

His little joke had an adverse effect though. Once he heard the shy giggle you let out, he couldn't think about anything else.

A noise pulls him from his thoughts as he walks by your room, causing him to take a step back so he can listen closer. Realizing it's the sound of you crying, he furrows his brow, contemplating whether to say anything.

He holds his arm up, waiting a second before knocking on the door quietly, “Y/N?” He doesn't hear you say anything though, so he carefully opens it to peek in. “Is everything ok?”

You jump in your spot on the edge of the bed, grabbing a pillow to hold onto as you dry your tears.

“Oh God–” He looks away quickly, realizing you're only wearing a sports bra and shorts. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you laugh a little. “Yeah.” You clear your throat. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” He slowly looks back toward you, and makes his way over to sit on the other end of the bed, keeping a distance between the two of you.

Shaking your head, you let out another sob and rest your head against the pillow in your arms. Andy just sits there silently, waiting for you to say something.

“My boyfriend just broke up with me last week,” you finally let out when you feel like you can talk again. “I just got a notification that tomorrow’s his birthday. I forgot and– I thought I was getting over it, but,” you shrug and shake your head, letting out a deep breath.

Andy wordlessly moves closer to you, resting a hand on your back to stroke soothing circles. He doesn't know what to say, just lets the silence take over again.

“Think on the bright side,” he eventually starts. “You're headed home for a few weeks. You'll get that time to relax and take your mind off him.”

Simply nodding, you lean against him.

“I'm sure he'll regret it, by the way,” he tries to joke.

You don't believe him though, letting out a sad laugh. “He'll just find someone prettier, and smarter, and–”

“Don't say that,” he gently interrupts you, stilling his hand to get your attention. “You're all those things.”

Sniffling, you lift your head to look at him with pleading eyes, wondering if he means it. “You think so?”

“I mean… Yeah– sorry. Didn't want to say it, uh, say that you're pretty out loud. But you– you definitely are,” he stammers through it. “Sorry.”

He's relieved when he hears a small laugh as you rest your head on his shoulder.

“I don't know what to say. I have a son, so… But these things happen. You'll be okay.”

Neither of you make an effort to move, instead you begin unloading on him everything you've been bottling up lately – how pathetic you feel for even being upset over it when he was a shitty guy anyway, always getting mad at you for small things, not being supportive, not reciprocating the affection you showed him.

“He was so immature,” you end your rant with, making Andy laugh a little at that. “Need someone like you instead…” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you lift your head to look at him again, and without thinking, lean to kiss him.

Catching him off guard, he quickly pulls away, regretting it when he sees the horrified look on your face.

“Sorry, oh God. I'm sor–”

“No, no, hey,” he immediately grabs you gently as you try to stand up to leave, and pulls you back down next to him. “It’s okay,” he assures you, leaning back in to kiss you again, mumbling, “I liked it.”

Not breaking the kiss, he pulls the pillow you've been holding onto out of your arms and tosses it back toward the head of the bed. With your hands freed, your fingers find the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up in an attempt to get it off of him.

Before it goes too far though, he breaks away to get up and make sure the door is locked, pulling his shirt off for you.

He melts at your content smile, joining you back on the bed. “Lay back,” he gestures for you to get comfortable. “May I?”

You nod timidly, feeling his fingers tugging lightly on the waistband of your shorts, allowing him to slip them off of you before he leans back over you, starting with soft kisses that start at your lips and trail down along your neck.

Your quiet moans make him chuckle. “Gonna show you everything you've been missing out on by fooling around immature college boys,” he promises, teasingly nipping at your neck. “Gonna be your daddy tonight.”

You shudder at the switch up of his tone, knowing he means it, as he moves on to kissing across your chest. You're putty in his hands as he helps you sit up enough so he can pull your bra off.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he groans quietly, laying you back down.

Heat rises to your cheeks, hands moving slightly as you go to cover yourself out of habit, but he doesn't give you the chance. His lips are wrapped around your left nipple, tongue flicking against it as his fingers toy with the other.

“Andy,” you gasp when his teeth graze against the hardened bud as he moves to take the other in his mouth. “Holy shit.”

Your writhing against him doesn't faze him, doesn't get him to give in and give you more yet. He continues taking his time, moving next to press soft kisses down the center of your chest, all the way down your stomach.

“Your boyfriend ever take his time with you like this?” Your eyes meet his as you look down, and you bite your lip, shaking your head. “Of course not,” he tsks, making it to the waistband of your panties, but not touching them yet.

“Please,” you whine, a defeated huff escaping your lips watching him litter your thighs with kisses instead, playfully biting at your sensitive skin every so often, making sure to leave marks.

Impatiently, you buck your hips toward him, but he puts an end to that by draping an arm over your waist to keep you in place.

“Nuh, uh, uh,” he laughs, backing away from you continuing to squirm against his hold, and you groan, dropping your head back against the pillows. “Patience, babygirl. Just gonna start by…” His voice trails off, followed by the feeling of the tip of his finger teasing against your pussy over your panties.

“Oh,” you gasp, clenching around nothing as his finger strokes over your clit, thighs trembling slightly against his arms that are keeping your legs spread.

“Oh, that quiver,” he coos, voice mocking as he finally moves so he can help you out of your panties, practically having to peel them off of you. “Fuck, you're so wet.”

“Andy,” you mewl, the anticipation killing you waiting for him to settle back between your legs.

Just as anxious to get a taste of you as you are to feel his mouth on you, he doesn't make you wait any longer. He lightly grazes the tip of his tongue along your slit, barely dipping in between your folds. It’s when he flicks his tongue against your swollen clit that you let out a squeal, prompting him to give you more. Smirking, he finally spreads you with his fingers so he can taste more of you. His tongue teases at your entrance before bringing the attention back to your clit, now wrapping his lips around it.

The noises you're making has him guessing no one's gone down on you like this before. “That boyfriend of yours never did it this well, huh?”

“He never–” You suck in a breath and let it out shakily as he flicks his tongue again. “Did it at all,” you murmur shyly.

“He never went down on you?” He’s utterly shocked, looking up at you, letting out a laugh of disbelief. “Fuck, I'd be eating this pussy every goddamn day.”

He doubles his efforts after that, plunging a finger into you while his tongue continues to work at you. His groans vibrate right through you, bringing you to the edge quickly. “Gonna come already?” He hums, feeling you clench around his finger. “Come on, princess. Come for me.”

With his encouragement, you come undone instantly. Not being able to help it, a loud moan rips from your throat, forcing you to slap your hand over your mouth to quiet yourself as he continues working you through it.

Chest heaving, ears ringing, oversensitive, you barely even notice him pull away from you, kissing back up your body until he's face to face with you.

Slowly opening your eyes, you’re met with his lust-blown ones gazing down at you.

“You sound fucking beautiful, but you have to stay quiet for me,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your neck below your ear. “Have a feeling I’m gonna have to wrap my hand around this pretty neck of yours to keep you quiet.”

You whimper, digging your nails into his back. Your hips instinctively move up toward his, chasing that feeling of his hard cock pressing against your cunt.

“Oh, you want my cock bad,” he laughs, lifting himself up to look down at you. “I know. You deserve it now, pretty girl.”

Sitting back on his knees, he slips his jeans and briefs off. Your eyes widen at the sight of his cock, bigger than any guy you've been with. He catches your look and winks at you. “Don't worry, we’ll make it fit,” he teases, gently grabbing your hips to move you where he wants you beneath him.

“Okay,” you nod, not having the chance to dwell on it any longer as he starts dragging the head of his cock through your folds, eliciting whimpers from you each time he taps it against your clit.

Driving his own self crazy with the teasing, he finally lets just the tip press into you. “Shit,” he hisses, his head falling back. “Was going slow just to tease you, but looks like I don't even have a choice, you're so tight.”

He works inch by inch of his cock into you, turning you both into heavy-breathing messes, before pulling back out of you completely and slamming right back into you.

Your gasp and residual sigh of pleasure has him leaning over you, pressing his lips to yours to swallow your moans. “Yeah, you like that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Yes…?” He waits for you to correct yourself, stilling his hips when you don't. “Daddy?”

“Yes,” you whine, feeling him thrust into you harshly again. “Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl,” he pants, beginning to fuck into you with a steady rhythm.

Trying your hardest to stay quiet, you can't contain your moans anymore when his thrusts become faster and harder. He quickly guides your leg that he's holding to wrap around his waist and puts his newly-freed hand around your neck to quiet you.

“You ever had a cock like this?” He growls, and all you can do now as his fingers press carefully against the sides of your neck is shake your head. “I know you haven't. It’s a damn shame, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

His hips move against you relentlessly as he chases his own high. “Need you to come for me again, pretty girl. Can you do that for me, for daddy?”

You can't say no even if you wanted to, your body reacting to his words like they're magic. Your jaw drops open in a silent moan as your second orgasm washes over you, your whole body trembling beneath him.

He doesn't let up, bringing himself dangerously close to his release before asking, “Where do you want it?”

His hand around your throat loosens enough so you can talk, but in your daze you slowly open your eyes to look at him, choking out, “Want what?”

“Uh,” he lets out a breathless laugh. “My–”

“Oh! Oh God,” you cringe, realizing quickly what he meant.

His thrusts falter and become slower for just a moment as you bring your hands up to cover your face. He chuckles, dropping his head to the crook of your neck, pressing a few soft kisses to your skin. “You're adorable.”

Shaking your head, you let out a breath before finally answering him quietly. “In me.”

You pull your hands away from your face, resting them on his shoulders as he lifts himself back up to look down at you. “Are you sure? Because–”

“Yes,” you nod, eyelids flitting again as your sensitive cunt continues to take him. “I'm still on the pill.”

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes out, driving into you a few harsh, final times before his hips stutter, stilling against yours, and he lets out a couple deep groans as his release spills inside you.

Gently collapsing on top of you, you both breathe out muffled breaths against each other’s shoulders, still trying to stay as hushed as possible.

As soon as he feels you’ve stopped shuddering beneath him, he reluctantly pushes himself off of you, pulling out so he can roll over next to you.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, pulling you against him when you whimper at the loss of the fullness you felt.

He holds you against him like that, tucking your head under his chin, rubbing your back until you relax.

“What did we just do?” Your question comes out breathless, piercing the silence, and he tenses up thinking you're already regretting it. You feel it, and hug him tighter to reassure him, burying your face closer against his chest. “And why do I kind of want to do it again?”

Letting out a relieved laugh, he kisses your forehead. “We could definitely arrange that.”

· · ┈─────── ⋆៹ ✩۪۟۟≭ ───────┈ · ·

Tag list: @chris-butt @patzammit @denisemarieangelina @thummbelina @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc @princess-evans-addict @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @la-cey @turtoix @katiew1973 @harrysthiccthighss @tvckerlance @bluemusickid @rocketrhap3000 @mrspeacem1nusone @flovds @starlightcrystalline @stargazingfangirl18 @geminievans1 @doozywoozy @americasass91 @dwights-new-plague @wwwmarissa92 @redhairedfeistynerd @whxre4cevans @aubreeskailynn @white-wolf1940 @melchills-j @xoxabs88xox @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @before-we-get-started @chrissquares @christowhore @ice-dtae @mariestark @justile @andy--barber @rogersdrysdalebarber @dilfbarber @livstilinski @payperhearts @vintagestarlight @gitasor

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine #andy barber imagine #chris evans x you

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leoneliterary · 2 years

Note

Wow Leone, I just read the most recent asks you answered about drunk!MC and I really have to say that your writing is so wonderful! I've enjoyed every little snippet and ask you've answered and I always look forward to your new posts. Oh, and I can't have enough of it, so here's another shameless ask for you (so sorry lol but plz take your time) : How about the drunk scenario with Nari where MC says they don't deserve her with other ROs? I know it might be too much so maybe just brief snippets? Coz I know for a fact my MC will feel that he doesn't deserve dating Laverna and Sarai on their respective routes after being a common thief. Hope you're doing well!

Thank you so much! Nari's drunk snippet can be found here in case anyone wants to read that one. This one will be really fun to do, and I hope you don't mind, but since you mentioned Laverna and Sarai specifically, I'll write their reactions!

Laverna

She looks around before slipping out of the dress shop through the back. Creeping through another back door, this time that of an inn, she heads up the stairs that she knew would lead to you. Everything in her hummed with excitement and with only a door separating the two of you, all thoughts of impropriety and consequences vanished.

The wooden door creaks open, but you aren't sitting there, ready to greet her with a smile. Instead your back is to her, as you stare out the window, a cup of wine in hand.

The air is different today and underneath the crackle of excitement she usually feels is dread. Still, despite the atmosphere around you, you're still you and that's enough to pull her to you.

"Sorry. I had a hard time loosing the escort, but I'm here now!" she smiles at you, but you still don't turn around. Instead you sigh, and the scent of wine wafts over to her, sweet like you, but bitter like the mood.

"I can't do this with you anymore," you say and Laverna feels her heart crack.

"What?" she says and grimaces at the frailty in the word. Panic begins to bubble over but she chokes it down. What happened? What did you learn? Maybe that's why you can't do it. You know her now and you wish you didn't.

She's driven you away.

"I can't do this to you anymore. You don't know just how wrong the two of us are. There is no one higher than you, no one better than you and I..." you trail off and brace yourself against the window, still refusing to look at her, and quietly continue. "It's hard to find someone lower than me. Please leave my lady."

Laverna wasn't simpleminded. She often thought of all of the obstacles that stood between you and how to topple them, but she didn't see this being one.

She crosses the room and turns you toward her. Your slight resistance crumbling once she rests a hand on your tear stained cheeks. Her eyes meet your red rimmed ones and she forces you too look at her. You are strong in ways she could never be, but she realizes their is a fear in you that she doesn't possess.

And she falls even more in love with you.

"Do you love me?"

She sees new tears forming in your eyes and you try to turn away from her again.

"I have no right to—"

"I asked if you love me, because I love you. I love you and I choose you. If you have secrets, then I will keep them." she says as she wipes a tear away. "And if you have sins, then I will bear them."

She wraps her arms around you and you go rigid, before finally holding onto her too.

You may think that you have no right to love her, but you do. And the thought of that causes her to grip you tighter.

Sarai

When she exits the feast, she expects you to follow after a reasonable amount of time. She did not expect have to send Lalia to fetch you. The door opens and you come in, your steps a bit unstable and the smell of wine clinging to your clothes.

"Seems like someone might have overindulged," she says to you with a smile and pats the cushion next to her. "Come sit! You're standing so far away!"

You don't come to her, instead taking a step back, refusing to look at her.

She feels a sharp pang rip through her and immediately straightens her posture.

"Well. What's this about?"

"I don't think I should Queen Mother," you say and briefly look at her and she catches a glimpse of eyes shining with unshed tears, before you snatch your head away, adding, "I don't think that we should—"

She cuts you off with a sharp intake of air that she hold before releasing slowly.

She knew something like this could happen. She watched you dig up fragments of feelings that she had long laid to rest, watched herself being convinced that maybe, just maybe, she could embrace you. She left herself unmanned and unguarded and now you would leave her exposed.

"So it wasn't what you hoped? Oh, or is it that the excitement of the forbidden has grown tiring!" she says and claps her hands in false realization, a smile dripping with derision fixed on you.

"Sarai, it's nothing like that! I'm not fit to—"

"And now it is Sarai again. You weren't concerned about your fitness to approach me before, but now you know the meaning of propriety?"

Tears are flowing down your face now but she hardens herself against them. She's remembering and cursing herself for making such an obvious mistake twice in her life.

"Sarai, I shouldn't be with you. I'm not even fit to stand beside you," you look at her, imploring her to understand. "You don't even know what I've done!"

At that, a familiar coldness sets in and Sarai welcomes its familiar grip.

"There is the problem. Neither of us really know each other." She leans forward and pins you with her gaze. Yes, because if she looks at you enough she can see the things that in her folly she ignored.

"But I know that you stink of secrets." She sits back, her voice bored, and she feels nothing when you flinch. "You stink of secrets and you've caught my eye, so don't think this act changes anything."

She rises and gets close to you. You've lowered your head again, but she takes your chin firmly, forcing you to look at her. Searching your eyes she sees regret, pain, and a softness.

Even your eyes lie.

"You want to sell me a story about not deserving my affection or not being fit to be with me? You forget that every choice in this palace is mine to make. You don't have my affection. You have my attention."

She spits the last of the words out and turns her back to you.

"Leave."

You leave her and her eyes burn. She swallows the thickness in her throat before calling Lalia in.

She would know what you've done.

#Honor Amongst Thieves #ROs #answered asks #worldbuilding #if wip #interactive fiction #MC #interactive novel #drunk #Sarai #Laverna #drunk asks

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shitty-marvel-fan732 · 3 years

Note

Hi can I request a peter parker x barnes-Rogers reader (steve and Bucky's daughter) and me and Peter find out I'm pregnant with Peter's baby and we try to keep it a secret but everyone is suspicious of us cause I've been really poorly lately and Peter is being overprotective and one day Peter accidentally says "don't do that it could hurt the baby" or "and everyone freaks out and me, Peter and my dads have a long talk but everything is fine thanks xx

Unexpected

Pairing: Peter Parker x Barnes-Rogers! Reader

Requested?: Yes!

Word count: Almost 7k

Warnings: Pregnancy, some angst but thats it I think?

Author's Note: Yessssss this was so fun to write! Very excited to be back to posting on this page again. Thank you so much for the request! Hope to start adding in more content soon, so if yall have any requests feel free to send them in! And if you have requests sent in already, know that I love you and I will be getting to clearing out my inbox here pretty soon 🥰

Taglist: @just-that-bi-girl , @winterfrostsarmy

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

In retrospect, the entire team should have realized what was going on with you a lot sooner. To their credit, most of them had noticed that something was different about you, but other than Nat and Wanda none of them had a guess as to what exactly that was.

The men appeared completely clueless in respect to the cause of the recent changes in you. Even Clint, a married father of three, hadn't caught on even after he'd seen you leaving the bathroom having clearly just thrown up. Tony had been the closest to figuring it out of the all men, having noticed your odd mood swings and crying fits as they became more and more frequent. He noted the same behavioral pattern as he'd found himself stuck in after the Battle of New York, and secretly worried for your mental well-being. He hadn't felt comfortable enough to broach the topic with you just yet though, instead opting to watch you from a distance for the time being.

The women, however, seemed to understand almost instantly what was going on. Nat had figured things out once she realized that you had been skipping training lately and noticed that you and Peter barely appeared to leave one another's sides for even a moment. Wanda based her guess almost solely upon the fact that she could just feel that something was different about you; your entire energy had changed in the last few weeks and she noted it even before Peter had. Both women had their suspicions, but had seemingly agreed to keep their thoughts to themselves until you were ready to tell the team what was going on.

Your dads were a different story altogether.

It took Steve and Bucky much longer to notice something had changed with their daughter, Steve longest of all. Either you'd done a great job of avoiding your Pops or he'd been incredibly unobservant (or more likely both), but he hadn't seen anything that he would've considered out of the ordinary for you.

That is, until today.

"AAAAUUUUUUGGGGH"

Steve was on his feet in an instant, sprinting into the kitchen at the sound of your enraged scream. He skidded to a stop and surveyed the room with a trained look for the source of danger, but found none. In fact, you and Sam were the only two in the space as far as he could tell. Sam's back was pressed snugly against the furthermore countertop as you practically cornered him, the older man clearly caught off guard by your sudden burst of rage. You flung your hands around wildly as you yelled, one gripping a box so tightly that your knuckles were beginning to turn a concerning shade of white.

Completely bewildered, Steve watched in stunned silence for moment as you fumed and screamed expletives at the slightly-terrified looking Sam, without any clear indication as to what had happened.

"I CANNOT FUCKING BELIEVE YOU, YOU GODDAMNED ASSHO-"

"Y/N Barnes-Rodgers!" Steve scolded you finally, momentarily stopping your verbal assault. "What in God's name is going on here?"

Your eyes turned to your Pops' briefly before flickering back to glare in Sam's direction.

"Pigeon-brain ate the last of my oreos," you seethed, walking forward and jabbing an accusatory finger to Sam's chest, his hands instantly flying upwards in surrender.

Steve felt his jaw drop in utter disbelief.

“You-,”

“What’s with all the commotion in here?” Bucky interrupted, striding into the kitchen much as Steve had moments ago and joining his husband's side with a confused look on his face. Steve crossed his arms and frowned at their daughter.

“Apparently our daughter is screaming at Sam because he ate her cookies.” your Pops explained tersely.

“Not cookies, oreos,” you muttered, glare never wavering from Sam. You furiously threw the offending empty package roughly at his still bewildered face in lieu of another expletive. Sam was evidently so bewildered, in fact, that he didn't even flinch as the box hit his head and bounced pathetically to the floor.

Bucky raised his eyebrow.

“And that’s why you’ve been screaming like that?” he confirmed. You nodded, arms crossing your chest stubbornly.

Bucky shrugged, looking towards his husband with a look of indifference. “Makes sense.”

“No, it absolutely does not make sense,” Steve lightly scolded, glancing at Bucky with a pointed look before returning his gaze to you. “Y/N you’re completely overreacting. Apologise to Sam right now.”

Your mouth dropped open, and you gaped at your dads with an expression that was equal parts betrayal and rage.

“No.”

“No?” Steve repeated incredulously. He stared at you with disbelief, looking between you and Bucky like he was hoping he’d somehow misheard you. You met his glance with an equally stubborn look as you planted your feet solidly beneath you and tightened the cross of your arms. “What do you mean, no?”

“You heard me,” you spat, unwavering.

Sam merely looked confused as he watched the two of you argue, if albeit still a bit scared, but Bucky was sure his shock was evident on his face. You never back-sassed your Pops, not even when you were really angry, and Bucky only felt his disbelief grow at the prospect that your attitude was all due to a few cookies.

"Y/N, you don't get to tell me no," Steve ground out carefully, voice stern with a rare sort of parental authority he seldom had to use with you. In fact, Bucky was pretty sure he hadn't actually heard him use this particular tone since way back when you were a toddler testing the limits of your dads' patience. But unlike your three-year-old self, you didn't back down at your Pops' disapproving tone; in fact, you met his intense stare with a flippant roll of your eyes, deepening your dad's shock at your abrupt behavioral shift.

"He fucking knows what he did, everyone knows those oreos are mine," you snapped, eyes alight with a kind of fury the likes of which your dads had never seen from you before.

"Language!" Steve gasped at his daughter, his authoritative tone giving way to a spluttering one of complete disbelief.

"FUCK OFF!" you shouted instantly.

"HEY!"

Bucky had officially had enough. Irritation blossomed deep within his chest at the hurt he saw wash through his husband's eyes at your vulgar screech. Teenaged angst was one thing, but it was entirely another to blatantly disrespect Steve like you were. He still didn't know what was really causing you to act like this--because no way in hell could this be all over some oreos-- but he'd definitely passed the point where he even cared.

"Doll, that’s enough. Clearly you're upset, but you cannot speak to your Pops like that," he practically growled. You turned your attention to your dad with the same kind of indignant irritation in your eyes, a flash of fresh anger rolling across your face at the sight of Bucky's equally irate expression.

"You can fuck off too," you spat.

Bucky's jaw clenched dangerously, the muscle in his cheek jumping and twitching as he took in his daughter's crass retort. Sam had long since left the scene, the nearly suffocating tension officially too much for him to take. Steve's eyes went wide for what felt like the millionth time since he'd first walked into the kitchen. If he hadn't known something was wrong before, he undoubtedly did now.

You may not disobey him often, but you never snapped at Bucky.

Steve had long since accepted that, though you loved the two of them the same, you'd always liked Bucky more. A daddy's girl from birth, you and Bucky had always been inseparable-- so for you to now scream and curse at him like this was like a flaming-red flag in Steve's mind.

Something was definitely wrong.

"Excuse me?" Bucky hissed. The two of you faced one another, arms crossed and expressions grim. You planted your feet even more solidly underneath you, staring your dad down with a fury so intense it was almost palpable. If it weren't for the overall tension of the situation, Steve might've teased the two of you for your near-mirrored positions.

"Y/N? What's going on, I thought I heard yelling?" Peter asked as he practically skidded into the kitchen. He immediately joined you, face morphing into a look of utter concern at the sight of yours and Bucky's standoff. Steve braced himself, mentally apologizing to Peter for the verbal assault that was surely coming his way.

But it never came.

It was as if all the unwarranted anger was sucked from your body in a rush as soon as you caught sight of your boyfriend. Your face crumpled into an anguished expression, and Steve could see how the tears welled up in your eyes instantaneously. Peter clicked his tongue in pity and you thrust yourself instantly into his awaiting arms. He gripped you tightly, and you eagerly buried yourself further into his embrace. Face smashed tightly against his chest, you began to sob uncontrollably.

Your dads gaped at the scene, wide-eyed.

"S-sam ate my oreos a-and now everyone's mad at me, and I j-just wanted my snack!" you all but wailed, voice muffled by Peter's body.

Bucky blinked once as he turned to his husband, total confusion written all over his features. Steve just gaped in response, unable to formulate a semi-coherent thought, let alone words.

"Oh angel, it's okay," Peter cooed softly into your hair, hands rubbing up and down your back soothingly as you continued to cry. "I can go and get you more oreos; don't cry Y/N/N, I'll just run down to the store right now to get you some."

Lifting your head from his chest, you seemed slightly placated and hopeful as you sniffled and looked up at him.

"C-can I come with you?" you asked him shyly, tear-stained cheeks turning a slight shade of pink at your childish request. Peter smiled fondly down at you, clearly happy to see that you were feeling better.

"Of course, it'll be nice to walk with you," he smiled sweetly at you and lightly kissed your nose. You giggled as you removed yourself from his embrace before walking over to your dads.

"M'sorry I shouted daddys. Love you guys!" you apologized in a chipper voice before kissing both of the men's bewildered cheeks.

The two supersoldiers both stood in stunned silence as they watched you leave hand in hand with Peter, who briefly shot them an apologetic look before the pair were gone. Steve thought he heard Peter mumbling something to Y/N as they left, but the only words he could pick out were "not good to get so worked up", which only confused him further.

"What in the hell was that?" Bucky grumbled, face still crinkled with bewilderment. Steve simply shook his head.

"I have absolutely no idea. I've never seen her behave like that, have you?"

"Nothing like that, but she was acting funny the other day too," he frowned, recalling the scene he'd walked in on just a few days prior. "She was full out sobbing on the couch a few days ago over a toilet paper commercial."

Steve gaped at his husband.

"Sh-she...what?"

"Doll have you seen your Pops? I can't find him any-"

Bucky's question died in his throat as soon as he hit the threshold of the TV room. You were curled up on the couch, arms wrapped around your knees as sobs racked through you. Peter sat next to you with his eyes crinkled in concern and hands rubbing gently at your shoulders as you cried.

"Y/N what's wrong, why are you crying?" Bucky asked. Feeling his protective instincts kick in instantly, he couldn't help but search the room with his eyes in search of any danger. Finding nothing, he narrowed his eyes at your boyfriend.

"Did he do something?" Bucky demanded. "Parker I swear to God if you hurt her I-"

"What? N-no I didn't do anything Mr. Bucky I swear!" Peter spluttered, eyes widening in fear at the terrifying look in your dad's eyes.

"Bullshit, then why's she crying like that? Of course you did someth-"

"N-no it's not P-peter dad!" you interrupted tearfully. "There was an ad on TV that just made me emotional okay? You know, the one with the boy crying in the bathroom and his dad offers him toilet paper for his tears?"

There was a beat of silence.

"Doll, you really mean to tell me that you're sobbing over a toilet paper ad?" Bucky asked, brows furrowed in disbelief. You sniffled as you nodded, and fresh tears began to pick your eyes once more.

"Yes! I mean it's just so inspiring," you blubbered. "I mean how often do you actually get to see a teenaged boy cry on TV? Never, cause toxic masculinity standards in this stupid patriarchal society we all live in say otherwise! And not only does the dad accept that his son is crying and is allowed to feel real emotions, he sits down to talk with him about them! I just got so happy thinking about all the little boys who will see this ad and feel the validation that they're normal for feeling sad every once in a while!"

Bucky just stared at his daughter with a blank look for a moment; he looked like he was unable to formulate a single response to the information he'd just been given.

"Well that's...uh….that's great I gue-"

"I can't believe you would just assume that me crying just had to be because of something Peter did," you interrupted, angrily brushing the leftover tears from your face. "It's so unfair, you always blame him for everything!"

"I-uh," Bucky stammered, flustered by the sudden change in your emotions. You scoffed and stood quickly from your spot in Peter's embrace, crossing your arms petulantly.

"It's true dad, you're always looking for something to yell at him for! It's so biased and unfair," you practically yelled. "Honestly it's such prejudiced bullshit. Some kind of outdated 'lock up your daughters' rhetoric that I can't believe yo…"

At some point during your impassioned speech you began stomping away from both your dad and Peter while still ranting. As your shouts became fainter and fainter Bucky found himself directing his dumbfounded expression at Peter instead. In a rare show of solidarity with your boyfriend, Bucky silently begged for an explanation as to what on earth had just happened.

Despite the way his heart was hammering wildly in his chest Peter remained silent. He offered only a passive shrug to your dad before he clambered to his feet and began following after you. If Bucky hadn't been caught so off guard he surely would've been suspicious at the visible sweat that was beading on Peter's forehead and the way the young boy's hands trembled as he quickly left the room, the question of what was causing your mood swings laying thickly unanswered in the air.

"What the fu-"

"She...a toilet paper ad? Really?"

"Yep, a friggin' toilet paper commercial," Bucky nodded solemnly. Steve blinked once, shaking his head.

"So what did you do?" he asked incredulously.

"Nothin'," Bucky shrugged. "She was so damned worked up that I figured she needed some space, and by the time I went to talk to her she'd already seemed completely fine. Thought it wasn't worth upsetting her all over again."

Steve snorted.

"Yeah right, you were just too scared you would make her mad again," he chuckled.

"Hell yeah I was," Bucky admitted freely, crossing his arms and shooting his husband a defiant expression. "You've seen her, you know how terrifying she can be when she's pissed!"

Steve chuckled once more, shaking his head fondly.

"Mmmm, and I wonder where she got that from."

Bucky narrowed his eyes and scowled at the implication, a surly look overtaking his features. Steve couldn't help but laugh outright at the expression on his husband's face; it was the exact same face you always made when you were annoyed, right down to the little pout in your lip.

"For the last time Stevie, she doesn't get that from me," he grumbled.

"Sure Buck, whatever you say," Steve laughed.

Though your odd behavior and mood swings were at least now on both your dads' radar, neither had any clue as to the actual reason for your sudden changes. The pair of them chalked up the incidents to little more than teenaged angst, however they had no idea how wrong they were nor just how soon they were about to find out what was really going on.

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

"I don't understand Y/N," Steve stated carefully. "Why exactly don't you want to go with the team?"

You shifted your weight from foot to foot anxiously, huffing out a breath in mock annoyance and very real frustration.

You'd been in the training room, lightly working out with Nat and Wanda when your Pops and Tony had walked in to announce that there was an urgent mission that apparently would require the entire team. Internally cursing your timing, you'd tried to sneak out of the room unnoticed, but as your luck would have it, your dad caught you. Now you were stuck arguing with your dads, the attention and curiosity of everyone in the gym directed at you.

Your heart was thrumming wildly in your chest as you furiously racked your brain for some way, any way, out of this assignment and this conversation without an actual reason.

Well, a reason you were actually willing to give, that is.

"Why does it even matter?" you snapped, hoping that no one clocked the tremor in your voice. "It's not like you guys even need me anyways."

"Doll, you always jump at the chance to come with us," your dad interjected. "So what's so different about today?"

"I just don't want to," you whined, lying through your teeth. "I'm tired and I don't feel good."

"But you were literally just training?" Sam pointed out. You narrowed your eyes at him, irritation bubbling under the surface of your anxiety at the contradiction. The older man shrank back a bit under your firey gaze, the previous incident in the kitchen clearly prominent in his mind as he stepped behind Wanda.

Clint snorted.

"If you could even call that training," he mumbled under his breath. Your jaw dropped.

"What is this, gang up on Y/N day?!" you sassed as your arms flew to cross your chest defensively. Your Pops shook his head.

"We're just worried Y/N/N," he reassured, brows furrowed with concern. "You've been behaving very strangely lately, and this is just one more thing."

"Yeah doll," Bucky nodded, agreeing with his husband. "So what gives?"

Your pulse sped up once more at the direct question, a sickening feeling rising in your throat like bile at the realization of just how suspicious your dads were. Unable to think clearly through your panic, you did the only thing you could think of.

You scoffed in fake disbelief, rolled your eyes, and began stomping out of the room.

"Y/N Barnes-Rodgers!" your dad shouted in an indignant and angered tone. "We are not done talking about this!"

Damn.

"What?!" you whirled around, stomping your foot like a child. "I just don't want to go this time okay?"

Bucky's face turned red at your open defiance, but Steve interrupted before he could even open his mouth to snap back at you.

"No Y/N it's absolutely not okay," he scolded. You felt the burn of unshed tears prick your eyes as they searched desperately around the room, mind racing to think of an excuse that would get you out of this situation.

"But-"

"No, no buts Y/N," your dad barked, clearly having composed himself enough to speak once more. His arms were crossed as he glared at you, and the stubbornly annoyed look on his face was enough to make the tears in your eyes begin to fall. A feeling of utter entrapment and fear settled in your chest like a suffocating weight as you felt the hot, fresh tears stream down your cheeks.

"Doll, are you crying?" your Pops questioned incredulously. "What on earth is going on with you?"

"Nothing! I just can't go today," you blubbered, past the point of being able to hold back your sobs.

"You can't go, or you won't go?" Bucky asked pointedly, evidently not swayed by your tears.

"It doesn't matter," you cried desperately. Your dad's eyes bored into yours directly as if he was searching your brain to find out what you were holding back from him.

"It clearly does matter, otherwise you wouldn't be acting like this," he continued harshly. "I'm not sure what it is you aren't telling us, but I don't even care at this point. Stark said he needs everyone and your Pops told you to go, so you need to get yourself together and go and get ready."

The tears were now cascading down your face in giant streams and your face was growing warmer by the second. You darted your gaze back and forth between the other team members' faces, still searching for some kind of last minute way out of this situation. Finding only curious or concerned expressions, you turned back to your dads with wide eyes. You felt your mouth go dry as your lips open and closed wordlessly, the severity of your current predicament weighing you down more and more by the second.

"I-"

"No. I don't want to hear another word from you Y/N," your dad snapped. "Go and get ready for the mission now."

"But she can't go!"

Time stopped for a split second as the entire room's heads snapped towards the desperate shout.

Peter had only just entered the training room, wondering where everyone was, when he caught the tail end of your dad's order. He couldn't help but blurt the first thing that'd come to mind, the implication of which only dawned on him afterwards. As he rushed to your side he shot you a sheepish look, and you internally cringed a bit at his slip.

Even though you were certain Peter's involvement would only further reduce your already slim chances of getting out of this mission without a full confession of what was really going on, you couldn't help but feel an inkling of relief as his eyes locked with yours. His hand immediately intertwined itself with yours once he'd reached you, and your belly fluttered with a warm tinge of comfort with the simple touch.

True, things were probably about to go sideways for the both of you, but at least Peter was here to go through it by your side.

"Excuse me Parker?" your dad spat incredulously, eyes blazing with anger at your boyfriend's outburst. "I don't recall asking you for your opinion on my daughter or what she can or can't do."

Peter stood a little taller as he looked Bucky straight in the eyes with an unprecedented amount of determination.

"She can't go." he practically growled, eyes stern and unyielding as he openly defied your dad. He was standing a half-step in front of you, tense back partially shielding you from the rest of the team as he spoke.

Even with his face turned the opposite direction you could see from his profile the way his brows were furrowed and how dark his normally chocolate brown eyes had gotten. You felt a slight shiver run up your spine at the fiercely protective energy Peter was radiating, and your heart felt a bit lighter at the way he stood up to your dad on your behalf. You squeezed his hand in an effort to ground him, and he softened marginally as he glanced back at you.

Your dad however looked as if he might combust soon based on the way his eyes bulged out and his face turned a concerning shade of red.

"What's that supposed to mean Peter?" Steve interjected carefully, his hand reaching up to rest comfortingly on his husband's shoulder.

"It means exactly what we said," Peter said firmly. "Y/N cannot go on this mission today."

The team watched the interaction between you, Peter, and your dads with their heads bouncing back and forth between the four of you like they were watching a tennis match. Not a word had been uttered from a single one of them, and yet they stood completely transfixed as they waited patiently to see the outcome of the argument.

"And why, pray tell, is that Parker?" your dad hissed, scowl etched across his features.

Peter's eyes traveled to yours, irises swimming with a silent question. Realizing that there was no way out, you took a steadying breath as you nodded softly and squeezed his hand once more in reassurance. Peter smiled at you fondly before dropping his smile and turning back to your parents.

"She can't go because...it could be bad for the baby."

You could've heard a pin drop in the training room. No one made a sound, no one even dared to breathe. The shock in the room was palpable, but you couldn't be bothered to even glance at anyone other than your dads, their reactions the only two that mattered to you in this moment.

Though you'd expected a rather explosive reaction from your parents (especially from your dad), you were met instead with blank stares. Your dads were simply staring at you and Peter in stunned silence, and their lack of a response actually frightened you more than the screaming you'd been anticipating for weeks now. The beat of silence seemed to stretch on eternally, though in reality it was probably no more than thirty seconds. You watched nervously, your hand becoming sweaty in Peter's as you waited. Finally, your Pops blinked and opened his mouth cautiously.

"Bad for the wha-"

"I SWEAR TO GOD PARKER THAT'D BETTER BE SOME KIND OF DISGUSTING PET NAME FOR MY DAUGHTER."

Ahhh. There it was.

Your dad had clearly broken through his frozen thoughts enough to respond, and you would've laughed if you weren't so terrified. He looked positively furious; his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them and his face had darkened from red to an almost purple color that looked painful to say the least. His murderous gaze was hyper-fixated on Peter, and you couldn't help but step in front of your poor boyfriend in an effort to take some of the heat off him.

Peter, evidently, was having none of that, and he frowned before pulling you backwards and tucking you into his side tightly. If you hadn't been so focused on your dad right now you might've rolled your eyes at his over-protectiveness. Instead you allowed yourself the comfort of his embrace as you took a steadying breath.

"It's not," you responded as calmly as you could manage while your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your throat. "I'm pregnant."

Silence enveloped the room once more, and you could've sworn it was even more awkward than the first time. It must've been, because you could see Nat and Wanda ushering the rest of the team out of the gym out of the corner of your eye. You weren't quite sure if you were grateful for the privacy or more scared of how your dads would react now that you were alone.

Your dads stared at you and Peter with wildly different expressions. Steve was staring off into space and looking as if he was either going to throw up or pass out soon, and Bucky still looked as if he was about a half a second away from murdering Peter with his bare hands. To his credit, Peter was still standing by your side with the same look of determination as before despite this, but you could feel the way his pulse was hammering through his veins as he too carefully surveyed your dads' reactions.

You stood quietly, trying to be patient as you watched them, but the suspense and anticipation quickly became overwhelming and you couldn't help but blurt,

"Say something!"

Though both their gazes snapped up to your face with your plea, yet neither your dad nor you Pops said anything. You were suddenly overcome with the urge to explain yourself.

"I know that you're probably in shock or angry or maybe both- and honestly that's completely fair!" You rambled breathlessly. "I know we're still only eighteen, but I really think everything's gonna be okay? Really, I do. And I'm so sorry about today, believe me this isn't how we planned on telling you at all bu-"

"You're not coming on the mission," Steve interrupted, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "Nor is Peter. Your dad and I will be back later, and we're all going to have a long discussion."

It felt like all the air was sucked out of your body as you watched your Pops pull your dad towards the training room exit. You hadn't been fully sure of just how you were going to tell them, but never in your wildest dreams did you imagine that it would come out like this. Tears once more welling up in your eyes, your heart sank as you realized just how disappointed and angry they were.

"I love you," your voice cracked as you called to their retreating forms, unable to bear the sight of them leaving without reminding them. They both paused in the doorway, and without turning back both muttered that they loved you too before they were gone.

As soon as they left you immediately twisted yourself and thrust your face into Peter's chest, the tears flowing steadily as you sobbed. He wrapped his arms tightly around your shaking form, lips finding the crown of your head and hands rubbing soothingly across your back.

"Th-they hate me now," you whispered brokenly into Peter's soft hoodie in between sobs. "They hate me Pete, they're n-never going to forgive me for this!"

Peter shushed you quietly, gentle lips kissing your hair as he began to sway you back and forth slowly.

"They don't hate you angel," he soothed. "They're just surprised. Disappointed in the timing maybe, but they'll get over it. I promise."

"I never wanted it to go like this," you cried as you pulled your head from his chest slightly. Peter's hands left your back for a moment to come and rest on either of your cheeks. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before retreating upwards to look deep into your eyes.

"I know you didn't sweet girl, but it did," he said gently as he brushed away some of your tears with the pads of his thumbs. "It did and it's going to be okay. We'll talk to your dads when they get back and clear everything up. And no matter what, you and I are going to get through this together, okay?"

You sniffled softly, nodding sadly. Peter's eyes were swimming with guilt and dejection at the sight of the empty expression on your face. He didn't know how to comfort you in this situation, but it was like every molecule in his body was demanding he do so. He leaned down once more to press a loving kiss to your forehead, then your cheeks, your nose, and finally your lips.

You sighed, head retreating back to his chest once your lips disconnected. Sadness was still swirling in your stomach and you just longed for the feeling that being in Peter's arms brought. He seemed to understand perfectly- as he always did- pressing his cheek to the top of your head and wrapping his arms tightly around you without a word. The two of you stood there for a while, bodies entangled as you continued lightly swaying back and forth. Peter's hands continued to roam up and down your spine and your tears began to slow and dry.

Eventually you hummed, stepping back and up on your toes to press an appreciative kiss to Peter's face. He smiled as a faint pink tinted his cheeks at your display of affection. You giggled, slightly amazed that even after everything you two had done, something as simple as a peck on the cheek could still make him blush.

"Thank you," you said quietly, looking up into his eyes. He quirked an eyebrow at you in confusion.

"For staying with me through all that. I mean it's you, so I wasn't really worried...but my dad can be really frightening. So thanks," you half joked.

Peter chuckled lightly as he pulled you back into his arms once more.

"Of course angel. Told you, I'm never going to leave you. Even if your dad is super scary. You two are stuck with me now. I'm never ever going to leave you or our baby," he vowed quietly into your hair as his hands reached down to rub the small but growing bump in your tummy lovingly. "We're gonna get through this all together, as a family."

You felt tears well up in your eyes once more, but this time out of sheer love and happiness.

Damned hormones.

"You're gonna be such a good daddy Peter," you whispered gratefully. Hearing the slight crack in your voice, Peter pulled you away from his chest gently to wipe your tear stained cheeks once more.

"Hey now, no more tears today," he scolded playfully as he tugged you across the room. "When's the last time you ate something? We have the whole kitchen to ourselves now, and I bet my babies are hungry!"

You chuckled lightly as you allowed him to pull you along with him towards the kitchen. All the while, he chattered happily about the new article he'd just read about the specific nutritional needs pregnant women have, and your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness. You were still apprehensive about the upcoming conversation with your dads, but you were definitely feeling better. As much as their approval and involvement would mean to you, you'd come to the conclusion that as long as you had Peter by your side everything would work out alright.

Somehow.

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

"Petey, are you sure you don't need any-"

"No! Nope. I've got this," your boyfriend interrupted stubbornly. You signed, hand absentmindedly rubbing across your swollen stomach as you watched him struggle with the latch on the new crib the two of you were setting up.

Well, the crib that Peter was setting up.

It'd been a few months since the team had found out about the newest upcoming addition to the Tower, and you'd decided that it was time to begin decorating the nursery. Tony, of course, had offered to have someone come in to do all the heavy lifting, but Peter was insistent that he be the one to set everything up. His protectiveness over you and the rapidly growing child you were carrying had only increased as the months went on, so much so that you were lucky now if he'd even let you stand for long enough to watch him put the baby's furniture together. It was endearing, really, how much he cared for the two of you, but you'd be lying if you said that you weren't becoming a little frustrated with how little you could do to help.

"Really Peter, I can help," you grumbled, annoyed. "I'm pregnant, not disabled."

"Of course you could help angel, but I don't need help," he grunted, eyes never leaving the mass of parts around him. "You already have to do all the work of growing and housing our baby, the least I can do is build the crib!"

"Housing?" you teased, quirking an eyebrow.

"You know what I meant," he grumbled, and you couldn't help but chuckle at his growing frustration.

Peter was clearly losing his grip just a bit as he struggled to make sense of the instructions that had been provided with the pieces. He sighed, throwing the pamphlet down on the ground before trudging over to where you stood, leaning against the changing table that he'd put together a few days ago.

"I've engineered web-fluid from absolutely nothing, re-built computers from scratch and yet I can't even manage to put this stupid bed together," he whined as he dropped his head down onto your shoulder in defeat. "M'gonna be a terrible father."

"Ohhh bubs," you cooed sympathetically, smile falling quickly and heart lurching at the tone of pure dejection in his voice.

You wrapped your arms around him, one snaking around his back and the other cradling his head. Your fingers began instantly carding through his chocolate-brown locks as he nuzzled his nose lightly into the junction of your neck and shoulder. His hands wound their way around your waist too- or as well as they could with your round tummy in the way- and his own hands began absentmindedly tracing patterns over your bump.

"Peter you have to know that isn't true," you soothed, kissing his cheek softly. "You're going to be an amazing dad."

He hummed non-commitally.

"You think you're not?" you challenged, fingers halting their dance against his scalp. "Do the thing."

He raised his head from your shoulder, brows furrowed in confusion.

"What does that have to do with-"

"Do the thing," you interrupted sternly. He sighed and knelt down, grumbling inaudible complaints as he went. Once he was face to face with your bump he placed his hands on either side, thumbs rubbing soft circles into your stretched-out skin.

"Hi baby, it's me, your daddy," he spoke softly into your stomach, lips so close that you shivered with each breath that ghosted over your clothed belly. "I love you so much."

The baby responded instantly at the sound of Peter's voice, feet jabbing out and kicking excitedly from within just underneath where his hands lay. You felt your heart skip a beat at both the feeling the movement in your belly and the sight of the dopey smile that lit up Peter's handsome face as he felt his child's kicks. You rubbed over his hands lovingly and smiled down at him.

"See bubs? He starts throwing a party in there every time you do that. He loves you so much already, that's not gonna change," you reassured him softly. Peter's smile dropped just a little.

"But the crib-"

"Fuck the crib," you responded stubbornly. "You are the most caring, sweetest, and most thoughtful person I know Peter. You're going to be the world's best dad."

"Whoa whoa, believe we're the ones with the mugs that claim that title," a voice chuckled from the doorway.

You smiled fondly, eyes darting to find the sight of your Pops leaning casually against the frame of the door with your dad standing just behind him. Both had amused smiles on their faces, and you grinned widely. Even Peter smiled as he rose to his feet and wrapped one of his arms around your back to pull you into his side.

"Okay, third best dad in the world then," you amended, grinning.

"That's better," your dad piped up, smiling. "Now what's this I hear about a faulty crib? Sam said he can hear Peter cursing all the way from his room."

Peter groaned, tilting his head backwards in exasperation as you laughed out loud.

"It isn't faulty, I'm just an idiot," Peter grumbled. Everyone but him chuckled, and your dad walked further into the room. He clapped a hand on Peter's back as he grinned at the younger man.

"Normally I'd agree with you, but I know if I do Steve will bring up how Y/N had to sleep in the bassinet for like 6 months because we couldn't figure out how to put her crib together."

"You mean you couldn't figure it out," your Pops snorted from his place in the doorway. "As I recall, I was not allowed to help with the furniture because you were determined to figure it out on your own."

Bucky shrugged, seemingly indifferent to his husband's insinuation.

"Whatever. Point is, I wanted to see if you wanted some help putting it together. Thought I might be able to give you some tips," your dad continued. Peter's smile widened, and he nodded eagerly before your dad knelt down to help try and make sense of the directions.

The discussion after the incident in the training room had gone much better than you would've ever imagined. Both your dads had been relatively calm once they'd returned from their mission, and surprisingly there had been no screaming, no crying, and no threats towards Peter from Bucky like you'd been picturing. The four of you had sat down together and had a long, mature discussion of what your plans were in terms of raising and caring for your child, and by the end your dads had even seemed enthusiastic about the prospect of being grandparents. Their involvement and excitement had only grown in the following months to the point now that you felt silly for ever having been frightened to tell them.

And now as you stood watching your boyfriend and dad work together to put your child's room together, tears began collecting in your eyes and you felt your chest warm with feelings of overwhelming love. Steve, noticing your tears, moved to wrap his arms around you and you leaned your head against his shoulder. Rubbing your belly lovingly, you couldn't help but feel a wave of gratitude wash over you for the men in your life and love for the little one that you'd all be meeting soon.

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sadachmesarthim · 3 years

Text

towers for your honeycomb chapter 3: no i do not condone underage drinking i just think it's a good plot devic-

content: the boys have One Beer Each™, peter both sets and completely ignores his own boundaries, author remembers the communion chapter from "how to read literature like a professor" and bastardizes it, both of them have anxiety but neither say anything about it, smoking

words: 2k song: outskirts of paradise - bad suns

Looking Tony in the eye was like staring at the sun. Peter could barely hold his gaze, always finding an excuse to turn away.

He was sat in front of the other man a few weeks later, sharing drinks and pizza at a new brewery down the road. It’d cost him his liquor license, and potentially a clean record, if anyone found out, but Richie (their most beloved regular) offered to let the pair try the latest house brew if they ever swung through.

Peter wasn’t one for beer, but he’d accepted Tony’s invite anyway.

He wasn’t entirely sure why. Since their fight, they’d worked all of maybe three hours together. No other shifts, they avoided each other at meetings, and neither were particularly willing to reach out off the clock and apologize.

It was like the world was screaming at them to stay away from each other.

Peter wasn’t sure he wanted to listen.

After his shift that morning, Peter found Tony outside, leaning up against the hood of his car & working through his second cigarette. He drummed on the side of his thigh, keeping his empty hand busy as he waited for Peter to come out. Tony jumped at the sight of him, tossing the half finished cig down a storm drain.

“You know those lead straight to the ocean, right?” There was more amusement than anger behind his words. Peter wasn’t entirely sure what Tony was up to, but he was too tired to start shit. He crossed to the passenger side of his car, tossing his belongings to the floor.

“Even if it didn’t go through the city’s filtration system – fuck the fish.” Peter rolled his eyes. Funny as he was, Tony always had to be contradictory.

“Don’t you have, like, a school of them on your shoulder?” Tony’s normally visible salmon tattoos were safely tucked away behind a denim jacket Peter’d never seen before.

“Irrelevant.” Peter rounded the hood and turned, facing the other man. “Did you need something or were you just here to argue about my town’s plumbing system?” He huffed the words out, arms crossing in front of his chest expectantly.

“I, uh…” He suddenly went silent. The ground crunched under Tony’s feet, gravel scraping asphalt under his shoes. They were a rattier pair he owned – more tape than sole, oil staining the canvas.

“I wanted to know if you’d come to lunch with me. Today. Like, right now?” He hesitated at the last few words, like he wasn’t sure he could say them out loud. “I, uh. I’m pretty sure I have some things to say to you, and Richie’s got some good stuff waiting for us at the Pub House…”

Peter was astounded. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Tony?” My Tony? What? “I- why should I trust you? I’m sure as hell not getting in a car with you.”

Tony’s face fell. A bit of- what, disappointment? flew across his face. Peter would’ve missed it had he not been staring, impatient for his answer. Tony, floundering at the rejection, couldn’t give him one.

“Okay, maybe- how about this. I’ll think about it. Give me five minutes to go wash up and I’ll be back.” He turned & headed inside, not waiting for a response.

The cool water felt good against his burning, salt-stained cheeks. Peter hadn’t realized just how tired he was – opens had always taken it out of him, and the early spring temperatures didn’t always prevent the stand from turning into a heater during rush hour.

The soap in the stand was always too fragrant for his taste, but it did the job – it felt good to wash away the day’s work and come back looking like a new man. He smoothed his eyebrows down and dried himself off, wetting his hair a bit as he finished.

He wound up with grind in it again, brushing it out with a comb he found in the first aid kit. One of these days he was going to have to start wearing hats to work. Shampooing his hair every single day was taking its toll on his curls, and he wasn’t a fan of burnt coffee smell.

Stepping back, he squinted into the warped mirror in front of him. Much better.

Back outside, Tony’d lit up his third cigarette of the day. The shakes’d largely abandoned him, allowing his anxiety to drift inward. The sticks only did so much – he missed the higher, stronger hit of his Suorin, but he was trying to quit (ironically enough).

He was actually able to finish this one by the time Peter made his way back outside, looking significantly better without $5 worth of product on his face.

“Okay, some rules.” He came up, stopping just short of Tony. “You’re paying for both of us. We leave whenever I want, without complaint. We go straight there and come straight back - it’s eight blocks, I don’t want any bullshit scenic routes.” His tone was firm – something Tony’d never encountered with him before.

“Yes. Yes, anything. Okay.”

Tony’s car was a lot nicer than Peter anticipated. He’d recently sold his truck, swapping it for a silver Mini Cooper instead. It was a pretty little thing, just up his alley.

It was also fucking obnoxious. He’d bought it with a modified exhaust and had plans to make it even louder. You could almost always hear him coming, little pop pop pops audible for quite a ways.

It was… less clean than Peter expected. Tony was always so well put together, so well-maintained - seeing stray gum wrappers and drink cups littered around the interior was almost jarring. He didn’t realize he was staring until Tony spoke up.

“She’s nice, isn’t she?” Peter nodded. He silently took in his new surroundings, nerves on fire. He’d never done well around strangers, in new places. His mind’d always screamed at him, danger unsafe bad run, overriding his sensibilities.

“Hey, are you good? I can take you back if you need.” They’d barely left the Outback parking lot.

“No- no, I think I’ll be okay. Just… not where I thought I’d end up when I woke up today, y’know?” Peter tried to laugh it off, but he’d always been pretty transparent.

Tony turned a corner, cutting back into the lot they just came from and turning the car off. “Seriously, Peter. If you don’t want to come to lunch with me just say so. I’ll take you back to your car and we can pretend it never happened.” Okay, seriously, who the fuck is this guy and what did he do with Tony?

“No, I- I think I’m okay. Seriously. Let’s just go and get it over with - I kinda want to hear you grovel anyway.” He settled further into his seat, failing to shake away the agitation.

The flatbread was actually really good. It was more of a hipster take on pizza - white sauce and pearl onions definitely making it stand out - but it wasn’t a bad lunch by any means.

The beer definitely wasn’t Peter’s favorite. He was barely sipping by, trying hard to keep a straight face as he swallowed. Damn Richie anyway.

It’d started off awkward enough - discussing where to sit, small talk about their week, the weather. It felt more like a bad first date than an apology, but-

“I really am sorry. For what happened in the fridge.”

Oh.

“Okay. Why?” Peter tightened the hand around his glass, bracing for Tony’s next words.

“I.. I was kind of an asshole when I was younger, too. I figured I could make a fresh start here with a brand new town of people that didn’t know or assume anything about me.

“I was doing okay for a little while, too, but I don’t know man I just.. something happened and I just- I don’t know why I’m a dick to you. But I’m trying not to be. This is that, like, ‘first step’, I guess?” Peter nodded along, attentive.

"So, I don't know. I'm sorry for being a dick to you at work. I'm sorry for being a dick to the girls. I shouldn't yell at you or drag your family into this bullshit - I'm sorry, Peter."

There it was again, that name. His first fucking name.

“I- thank you, Tony. It’s a start, and I certainly haven’t forgiven you, but… thank you. Seriously.” Tony sighed, shoulders visibly relaxing. Peter let go of his glass and wiped it off, standing and walking around to Tony’s side of the table.

“Okay then, time for a do-over! Hi, I’m Peter Parker. I’m 19 and I’ve worked at Outback North Espresso for a little over 9 months. What’s your name?” He stuck his hand out, waiting for Tony to make the next move.

Tony laughed, pushing his chair back and standing to meet the other teen. “Okay, uh, I’m Tony Stark, I’m 18, and I’ve worked at Outback for almost 6. Nice to re-meet you, Peter.” He shook Peter’s hand, awestruck at just how soft it was. He quickly steeled his face and sat back down, releasing Peter and allowing him to do the same.

Once he was sat back down at his side, Peter looked up, confused. “Wait, you’re still 18?”

Tony laughed. “Not for long. My birthday’s at the end of next month.”

“Wow, I can’t believe I’m older than you!”

Tony rolled his eyes. “That’s - it’s literally three months, that barely counts.”

Their debate lasted well into the afternoon, alongside several other discussions. Peter’s childhood in Richland, and what it was like growing up there. What Federal Way was like, and why Tony left. Peter could tell he was remaining intentionally vague, but didn’t push it.

Their beers were warm and the pizza was long gone by the time they abandoned their table. Tony guided him out the back, hand high on his arm.

Once they were back in the car, Peter’s anxiety returned. It was like he’d spent the last few hours speaking to a completely different person, and now that he was sitting mere inches from Tony…

He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t. He wasn’t… sure, exactly. What it was.

Tony spoke up when he noticed the tension in his passenger seat.

“Hey, we’ll get you back to your car soon, I promise. Eight blocks, remember?” His right hand made its way to Peter’s knee, digging soft circles into the denim. Just like in the fridge.

“Please don’t- don’t touch me. Without asking.” It came out harsher than intended.

“Okay, all good. No worries. We’re like, two minutes away.” Tony eased off the clutch, turning right out of the parking lot and onto the road. The windows rolled down and Peter let his head fall back in relief. Fresh air always helped him clear his head.

It really was a short drive - right turn, left turn, right turn - and they were back at Peter’s car. The doors unlocked, and he was out in an instant. A bit too fast to be respectful, if he was being honest, but he knew he needed out. Tony stopped him before he was able to get in his car.

“Hey, for real. Thank you for today. I’m sorry if it was too much.”

Peter looked over and down to meet his eyes. “I- yeah, of course. No, yeah, thank you. For the apology. I’m sorry I freaked out on you. But no this- it was good. Yeah. Thank you, Tony.”

He turned, unlocking the door and closing it before either could say anything else. After turning the key he sped off, without throwing even a glance behind him.

Tony watched as Peter peeled away, reaching for the box of Pall Malls in his cupholder. He lit one, shifting into first and heading in the opposite direction.

Not bad. Not good, but not bad.

lmk if u want on or off the tags list!

@snowstark @kaleidoscopeluli @parkerrbitch @carelessannie @bluestarker @longlivestarker

#starker #peter parker/tony stark #.mine #peter parker x tony stark #ironspider #coffee shop au #.text #.fic

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mrs-hollandstan · 4 years

Note

Can I request mob tom Holland & reader, their marriage is arranged, Tom is not happy abt it as he loves someone else, he's cold towards her but she's a dedicated wife. He starts falling for her but feels guilty & is even more rude to her. Harrison realises it & dances with reader in party & gets all touchy, Tom gets jealous & has rough possessive sex with reader. Later he talks to her apologizes & all fluffy.

Okay, so I changed it a lil because I got an idea for a soulmate writing like this in the shower last night haha so here’s that, but I’m actually pretty proud of it and I hope you enjoy. Some NSFW down below.

Tom could have been arranged with any other woman in the world, but when it just so happened to be his soulmate, he was more irritated than ever and just nasty to you, mostly because he didn't enjoy the idea of being forced into a relationship just because the universe said so. He was cold and pissed beyond belief every time he was forced to be in the room with you. He liked making you jealous, liked spiting you when he slept with other girls. You were relatively neutral in sexual excursions just out of pure fascination and the fairytale like idea associated with soulmates. And Tom found that even after you were married and you were sweet in the beginning, you didn't seem to care about the women that came in the house for Tom. Even if you felt everything he did to them.

The more he realized you turned a blind eye to avoid the fighting and the fluttering in your belly whenever he walked in a room just off of the idea that the universe wanted you together, the more he realized why the universe wanted you together. The match was uncanny, you were a balance. You were beautiful, smart and perfect and it just made Tom more angry. He was meaner, and Harrison was starting to catch onto why. He liked to refer back to that urban myth from primary school where if someone bullied you, they liked you. And for Tom, it was true.

The night of a GALA held at Tom's mansion, Harrison had been the sweetest thing ever. He was pretty too and Tom could feel everything you felt towards his best friend. Especially the way Harrison's arm wrapped around you and you leaned into him, laughing about something he said. You'd had alcohol, Tom could feel the buzz, and the way Harrison met his eyes told Tom that Harrison was doing it on purpose. And Tom watched you lean against Harrison as he swayed you back and forth on the dance floor, your head laid over his shoulder. The warmth Harrison exuded made Tom warm and you felt the jealous flurry in yourself, but chose to ignore it instead relishing in the affection Harrison was providing that you hadn't had in a while. You loved the way Harrison laid his head over yours to make you feel safe. That is until it's ripped away from you.

Harrison is careened back and punched in the nose, blood immediately gushing from the broken appendage as your body absolutely burns in a jealous rage so strong it brings tears to your eyes,

"Don't you ever do that again!" Tom screams in his best friend and right hand man's face, eyes dark and crazy before he grabs your wrist and tugs you after him towards a lounge around the ballroom. He slams the door, bracing you against it as he flicks the light on. He cages you between his arms and it should scare you, but it doesn't because the feelings he has coursing through him aren't anger towards you but something foreign. Lust, want. He leans in suddenly, his lips pressed to yours. He presses his body to yours when you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair, his arms wrapped around your waist after a moment. He lifts you, your legs binding around his waist as he carries you to the small couch in the room. He lays you on it rather roughly, reaching down to unbuckle his belt. You reach beneath your dress to scurry from your panties, Tom's eyes hooded and dark, never pulled from you before he's forcing you to your knees, gently nudging into you. But he doesn't let up. The second he knows you're adjusted, he's pounding into you, his heart encased in a prideful glow. He's the reason you're whimpering and crying, not Harrison.

He brushes the sparkly, baby blue dress up over your hips, drawing his hand back to swat your ass roughly. You jolt, letting out a yelp and he does it again to the other cheek,

"Aah fuck." You whimper, dragging your nails across the fabric of the couch beneath you. Tom growls, dragging you up further by your throat, his hand wrapping in your hair as he demolishes you still,

"You like that love? You like feeling so full of your husband's cock?" He spits, watching you nod. He knows that this is all you've ever wanted. You've always wanted to have him all over you, praising you, being rough with you, giving you the affection Harrison had. He knows you're touch starved because every time someone does touch you, whether it's a brush of your hands or rubbing up your arm, whatever it is, you ache minutes, hours after it, wanting more,

"Answer me the correct way." He growls in your ear, listening to you whimper,

"Yes! Yes I love being full of your cock. Fuck!" You cry out, letting him push you back down, shoulders pressed to the cushion beneath you as he amps up his speed, screams and cries leaving your lips as he reaches beneath you to strum your clit. You move back against him, listening to him grunt and moan. You know he's almost there and he knows you are too, leaning over you to nip at your ear,

"Cum for me. Show me how much you appreciate this cock." He growls, letting your head fall back against his shoulder,

"Fuck Tom… fuck!" You cry, letting out a string of curses before you cum and he swats your ass again, praising you through it,

"Good girl." He coos as he draws out and jerks his own cum out across your lower back. He pants as you lay beneath him, struggling to catch your breath. When he stands and isn't touching you, he can feel the panic that sets in you, he can feel the used feeling that courses through your body like blood, he can feel the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes as he finds a towel to dry you off with. He returns, your eyes avoiding of his before he fixes his tie and huffs, brushing your dress down,

"Sorry I just uhh, I didn't… I didn't like seeing him all over you. It uhh… it made me… jealous. And I don't know why because… I've always said I hated you but… I don't think I do." He mutters, sitting on the floor in front of you. You sit up, finding your underwear,

"You broke his nose." He waves a hand in front of you,

"I know. And I owe him because I know he did it on purpose. Danced with you…" He says. You cock your head,

"What do you mean?" You can feel the uncertainty within him as he swallows, avoiding your eyes,

"He… knows how I've felt about you recently." He murmurs, your eyebrows knitting together as he fixes himself, running his fingers through his curls,

"What?" You ask. He glances up at you, dark eyes sparkling. He swallows and nods, glancing behind you,

"Yeah I uhh, h-he likes to tell me that it's like that uhh, ya know, if someone bullies you, they like you-"

"So you're trying to tell me you've… been mean to me because you… like me?" You ask. He sighs and nods,

"Yeah and now I feel fucking guilty about it. I just… I realized a while ago that you're pretty and smart and you don't have a care in the world and it's so different from me and I… I understand now why the world put us together. I need the balance." He explains, eyes finding yours. And you can tell he isn't lying. He feels warmth, feels comfort in your company, feels a buzz in his heart that is pure adoration for you. You crawl onto the floor with him, sitting at a distance as if you've crawled into a lion's den. Your mouth hangs open for a moment, shoulders coming up in a shrug,

"Wow, I didn't know." You let out breathlessly. He nods,

"I know. And… I'm… sorry for the way I've treated you." He says with a sigh. After another moment sitting across from him, staring at the face you’ve been in love with, unknowingly, since you were ten, you crawl forward and lay your head over his shoulder warrily. He relaxes after another moment, laying his head against yours. You reach out and take his hand, his fingers falling around yours and squeezing. You sigh,

“I forgive you… if it’s any consolation.” You mutter. He hums,

“You shouldn’t be so forgiving with me. I’ve been very rude to you.”

“Yeah but whether or not you were doesn’t matter. You’re my soulmate and that’s all that matters. That’s why I’ve given off those feelings within me that I didn’t care about all those other girls. It’s because I know that you’re my soulmate and whether you like it or not, I knew eventually you’d come around.” He purses his lips,

“That’s all you’ve wanted and I’ve let you down.” He says with another sigh,

“But now look at us.” You remark, drawing his eyes to yours with a finger under his chin. He hums, eyes cast down to your lips for a moment before he leans into kiss you softly,

“I am sorry. I promise I’ll try. I’m… I’m over having enemies outside of this fucking house and turning you into an enemy under my roof. I have… the opportunity sitting right in front of me to a good life, a family, and I just need to stop being such an ass. I just… I do wanna accept what you’re… offering as far as love goes.” He remarks softly, cheeks burning red. You giggle,

“You don’t have to be embarrassed admitting you want me to love you Tom.” You remind, rubbing his leg. He nods,

“I know but… it’ll be weird for the both of us, having to adapt to… doing things together and being together and… finally accepting being in love.” He admits. You nod,

“Definitely, but we’ve got this Tom. No one has to know if you’re that uncomfortable. But we can do it.” You reassure. He nods, glancing up for a moment before he licks his lips,

“I want to. I do want to and I want Harrison to know more than anyone.” He says with a chuckle. You smile,

“After you apologize for breaking his nose.” You mutter. He chuckles again,

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He admits before huffing and standing, holding his hands out for you. You stand, holding his hands tight in yours. He sighs,

“I uhh, when we get seriously into this, I think we should… we should have a wedding. I like you in dresses.” He says. You smile, running your hands up his arms,

“Right, yeah, I know how you feel about girls in dresses Tom. But yeah… a wedding sounds really nice.” You admit, his eyes lighting up as a smile crosses his face,

“Anddddd…”

“Yeah, I know what happens after we actually get married. I think it could be a good time.”

“Me too.”

“Only because you like sex. Interesting idea to see you with a baby.” You mutter. He chuckles,

“I could be a good father.”

“I think that’s definitely something for the future. A wedding is more plausible than kids right about now.” You admit. He nods,

“That’s valid. Now… I gotta… go find Haz.” You nod,

“I’ll come with. Just because I’m worried about him.” He nods in return, holding your hand as he walks you towards the door. He swallows, glancing down at your hands, other hand resting on the doorknob. His eyes meet yours then, sparkling in thought before he nods and you know it’s him coming to terms with being dedicated to you. And for once, he’s actually excited to be your soulmate.

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caswellprmanager · 3 years

Text

the caswell wears prada

read it on ao3!

Summary: EJ's style is simple and functional but Ricky discovers he's capable of more than just letterman jackets and white sneakers. (Part 4 of my trans!ej and genderqueer!ricky AU.)

Author's Notes: I have this little headcanon that EJ used to model baby clothes when he was a baby. Then only went back to modelling once he transitioned to the point he was comfortable enough. Also not me giving Ashlyn's parents a purpose except for just leaving the house empty enough for Ashlyn to throw parties. Hope you guys enjoy!

Warning: Implied Sexual Content at the very end but since it's not explicit, I'll just let y'all use your imaginations.

Ricky has almost exclusively seen EJ in basic white boy clothes. It's usually just a nice fitting t-shirt, some branded jacket, jeans, and branded sneakers. It's not exactly avant-garde but Ricky can appreciate the fact that EJ has found a distinct style that's both understated yet elevates his already good looks.

But from what Ricky has learned in the few months that they've been dating EJ is that just because he dresses like that, it doesn't mean EJ does not have an eye for fashion.

Ricky learned this one day when the two of them were hanging out with Gina and Ashlyn at Ashlyn's house.

Ashlyn's mom was the Editor-In-Chief of an editorial fashion magazine that focuses on highlighting brands that promote sustainable fashion. She also runs a design company herself. Every other minute, she'd be going in and out of her design studio with a phone against her ear and a different meter of fabric in her hands. Her job is also the reason why Ashlyn's parents aren't usually home. Ashlyn's mom would be invited to different fashion events or she'd meet with a client about a new start-up. Ashlyn's dad accompanies her so that she wouldn't overwork herself.

None of that is new to Ricky. What is new, however, is EJ's involvement in her work.

"Ashlyn!" Mrs. Caswell rushes in, a hundred different scarves wrapped around her neck. Ricky wonders if she can breathe beneath all that cashmere and silk. "Darling, I need your help."

"What is it, mom?" Ashlyn asks, pausing the movie the four of them were watching.

Instead of responding, Mrs. Caswell just runs back to her home studio with a hurried click of her heels. Ashlyn looks at the rest of the group with a shrug, moving to stand up until her mom comes rushing back in – this time with a little purple hat perched on her strawberry blond locks.

"EJ, sweetheart! You come too. I need your opinion on a few things." Before any of them could say anything, she's disappeared back into her studio in a flurry of scarves and sequins.

EJ doesn't even bat an eye and moves to follow his cousin out of the living room. Ricky grabs his hand before he could leave, asking him what Ashlyn's mom wants his opinion on. EJ isn't exactly Paris Fashion Week, if Ricky was gonna be honest.

EJ just smiles, placing a chaste kiss on Ricky's lips before saying, "I'll tell you when we get back."

With that statement, Ricky and Gina are left alone, both feeling more confused than before.

"Does that happen often?" Ricky asks Gina, who is picking through the popcorn bowl.

"Ashlyn's mom being weird?" Gina tosses a popcorn kernel up into the air before catching it into her mouth flawlessly. "I've seen Ashlyn help her a few times. But I haven't seen her call EJ into that room before."

"Yeah..." Ricky picks at a loose thread on their jeans. "Didn't really peg EJ as the fashionable type."

Gina pauses in her pursuit of the perfect popcorn kernel and raises a questioning eyebrow towards Ricky. "Hold up... EJ never told you?"

"Told me... what?" Ricky started to panic a little bit. They never liked hearing ominous phrases like that from other people. It fuels their already present anxiety about dating someone who is way out of their league like EJ – someone who could leave Ricky at any time if they realize that Ricky will never be good enough for them.

Gina seems to realize this quickly enough and she tries to diffuse the situation before it gets worse. "Oh! No no no, Ricky, it isn't bad!"

"Then what is it?" Instead of answering, Gina just looks over shoulder at the direction of where the Caswell Cousins went to. After a few seconds of making sure the coast is clear, she tilts her head and motions for Ricky to follow her.

Gina leads Ricky to the spare guest room that EJ occupies sometimes when he doesn't want to sleep at home. In fact, sometimes this room is literally just called EJ's extra room because he's here so frequently. Ricky's napped here a couple of times so it isn't a new place. But he's usually too tired to explore it due to some recent emotional problem or another.

By the far wall is a dresser that Ricky hasn't ever thought to look through. Gina beckons him to come closer as she opens the bottom drawer.

"Ashlyn showed me this when I first moved in. We had to call EJ immediately after because I just had... so many questions." After a few seconds of rummaging, Gina brings out a small stack of magazines triumphantly.

Ricky recognizes the magazines immediately as the same ones Ashlyn's mom is the Editor-In-Chief for.

"Are those...?" Ricky asks and Gina nods excitedly, motioning for him to sit down next to her. The two of them peer through the old issues together, pointing at things they think would look nice on them.

Before they turn to the middle spread, Gina turns to them with a serious look in her eye. "Ricky, I need you to brace yourself."

Ricky tilts their head in confusion. "For what?"

"Just," And Gina can't even hide her giddy little smile. "Get ready."

Ricky can't even bring themself to respond before Gina is showing them the middle spread of the magazine. Their mind skids to a halt when they see a younger EJ staring back at them from the glossy pages, dressed head to toe in the finest three-piece dress suit Ricky's ever seen.

And it isn't just that, EJ's all over the spread – dressed in all kinds of outfits. From gorgeously crafted lace button downs to tastefully styled overcoats – EJ models the shit out of them. Ricky scans the pages in awe because they've never seen EJ wear stuff like this. Sure, they've seen EJ in a suit during homecoming but not one with embroidered roses across the vest or paired with diamond encrusted gold jewelry.

Gina turns the page and Ricky lets out a small gasp.

It's a two page Ashlyn and EJ spread – the cousins looking absolutely ethereal dressed in the most delicate fabric embroidered with flowers along the seams. Their skin is glowing beneath the sunset, the light catching at the highlights on their cheekbones. But what really got to Ricky is one very small but powerful detail:

The flowers along EJ's shirt and the makeup he's wearing are in the trans flag colors.

"Ricky, look." Gina points at the small interview portion at the corner of the page, smiling when Ricky reads it and realizes that it's about EJ.

E.J. Caswell – Teen Transgender Model

"I've been avoiding modeling since I started transitioning and coming back to it was really scary." Says teen model E.J. Caswell. "But when my aunt gave me the opportunity to finally speak my truth through fashion, I knew that I wouldn't regret this decision in the long run."

"There are still so many moments where I hate my body. It's gonna take a while until that goes away. And maybe it won't. Ever." E.J. tells us with a sad smile. "But this is a start – and I get to style some really cool clothes while I'm at it!"

When Ashlyn Caswell was asked about the significance of this project to her cousin and to future transgender models, she smiled softly, making it abundantly clear how much she adores her older cousin. "E.J. is one of the bravest people I know. He's always been an inspiration to me and I'm so proud of him for doing this on his own terms. Plus, I'm really happy he asked me to be a part of it with him. But don't tell him I said that! I'll never hear the end of it."

"She said that?" E.J. said with barely concealed glee. "Aww, Ashlyn!"

Ricky and Gina giggle at the mental image of EJ probably giving an exasperated Ashlyn a big bear hug after his interview. Ricky can't help but stare at the spread again, lightly trailing his finger over EJ's face with a soft smile. He really is so beautiful. Ricky sometimes can't believe that someone as gorgeous as EJ is real.

"Looks like Gina beat me to it."

The sound of EJ's voice by the doorway makes the two of them freeze and turn to see both Caswell cousins looking at them with knowing smiles. But Ashlyn and EJ weren't wearing what they were wearing before Ashlyn's mom called them for help.

Instead, Ashlyn was wearing a floor length pink chiffon dress with embroidered roses scattered along its sleeves and body. EJ was wearing a dress shirt of similar color and material, pairing it with white dress pants and a ruby encrusted rose broach.

"Well look at you two supermodels!" Gina squealed in glee, bounding over to gush over Ashlyn's outfit. Ricky stays rooted in their spot on the floor, their eyes never leaving EJ's. EJ approaches them slowly and takes a seat on the bed next to Ricky. He moves into an effortless pose, making Ricky blush more than necessary.

EJ smiles at them, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Hi."

"H-Hi." Ricky says, moving to face EJ with shaky legs. "You look nice."

"Just nice?" EJ leans down with a smirk, a lock of hair falling to his forehead like some goddamn romance movie. Ricky didn't even notice that even his hair was styled differently. Was EJ growing his hair out? Why didn't he warn me?

"I'd say something dirtier but I don't wanna traumatize the girls." EJ laughs at that and Ricky could only stare at the way EJ throws his head back with the most beautiful smile they've ever seen.

This isn't fair. EJ is sitting here looking like he was plucked straight out of a Vogue magazine while Ricky's sorry ass is on the floor in pajama pants and an old hoodie. Fuck. They should have texted Kourtney for help with their outfit today.

"You're so cute," EJ leans forward even closer, so close that EJ's able to lightly graze their noses together. "Maybe I should dress like this more often to make you blush like that."

Ricky contemplates on the statement for a bit, imagining what it would be like if EJ were to wear more designer clothes to school everyday. EJ right now certainly looks confident and cool. Plus, he gets the added bonus of Ricky looking extra flustered around him.

But at the end of the day, it's EJ's body and EJ gets to choose whatever makes him feel good.

Besides, Ricky fell for EJ without all the bells and whistles.

"You don't have to wear fancy clothes to make me think you're gorgeous." Ricky says before they can stop themself from saying it. But it's out now and there's no turning back. EJ's eyes widen but they eventually soften after processing what Ricky said.

"It doesn't matter what I think, though." Ricky says, reaching for EJ's hand. "What matters is that you're happy. Whether you're wearing a potato sack or Versace. As long as you feel comfortable and you're seeing your favorite self in the mirror, I'll tell you that you're the most handsome boy in the world."

Ricky scoots closer to place a soft kiss on EJ's nose before pressing their foreheads together. Ricky can't really tell who's smiling wider from this angle but they didn't care.

"My handsome boy." Ricky whispers, lightly tracing EJ's bottom lip with their thumb. EJ smiles even wider at the sound of that and it never fails to make Ricky happy seeing EJ so happy.

They're about to move in for another kiss when they hear Ashlyn cough from the doorway.

The two of them separate abruptly, both blushing profusely as the girls giggle behind their hands.

"We'll leave you two alone," Ashlyn says, grabbing Gina's hand to pull her back to the living room. "I'll tell mom you'll be late for dinner."

As soon as the door closes behind the girls, Ricky turns back to a still blushing EJ, a small but urgent thought manifesting to the front of their mind.

"I should take this off-" EJ doesn't even get the chance to finish his sentence before Ricky is pushing him down on the bed and straddling his hips. "R-Ricky?"

Ricky smirks, placing a single finger on EJ's lips as they lean forward to whisper in his ear,

"I'll help you take it off." EJ lets out the smallest whimper at that but Ricky shushes him, blowing against his earlobe. "But you have to be quiet, handsome."

As soon as EJ shakily nods his head yes, Ricky gets to work.

Unfortunately, they're more than a little late for dinner.

---

A/N: I've added some reference pics below if y'all want a better image of what EJ and Ashlyn were wearing hehe :>

#ej caswell #ricky bowen #caswen #gina porter #ashlyn caswell #hsmtmts #hsmtms fanfiction #trans!ej #genderqueer!ricky #cloud's writing now

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lunaticlua · 4 years

Text

how do you make a home? // part 5

series masterlist

also available on ao3

a/n: this chapter is probably one of the heaviest of this story. i tried to keep the description to its minimal, but the subject still is a difficult one. so, please be careful and prioritize your mental health as always.

tw: description of parents' death involving gun violence and blood

additional note: the title of the chapter is from 'the valley' by ethan gruska

gif by @toesure

chapter 5: and if childhood defines you, can it ever be behind you?

“there is a wall in my life built by you, you opened a door that a kid shouldn’t walk through” (guiltless – dodie)

The cup falls to ground as her eyes start watering and she blames the tears on the spilled water and broken glass. She rapidly knells down to clean up the mess with her bare hands in an attempt to silence an intruding voice of the past muttering “What did I do?” repeatedly. Before she can hurt herself with the sharp objects on the floor, an unknown hand stops her. Lulu takes more than she should to remember herself of the blonde boy’s presence.

He studies her with regret and concern on his face. But rather than calming her, it triggers the memory she is fighting to suffocate. The person in front of her is no longer JJ, the sixteen years old boy who makes her heart jump and her walls crumple. Suddenly, instead of being in Uncle Joe’s house, where she is safe and sound, she travels back to the place where it all happened, where she lost everything in one night. When she looks up from the chaos on the kitchen floor, she sees him. The man she once knew as dad, her beloved father who was the best man on Earth in her childish mind. The man she now referred to as Paul Jones, the one who murdered her mom.

She nervously gets up and takes several steps back, distancing herself from the tall, lean man. She watches his blood-soaked hands, a recently used gun on his right one and his insane expression. She lowers her eyes and where was the broken glass and spilled water she sees her mother bleeding on the living room’s navy-blue carpet of her childhood house. Falling to her knees, she tries to stop the blood from escaping her mother’s body as she had many years ago without success. She feels the woman who taught how to love and to be loved perishing on her arms.

She glances at her father, murmuring to himself. “What did I do? What did I do?” She tries to stop herself from saying because she knows the result of it. However, she listens to her voice screaming, even though she is aware that she didn’t open her mind. “What did you do? You killed her. You killed my mom!”

When she sees that look of regret and concern on the man’s face which she is too familiar with from her innumerous nightmares and troubling memories, she closes her eyes and puts her hands on her ears, bracing herself for what is about to happen. But the sound of gunshot never comes.

A soothing hand, so much different from the ones who caused all of this, touches her shoulders lightly. A worried but loving voice calling her comes through. When she opens her tired eyes, they meet ocean blue’s ones. She is back to the present time, breathing and free from harm.

“Lulu,” JJ breathes, taking her hands away from her ears and interlocking them with his own. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just appear out of nowhere and approach this subject.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t,” she answers earnestly after a beat. Noticing his growing remorse, she tries to smile, but ends up grimacing.

“I am really sorry. I didn’t think.”

“It is okay.”

“It is not, though. I know that it sucks to be forced to talk about something you don’t want to. I shouldn’t have done this to you.” He moves his thumb in a circular motion, trying to comfort her. “I know sorry doesn’t fix it, but I am. Sorry, I mean.”

“I know,” she moves her eyes to the awaiting mess on the kitchen, thinking she will need to get to it soon. As if reading her mind, he gets up and offers his hands for help. “I’ll clean up this mess and leave you alone, okay?”

“Don’t,” she mumbles, staring at her unlaced shoes.

“What? No, don’t think of contradicting me. It is my fault and I will clean it.”

She inhales and exhales and then look at him again with pleading eyes. “You can clean if you want. But don’t go. Stay, please. I don’t want to be alone.” JJ weighs down his answer for a couple of moments, making sure that he is welcomed, and simply nods. “I will wait for you on my bedroom.”

Ten minutes later, she is sitting on her bed, playing with the golden necklace that used to be her mother’s and Auntie Rita gave to her on her first birthday away from Outer Banks. This little piece of her mother had helped her many times, grounding her. In that moment, her head is at ease but far away, and she almost doesn’t notices the boy entering. He smiles shyly and she responds it by smiling back at him and gesturing for him to sit next to her, which seems to surprise him.

But what genuinely dumbfounds him is her soft speaking words. “I want to tell you. What happened, you know? I want to tell you.”

“Lulu, you don’t have to. I am sorry if I pressured you before, but you don’t have to.”

“JJ, you are not pressuring me. I want to. I really do,” she declares confidently, even though the prospect of telling it scares her.

“Are you sure?”

“No. But I want to, anyway.” He seems hesitant, but motions to her speak. “What do you know?”

He recounts what he had learnt from Pope that day and what heard around town when it happened, choosing the best words he can to not upset her even more. Her father shot her mother and then killed himself in front of his nine years old daughter. In front of her. When he finishes, he sees a pained expression on her face, but, before he can start apologizing, she speaks.

“He was drunk,” she states and stays silent for a minute or two. When she opens her mouth to continue, he can see a single tear escaping her left eye. He moves to clean it before he can think it through, and her glistening eyes seem grateful for his caring attitude. “He used to drink. Not a lot. Just a normal amount on barbecues and parties. I have never seen him drunk. I don’t know why he had so much to drink that night. But he did and he got mad at my mom.

“I was in my room when he arrived. I think I was reading or something dumb like that. I remember hearing them fighting—They didn’t fight normally, you know? They used to argue sometimes, but they rarely screamed at each other. I can see now that my mom was afraid of him, but I never saw it when I was a kid. She… She used to have many secrets with me. Things that made him upset, but she still wanted to do. Like teaching me Portuguese, buying me ice cream before lunch, teaching music to some children around the island. He didn’t like those stuff and she hid it from him, so he didn’t get mad.

“That night, I got really scared because of the fighting. They rarely screamed and they were screaming so much. So, I decided to go downstairs. I was almost arriving on the living room when I heard— When I heard the—,” she stops abruptly, and he takes her hands again. “The gunshot. I run towards them and I saw her there. Pale. Bloodied. In her last breaths,” she hiccups with tears all across her face.

“Lulu, you don’t need to continue.”

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head, denying. “I need this. I really do,” he cleans her cheeks with one of his hands and squeezes hers with his other one. “Her heart stopped right after. Then, I looked at him. At my father. He was freaked out and mumbling and walking from one side to the other. I don’t think that he had noticed me there until I spoke. I asked what he had done. I accused him of killing her, which he did do. And then he— He—You know. I was there and I stayed there the whole night. I just couldn’t move or speak or do something. I just stayed there. Our house was a little far away from the others. So, no one heard the gunshots. Uncle Joe found me there the next morning. My mom was supposed to meet him, and she didn’t come.”

Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy when she stops talking. His heart breaks some more with the sight of her. Small, defenseless, crying in front of him. Sensing that she had finished retelling the traumatic event, he asks permission with his eyes to hug her and she nods. Their embrace lasts a couple of minutes, but it seems like hours. With her head placed at the crook of his neck, she truly relaxes for the first time that day. He smells of weed, ocean salty water and sunscreen. Being hugged by him feels like coming home after a long time away and she wants it to last forever. In that moment, JJ realizes that he would be willing to do anything to keep her safe and close to him like this.

“just know you're not alone 'cause i'm going to make this place your home” (home – phillip phillips)

#outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x oc fic #jj maybank x oc #jj maybank fic #jj maybank x reader #jj x oc #jj x oc fic #jj x reader #jj fic #obx netflix #obx imagine #obx fic #obx fanfic #jj fanfic #my fanfics #hdymah fanfic

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fiercyy · 6 years

Text

Take My Hand But Leave My Heart [5/?]

a/n: Super short chapter today but a long one to come in the next few days, forgive me?

In the aftermath of the war and his return, Sasuke and Sakura's relationship was moving towards Something. But when Sasuke must bind her with an ancient jutsu, their chance at happiness together may be ruined irreparably. fluff. angst. trope subversion.

Read from chapter 1

Six Months Ago...

He returns and Naruto thinks that Sasuke can slot himself back into the space he should have occupied in all their lives. But Sasuke knows better. He is a satellite doomed to careen out of their orbit soon enough. Except that he doesn't want that at all. He just doesn't fully believe that he can have it.

Naruto has made it his mission to debate Sasuke over the best way to live his life- as if either of them have any clue.

"Why did you come back?"

"I thought I had become a man who deserved to be here."

And Sasuke questions it every day.

He and Sakura never talk about her letter. The Letter.

Instead, he waits. He wants to see if this life will stick.

It's not a matter of whether or not Sasuke wants to stay. It's all he wants to do. With each passing year Sasuke aspires more and more towards a quiet existence in the village. He realized something that culminated in a screaming match between the New Sannin.

"The best way to change something is from the inside!" Naruto shouted, "Look at me. Look at Sakura. This is our home, your home. And like anyone else who lives here, you're one of the people who makes it what it is. This village can be better, I genuinely believe that. Do you?"

The thing is, he believes in his peers. He trusts Naruto and the future he keeps a weathered eye out for. He admires Sakura who is always questing for ways to make people whole.

"Konoha can be everything that me and you needed it to be when we were kids."

"The village failed you," Sakura said quietly. "It's our job to build a future so that it never happens to anyone. Never again.

And Sasuke knows he can help. He might even be required to help.

He just needs to figure out how.

Sakura awakes with a splitting headache and unbroken fury in her heart.

She needs to blow off some steam. She needs to get away.

She had three weeks before she's due in Suna, more than enough time for a mission.

Sakura had been serving as diplomatic envoy to Suna for a little over a year. It was decided in the early days following the war that greater cooperation between the Five Nations was needed. Sakura is well-liked everywhere, but particularly in Suna. Their leaders owe her their lives, the people give her their trust and adulation. She finds that moderating Sasuke and Naruto, then later Sai and Naruto, prepared her well for politics.

It's been wonderful. It's not that Sakura doesn't love the hospital, but she never wanted to be confined to one place. Ever since her first mission, her first steps outside the village, she'd loved seeing new places. She's getting that itch again. She can't wait.

Kakashi is shoulder deep in stacks of paperwork by the time she gets to his office at noon.

"How's it going your Lordship?"

Kakashi doesn't glance up, but sighs deeper into the pile. "Such a shame, you were always my most polite, adorable student."

"At least I'm still adorable." She hops on his desk, comfortable as can be, "So I need a favor."

"You and every single other person in this village."

"Anyone else in this village been bought like chattel recently?"

Kakashi props his head up with his elbow on the table and a hand under his chin, "Thankfully no."

"I want a mission."

"I see you're taking it well."

"I'm taking it amazingly, shut up. How well am I supposed to take this?" Sakura's shoulders slump and she stares at the ceiling. She feels tears coming on and she'll be damned if she angry-cries in the Hokage's office. Again.

"Have you guys talked about why?" he throws his hands up in ineffectual defence. "Not that it makes it right. Just asking. I can have him killed if you want, I've got a lot of pull these days."

"I don't care why."

"Of course you care."

"Fine, I can't care yet."

"Can't stay mad if he has a good reason."

"Exactly," she sighs. "I might take you up on the assassination thing. For now, can I just have a mission?"

"You're due in Suna-"

"Just a short one!" she implores him with her eyes, "I need to not be here right now. I need some space. I need-"

"Fine." Kakashi sifts through his drawer for a scroll and hands it to her. She unfolds her crossed legs and slides off his desk. This next part is a harder request.

"One more thing?" she tries not to twiddle her thumbs, "Can you get my house key back from Sasuke?"

Many questions enter Kakashi's head at this request. Perhaps they were further along in their budding relationship than he thought. They could both be such secretive brats. In a better moment he might have teased her about it, but instead, "He doesn't really need a key if he wants to get into your place."

"It's a symbolic thing," just like giving it to him had been.

It's so petty, but she can't seem to stop herself. She's still under the wave, waiting for it to crash on shore. The worst will come and she will be braced for it.

"-Anyway, that's how I feel."

Naruto considers his friend. Sakura and Naruto's backs each rest on opposite arms of his couch. It's small, so their crossed legs bump up against each other. This is how all their serious talks go.

He rubs the back of his neck, "Geez, I'm sorry. Do I really do that?"

"...Yeah," she replies reluctantly, "I know you want to see the best in him, but I really needed you to be on my side here. You don't need to be mad-"

"Oh don't worry, I'm really mad."

"-But I don't need to hear 'he must have had his reasons'. Y'know?"

"Want me to beat the shit out of him?"

"Maybe."

Sasuke goes through three phases: confusion, anger then right back around to his greatest hit.

The self loathing is sour and hot in his gut.

He takes her key off the ring and places it in Kakashi's palm. "Still think she'll get over it?"

"Don't give me that self-pity. I'm mad at you too." Then why is he smiling? His old teacher is possibly the most confusing person he's ever met. Kakashi waved him away. "Begone. I'll call you when I get intel."

"Oh shit, I've gotta go. Mission." Sakura hops off the couch and leans down to kiss Naruto's cheek goodbye. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Bye Sakura!"

She opens the door to find Sasuke, hand raised to knock. "Oh."

Sasuke awkwardly avoids eye contact. "Uh, Naruto and I had training."

"What?! We did?" Naruto scrunches up his face, trying to remember, "Shit no, I'm not talking to you."

"Hn."

"Nope. I see no one. But if I did, I would tell them to go away."

"Naruto…" Sakura sighs.

"Sakura." She crosses her arms and tries not to think about the way he says her name.

"I have to go."

"Wait."

She stops cold. Not by choice. It's a grim reminder.

Sasuke had reached out a hand to grab her arm, but upon realizing what he's done, withdraws. "I'm… sorry. It wasn't my intention-"

Sakura starts to shake, she clenches her fists. The burning in her eyes returns, but this time she glares at the floor. "You have to tell me I can go."

He looks at her and she's reminded of the way he looked as a kid, angry and afraid because he couldn't protect everyone on his own. She shakes it off as best she can.

"...You're free to go."

She's gone the next moment.

(X)

#sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #Sasuke x Sakura #naruto #sakura uchiha #sakura haruno #sasuke uchiha #take my hand but leave my heart #my fic #I'M SO DONE WITH EXPOSITION #THE FLUFF IS COMING I SWEAR

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zinnia-apologist · 7 years

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All It Takes Is A Fall

Author: Kendall McIntosh (BittersweetNSour, Eskay64)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Arena Tycoon Greta, Zinnia

Content Warnings: Survivor’s guilt, suicide urges

Summary: In the aftermath of an Ultra Wormhole opening up above the Battle Tower and Anabel getting dragged in, Greta - Anabel's girlfriend up until the incident - deals with her grief very poorly. It takes a surprise visit from Zinnia to stop her from doing something drastic.

~ [Serebii] ~ [Fanfiction.net] ~ [Archive Of Our Own] ~

It had been a month since the sky ripped open above the Battle Tower, and a huge black beast came out of it and wreaked havoc. Nobody was sure what it was; not even Noland, the one Frontier Brain that actually held a Pokédex, nor anyone that the various picture-taking bystanders at the base of the tower brought the photographs to for identification.

But it really didn't matter. It came, it caused massive damage, and it left, right back through the wormhole in the sky.

And now Anabel was gone because of it.

Greta had been waiting in the lobby when it happened, watching Anabel's latest Gold Symbol challenge on a big screen. For dramatic effect, she had just recently decided to start moving all such challenges to the roof of the building. And of course, that put her right in the way of the alien creature's destruction, when it came. Her and her challenger both.

Anabel had been on the losing side of her challenge, and as per Battle Frontier regulations, she had only brought three Pokémon up with her. She hadn't planned on using two of them anyway -- she called on the favor of Raikou and a Latios for the sake of a battle, but Legendary Pokémon rarely allowed themselves to be legitimately caught by humans, instead simply coming as called as a temporary ally. And by the time the strange black creature appeared, the two Legendary Pokémon had already come to fight and left in defeat, leaving Anabel with a wounded Snorlax, an Alakazam, and her starter, an Espeon who rarely battled anymore. Greta knew Anabel was in no shape to face a creature like that, especially one that -- at least based on its appearance -- seemed to be Dark-type.

Truth be told, Greta doubted she stood a chance against whatever it was either. But it didn't matter. She had to be there to help her childhood friend, her rival, her girlfriend, in this crisis. So, as soon as she possibly could, she made her way through the panicking crowd and toward the first elevator to the top.

She didn't make it in time.

They were gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A month since that happened, right down to the day. The Battle Tower was closed to everyone except Scott, the remaining Frontier Brains, and anyone who had volunteered to help clean up the damage and maintain the building, which had become a memorial to Anabel. Greta had unrestricted access to it.

So now she was on the roof, standing on the edge, looking down.

The events of that awful day kept playing in her head, over and over and over. Seeing the beast come out of the sky, rushing to the elevator, watching in agonizing pain as the floor number sloooooowly rose to the top, the doors opening to a wrecked roof.

Too slow. Too slow. TOO SLOW.

It was her fault, she thought. She insisted. She should have been there, she was so close, but it didn't matter. Her girlfriend was presumed dead. Even if she wasn't, Greta would never get to see her again.

They'd been together since the beginning. Her Umbreon was from the same litter of Eevee as Anabel's Espeon; Greta could have gotten a starter Pokémon two years earlier, but wanted to wait until her first friend, her best friend, her favorite person, got hers. They'd traveled all across Kanto, Johto, Sinnoh, and Hoenn together, and been there for each other's worst points -- and Greta, having depression and borderline personality disorder, had a lot of worst points. Somehow, Anabel had always managed to keep her going strong without even trying -- whether it was words of encouragement, or sending pictures of Umbreon plushies captioned "saw this and thought of you!" on bad days, or sharing a laugh poking fun at Lucy's obsession with snakes. Somehow, Anabel always had a way of making her happy when it mattered.

Until now. She was gone.

It should have taken me! She kept insisting to herself. They can all live without me! They all deserve better than someone who can't save someone who actually matters, then keeps obsessing over her when she's gone. Real useful, aren't I?

She inches closer to the edge, clinging with one hand to the railing. All it takes is a fall, she tells herself. All it takes is a fall, and then if Anabel's dead, I can see her again. And if she's not… the others deserve better anyway. Scott deserves better! Nobody would even remember me -- who talks about Greta anyway? Nobody, nobody does, nobody cares, nobody would care if I--

"Pretty night tonight, huh?"

Greta yelps and whips around, almost toppling off the edge before catching herself instinctively. Behind her is a very short girl, with black hair cut into a bob not unlike her own, and wearing a cape and an ankle brace with a strange marble-like stone embedded in it.

"Wh-who are you?! H-how did you get up here?" Greta's voice trembles. Nobody was supposed to know she was here!

The mysterious girl smiles and hops up onto the railing beside Greta, sitting down and kicking her feet over the side. "They don't have a Battle Tower where I'm from. There's plans, sure, but they haven't actually started building it yet. Gotta say, it's pretty darn impressive!"

Greta just gives her a confused look. Not only did the girl avoid both of her questions, she didn't even seem to acknowledge the fact that she was about to jump off!

"...L-listen, whoever you are… I, uh, y-you shouldn't be here. It's off limits. Frontier Brains and authorized personnel only, g-got it?"

The mystery girl just shrugs. "You left the doors unlocked behind you. Thought it was safe to follow you. I like high places, y'know?"

Well, that answered one question. Next time, lock the doors to the stairwell.

"Well, um… it… it's not safe here. L-listen, just leave!" Greta shouts.

The girl sighs. "You can't climb up here specifically because it's dangerous and then tell someone else not to, that's just hypocritical. Nope, I'm staying riiiight here, so you're just gonna have to get used to the company!"

Greta groans. It wasn't supposed to be like this! She can't do it now that someone's watching her! She climbs back over to a safer position, only now realizing just how badly she's shaking. "O-okay, I'm… I'm safe. You happy now?"

The girl smiles again. "Better! But I'm still staying."

Greta sighs, trying to calm herself. "...I-if you say so. Can I… at least get your name?"

The girl kicks her feet idly. "I'm Zinnia! You're Greta, right? The Arena Tycoon?"

Greta nods. "Th-that's me, yes." Calm down. Just. Calm. Breathe. Breathe…

"Nice to meet you!" Zinnia spins around and hops back off the railing, leaning against it. "Soooooo… what's on your mind? I'm gonna play therapist for a bit, if that's okay."

Somehow, Greta doubted it mattered if she said it wasn't okay.

"I… lost someone. Really close to me. You might have heard about it on the news, it was… it was the girl who ran this building before."

"Mmmmm… can't say I really keep up with the news." Zinnia shrugs again. "But still, sucks that someone died. It'd suck even more if someone else did, y'know?"

"I…" Greta starts to say something, but realizes she doesn't actually have a response. This whole situation was catching her incredibly off guard. She fumbles for words. "I… I… don't think therapists usually say stuff like that…?"

"Well, guess we know why I don't have a license, then! But whatever, that's not the point. I… well, I know how you feel, Greta. I lost someone close to me too. But you know how she would have wanted me to respond to it? She'd want me to keep fighting! For the people we haven't lost yet!"

Greta spends several seconds in silence. When she speaks again, she's very quiet, almost whispering. "I… guess so. And… she might not actually be dead either…"

Zinnia beams. "Well, that's even better! Keep fighting until you find her, just like I'm gonna keep fighting until I find my Aster again! And if I don't… well, wherever she is, I'm gonna do everything I can to protect her. You do that too, okay?"

Greta pauses. After a moment, she slowly nods her head. "I… okay. I will. For Anabel."

"For Anabel!" Zinnia smiles. She extends her arms in an invitation for a hug. Greta hesitantly accepts, but when she does, it's an eternity before she lets go.

"Hey… I'll keep a look out for her, okay?" Zinnia whispers. "For Anabel, I mean. I travel a lot. If I see her, I'll tell her someone's looking forward to seeing her again. Got it?"

"Thank you… thank you, Zinnia."

They finally break the hug. Greta gazes out over the Battle Frontier one last time, then turns back around to start climbing back downstairs. Astonishingly, Zinnia is already gone, as stealthily as she came.

Greta promised herself she wouldn't disappoint her.

#fanfiction #pokemon #pokemon emerald #pokemon oras #greta #arena tycoon greta #zinnia

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