#''how am i supposed to know where he is'' you Look

[libraryofgage]

After checks calendar 84 years, I am once again offering Smart Steve content lmao

Listen the writer's block has been hitting recently if you couldn't tell, but I'm still happy with how this came out.

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't :P

----

So.

Steve Harrington is smart.

Like, smart smart.

Like, the kind of smart where he not only understands shit, he can explain complicated shit to Eddie without sending his brain into a coma.

It's been two weeks, and Eddie is still trying to come to terms with this discovery. He's four tutoring sessions in and a little spark of surprise still rocks him whenever Steve can easily explain a new topic using the stuff Eddie likes.

He explained velocity using D&D spells. He explained electrical circuits using the concept of plugging a guitar into an amp. After asking a few questions about Lord of the Rings, Steve Harrington managed to explain the in-depth concepts of magnetism using the fucking One Ring.

How the fuck is Eddie supposed to be normal about any of that? Ignoring the sheer fact that Steve is capable of it, how is Eddie supposed to feel about the...the willingness to learn what Eddie understands best and meet him on that level?

If the answer is awed and practically starstruck, he's ahead of the game.

"Hey, you doing okay? Kinda spacing out over there, man."

Eddie blinks, the textbook in front of him coming back into focus. Steve had been explaining the concept of momentum, but his words just floated in one ear and out the other because Eddie was once again consumed by the absurdity of the situation.

It's not like he can say that, though. So, instead, he settles for a grimace and pushes the textbook away. "I think I'm all fried out for physics," he says, looking up at Steve.

"Oh," Steve says, blinking a few times before nodding. "Yeah, sure, uh, sorry."

"Wait, what are you sorry about?"

Steve looks away, an awkward frown tugging at his lips. "I...probably wasn't explaining it too well, huh?"

"Woah, woah, no way," Eddie says, putting a stop to that train of thought before it can leave the station. He turns in his chair to face Steve directly, ignoring how the metal rod that attaches it to the desk digs painfully against his shin. "Listen, Stevie, I've never understood physics more than when you explain it. Like, I don't know, man, whatever you're doing works."

Steve must have been more worried than he let on, because Eddie can literally see the tension draining from his shoulders. "Great," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances away. "Seriously, that's great. I'm glad nothing's been confusing."

"Yeah, so, nothing you did," Eddie says, feeling like he needs to reiterate that point to drive it home. "Honestly, you could probably even make me understand geometry. Not like our teacher is doing shit to help."

"Do you...not understand geometry?" Steve asks, looking a little unsure like he can't tell if that's a joke or Eddie's attempt at suggesting another class he needs help in. This one is a class they share, which means Steve will have seen Eddie's floundering attempts at answering questions, and he feels a whole new burn of embarrassment course through him.

"Do you?" Eddie asks in return.

"Yeah. It's just, like, angles and shit, man."

Eddie stares at him for a moment, eyes narrowing and trying to figure out if Steve is somehow, subtly, making fun of him. But of course he isn't. If Eddie has learned nothing else, it's that Steve doesn't ever think Eddie is actually stupid or deserving of ridicule. He just thinks Eddie hasn't been taught properly, which is more on the teacher than him.

After a moment, Eddie twists around to dig in his bag. He pulls out his geometry homework, slaps it on the desk, and gestures at the triangles and squares and other shapes with unidentified angles and side lengths. "I have literally no clue what the fuck is going on here," he says.

Steve moves closer, looking over the sheet with a slight frown. Eddie knows this face by now. It's the one Steve makes when he's searching for the relevant knowledge in his own brain, pulling it to the front so he can easily identify the gaps in Eddie's understanding. "So, how would you start?" Steve finally asks, offering his pencil.

Eddie takes it, twirls it between his fingers a few times, and looks over the questions. He eventually chooses one asking him to find the length of a side. "I know this one. It's the equation with the squares and shit," he says, carefully writing it out and plugging in numbers under the triangle.

"Right. Pythagorean theorem. A squared plus B squared equals C squared."

"Yeah. That," Eddie says, working through the math on a separate sheet of paper instead of in his head. He can do easy addition and subtraction, but one of the first things Steve did was get him used to using scratch paper. His brain doesn't feel quite as crowded by numbers anymore; now it's just crowded by the endless rotation of bites of knowledge and equations that have nothing to do with the work at hand. It's like his brain can recognize that it needs to remember something, but can't identify what exactly, so it just offers up everything.

When he's done, Eddie shows Steve his work, the answer circled at the bottom of the scratch paper. "Perfect," Steve says, flashing a smile that makes Eddie's heart lurch dangerously. "Okay, so that's solid. What about this one."

He points at a right triangle with only one angle listed and the other marked as unknown. "No fucking clue," Eddie says.

"This one is asking for the unknown angle. It'll just be some subtraction."

"It's only giving me one angle, Stevie," Eddie points out, gesturing to the angle marked as 53. "What the fuck do I do with that?"

"Well, the main thing is that a triangles angles will always add to 180. Also, this is a right triangle," Steve explains, taking the pencil from Eddie to circle the L-shaped corner of the triangle. "This angle will always be 90 degrees on right triangles. Should I keep going?"

"No," Eddie says slowly, drawing the word out as he takes the pencil back. "I'm starting to get it. Lemme try."

Steve waits patiently as Eddie hesitates before adding the angles together and subtracting that from 180. When he gets to a solution of 37, he gestures for Steve to check.

"That's right," Steve says, nodding as he points to another triangle on the sheet. "For this one, I'll teach you about the SOH CAH TOA trick."

Eddie nods, paying as much attention as he can, but he can't help feeling a little distracted by Steve's happy smile and relaxed posture. He's never seen Steve like this during class, and he's struck by the sudden notion that nobody else will see Steve like this, either.

------

When Steve gets home, he drops his bag in the hallway, grabs a soda from the kitchen, and collapses onto the couch.

A few National Geographic and Scientific American magazines are still spread out across the coffee table. A brief glance reminds Steve that none of the stories were particularly interesting in these editions.

He pops the tab on his soda, takes a sip, and glances at the phone on the end table next to him.

Steve had noticed something today. Eddie's shirt. Most of the band shirts Eddie wears are popular enough that Steve sort of knows them. Metallica, KISS, and AC/DC were recognizable since he's passed their albums on display in record stores.

Today's band, though. He didn't recognize that one. What the fuck was Manowar?

After a few seconds of thought, Steve reaches out and grabs the phone. He's just doing research. Wanting to understand the music Eddie likes is reasonable. That's how Eddie learns. There's no other reason for Steve dialing the number of an old classmate.

The phone rings a few times before picking up. "Amare residence," a girl says, sounding distracted.

"Hey, Dee. It's Steve."

"Hmm, Steve. Steve. ...Steeeeve. Oh, is this Steve Harrington, deserter of friends for the woes of public education?"

Despite everything, Steve can't help an amused smile. "Yeah, that Steve," he says. He doesn't apologize, since he knows that's not what she wants. If she was actually angry, she would've hung up.

"Well, how kind of you to grace me with your voice," Dee says, sounding distant like she's set the phone down. "I suppose I can give you until I finish braiding my hair."

"Great. You know about metal, right?"

"Like iron? Duh, Steve, I'm not thirteen."

"No, like, heavy metal."

"Iron is pretty heavy."

"Music, Dee. Heavy metal music."

"Oh! Aren't you a Tears for Fears kind of boy? What are you doing asking about heavy metal?"

Steve starts to answer but stops himself. He doesn't know why. Dee tutors kids all the time. Everyone in their private school group did. That's how they made money. She'd understand that he's trying to learn more about Eddie's interests for tutoring purposes.

So why can't he just say that?

"This long pause says you're thinking about lying to me," Dee says. "Don't bother, Steve."

"Well, I do want to know for the guy I'm tutoring. But not just because I'm tutoring him."

"Awww, are you trying to make a friend?" Dee teases.

Steve grimaces, wondering why his stomach twists slightly at the question. "Yeah, kind of. I want to know more about the stuff he likes. And he likes heavy metal. So, ya know, I thought of you."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Dee says. "And I love talking music, so I guess we can keep talking even after I'm done braiding."

A relieved smile tugs at Steve's lips. "Thanks, Dee, I appreciate it. So, first question, what's Manowar?"

-------

Tag List!

@estrellami-1, @ravenfrog,

[thekoalapastriesbakery]

CAUGHT IN THE CLUB

max verstappen x male!reader

request: (i haven’t requested anything from you before so bear with me) i’m sure we’ve all seen that video of max almost making out with a guy while blackout drunk (if you haven’t i am begging you check it out bc he was fully gonna shove his tongue down that guys throat). i wanted to ask if you could write anything abt it being max and his boyfriend in the video and they’re worried that people are gonna figure it out when the video comes out but fans are just kinda like “nah he just kinda does that” 💀 idrk but i thought it’d be fun. also wanted to ask if i could be 🐠 anon??

summary: max gets a little frivolous when he's had a few drinks.

warnings: suggestive content, mildly anxious/insecure!max, drunk!max, references to sex tapes, mild jealousy and very mild possessiveness

word count: 719 words

you knew going out with max was risky.

it wasn't that you didn't love your boyfriend or didn't want to celebrate with him—of course you did!—but with the two of you being secretly gay, a little more discretion was required.

max had begged you time and time again to go to a club with him if (when) he secured the championship. he knew you were trying to keep the relationship mostly secret. he just wanted one night to celebrate with his boyfriend. and, with it being a bit of a rockier season than expected, how could you say no?

the night went relatively smoothly. nobody other than max's family knew who you were, and nobody bothered to ask. max managed to keep his hands to himself for the most part. except for a few moments where he had dragged you into a darkened corner of the club to drunkenly ramble between kisses. usually, you were pretty good at noticing when you needed to get him home before he started trying to get you to fuck him in broad daylight. however, with the crowded club and max being passed from team member to team member, it was harder to keep track of just how drunk he was.

all the red bull staff and a fair chunk of the grid were packed onto the dance floor. in the darkened room with strobe lights blaring and music so loud you could barely hear yourself think, nobody noticed when max dragged you into the fray. at least, you didn't think they did.

you didn't know (though you really should've) that there was a camera on the two of you. in your defense, you might've had a few drinks—but even if you hadn't, the noise and lighting would've been more than enough to disorient you. that, and the fact that max looked just about ready to start making out with you right then and there. no way you were paying attention to anything else. you barely had the mental clarity to start dragging your suddenly very publicly affectionate boyfriend back to the hotel room.

the next morning—between winces at the stinging of the long scratches down your back—you discovered the video.

"maaaax," you called out. the stress in your voice caused his name to stretch on your tongue.

a sleepy grumble came from beneath the mountain of blankets.

"love, wake up." you shook his shoulders, but max only whined in response. "somebody took a video of us last night."

he shot up in an instant. a little whimper escaped his plush pink lips at the ache between his thighs, but he brushed it off for the moment. there were more important things to worry about—like your relationship being exposed. all because he begged you to go to that stupid club.

max buried his face in his hands. "i'm so sorry."

"what? why are you sorry?"

"because … because it's supposed to be a secret that we're boyfriends and now everyone must know …" max explained guiltily.

"maxie … being a secret isn't that important to me. and it's not like you posted the video."

"you sure?" he asked, audibly uncertain. "you're not mad?"

"not at all."

how the internet reacted was … it was the opposite of what you and max expected. for starters, not a single person recognised you. thank god for that. so, really, people were only reacting to max looking like he wanted to shove his tongue down the throat of a random guy. which, you had to agree, was in-character and downright hilarious.

"come on, love, it's not that bad," you reasoned, stifling laughter.

max gave you an indignant look. "everyone thinks i'm some kind of manwhore!"

"well …" you trailed off with a grin. "you are a bit of a slut."

"i am fucking not."

you raised an eyebrow at him and, eventually, he relented.

"okay, fine, maybe i'm a bit of a slut. but only for you."

"damn right." you tugged max closer and kissed him. "now i gotta show 'em you won't just look at anyone like that."

safe to say, it was another long night and, if a new video happened to hit the f1 sphere with someone who looked suspiciously similar to four-time world driver's champion max verstappen getting fucked, then so be it.

©thekoalapastriesbakery :: please do not copy or rewrite my work on any platform !!

author's note: that video was insane and honestly i had lil fic ideas in my head since i saw it but i wasn't planning on write anything about it until i got this request. and yes, you can absolutely have that emoji anon <3

comments + reblogs appreciated!

taglist: @raizelchrysanderoctavius @crispysoup318 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @ncrsbrg @spoonfulofmilo @justaf1girl @widow-cevans

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Sebek Zigvolt - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

It's necessary to enjoy all you can on a birthday. I'll make sure to fully relish the classes, club activities, and the birthday party to come!

Summon: Being another year older means I must mature even more. I'll have to continue to devote myself to my studies, magical abilities, and other aspects of life.

Groovification: I have to get out of bed quickly and get ready to go. I'm the birthday boy today, after all.

Home: I can't let a single moment go to waste!

Swap Looks: I must fix my appearance.

Home Transition 1: My nightcap is not only good for preventing disastrous bedhead, but also keeping my hair from drying out. The only issue is that it falls off easily while I sleep.

Home Transition 2: I received an enormous amount of sweets from Jade-senpai. I have no idea what he is plotting, but I absolutely ate every last one. I can't let food go to waste, after all.

Home Transition 3: Even when I am in my room, the portrait of Malleus-sama continues to watch over me. That way, no matter where I am, I can continue to hold myself to the proper standards.

Home Transition - Login: On my birthday, I make sure to choose one goal to achieve during the upcoming year. Setting a clear coal is the first step in seeing it come to fruition!

Home Transition - Groovy: I understand in my head that I should chew my food well when I eat, but I cannot help eating fast when I hunger strikes. I should try to be more like Azul-senpai.

Home Tap 1: Nothing about living amongst others in a dormitory on campus necessitates getting to know one another. However... If the conversation were to extol on Malleus-sama's greatness... I suppose I could join in.

Home Tap 2: I received a book on equestrianism from Riddle-senpai. I'll make sure to thoroughly read through this and put what I gleaned into practice!

Home Tap 3: I would like it if I were able to overcome my distaste for black coffee this year. Maybe I should start by trying to drink some sugar-free milk coffee...

Home Tap 4: Idia-senpai was hovering outside the classroom, so I beckoned him in with a thunderous shout. How was that, I handled it well, didn't I?

Home Tap 5: These pyjamas were a gift from my parents to celebrate my acceptance to this school. They purchased it from a store in Briar Valley. I like them because they're comfortable and easy to wear.

Home Tap - Groovy: Silver was decorating the lounge, simply because it was my birthday. How thoughtful, especially coming from him!

Duo: [SEBEK]: Give me your best wishes, Azul-senpai! [AZUL]: Sebek-san, I do hope you have a wonderful year.

Birthday Login Message: Am I enjoying my birthday, you ask? Of course I am, today marks the first day of a new year for me! Both Riddle-senpai and Silver advised me to continue my diligent training. I needn't hear that from them, I plan to grow even more than they expect! Hm? You have a present for me? What's this... Oh, these are riding socks! Hm, not bad, for a human. I was just thinking of purchasing a new pair, myself. Perfect timing, too, I'll wear them to equestrian club practice after this. You have my thanks.

Requested by Anonymous.

[theodorenmyth]

can i request a draco x childhood friend reader where they've been obliviously pinning after eachother for years and the others are so tired of it, like for example they think they're talking normally but then one of the boys just shows up and tell them to "get a room already"

Childhood Lovers

Pairings ; Draco Malfoy x M!reader

Summary ; Draco Malfoy has been hopelessly in love with you for years, and everyone—except you—knows it. After endless pining and relentless teasing from your friends, he finally promises to confess on your birthday.

A/N ; I loved writing this so much

warnings ; none

word count ; 3.8K

You were six years old when you first met Draco.

Your parents had taken you to Malfoy Manor for some fancy pureblood gathering, one of those long, tedious events where adults talked about bloodlines while the children were expected to behave.

You had been wandering the vast halls of the manor, exploring, when you heard a frustrated huff from behind a set of large oak doors. Curious, you pushed them open to find a boy around your age sitting cross-legged on the floor, scowling at a small wooden broomstick.

His silver-blond hair was neatly combed, and his grey eyes gleamed with irritation. He looked up at you, frowning.

"What are you staring at?"

You blinked, then pointed at the broom. "What’s wrong with it?"

"It’s stupid," he muttered, poking it like it had personally offended him. "Father got it for me, but I can’t make it hover properly."

You tilted your head. "You’re doing it wrong."

His frown deepened. "I am not doing it wrong."

You stepped closer, shrugging. "Let me try."

Draco narrowed his eyes but reluctantly scooted back, watching as you grabbed the broom’s handle and focused. You had seen older kids practicing with toy brooms before, so you gave it a gentle push—and to both your surprise, it wobbled into the air for a brief second before dropping back down.

Draco gasped. "How did you—?"

You grinned. "I guess I’m better than you."

His eyes flashed. "Excuse me?"

And just like that, a rivalry—and an unbreakable bond—was born.

From that moment on, you were inseparable.

Draco dragged you into every one of his childhood games, from pretending to duel with toy wands to sneaking into the manor library to look at spellbooks you weren’t supposed to touch. He insisted that you sit next to him at every meal when your families had dinners together, and he sulked if you weren’t placed in the same group during playdates.

As you grew older, the bond only deepened.

At Hogwarts, you became Draco’s safe place, the only person he truly trusted beyond his arrogant bravado. He confided in you when things felt overwhelming, when expectations from his father weighed too heavily on his shoulders. And in return, he was fiercely protective of you, standing by your side through everything.

Looking back, maybe everyone was right.

Maybe you had been in love with Draco long before you even knew what love was.

And maybe he had been in love with you too.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The Slytherin common room is quiet, save for the occasional crackle from the fireplace and the soft scratching of quills on parchment. You’re seated on the plush emerald couch, barely paying attention to your Transfiguration textbook as your eyes start to droop. It’s been a long day, and you’re fairly certain you’re running on nothing but sheer willpower and the single cup of tea you had at breakfast.

Draco slides into the seat beside you, close enough that his knee knocks against yours. You don’t move away.

He doesn’t either.

"You look exhausted," he murmurs, grey eyes scanning your face. His voice is quieter than usual, almost gentle. "Did you even sleep last night?"

You sigh, rubbing your temple. "No, Draco, I spent the night ballroom dancing with the house elves. Of course, I slept."

Draco scowls, ignoring your sarcasm completely. "You’re a terrible liar. You have dark circles."

"You have dark circles," you shoot back, playfully nudging him with your shoulder.

He scoffs. "Mine are charming. Yours make you look like a ghost."

"You do realize you’re insulting me while simultaneously trying to care for me, right?" you point out, raising an eyebrow.

Draco clicks his tongue, unimpressed. "I’m not insulting you, I’m stating a fact. You need to take better care of yourself."

You roll your eyes but can’t help the warmth spreading through your chest. It’s a familiar routine by now—Draco nagging, you teasing, him getting even more concerned because you refuse to take things seriously.

"You’re fretting like my mother," you joke, flipping through your textbook half-heartedly. "Should I start calling you Madame Malfoy?"

Draco scoffs, crossing his arms. "Now that's just insulting."

You snicker, shaking your head. "Alright, Madame Malfoy, what’s your medical diagnosis? Should I rest? Or a kiss on the forehead will do the trick?"

For a brief moment, Draco actually falters. His lips part slightly, his usual quick-witted response caught somewhere between his throat.

Then, in classic Draco fashion, he recovers with a scoff, nudging your knee with his. "Don’t be ridiculous. You’d need at least two forehead kisses to even begin functioning properly again."

You laugh, leaning back against the couch. "Oh? So you admit a kiss would help?"

Draco rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it.

And that’s exactly when Blaise, sitting across the room and trying very hard to focus on his essay, snaps his quill in half.

"For Merlin’s beard, will you two just kiss already?"

The common room goes silent.

You and Draco turn to Blaise in perfect unison, blinking like you’ve just been smacked with a Confundus Charm.

"What?" Draco asks, his tone defensive.

Blaise stares at you both, completely done with this entire situation. "You cannot be serious. Do you actually not hear yourselves?"

You exchange a glance with Draco, then look back at Blaise in utter confusion. "Hear what?" you ask, genuinely puzzled.

Blaise throws his hands up in defeat. "You flirt all the time. All the time. It’s unbearable."

Draco scoffs, crossing his arms. "We do not flirt."

Blaise levels him with a deadpan expression. "You’d need at least two forehead kisses to function properly." He mimics Draco’s voice mockingly. "Oh, Draco, a kiss on the forehead will do the trick, right?"

You frown. "That’s just how we talk."

"That’s just—" Blaise closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to summon the patience of a saint. "Okay. Alright. Let me ask you something. Have either of you ever spoken to anyone else the way you speak to each other?"

You open your mouth, then hesitate.

Draco does the same.

Blaise smirks. "Exactly."

Draco scoffs again, but this time, there’s a slight pink tinge at the tips of his ears. "You’re being ridiculous."

"You’re being oblivious," Blaise corrects, shaking his head. "And I’m tired of it. Everyone is tired of it. You know Pansy has a bet going? She swears you’ll get together before the end of term. I said it’ll take at least another year because you’re both that dense."

Draco looks mildly offended. "A year?"

"Yes, a year, because you’re both pathetic," Blaise mutters, rubbing his temples like he’s dealing with an unsolvable Arithmancy equation.

You furrow your brows, still struggling to process the accusation. "We’re pathetic?"

Blaise gives you a look. "Painfully."

You scoff, shaking your head. "This is ridiculous. Just because Draco and I are close—"

"You don’t just ‘talk’," Blaise interrupts. "You gaze. You touch. You hover. You say things like ‘Oh, Draco, don’t worry about me, unless you want to tuck me into bed personally,’ and you don’t think that sounds romantic?"

Draco actually chokes on his own breath. "He—he what?"

Blaise sighs. "You two are a nightmare to be around."

Draco turns back to you, still somewhat flustered. "You said that?"

You hesitate, then shrug. "I mean… maybe? I don’t know, Draco, I say a lot of things."

Blaise lets out a strangled groan and buries his face in his hands. "I give up."

Draco exhales sharply, straightening his posture. "This is nonsense. We’re not—"

"Save it, Malfoy," Blaise grumbles, waving him off. "I’m done. You two can stay in your little bubble of delusion. But just know—every single person in Slytherin sees it, and we’re all so tired."

He picks up his books and stalks off, mumbling something about needing a headache potion.

Draco watches him go, frowning. "That was dramatic."

You nod in agreement. "Very dramatic."

There’s a beat of silence before you turn to Draco, smirking. "So… you’d give me at least two forehead kisses, huh?"

Draco groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Shut up."

You grin, nudging his knee with yours again. "You love me."

He scoffs. "I tolerate you."

"Sure, Madame Malfoy."

Draco throws a pillow at your head.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Walking down the hallway with Draco has always been part of your daily routine. It’s comfortable—natural. The two of you are so in sync that you don’t even realize how close you walk, your shoulders brushing, his hand occasionally hovering near yours as if he’s debating whether or not to take it.

You’re mid-argument about the best dueling strategies when Draco suddenly stops walking.

"Hold still," he mutters, stepping in front of you.

You blink in surprise as he reaches towards your face, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek. Your breath catches slightly, your mind blanking entirely.

Draco, completely oblivious to the way your heart is racing, hums in concentration as he carefully tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "There," he says with satisfaction. "It was bothering me."

You stare at him. He stares back, completely unaware of how much he just melted your brain.

"Right," you manage to say, swallowing. "Thanks."

He smirks. "You’d be lost without me."

You roll your eyes, trying to regain your composure. "I somehow survived for years before Hogwarts without your constant nitpicking, Malfoy."

"Yes, but those were dark times," Draco replies smoothly. "You’ve improved under my guidance."

Before you can argue back, a familiar voice interrupts.

"For Salazar’s sake."

You both turn to see Lorenzo standing a few feet away, looking utterly exhausted. His hands are on his hips, and he’s staring at you two like he’s debating throwing himself off the Astronomy Tower just to escape this moment.

"What?" Draco asks, frowning.

Lorenzo pinches the bridge of his nose. "I can’t do this anymore. I cannot keep watching you two act like you aren’t in love with each other."

You blink, startled. "We—what?"

"You heard me," Lorenzo deadpans. "Every single person in Slytherin—no, Hogwarts—knows you two are basically a couple except you."

Draco scoffs. "That’s ridiculous."

Lorenzo crosses his arms. "Oh really? Let’s review the evidence."

He holds up a finger. "One, you stare at each other like you’ve been separated by a tragic war and only just reunited."

Draco makes an offended noise. "We do not—"

"You do," Lorenzo says, raising a second finger. "Two, you hover around him like a lovesick puppy. If someone so much as breathes in his direction, you’re glaring at them like you’re about to duel them on the spot."

Draco narrows his eyes. "That’s just basic awareness of my surroundings."

Lorenzo doesn’t even dignify that with a response. Instead, he raises a third finger. "Three, the whole hair thing just now? What was that?"

Draco blinks. "His hair was out of place."

"You tucked it behind his ear, Draco." Lorenzo’s voice is nearly hysterical now. "Like some sort of dramatic romance novel protagonist. Do you even hear yourselves?"

You shift uncomfortably, heat creeping up your neck. "I mean, that doesn’t necessarily mean—"

Lorenzo groans loudly, running a hand down his face. "I give up. You two are a lost cause."

Draco scoffs again, crossing his arms. "Just because we’re close doesn’t mean we—"

"Get a room already," Lorenzo interrupts, exasperated.

You and Draco freeze.

The words seem to hang in the air for a long moment, and suddenly, you’re hyperaware of just how close you’re standing. Draco’s shoulder is still brushing against yours. His fingers are only inches from yours.

Your face heats up, and you quickly look away. "Lorenzo, you’re being dramatic."

"Am I?" Lorenzo raises an eyebrow. "Because I’m fairly certain if I left you two alone for five minutes, you’d just stare at each other longingly instead of actually doing something about it."

Draco rolls his eyes. "You’re being ridiculous."

Lorenzo sighs and just starts walking away, waving a hand over his shoulder. "Right. Sure. Whatever you say. But when you finally admit you’re in love, I will be collecting my ‘I told you so’ payment in full."

You and Draco watch him disappear around the corner before awkwardly glancing at each other.

Draco clears his throat. "That was... strange."

"Yeah," you agree quickly.

A beat of silence.

"So... what were we talking about?" Draco asks, as if Lorenzo hadn’t just laid out the obvious truth in front of you both.

You jump at the opportunity to ignore the conversation entirely. "Dueling strategies!"

"Right, right," Draco nods, completely dismissing the past five minutes like they never happened. "Now, as I was saying—"

And just like that, you both continue walking, completely and utterly oblivious.

From around the corner, Lorenzo watches with pure disbelief.

"They’re actually hopeless," he mutters to himself before stalking off to complain to the others.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Draco Malfoy was a disgrace.

At least, that’s what Theodore, Mattheo, and Lorenzo had decided as they sat at the Slytherin table, watching him stare at you like some tragic, love-struck fool in a romance novel.

It wasn’t just staring—no, no, that would be tolerable.

Draco was gazing at you like you were a celestial being who had graced the mortal world with your presence. His chin rested lazily on his palm, his usually sharp grey eyes softened to the point of resembling molten silver. His lips twitched with the ghost of a smile, and if one looked closely, they might even notice a dreamy sigh escape him.

And the worst part? You weren’t even talking to him.

You were sitting across the Great Hall, deep in conversation with some random Ravenclaw student. Whatever you were saying must have been interesting, because you were grinning, your eyes bright with amusement.

Draco, meanwhile, looked like a man on the verge of composing poetry.

Theodore finally snapped. He groaned, stabbing his fork into his food with unnecessary aggression. "I cannot do this anymore."

Mattheo, slouched beside him, tilted his head dramatically. "How many years has it been, exactly? Since first year?"

"Longer," Lorenzo muttered, rubbing his temples. "They grew up together. This has been happening since childhood. Childhood, Mattheo."

Mattheo let out a long whistle. "Merlin’s beard, that’s tragic."

Draco blinked, barely registering their conversation. "What are you lot muttering about?"

The three of them turned to him at once, looking at him like he was the stupidest man alive.

"You," Theodore said, pointing his fork at him. "You absolute idiot."

Draco frowned, straightening in his seat. "Excuse me?"

"Draco," Lorenzo said tiredly. "You’re staring again."

Draco scoffed, crossing his arms. "I do not stare."

"Oh, sure," Mattheo drawled, mimicking Draco’s dreamy expression. He fluttered his eyelashes dramatically. "'Oh, Y/N, your laughter is sweeter than honey. Your eyes shine like the stars, and your smile could end wars—'"

Draco kicked him under the table. "Shut up."

Theodore ignored them, leaning forward with an unimpressed stare. "You do realize you’re looking at them like they’re the last glass of wine on a stressful day, right?"

Lorenzo snorted. "More like a man lost in the desert staring at an oasis. With heart eyes."

Draco bristled, his ears turning pink. "That’s ridiculous."

Mattheo grinned. "Oh, is it? Because you practically look like you’re writing your wedding vows in your head."

Lorenzo shook his head. "No, no, he’s planning their entire future. House, marriage, family, pet names—"

Theodore gasped dramatically. "Draco Malfoy-Y/N! Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?"

Draco choked on his pumpkin juice.

"Alright, that’s enough," he coughed, glaring.

The trio ignored his protests.

Mattheo tilted his head in mock curiosity. "What do you think their pet name would be? Darling? Love? Oh, no—starshine. That’s dramatic enough for Malfoy."

Lorenzo nodded in agreement. "I bet he writes 'Mr. and Mr. Malfoy' in his notebooks when no one’s looking."

Draco clenched his jaw. "I will hex you all."

Theodore smirked. "Oh, please. You’re too busy mentally composing Shakespearean sonnets about Y/N’s hair to actually do it."

Mattheo sighed loudly. "You know what? I can’t keep watching this. Just confess already."

Draco rolled his eyes, face still slightly pink. "Oh, don’t be absurd."

"Absurd? No, what’s absurd is that you still haven’t told them after all these years," Theodore shot back.

"You make it sound so easy," Draco muttered, suddenly very interested in his untouched food.

Lorenzo groaned. "Because it is easy! You walk up to them and say, 'Hey, Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, let’s snog about it.'"

Draco gave him an unamused look. "Oh, very romantic, Berkshire."

Mattheo smirked. "Malfoy, I promise you, Y/N likes you back. If you don’t confess soon, someone else will, and then where will you be?"

Draco stiffened at that.

Theodore pounced on his hesitation. "Oh? Struck a nerve, have we?"

Draco exhaled sharply. "Fine. I’ll confess."

Silence.

Lorenzo blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

Draco nodded, reluctantly. "Yes."

Mattheo leaned forward eagerly. "When?"

Draco hesitated before muttering, "On their birthday."

A beat of silence.

Theodore’s jaw dropped. "Which is a week from now!"

"Yes," Draco said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable time frame.

Lorenzo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Draco, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t go through with this—"

Mattheo threw his hands in the air. "A week, Malfoy? A whole week? That’s seven more days of you being insufferable!"

Draco glared. "It’s my confession, and I’ll do it when I want to."

Theodore shook his head, looking at the others. "Fine. One week. But if he backs out—"

"We intervene," Lorenzo finished.

Mattheo grinned. "And make it public."

Draco’s eyes widened. "You wouldn’t."

Mattheo smirked. "Try us."

Draco exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. "Merlin, you’re all infuriating."

Theodore clapped a hand on his shoulder. "And yet, we’re still right."

As the trio continued their relentless teasing, Draco could only sigh in exasperation.

One week.

How hard could it be?

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Your birthday started normally enough.

A few gifts from your dormmates, some enthusiastic birthday wishes, and an especially delicious breakfast. You had expected the day to be fun, but nothing out of the ordinary.

That was before Draco decided that today was his personal mission to spoil you into oblivion.

It started with a small, elegant box left on your bed. Inside were gloves made of the softest dragon-hide, perfectly fitted to your hands, with your initials embroidered in silver thread.

You smiled, admiring the craftsmanship, when an owl swooped into the Great Hall during breakfast, dropping another gift right onto your lap. A limited-edition enchanted quill set—one that changed ink colors with a simple touch.

"Draco," you sighed, already knowing who was behind it.

Across the table, Draco smirked, propping his chin on his hand. "What? You don’t like it?"

You rolled your eyes. "I love it, but—"

"Then it’s settled." He waved his hand dismissively. "Don’t argue with the gifts, Y/N."

You didn’t even have time to recover before lunch arrived, and with it—another present.

This time, a beautiful custom-made silver bracelet. You stared at it, mouth slightly open.

"Draco—"

"It suits you," he interrupted, his tone casual, but his eyes were anything but.

You hesitated before slipping it onto your wrist. It was perfect.

By the time dinner rolled around, everyone at the Slytherin table was blatantly watching the spectacle unfold.

Draco then slid yet another box in front of you.

"Draco Malfoy." Your voice was dangerously close to scolding.

He only smirked. "Yes, birthday star?"

You glared at him before cautiously unwrapping it. Inside was a bottle of outrageously expensive cologne, the kind you’d admired in passing but never even considered owning.

Your jaw nearly dropped. "Draco, what the fuck?"

"Language," he chided, far too smug for his own good. "I thought you’d like it."

"Like it? I love it, but this is—Draco, you’ve already given me so much!"

"Exactly." He shrugged. "And?"

You groaned. "This is too much."

slightly, voice lower. "Nothing is too much for you."

Across the table, Theodore, Mattheo, and Lorenzo watched in pure agony.

Mattheo leaned toward Theodore, whispering dramatically, "This is sickening."

Theodore nodded. "Disgusting."

Lorenzo let out a long sigh. "This has gone too far."

Blaise, who had been listening in, smirked. "Oh, now you three have had enough? After years of watching these two pine for each other?"

Pansy, sipping her pumpkin juice, casually added, "Honestly, I think it’s sweet."

Theodore turned to her with a look of betrayal. "Sweet? Pansy, Draco is out here funding their entire existence. He’s like a walking, talking sugar daddy."

Mattheo snorted. "Simp behavior."

Lorenzo crossed his arms. "If he doesn’t confess today, I swear I’m hexing him."

"You’ll have to get in line," Blaise muttered.

Astoria, rolling her eyes, chimed in. "Oh, stop being dramatic. He’ll confess."

Blaise scoffed. "When? Next year?"

Theodore suddenly smirked. "Actually, he told us he’d do it today."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "He said that?"

"Well," Theodore mused, "technically, he said on their birthday, but we all know what that means."

Lorenzo shook his head. "He’s going to overthink it and chicken out."

Mattheo grinned mischievously. "Not if we force his hand."

They exchanged glances.

A plan was forming.

────

After dinner, Draco pulled you aside with a nervous but determined expression.

"Come with me."

You tilted your head. "Draco, what—"

"Just trust me," he murmured.

You sighed but nodded, following him through the castle.

Unbeknownst to you, every single one of your friends immediately exchanged knowing looks and followed—not very discreetly.

Draco led you to the Astronomy Tower, where the night air was crisp, and the stars shimmered above.

There, waiting for you, was another package.

You gawked at him. "Draco—"

"Last one," he promised, lips twitching.

With a sigh, you unwrapped it—and inside was the softest, most elegant velvet cloak you had ever seen. Silver-lined, perfectly tailored. It screamed Malfoy-level luxury.

You stared at it, speechless. "Draco… This must have cost a fortune."

He shrugged, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. "Only the best for you."

Your heart pounded. "Why are you doing all this?"

Draco exhaled sharply, stepping closer. "Because—I’ve been a coward."

You frowned. "What?"

He looked at you, his usual confidence slightly shaken. "I should’ve told you years ago. I’ve loved you since we were kids."

Your breath hitched.

Draco continued, voice softer now. "I tried to pretend I didn’t. But today, I just—I couldn’t hold it in anymore."

Silence.

Draco shifted nervously. "Say something?"

Instead of words, you grabbed his scarf and pulled him in.

Draco barely had time to react before your lips met his.

And then—

"AHHHHHHHHHH!"

The deafening sound of multiple voices screaming in joy startled you both.

Whipping around, you caught sight of your entire friend group stumbling out from behind a nearby wall.

Pansy jumped up and down. "I TOLD YOU HE’D DO IT!"

Mattheo fist-pumped. "ABOUT DAMN TIME!"

Lorenzo collapsed dramatically onto Blaise. "We suffered for years for this moment."

Theodore smirked at Draco. "Took you long enough."

Blaise grinned while holding Lorenzo to steady him. "So, Draco—how does it feel to finally get your head out of your—"

"I hate all of you," Draco groaned, covering his face.

You laughed, pulling him back toward you. "Ignore them."

He peeked through his fingers, still dazed. "You… kissed me."

You grinned. "Yes, Draco."

Draco swallowed. "So does this mean—"

You cut him off with another kiss, slower, deeper.

Pansy screamed. Astoria started clapping. Mattheo actually spun Theodore around in excitement.

Draco groaned, head dropping onto your shoulder. "I really hate them."

You laughed. "You love them."

Draco sighed. "Unfortunately."

And as your friends continued celebrating like you had just won the Quidditch World Cup, Draco decided that, maybe he didn’t mind.

Not when he finally had you.

[nerdygirlramblings]

Hi~ hope you are doing great and having a good time; sorry to bother you, but can I ask some poly 141 x reader who is a veterinarian, or dog caretaker or trainer or K9 unit; and has taken care of many dogs, pets, service dog, militar dog, and so on; and the team saw her a little more introverted, seeing her eyes a little watery but not that red, still working but seeing the tell signs of touch starved and then they learn or know that a dog she helped bring into the world when born, now she had to put to sleep for injuries or sickness, what would they do? Since not many know how painful it is even if not your partner or dog have to do this?

Sorry for the long part, and feel free to ignore if too bothersome, actually I'm a vet and Im all teary, but can't really cry or bent since my family is cold or strick and the rest say like 'its just a dog's, and I'm also touch starved, sorry for this; just that I need a little comfort

Best regards :)

Oh @boogeysmoth I am so so sorry! I can't imagine how hard the bad days must be. I'd be heartbroken and crying all the time. (We're a family that believes in fur babies, so I get it. I hope this helps a little bit.

cw: implied child neglect (memory), animal death (off-page), poorly executed accents

Everyone on base knew who you were. Soft, sweet thing who was definitely more comfortable with dogs you trained than the people. It was an open secret on base that, despite what you were training the dogs to do, you recognized their value as therapy animals. Soldiers often found their way to your portion of the yard after a mission gone wrong or when a unit lost someone or when the memories just became too much. You were patient with the soldiers who came to you, teaching them commands so the dogs could continue their learning and yet support the troops in a completely different way. You never shied away from the soldiers in those encounters, perhaps recognizing something in their hollow look, a kindred spirit in need of tender care.

The 141 in particular was well acquainted with your work. They never said it, but in their eyes, you were theirs.

Simon knew how it felt to feel like you didn't belong. Gaz understood what it was like to care for so many others with your whole heart. Price recognized the weight of responsibility you carried; your job was to train and watch out for your dogs the same way he did for his men. Soap saw how you retreated into yourself, like Ghost had when they met, and vowed to pull you into a world that might not deserve your sunshine.

It was Ghost who noticed first. Back from a solo mission, he'd swung by the K9 grounds on his way to the barracks. You were on the field like usual, but as his steps slowly brought him to the edge of your space, he saw you hesitate to reward your current charge after a followed command. There was stiffness where once had been ease, distance when you were typically close.

In Price's office for debrief, he said, "Somethin's wrong." Price merely raised a brow, so he continued. "She's actin' like the dogs are a chore. She loves them damn things." He paused, thinking of his childhood, the indifference from some who was supposed to love him. "'S not right. She loves them, Price. And if she's actin' all cold, somethin' happened."

So Price started watching too. Saw what Ghost meant, how you didn't seem to want to touch the dogs any more than you needed to. When two rookies came up, looking to sit with the dogs, you turned them away. There was no hard look, no sharp retire, but it was one of the meanest things he'd seen on base.

Several days later Gaz was sent to the K9 unit with a pile of slightly worn blankets. Requisition order gone wrong and they were far too small for the barracks' beds. He walked into your office, smile in place, and said, "Got some presents for your pups, doll."

You looked up blankly at him and the blankets. "Oh. Er, that's nice, but the dogs don't need them." You turned back to the papers on your desk, but Gaz stayed rooted where he was. You were always looking for comfort items for the dogs to make them feel cared for. You asked for stuffed toys and never turned down blankets and soft bedding.

Two weeks after Ghost first saw something off, Soap came around the edge of the K9 kennels to find you weeping in the back of an empty cage. Kneeling in the back, face buried in your hands, quietly sobbing. He didn't hesitate to open the unlocked gate and join you on the cement floor.

You felt a strong arm wrap around your shoulders before pulling you into a warm, solid chest. Quiet shushing and a whispered, "Ah've got ye," accompanied by gentle rocking. He stayed with you as the tears tapered off, and only when they were done did he ask, "Ye want tae talk about it?"

Your inhale was fast, shakey. The tears were barely at bay when you started talking. "I had to put him down," you said, voice laced with grief. Soap couldn't remember the last time he'd heard someone's heart break, but he swore yours did as you spoke. He didn't say anything, but the arm around you squeezed a little tighter. "My little Rascal. I know he's in a better place, but I miss him." The tears started again, and you didn't even try to staunch them. *And I don't know if I can keep doing this," you say between sobs. "I know what happens to these dogs in the field. I'm giving them over to be slaughtered!"

He could hear the change in your breathing, the breaths coming faster and faster. "Ach, bon! De ye no see how much good ye do?" He positioned you so he could see your face. "Love, ye give hope! The dogs ye train help keep us safe, an' we do our best to keep 'em safe in return. We treat 'em like another member of a unit. We doan let 'em get slaughtered." Deep down you knew this, but hearing it now helps ease the gaping ache in your heart just a little.

Your breathing slowed slightly. But before you could reply, try to tell Soap he was wrong, he continued in a whisper. "An' here ye help us feel human again when ye let us be wi' the pups." Shame raced through you, remembering how you'd turned the privates away last week.

You hiccuped and said, "I don't think my heart can take it to keep caring." You were so quiet Soap could have pretended he didn't hear you, but you and the dogs deserved better.

"Oh, love. When it hurts too much take care, you come find us, yeah? We can help set ye tae rights."

You nodded. "Okay," you mumbled. "I think I can do that."

He stood and pulled you up, walking backwards out of the empty kennel. "And Ah ken the best way tae start," he stated, maneuvering you further down the hall to the full kennels. He put a light hand on your waist, deftly pulling the keyring off your belt. He found the cage with the youngest dogs and tried each key until one worked. When the lock clicked, the three puppies on the other side of the gate came running. Soap pulled you in behind him and closed the gate. He took a seat on the floor and patted the space next to him.

By the time you dropped to the ground, two puppies were already climbing on Soap's lap. He coaxed the last into your arms. You stayed with him, arms full of warm puppy, until you felt the cold grip around your heart melt.

an: This was a little tribute to my in-laws doggie of the same name and my cat menace, Mushu. They're over the rainbow bridge now. ❤️

[luvendiary]

when chaos ensues / s. reid

spencer reid x reader

a/n: so this was what the last one was supposed to be, but i got sidetracked. i rewatched the last episodes of season 9 where spencer gets shot and inspiration came to me as fast as that bullet went through him. also, i'm sorry if it's not that good, i need an outlet for my anxious energy since i am currently finishing my trimester. as always, let me know what you think. summary: the odds are not aligned in your favor today, lucky for you spencer will always be there for you warnings: usual cm level violence.

Your unconscious form laid in the sterile hospital room. Spencer had refused to leave your side. Although not much protest came from the team since they needed to make sure someone was keeping an eye on you while the rest of them focused on solving the case.

Garcia had insisted on staying as well. She could do her job anywhere and amongst all of them she was the one with the most ‘maternal instinct’. Always attentive to the other’s needs. Good thing she had stayed after all, since in taking care of you, Spencer had decided to stop taking care of himself.

“Here,” she said, setting a tray down. “You need to eat.”

Spencer looked up at her, a brief respite from staring at your heart monitor -making sure your cardiac rhythm was not a single beat out of the ordinary.

“I’m not hungry, thanks,” he said. His eyes sported bags under them, and his hair was sticking up in every way.

“I brought jell-o,” she insisted. “Your favorite.”

He glanced at you before returning to face Garcia with tight lips.

“It’s her favorite too,” he whispered.

Penelope tried to give him a reassuring smile, which just came out more sad than encouraging. “She’s going to make it out. You know she will. She’s stubborn like that.”

Spencer just nodded before reluctantly taking the clear cup of jell-o in his hand and eating a spoonful.

He kept replaying the moment it happened. How you were supposed to go in with Derek to negotiate with the unsub. You had a talent with words. Always so soothing and rational. You always knew what to say.

You had been putting on your bulletproof vest when the unsub started shooting.

It happened so quickly, yet everything after that could not have gone slower.

He saw as your body jolted and you fell to the ground immediately. His heart dropped. The thud you had made as your body collapsed first against the SUV and consequently to the floor was sickening. And even though he had been several feet away from you, he could hear it so clear.

He vaguely paid attention to Alex calling out his name as he sprinted toward you, sliding to the ground, and propping your head on his lap after he had moved your body behind the SUV to make sure you were safe.

The image of your eyes focusing in and out, was something he would not be able to forget for a long time. It was as if you were fighting against something trying to take you away into total darkness. He hung onto every mumble that escaped your lips, trying to shush them with soothing words of encouragement.

He was broken out of his trance by the ring of a cell phone.

Penelope rummaged through her purse, trying to find the device. Once she did, the voice of Derek Morgan could be heard from the other end. Spencer didn’t catch much besides their usual ‘hot stuff’ and ‘baby girl’ gameplay, too focused on staring at the steady rhythm of the rising and falling of your chest.

She’ll be fine. She has to.

Once Garcia hung up she seemed more agitated than she had been moments before.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, standing up. His eyes flicked to the IV drip, scrutinizing the clear tubing that snaked from the bag of medicine to the needle embedded in your arm. A faint frown creased his brow as he traced the line for any air bubbles or obstructions. He allowed his hand to linger a moment longer, softly tracing your knuckles.

“Corruption. The whole system’s wrong…” she breathed out as she immediately took out her computer and started tapping away at the keys. “The sheriff has a lot of explaining to do.”

Spencer’s eyes flickered to your unmoving figure. “The sheriff? But he was killed.”

“He was the acting sheriff. The real one had taken a ‘vacation’, conveniently the day before we arrived.”

Penelope could see the gears turning in his head. Trying to connect the dots, but his train of thought was interrupted by a nurse entering the room, a small vial of medicine in his hand and a clipboard under his arm.

“She had her meds an hour ago,” he said.

“Yeah,” he said calmly. “These are post-op antibiotics.”

“She had those too,” Garcia chimed in, her usual cheery tone now more somber.

Spencer, positioning himself between you and the nurse who had already made his way to the IV drip, peaked at the label on the vial.

“Carbenicillin? No, that’s not right. She has a severe reaction to beta-lactams. She can’t have that.”

The man checked the clipboard for a brief moment before setting it down. “It’s not in her chart,” he said nonchalantly before moving to administer the liquid to you.

With practiced smoothness, with a needle he extracted the medicine before quickly injecting it into the IV.

“What are you doing?” Spencer said, panic evident in his voice as he quickly put his hands to work in trying to remove the needle in your arm administering the medicine. “Stop! What are you doing?”

Not being quick enough, he slapped the medicine out of his hand. However, it had already been partly injected. He hurriedly ripped the needle out of your arm. As he looked for something to stop the bleeding, he saw a gun peering out of the nurse’s waistband.

“Garcia! He has a gun!” he called out as he positioned himself between you and him.

Not a second went by after the words left his mouth until a gunshot reverberated in the room.

The man fell to the ground.

Spencer’s muscles, still tense, worked on separating themselves from your body. “We have to get her out of here,” he mumbled as he made quick work to disconnect you from every device. The heart monitor’s constant beeping, now replaced with the sound of a flatline.

“Reid, wait! Where are we going to take her?” Penelope protested, but she was already gathering her things.

“Anywhere. Somewhere safe,” he replied frantically as he took your unconscious body in his arms, your head falling limply over the end.

“There’s no place that’s safe,” she reasoned. “The police are corrupt. They’re the ones that sent that man over to kill her. She must’ve seen the sheriff or something.”

Spencer remembered now. Her last words -if he could even call them that- before losing consciousness had been about the unsub. At the time he thought you were going over the profile you had already put together, but he now realized that you were trying to give him another one.

White male; a pregnant pause. Early thirties; your eyes fluttering close. Position of power; a cough. Uniform; a raspy breath.

You had been describing the sheriff all along. You had seen him.

Spencer barely had time to process Penelope’s words before the door burst open. Derek Morgan stepped in, gun raised, eyes scanning the room in an instant. His gaze fell on the lifeless body of the nurse on the floor before flicking to Spencer, who was cradling your unconscious form protectively.

“We need to move. Now,” he ordered as he softly kicked the nurse, checking for any signs of life. None.

No one protested. Garcia quickly gathered her things along with yours, which had been placed in a hospital bag. They both followed Derek, carefully checking every corner and every turn.

“Rossi and Alex were both attacked by the police,” he explained as he opened the SUV for Reid, who with his help climbed in along with you, setting your head on his lap.

“We’re gathering at a safe house. Those of us who can. Hotch and JJ are still at the station.”

Reid just nodded. Penelope, on the other hand, rambled on about corruption and the immorality of man.

It had not occurred to him that you not giving any sign of life amidst all this moving around was not exactly normal. He had grown so accustomed to your close eyelids that it was only when a thin layer of sweat and rose coloration started appearing on your skin that he realized something was gravely wrong.

The Carbenicillin had reached your system.

“She’s having a reaction to the antibiotic,” he mumbled in a panic to himself.

The SUV screeched to a halt outside a run-down safe house, hidden in the outskirts of the city. Morgan was out first, yanking the door open as Spencer scrambled to carry you inside. The moment they entered, Morgan took one sweeping glance at the cluttered dining table before gripping its edges and flipping it over with a forceful crash. Plates, glasses, and papers shattered on the floor, but there was no time to care.

“Lay her down here!” Morgan barked, already pulling off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

Spencer gently but quickly placed you on the now-cleared table, his hands shaking as he brushed your sweat-drenched hair from your face. Your chest barely moved, and the color in your face was draining fast.

“She’s not breathing!” Garcia’s voice was high-pitched with panic as she tore through medical bags, flinging gauze and bandages aside. “Where the hell are the damn EpiPens?!”

Spencer didn’t wait. His training kicked in as he tilted your head back, pinched your nose shut, and sealed his lips over yours. He exhaled, trying to force air into your lungs. Your body remained unresponsive.

“Come on,” he pleaded between breaths. “Stay with me.”

Morgan’s hands hovered near your wrist, checking for a pulse. “She’s going into shock, Reid. We need that shot, now!”

Garcia let out a strangled sound of triumph as she ripped the cap off the EpiPen. “Got it!”

Morgan snatched it from her hands and, without hesitation, jammed it into your thigh. “Come on, sweetheart. Breathe.”

Spencer gave another desperate breath, and then—your body convulsed violently. Tremors wracked through you as your body fought for oxygen. Your fingers twitched, and your lips parted with a ragged, choked gasp.

Your eyelids fluttered weakly, a barely-there motion, but it was enough for Spencer’s breath to hitch. Your fingers trembled as if trying to grasp onto something solid, anchoring yourself to reality. A faint, raspy breath slipped from your lips, though your body was still struggling, your lungs desperate to catch up.

Morgan exhaled, nodding to Garcia, who was clutching her laptop like a lifeline. “She’s not out of the woods yet,” he said. “She needs medical attention. The EpiPen can only delay the inevitable.”

Spencer’s hand lingered on your cheek, his touch grounding, steady. His thumb traced slow circles, a silent reassurance. “Just hold on a little longer,” he murmured, voice low but firm.

Your eyes barely managed to open, glazed and unfocused, but for a split second, you looked right at him. A ghost of recognition passed over your features before exhaustion pulled you back under.

The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor was the first thing you registered. Then, the stiffness in your limbs, the dull ache threading through every muscle in your body. Your throat felt like sandpaper, and every breath burned.

The room was dimly lit, casting shadows over familiar faces gathered around you. They were talking in hushed voices, tense and weary, their exhaustion evident in every line on their faces. No one had noticed you stirring yet.

You swallowed painfully before rasping, "Who died? You all look terrible."

Conversations halted instantly. Heads snapped in your direction, and in a matter of seconds, multiple voices overlapped—relief, exasperation, disbelief. Garcia let out a choked laugh, her hand flying to her chest, while Spencer leaned in closer, eyes scanning your face as if making sure he wasn’t imagining it.

Morgan huffed, shaking his head. "Damn, you really don’t know when to quit, do you?"

Spencer exhaled, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. "You scared us," he admitted, his voice quieter and somehow softer than the others.

You tried to shift, but a sharp pain shot through your side, making you wince. Spencer’s hand was there in an instant, pressing gently against your arm to still you. "Hey, take it easy. You’ve been through a lot."

"What exactly happened?" you asked, everything coming back to you in flashes. And then a single face, of a strange man, wearing a badge.

"The police...did they?"

JJ nodded. "Yeah. It’s over now. Don't worry about it. You need to rest."

You sighed, "I'm really sorry. I wish I could've helped more."

Hotch, who had been standing silently at the foot of your bed, finally spoke. His voice was calm but firm. "The only thing you need to be worrying about right now is getting better." 

A brief pause, and then he cracked the smallest of smiles. "You can help with the paperwork later if you're so eager to work."

"On second thought, I think I'm good," you replied with a tired smile. 

You let out a weak breath of relief, letting your eyes slip shut for just a moment. When you opened them again, Spencer was still watching you, his expression softer now. You tried for a small smirk, though it barely held. "Thanks for talking to me. It helped a lot, in not...slipping away."

He smiled and rubbed your knuckles gently, a secret gesture in a room full of watching eyes. "Always. Although, next time, let's skip the almost-death sentence. Deal?"

You huffed a quiet laugh, squeezing his hand with as much force as you could -which wasn't a lot. "Deal."

[bradleysass]

Much - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 663

Regulus liked to think he was a composed person. He had survived years of pureblood politics, defected from the Dark Lord without so much as a scratch, and somehow endured James Potter’s relentless affection without combusting on the spot.

He was practically a saint.

So why, in Merlin’s name, did everyone in this godforsaken house insist on testing his patience?

It started innocently enough. He was curled up in an armchair by the fireplace, a book in hand, enjoying the rare peace that came with a Sunday morning. The house was unusually quiet—until James Potter, menace of his life, decided that was unacceptable.

"Reg," James called from the couch, sprawled out in a way that took up three seats instead of one. "Come here, love."

Regulus didn’t even look up. "No."

James turned to Sirius, who was draped dramatically over Remus. "See that? I call him ‘love,’ and he tells me no. It’s tragic, really."

Sirius, ever the performer, made a mock-sympathetic noise. "He's always been like that. Once, when we were kids, I told him I’d die for him, and you know what he said?"

Lily, who was braiding Pandora’s hair on the floor, didn’t even hesitate. "‘I don’t need you to die, I need you to shut up’?"

Sirius gasped and clutched his chest. "Exactly! I see you understand the depth of my suffering."

"Unbelievable," James sighed. "And yet, I’m still obsessed with him."

Regulus exhaled slowly, counting to ten in his head. He had one peaceful morning. One. But of course, James and Sirius, the embodiment of chaos, couldn’t allow that.

"He’s trying so hard to pretend we’re not here," Remus observed, sipping his tea with a small, amused smile.

"Should we see how long it takes to break him?" Pandora suggested, all too excited.

"I swear to Merlin—" Regulus started, but he was immediately drowned out by the chorus of agreements from the room.

"You know, it doesn’t take much to get under Reg’s skin," Lily mused.

"Not at all," Sirius agreed. "You should’ve seen him at breakfast. James stole his toast, and I thought he was going to hex him into oblivion."

"He deserved it," Regulus grumbled, finally looking up from his book. "Who does that?"

"Your husband," Pandora said, voice full of amusement.

James beamed. "Husband! Say it again!"

"I'm leaving," Regulus declared, standing up, only to be yanked back down onto the couch, straight into James' lap.

James wrapped his arms around him immediately, chin hooked over Regulus' shoulder, looking entirely too smug. "Where do you think you’re going, love?"

Regulus sighed, resigned to his fate. "Anywhere but here."

"But we’re your family," Sirius said with a wicked grin. "You love us, right, Reggie?"

Regulus glared at him. "You know I hate that name."

Sirius ignored him completely. "And you love us."

Regulus narrowed his eyes. "I tolerate you at best."

"Oh, come off it, Reg," Lily teased. "We all know you’re a big softie deep down."

"I am not."

"Are too," James hummed, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You let me keep you in my lap without hexing me. That’s love, baby."

Regulus fought the way his face warmed. "That’s exhaustion."

"Sure," Remus said, voice full of laughter. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Fine," Regulus muttered. "Unfortunately, I do have… some level of affection for you lot."

The whole room erupted in cheers.

James kissed him again, grinning against his skin. "See? Told you I’d break him."

Regulus closed his eyes, willing himself to have patience. If he murdered James now, he'd have to deal with Sirius' dramatics, Lily’s disappointed sigh, and Pandora’s very specific ‘I told you so.’

"Someone kill me," he muttered.

Sirius smirked. "Aw, Reg, don’t tempt Barty like that."

Regulus groaned as the laughter filled the room, James' arms still wrapped tightly around him, and resigned himself to his fate.

Somewhere, deep down—very deep down—he supposed he did love them.

Even if they were all insufferable.

[lovelybucky1]

4. The Hangover

wc- 1.9k // main masterlist // go greek! masterlist // tw: alcohol consumption, sexual themes

The first thing you notice when you wake up is how comfortable you are. There’s no doubt that you’re in a college bed, but one with a nice, thick mattress topper that forms to the contours of your body and shields you from the poor excuse for a bed the college provides.

The next thing you realize is your outfit. You’re no longer wearing your bikini top and denim shorts. Instead, you’re in a t-shirt that is obviously not yours and you’ve lost the shorts, leaving you in just your panties. You open your eyes, and once you suffer through the initial shock of daylight, you realize you recognize the shirt Bucky was wearing the previous night.

Immediately, you sit up. Am I in Bucky’s bed? You look around the room but you don’t see any of Steve’s artwork or Bucky’s sports jerseys. So if I’m not in their room, where am I?

The side of the room you’re in is covered with band posters. Tyler, The Creator, Childish Gambino, Foo Fighters, Red Hot Chili Peppers. There’s a guitar leaning against the wall next to the desk and a mess of CDs in a milk crate.

The other side of the room is less decorated. There are photos on the walls and, squinting, you can make out Sam in some of the pictures. This must be his and Joaquin’s room.

Thinking about Joaquin, memories of last night come rushing back. You groan and bury your face in the pillow, his pillow, as you remember how you kissed him. How he didn’t kiss you back.

You understand why he didn’t. He’s a self-proclaimed gentleman and would never do anything without your consent. You certainly weren’t in a state to consent last night. It should bring you comfort that he was so respectful, but that feeling is overshadowed by the burn of shame in your cheeks.

You’re brought out of your wallowing by the sound of the door creaking open. You look up to see Sam tiptoeing in, but he freezes when he sees you awake.

“Did I wake you?” he asks, whispering. You shake your head. “How’d you sleep?”

“Alright,” you respond groggily, voice thick with sleep.

“How’s the hangover?” he asks with a small chuckle. You groan as you sit up, which seems to be enough of an answer for him.

“How did I get here?” you ask.

“Joaquin and Buck practically carried you.” That’s so embarrassing.

You look down at yourself. “And the shirt?”

“You put that on yourself, don’t worry. Bucky didn’t want you to go to sleep in what you were wearing. I’ve never worn a bikini before, but they don’t look comfortable,” he jokes. “Do you want breakfast?”

The thought of eating makes your stomach churn, but you suppose something light might make you feel better. You agree to breakfast but as you slide out of bed, you realize you don’t have any bottoms on.

You pull on your denim shorts, which lay on the floor next to the bed, and Sam busies himself with his phone while you do. Once you’re presentable enough, you follow Sam downstairs.

Logan, Matt, and Bucky all sit at the counter eating breakfast while Frank stands at the stove. You slide onto the stool next to Logan, who gives you a gruff morning.

“There she is!” Bucky chuckles. “Little miss lightweight.”

He gets down from his stool and comes around to your side of the counter, leaning his muscular forearms on the marble so he is almost eye level with you. He has a teasing smile on his face and you know that it’s too early for whatever’s about to come out of his mouth.

“How ya feeling?” he asks.

“Fine,” you say, leaning your head against your hand.

“Yeah? That’s pretty good considering the way you were off your ass last night.”

“Bucky,” you groan.

“My shirt looks good on you,” he winks before pushing off the counter and returning to his breakfast.

“Buck, remember last semester when you threw up on that Phi Sig chick?” Logan asks.

You look up at him to see a small smirk on his lips. Bucky glares, obviously not pleased that Logan is sharing that embarrassing memory. You have to stifle your laughter.

“She was so pissed,” Frank adds as he slides a plate of scrambled eggs in front of you. He gives you a fork and you thank him, glad to have something in your stomach that isn’t alcohol.

As you eat, you listen to the boys bicker back and forth. You feel bad for Matt, who’s caught between Logan and Bucky. Sam stands at the end of the counter next to Bucky, eating a bowl of cereal, and observing.

“I’m just saying, you’re not one to judge how someone acts when they’re drunk,” Matt says.

“At least I don’t ask to touch girls' faces,” Bucky scoffs. That catches your attention.

“What?”

“It’s his signature move,” Frank says. “Says it helps him picture them or some bullshit.”

“It does!” Matt defends.

“Whatever,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes.

Having enough of the conversation, you clean up your dishes and slip out. On your way back upstairs to gather your things, you run into Karen coming out of the bathroom.

“Oh my god,” you gasp when you see her dressed similarly to you, in a large t-shirt that clearly belongs to Frank. Both of you giggle, trying to muffle the sounds.

“How was it?” you ask.

“No, you first.”

“No, no, I didn’t-”

“What? Then why are you,” she gestures to your shirt.

You hide your face in your hands. “I got too drunk and had to be carried to bed.”

“Oh no,” Karen laughs. You shouldn’t have expected to get sympathy from her.

“That’s not even the worst part. I kissed Joaquin.”

Karen’s mouth falls open, comically wide. “Oh my god.”

“I know,” you groan.

“Was it good? I mean, he’s hot.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. “I kissed him. He didn’t kiss me back because I was too drunk.”

“Yikes,” Karen sighs. “It could be worse though. He said you were too drunk, not that he didn’t want to. You know what you have to do now,” she says like you have any idea what she’s getting at. “You have to kiss him sober.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not? Obviously, you like him enough to throw yourself at him.”

“I’m not doing that,” you say. “Now tell me about your night!”

“Okay, okay,” she says, grinning ear to ear. “It was so amazing.”

“How big?” you ask, momentarily forgetting you’re in the house and not in your dorm room.

“Big,” she says. The look on her face tells you everything. “And he did this thing with his tongue-”

Before she could go into any more detail, Joaquin walks out of Bucky and Steve’s bedroom. He stops when he sees you both in the hallway, and you hope he didn���t hear what you were talking about.

“Morning, ladies,” he greets. He has that same charming smile he always does.

“Good morning,” you both respond.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks you.

“Oh, uh, good,” you say, suddenly feeling extremely awkward. “Thank you for helping me and everything. You didn’t have to give up your bed for me.”

“No worries,” he smiles. “Sam and I had a little sleepover with Wade and Logan.”

“Um… I’m sorry about last night. I was way out of line,” you say as you wring your hands.

“It’s okay,” he says, placing his hand on your wrist to stop your fidgeting. “Really. You were drunk and it’s just a heat of the moment kind of thing. It’s all good, I promise.”

Despite him reassuring you, you don’t really feel better. Yes, you were drunk and you kissed him, but you don’t want him to think you’re that kind of girl. Am I that kind of girl?

“Okay,” you say. It’s far too simple of a phrase to encapsulate everything you’re feeling, but you think it’s better to keep those feelings to yourself.

Joaquin gives your wrist a reassuring squeeze before brushing past you to go downstairs. Once he is out of sight, you relax a bit. You’re no longer in the mood to hear about Karen’s night with Frank, but you promise her she can tell you every dirty detail when you’re back in your room later.

You go back into Sam and Joaquin’s room to grab your bikini top and put on your shoes. You hope to get out of here as quickly as possible to save yourself from any more embarrassment that could come.

You go back downstairs and you almost successfully sneak out the door without anyone noticing, but your attention is caught by Steve’s voice. Steve’s and a woman’s voice.

“Can I see you later today?” he asks.

“Can’t. I have to rehearse for my ballet duet with my sister.”

You peek around the corner into the dining room and see Steve talking to a striking redhead. She’s wearing the clothes she likely wore last night and she somehow still looks beautiful. Her hair is messy in an effortless way, not like tangled bedhead. Sam also stands with them, so you assume she’s an upperclassman you’ve never crossed paths with.

“Some day you’re gonna get tired of pretty-blue-eyes and want to give tall-dark-and-handsome a try,” Sam chimes in. “You know what they say.”

The woman only laughs. “See you around, Steve.”

The dismissal makes Steve’s shoulders slump a bit. You’ve never seen him any way other than with his head held high.

Before you can attempt to hide, the woman walks past the staircase and out the door. She doesn’t see you, thankfully, but you get a good look at her. Her hair is shoulder length, a blunt and bold cut that makes her look like a model. And she does ballet. No wonder Steve is interested.

It makes something inside you ache with jealousy. Steve isn’t your boyfriend, and he’s never even hinted at being interested in you. The two of you just met and he obviously has a history with this woman.

Once she’s gone, you try to slip out the door, but Sam and Steve both catch you. Steve calls your name and you sigh, knowing he’s going to ask you about last night.

“Stealing Bucky’s shirt?” he asks instead.

“I don’t really want to walk home in a bikini,” you say.

“You might cause a couple of accidents on the way,” Sam jokes. You appreciate the compliment but after seeing that woman, you doubt he’s being genuine.

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “But I have to get back.”

The look on Steve’s face tells you he thinks you’re acting differently. It’s slightly humiliating that he notices something is wrong because you’re not hanging on his every word, but now isn’t the time to reflect on how enamored you’ve become by all of the guys.

“Okay,” Steve says. “Thank you for your help with the party, you did a really great job.”

“Thanks,” you respond, chancing a look into his gorgeous eyes.

“Will you be at the meeting tomorrow?” he asks as you turn your back.

“Yeah.”

“See ya, sweetheart,” Sam says as you walk out. You give them both a wave but don’t look back.

Once you’re a ways down the sidewalk, you let yourself think about how complicated your life has gotten in the past week. You drunkenly kissed Joaquin, Bucky is constantly trying to charm his way into your pants, Steve is so kind, Sam and Matt are charming and funny, Logan and Frank are protective, and you have so much in common with Wade.

How have you managed to fall for all of them so quickly? A better question is, how are you going to make it out of this without going insane or getting hurt?

[rottingghosty]

The Realms PR | DC X DP Part 2

this isn’t as good in my thoughts because writing as bruce??? really hard. how am i supposed to write a paranoid man if i am the most chillest person i can be… anyway heres your part 2 food of this au, not sure if i’ll continue writing more parts? depends on how i feel.

errors are made and sorry the the lackluster performance this might be

if you want to use my prompt please give me credits thank you

☁️☁️☁️☁️

Danny very much prefers to have nobody intervene on his business as the vigilante of Amity Park. He’s essentially called dibs on it if you consider the fact that the entire town is basically his metaphorical grave since it’s his haunt and he did die to make the portal to the Ghost Zone open. He very much ignores that specific can of worms because that’s a heavy topic that he won’t ever talk about because Spectra really ruined his own outlook on professionals. Jazz will most likely want to open that can but that’s for future Danny.

Where was he? Oh yeah.

Danny very much likes being a solo hero with his friends and sister aiding when they can. He very much dislikes the fact that people have been trying to enter his haunt without permission. Does he know why people who tried to pass through Amity Park suddenly find themselves back at where the welcome sign is? No. Is he going to ask? Also no because it allows the residents and himself privacy even when he’s got the GIW on his tail or even his own parents.

He’s not going to rebuke this gift especially with his influx of fame. Which reminds Danny that he needs to post a new tweet, maybe a video of Cujo playing with the kids in the park from a few days ago? He figures people would be more interested if they knew a ghost dog existed. Maybe he can include one of Ember’s concerts or something.

Man he has so many videos to post and such little time to do so, but he thinks Sam and Tucker are having fun being his PR team with the way Sam had a manic gleam in her eyes when Lois Lane and Clark Kent sent her a message of twitter asking for an interview. All while Tucker basically going giddy at Red Robin and Oracle trying to get through the firewall that’s blocking Amity Park from eyes being too close for all their comforts.

Bruce Wayne stared intently at the video before him, it was only thirty seconds but it was thirty seconds enough to cause him to tighten his grip on the arm rests of his chair in the Batcave. His blue eyes staring down at the figure in the video as it replayed on loop. His shoulders tense and bunched up as he inhaled sharply at the frame that happened ten seconds in.

Because right there, staring up at the camera looked too much like Jason. It looked too much like his boy, his son that he had lost when Jason was only fifteen. Normally he would’ve brushed it off but it was the way that it then shifted into Dick, Steph, Tim and then Damian—

Ancient of Hope is what Phantom had called them, the embodiment of hope and how its form switched to what people believed in. Apparently it looked so much like the Robins of Gotham because Gotham was— is the biggest source of hope there is. Yet, this was an unknown.

Bruce couldn’t trust a word that Phantom said, ghosts are an unknown. Trying to get Constantine to talk about it was a struggle itself, the equivalent of trying to pull teeth out because the man was equally as stubborn as Bruce and it was even worse when the man had cursed up a storm when they had a meeting about Phantom’s first videos.

Ghosts are a variable in an equation that Bruce is trying to solve but he simply can’t force his way into solving it, not when this whole thing has turned into a diplomatic nightmare with the fact that Oa has started pressuring the US government about the mistreatment of the Infinite Realms beings.

The Justice League Dark even adding in the pressure— Deadman being one of the more outspoken members as he explained as much as he knew about the Infinite Realms despite not quite qualifying as one of their residents but still considered as one in an odd way. Constantine grumbling about as he came and went, saying how the Ghost Investigation Ward could’ve started a war or destroyed everyone.

Clark and Lane were writing up articles, having conversations with the PR Team of Phantom— two teenagers who were involved heavily and considered ambassadors to the Realms because of their connection to Phantom.

Phantom who is the High King. Phantom who doesn’t want his subjects hunted anymore and took a peaceful route instead of simply declaring war.

Bruce takes a heavier breath, jaw clenched as he watched the video loop one more time before the closed the tab to look more into the GIW and their backers, eyes narrowing in two names.

Vladimir Masters and Lex Luthor.

[imsofthelp]

Small Matsukawa Issei drabble. I want to eat that man UP.

cw: big dick issei (what’s new), belly bulge

Issei has you bent over the edge of the bed, his big, warm hands running over your sides and your hips soothingly, lips kissing away at the curve of your back to help distract you from the stretch.

The thing is, he knows he’s big. Knows from the way the rest of the Seijoh 4 gasped and laughed and made jokes about his cock killing somebody when they gpt too drunk and did a dick measuring contest. Knows from the way most people only take half of him before they’re wildly tapping at his hips and pushing at his abs to make him pull out. Knows from the way your pretty, sparkling eyes widened when he slid his boxers down after making you orgasm on his skilled tongue for the nth time.

You whimper and grip at the dark sheets of his bed when the first half slides into you, fitting snugly. Issei does a soft shhh, his hand coming down on top of your fingers, thumb running over your knuckles.

“I knooow, baby.” he coos, admiring how your skin breaks out in goosebumps, how your perfect lips pop open, your eyes screwed shut, “It’s a lot to take, huh?”

“…A lot.” you parrot, already almost braindead to the world. You never knew someone could have such a huge dick. The thing betwen Issei’s legs was something only found in porn or a perticularly intimidating dildo that your friends would point out at a sex shop jokingly.

“Yeeah, sweetheart’s cunt is too small for my dick?” Issei continues to tease, trying to bite down his smirk when you whine after he pushes another inch in, “Can you say, ah, big streeetch?”

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, lips opening and closing, trying to find your words. Issei’s eyes look down to where the two of you are connected, how your cunt is struggling to accomodate his dick, how your body trembles involuntarily.

“Bi-big stretch.” You manage to repeat as your voice breaks into an abrupt scream of his name as Issei slams home in one harsh thrust.

He doesn’t move, just stays there, calloused fingers slithering underneath your body, rubbing at your sensitive clit, making you whine.

“Like ripping off a bandaid, huh?” Issei jokes, his frree hand running down your hair in a gesture that’s supposes to be soothing.

“Fu-fucking asshole.” you murmur, blinking away the spots dancing across your vision.

Even if the pain is there, even if he’s not even moving, his cock is big enough to hit all the right spots. Life was definitely unfair sometimes.

“Yeah, yeah, hold on tight, baby.”

“Wha-“

Your words are knocked out of you as Issei pulls out until only the tip of his dick is left inside of you, admiring the way your clear juices are making his skin glitsen in the low light and slams back inside, his hips smacking against your ass, the noises of skin againsy skin ringing our throghout the bedroom.

Issei sets a steady pace, his toned body falling over yours, skin hot and flushed and sweaty. You can’t even find it within yourself to mind the weight, just moaning and whining and scrambling to hold onto something.

Issei’s fingers accidentely slip off of your clit, and he actually gasps. Before your drowsy mind can conjure up a question, or a complaint, he’s dropping to the floor, not even pulling out as you land on top of him, crying out when his cock goes even deeper at the new angle, the tip brushing against your cervix.

Your head tosses back against his shoulder, before he gets his breathing under control, grabbing your chin and making you look down.

“Look. Fucking look how deep I am.”

Right underneath your belly button, there’s an bulge protruding. Unmistakably him.

“Holy fucking shit.” Issei pants, shaky hands grabbing on your hips, maneuvering you like a puppet on his cock, slamming all the way down, as if he can’t leave even an inch of his cock bare of the warm comfort of your pussy, “Holyyyy fucking shit, I’m never letting you go, baby.”

[mer-acle]

Alright my creative friends

So for my modern AU (which has yet to be named help) I have kind of been turning the boarding school around in my head. There are some ig conflicting wishes i have for this plotpoint so I thought I'd use the thinktank known as tumblr to maybe figure it out.

I want Athena and Ares not to be in the same school bc he's not supposed to know about the bullying or be able to help her (yes i am evil leave me alone)

I also would ideally like Ares not to have been in a boarding school so I need a reason why Athena got sent to one and he didn't.

Additionally I would also like Hephaestus to be in boarding school later (different one) though for him I can make the point that it's more wheelchair-accessible and therefore better for him.

And I would like Athena and Ares to still have opportunity to be close and very familiar with each other which feels kind of hard to do if Athena is only home for the holidays and then immediately leaves to study once she's graduated.

I think that's all my conflicting boarding school things XD Somehow, having immortals be temporarily exiled is way easier lmao Especially cos this is not meant to be exile because Zeus doesn't like hate his daughter in this one lol

Either way maybe some of you have ideas how to fix my dilemma :) Or for a name for the AU that would be dope too. I would kind of like something in reference to war bc war sibs. I have been playing around with "A different kind of war" or something like that in reference to the mental health shit that's going on but I don't like it... edit: I have a nameeeee! It's now called the "Silent Wars" AU

Also have a snippet bc why not

(This is somewhere in the second half of the story where like a lot of shit already happened)

"I wish you had said something," Hera said. "If we'd known you were so unhappy there, we would have figured something out." Athena shrugged uncomfortably. "I wanted to," she said then. "Every day. I hoped you would notice yourself, but you didn't, and I wanted to tell you how bad it was. But I-" Her voice cracked. "I was scared you wouldn't believe me and you would make me go back anyway, and then there would be nothing else I could hold on to. So I would tell myself, it's not that bad today, I can handle that, I'll ask tomorrow. To keep... to keep that door open, you know? Like Schroedinger's cat, really, if I don't ask, I won't be sure I'll hear a no. And so I never ended up asking." She looked up to see tears running down Hera's cheeks and winced slightly. "I'm sorry, Mom." "Oh no, sweetheart." Hera wiped her eyes before reaching out to gently cup Athena's face in her hands. "I have to say sorry. For teaching my poor, brave girl that she had to endure everything on her own. For not seeing how hard it was for you. For not protecting you more." Athena swallowed hard, fighting against the tears. At least she did so until Hera wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close.

[lilacella]

hello sloth WE NEED MORE CHAOS AMNESIA AU PLEASE where is part 7c or 8??? 👀

Hello Comrade we are already on Part 9 now (if I haven't miscounted AGAIN 💀)! I finally found the time to write some more for the yearning children and animals! This part is a lot more dialogue heavy so the plot isn't moving all that far but I felt like writing a scene for once hahahaha

Enjoy!

Notif service tags:

@caslyra @nocturnal-phantoms-fandoms @starstruck4moony @goldenlionprince @lovelymasks @marigold-hills @annaliza999 @a-sunset-outside-my-window @lovelymasks

(If I forgot anyone or you wish to join in on the tag service you can just leave me a comment on this post and I'll add you next time!😊)

Chaos Amnesia AU: Part 9

(Part 1) (Part 8)

"Do you know my parents?"

No. No of course we don't. You're parents are dead. Have been for well over a decade. And it was your fau- No. No it wasn't. Nothing was ever really Sirius' fault, right? He sure had reasons for setting that house fire. And the officers who wrote the report weren't even sure it really had been him. He had never been prosecuted for it at any rate. If it had been James' case he might have... Back when he didn't know Sirius...

But now he does and he just can't bear that look on his face. This confusion and vulnerability. He can't tell him all that - who knows how he'd react! He might try to run away again!

So yes. They do know Sirius' parents. Of course they do. He is spending some time away from London to get his health in order.

Sirius scoffs at that, pointing at his now properly bandaged head. "Well that went well, didn't it?"

James grimaces and Remus shoots him a worried smile.

"You should stay here for the night," Lily decides and when Lily decides that something is going to happen it will.

So they settle Sirius in the guest room and Remus opts for the couch. He wants nothing more than to snuggle up to Sirius right now, to hold him close and feel his heartbeat against his chest, know he is there - but Sirius doesn't remember. And it would be odd to just assume he'd be okay with that.

But Sirius notices the pitying looks that James and Lily throw Remus and later, when all the lights are back out he strolls back into the living room.

"You keep looking at me like that. Is there... Is there something I need to remember?" His tone and the smirk on his lips suggest that he might already have an inkling what it could be that he needs to remember...

But Remus doesn't want Sirius to know. He isn't even completely sure if he really wants him back (of course he does) and if he could really just forget about Sirius' past and keep living like they did before his memory returned (of course he can). But Remus is also Remus so in his attempt to pretend he doesn't know what Sirius is talking about he flushes profusely and falls off the couch while trying to lean in a nonchalant way. Looking up from the floor he sees Sirius muster him with amused fondness.

"I don't remember you. But I remember... ," he trails off and frowns. "There is something isn't there?"

Remus sits up and nods. There's no reason to deny anymore. He doesn't want to deny anymore.

Sirius sits down on the floor next to him and frowns even more. "But...aren't we.... I mean, aren't you a bit old for me?"

Remus chokes a bit on his spit as it dawns on him what that means.

"How old do you think you are?"

Sirius frowns even deeper and then looks up in shock.

"How old am I ?!"

"33?" Remus really isn't super sure. He is just working with what Sirius told him back then and who knows how much of it were lies. Lies that this Sirius doesn't know anything about.

"33?!" Sirius seems to be pondering that number for a bit. "But that... wait. Is that why my health is bad? Because I'm old?"

"So...," Sirius leans forward. "What exactly are we?"

Remus snorts a laugh. How is he supposed to deal with that? A Sirius that has lost his memories, okay. Fine, he can work with that. Actually he can work with that amazingly! It would make everything much easier!

But a Sirius that thinks he is still a teenager feels... odd. And suddenly the way he is eyeing him makes Remus feel very uncomfortable.

"Err...," Remus clambers back onto the couch in a panic. "I think you should just go to bed now."

But Sirius follows him and once again sits next to him. Way too close. Why does he smell so good?

Actually! Why does he? He lived in a cave for who knows how long, this is simply unfair!

"Why," Sirius teases and inches even closer. "Did my clumsiness turn you off?"

"Your...?"

"Well I hit my head didn't I?"

"Yes. Yes of course. No! That's... That's not it."

Sirius is now leaning so that his face is only inches away from Remus' and Remus suddenly becomes very aware of just how much he missed him...

"You're too young!," he blurts out and shuffles backwards on the couch. "You could be one of my students!"

"You said I'm thirty-three!"

"Yes but you seem to think that you still live with your parents!"

"Many 33-year-olds live with their parents, Remus!"

"But you don't know your 33!"

"I do! You just told me!"

"But you are eighteen!"

"Sixteen!"

"That is so much worse!"

"But I'm not actually, so why does that matter?"

"We have a power imbalance, Sirius!"

Sirius snorts and crosses his arms. "I could take you!"

This is all a great mess.

I know. I know that. But you don't, Remus thinks and buries his face in his hands.

tbc...

[yvesssssssss]

HELLO! Can you write a fluff story where the reader's mission is to distract Uzuki. Despite knowing the plan, Uzuki willingly participates.

like the reader will be like " let's spend the night together" (not in a weird way) as a joke to distract him or something like that. ⊙⁠﹏⁠⊙

thank you!

Stay With Me Tonight

Uzuki Kei x Reader

You had one job tonight—keep Uzuki occupied.

Simple, right?

Except Uzuki Kei wasn’t the kind of person you could easily trick. He was sharp, calculating, always ten steps ahead of everyone else. If you thought you could just waltz in, bat your eyelashes, and keep him from interfering with your team’s plan, you were in for a rude awakening.

Still, you had to try.

You found him where you expected—perched on the edge of a rooftop, bathed in the cool glow of the city lights. The wind tugged at his white hair, making him look almost ethereal, but the sharp glint in his eyes reminded you exactly who you were dealing with.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.”

You barely had time to process his words before he turned his gaze to you, unreadable as always.

“I just got here, and you’re already calling me predictable?” You clutched your chest dramatically. “I thought I was more mysterious than that.”

Uzuki’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “You’re not.”

Ouch.

You sighed, stepping closer until you were beside him. From this height, the streets below looked almost peaceful. A stark contrast to what was probably happening elsewhere—exactly why you needed to keep Uzuki here as long as possible.

You shot him a sidelong glance. “So, what are you doing out here all alone? Brooding? Staring dramatically into the distance?”

His smirk deepened. “Waiting.”

“For me?” you teased.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, observing you with that quiet intensity of his. Then—

“Yes.”

Your heart did a weird little thing in your chest. Stupid. You were here to distract him, not get flustered yourself.

You shook it off, forcing a playful smile. “Well, if you were waiting for me, then how about we spend the night together?”

Silence.

A gust of wind passed between you, ruffling your clothes.

Uzuki didn’t even blink.

And that’s when you knew.

He saw right through you.

The corner of his mouth lifted in the faintest amusement. “That’s quite the offer.”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “What can I say? I’d hate for you to be lonely.”

Uzuki hummed, clearly entertained. He shifted slightly, turning his body just enough to face you fully. “Let me guess… This is your way of keeping me here?”

Damn it. You hated how easily he read you.

But instead of backing down, you doubled down. “Maybe. Is it working?”

For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if debating something in his head. Then—

“Yes.”

You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Uzuki let out a low chuckle, resting his chin on his palm. “You don’t seem very prepared for success.”

Okay, he had a point. You weren’t expecting him to actually go along with it. Most people would roll their eyes or call your bluff—not Uzuki. He was leaning into it.

“You’re messing with me,” you accused.

He arched a brow. “Am I?”

“You definitely are.”

He said nothing, but the amusement in his eyes told you everything.

Still, you weren’t about to let him win this so easily. If he wanted to play, fine.

You sat down next to him, resting your arms on your knees. “Well, since you agreed and all, we should probably make it official. What do people do when they spend the night together?”

Uzuki actually seemed to consider it. “Talk, I suppose.”

You nodded sagely. “Okay. Let’s talk, then.”

A pause.

“…About what?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it.

That was a great question.

“…I don’t know,” you admitted. “I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

Uzuki exhaled through his nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. “You really didn’t plan this out, did you?”

“I was winging it.”

“I noticed.”

You playfully nudged his arm with your elbow. “Hey, don’t judge me. It’s working, isn’t it?”

Uzuki let out a soft hum, gaze flickering toward the distant city lights. “It is.”

You blinked. “Wait—so you’re really staying?”

“I said I would.”

“…Oh.”

You had expected resistance. You had prepared for teasing, for a verbal game of cat and mouse. You had not expected him to just go along with it.

Which meant either:

1. He really didn’t care about what your team was doing.

2. He found you far more interesting than stopping them.

3. He was just that entertained by watching you struggle.

None of those options were reassuring.

You squinted at him. “This feels like a trap.”

Uzuki smirked. “Does it?”

“Yes.”

“And yet, you’re still here.���

Damn it. He had a point.

“…Fine,” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “I guess we’re spending the night together, then.”

“Guess so,” Uzuki echoed, his smirk widening ever so slightly.

You sighed, shaking your head—but despite yourself, you smiled.

Maybe distracting Uzuki wasn’t so bad after all.

[pieandflannel]

౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ bittersuite 🥃

₊⊹ ʚ ₊⊹｡ ⋆ ˚ ⋆ ｡˚ ₊⊹｡ ₊⊹ ୨♡୧ ⊹₊ ｡⊹₊ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ˚ ⋆ ｡⊹₊ ɞ ⊹₊

pairing: dean winchester x sam’s gf!reader

summary: dean falls into depression due to being lovesick over you, who is dating his brother.

cw: angst, alcohol consumption, alcoholism, depression, lovesick dean, depressed dean, hopeless dean, no happy ending for dean, grammar not checked, somehow proofread.

word count: 781

julia yaps: i wrote this instead of going to sleep so apologies for any mistakes! 

inspo: bittersuite by billie eilish + this tiktok

────────── ୨ৎ ──────────

i’ve been having dreams.. about you and me..

at least one times a week.. i feel so empty when i wake up knowing i can only touch you in my dreams..

i can’t sleep.. properly because the only thing on my mind is you..

i see the way you want at me.. am i crazy? is it just my delusions? am i seeing what i want to see?

i want to be the one.. to hold you tight against me.. kiss your soft lips.. feel the warmth of your skin..

but i got to be careful.. lately he’s been suspicious as to why i haven’t been myself, that i’ve been turning down so many women.. not even checking anyone out.. but how can i when the only person on my mind is you..

i gotta watch what i say.. i can’t let you or him in on my true feelings.. it would ruin the whole dynamic between us..

god i hope it all goes away.. maybe the alcohol will help me forget..

cause i can’t fall in love with you.. i just can’t

no matter how bad that i want to.. it’s wrong, you’re my brother’s girlfriend

And i could never do that to sammy..

tears form in dean’s eyes

there is a knock on dean’s door, his brother’s voice is heard from behind the door “dean? you in here?”

dean clears his throat and wipes his eyes before he answers “yeah” his voice raspy from the alcohol he’s been drinking.

sam slowly opens the door, noticing dean sitting by the table behind the door, bottles of whiskey sitting on the table, some of them empty.

“dean you haven’t been out your room for a couple days, what’s going on?” sam asks with a worried look.

“have you been drinking all this time?” he asks, picking up one of the empty bottles, assessing it before putting it down.

dean says nothing. just takes another sip from his glass. sam sighs.

“talk to me man..” sam’s voice softening up knowing that his brother’s behaviour only means one thing and one thing only, dean is trying to run away from something. and that something usually being his own feelings and thoughts.

sam looks at dean with his well-known puppy eyes, “please..” he pleads.

“leave me alone sam” dean finally speaks, obviously shutting his brother out, but what else is he supposed to do when that’s all he knows thanks to john.

sam knows not to push his brother because it’s just no use, so all he does is sigh,

“alright.. i did find us a case though” he offers hoping dean will finally leave his room. get some fresh air. eat something. maybe even crack a half smile after the hunt is a success.

“you two can handle it” dean says in a monotone voice as he takes another sip. sam’s heart aches seeing his older brother like this, his jaw clenching slightly. the feeling of hopelessness flooding his system. he doesn’t remember the last time dean was in such a bad place. well at least to a point where he shuts himself in his room for days.

“so what now you’re just not going to talk to me and drink yourself to death? is that it?” sam tries very hard not to snap at him, but even he has his limit of patience.

“pretty much, yeah” dean shrugs, sounding more and more numb, like he actually doesn’t care what happens to him.

sam lets out a small scoff and shakes his head in disbelief, the dean he knows wasn’t a quitter, dean would never give up.

his brother is battling something very serious inside his head but he refuses to open up. wouldn’t be a first, but this time it seems as serious as ever.

“this isn’t like you dean, you have to talk me” sam attempts the soft approach again, he closes the door and sits down on the edge of the bed, his voice sympathetic yet pleading.

dean isn’t happy about sam pushing him, especially that he wasn’t going to tell him that he fell in love with his brother’s girlfriend, he wasn’t going to tell him how she makes his heart flutter whenever he hears her voice, or how he cannot keep his eyes off her when she smiles so beautifully, he cannot tell him that every time sam kisses her he wishes to be in sam’s spot, or even the fact that he can’t stop feeling guilty that he even fell for her in the first place,

i mean come on.

this ain’t a fairytale with a happy ending where they all hug it out and live happily ever after.

thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3

tags: @jensino @emeraldcrs @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @missus-ackles @littlesoulshine @deanswifeyy @slut4jackles @h8aaz @figisonline @figthoughts @angelicjackles @losers-clvb @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids

♡ comment to be added/removed!

© pieandflannel – do not plagiarise or repost any of my work!

© reserved for photo/gif owners!

[keyboardsmashess]

The Siren, or The Heart of the Matter

Chapter Thirty : The Note, or The Thesis Defense from Hell

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: language, fluff, angst, canon-typical violence, smut MINORS DNI. A/N: My bbs! We're nearing the end of this story - I'd say maybe five chapters to go, give or take 😭 Until then, though, enjoy the insanity of my fully unleashed Bucky obsession now that Cleo's feelings are out there 😘

Summary: The morning after our heroes' big moment takes a very unexpected turn.

Chapter Directory

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Bucky squeezes his eyes closed against the sound, wondering for a moment if he’s got a leak somewhere in his apartment. If he does, then Stark’s really getting sloppy. He’ll have to give the guy some shit for that. These Tower apartments are supposed to be state-of-the-art everything, or at least that’s what he thinks Stark said - he wasn’t really listening when he got the grand tour.

But wait, Bucky thinks, shifting in bed. Since when do I have silk sheets? He listens to the sound again, realizing that it sounds an awful lot like the tapping of a shoe.

Before he even really registers what he’s doing, Bucky’s standing in his boxers with a gun pulled on the stranger.

“What the hell, Barnes? Also, when did you stash a handgun in my nightstand?” 

Bucky releases a lungful of air he didn’t realize he’d been holding and lowers the weapon.

“Also part two, what the shit did you guys do to my bedroom? If I have to hire cleaners, I’m billing you,” Meg says, arms crossed and tapping her foot.

Bucky sets the gun down on Meg’s nightstand, finding his pants on the ground and pulling them on self-consciously. His shirt is nowhere to be found, and he suddenly remembers Cleo putting it on after… 

After the best damn night of my life.

Speaking of. “Where’s Cleo?”

Meg rolls her eyes. “Sure, just ignore all of the very valid questions I’ve just asked you, no big deal.” She hands him a piece of notebook paper. “Your lovely lady has written you a note. Don’t worry, I’ll pretend I didn’t read it.” She winks.

Bucky accepts the paper with a small smile. “Sorry about this,” he says, gesturing to the mess of a bedroom around him.

Meg waves a hand. “It’s fine, really. I mean, I am for sure billing you for the cleaning, but it’s not like I didn’t expect something like this when I graciously removed myself from the premises for the evening.” She kicks off her shoes into a pile in the corner of the room. “I’m gonna go make some coffee and leave you to collect yourself.”

Bucky nods gratefully, unfolding the piece of paper the second Meg closes the bedroom door behind her.

James,

I can’t possibly wake you up, considering how handsome you look sleeping so peacefully (and how rarely you sleep at all), so I’m heading to my defense alone. Don’t panic when you read this - my advisor already told me I wasn’t allowed to have guests in the room, so you’re not missing anything but a boring hallway.

Bucky chuckles and shakes his head at how well she knows him, realizing his heart had already started racing at the thought of missing her big moment. 

I’ll come back to Meg’s the second I’m done and tell you all about it, promise. And then I’m pretty sure someone said something about taking me back to the Tower to celebrate? I have some new ideas for what that celebration might look like, just saying.

Bucky bites his lip as he reads, already reacting to Cleo’s words.

Speaking of that, last night was… everything. I’m shit at mushy stuff, Buck, but it was probably the best night of my life thus far. And I don’t know if you know this, but Meg and I went to a Kassie Cantor concert once and I actually got to meet her, so you’ve passed a pretty high bar. (Since I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about, she’s a pop singer who I’m going to force you to listen to on the way back home.)

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m writing all of this in a letter like I’m going off to war or some shit, because I’ll be back soon and could tell you all this in person, but what can I say? It’s easier to write some things than speak them out loud. To that end, I’m sorry for not being able to reciprocate the thing you said last night. I want to, and I should have, but I’m a fucking coward and emotionally stunted and just sort of a general mess, so… yeah. I should probably save the rest of this conversation for when I get back, because you deserve that.

He blows out a huff of air. When he’d told her he loved her, he knew it was something he wanted to tell her - needed to tell her - regardless of whether or not she said it back, but he can’t say he isn’t relieved to read that she apparently feels more than she let on at the time. 

Fuck, I really am bad at this, aren’t I? Whatever. You’re great, last night was great, and I can finally tell you that I think your ass is great, too. Like really super great. Okay, I’m going to go stand in front of a bunch of grumpy white men in suits and ask them to give me a degree. Bye!

xoxo, Cleo

P.S. Like spectacularly, phenomenally great.

Bucky folds the letter back up and carefully tucks it into the pocket of his jeans, resolving to save it forever. 

He stands suddenly and checks the time, an idea popping into his head. He pokes his head into the kitchen long enough to tell Meg he’s going to take a quick shower, grabs the overnight bag he’d left in her living room, and runs to the bathroom where he takes one of the fastest showers of his life.

Clean and dressed, Bucky darts into the bedroom to grab and holster his gun, then rushes toward the front door. Meg is waiting for him, a disposable travel mug of coffee in her hand and a smirk on her face.

“Cleo told me you couldn’t go into her defense, but I figured after reading that note - the note I absolutely didn’t read myself, by the way - you’d want to do something romantic like wait for her in the hallway. I already texted you the building and room number.”

Bucky grins and accepts the drink. “Meg, you’re the best.”

She waves a hand. “I know, I know. By the way, you’re going to pass a market on your way to campus, just around the corner from here. They sell flowers and Cleo’s favorite is forget-me-nots. Hey, what a fun little irony!”

He eyes her, speaking before he can think better of it. “Come visit us at the Tower sometime, there’s someone you should really meet.” And with a grateful smile, he’s out the door.

******

If Bucky’s calculations are correct, he’s arrived in the hall outside of Cleo’s defense with about ten minutes to spare. He paces the hallway for a few moments to calm himself down after the sprint to campus, then leans against the wall directly across from the door Cleo will be walking out of soon. He’s got a slightly windblown bouquet of blue forget-me-nots, a sweaty right palm, and a nervous but eager grin. He’s ready. 

When ten minutes passes with no sign of Cleo, he tells himself that it’s probably normal for these things to go a little long sometimes. After fifteen, he’s doing his best not to worry. At twenty five minutes past the stated end of the defense, Bucky decides that he’s willing to risk embarrassing Cleo and himself by opening the damn door. Taking a deep breath and preparing his excuse (they’ll buy him as a student in the wrong room, right?), Bucky hides the flowers behind his back and tries the handle.

It’s locked.

Fair enough, he thinks. They probably have security protocols in place, you know, to avoid the exact thing Bucky had been planning to use as his excuse for intruding. He knocks instead, deciding he doesn’t actually care about embarrassing Cleo at this point. When nobody comes to the door, he knocks again and presses his ear to the wood, listening closely with his serum-enhanced senses. Not only is nobody coming to the door, but he’s fairly certain nobody is in the room at all.

Fully aware he’s probably overreacting, Bucky lets out a huff of air, looks up and down the hallway to make sure nobody’s coming, and grabs the handle with his metal hand. With a little grunt, he breaks the handle and forces the door open. 

No Cleo. No committee. No one at all. 

Bucky frowns and pulls out his phone, double-checking the building and room number in the message from Meg. When he confirms he’s at what should be the right place, he paces into the room, hoping to find a note or schedule or something to clue him in to what’s going on. The room is frustratingly empty, though - empty chairs arranged behind a long conference table, an empty lectern facing them…

Bucky sighs and calls Cleo, potential interruptions be damned. Immediately, he hears a buzzing sound coming from the lectern. A sick feeling brewing in his stomach, he crosses the room and peers behind the lectern, seeing Cleo’s phone on one of the shelves lit up with the selfie she’d taken of the two of them in the home goods store. Next to it are several wrinkled notecards and a half-empty bottle of water. He ends the call, dread coiling in his gut.

Stuffing her phone in his pocket, he picks up the notecards and starts flipping through them. They’re clearly reminders she’s made for herself of the main talking points of her thesis, but when he flips to the last one, a small piece of cardstock falls out. Bucky bends down to pick it up, noting the unfamiliar scrawl in red ink.

Soldat - 

Only the dead have seen the end of war. As long as you are living, your war is not over. 

Hail HYDRA.

Bucky’s vision narrows to a singular point, blood draining from his face. He stumbles backward into the table and grabs it with his metal arm for support. He doesn’t even register the crack of the wood as he grips it too hard.

Ears ringing, he pulls out his own phone and dials the first number that comes to mind.

“Hey, Buck, how’s everything go-”

“They have her, Steve,” he chokes out, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Wait a second, what are you talking about, Buck? Who has who?” Steve asks, voice growing serious.

“HYDRA,” he bites out, the word feeling like poison on his tongue. “HYDRA has Cleo. The Philosopher must be working with them and I don’t know how, Steve, but they found her and they took her.”

He hears rustling and then rapid footsteps from the other end of the phone. “Hang on, Buck, I’m going to get Stark. We’ll find her, okay? Bucky, I promise we’ll find her.” Steve’s voice is calmer than it has any right to be, in Bucky’s opinion, but he trusts the man more than almost anyone else, so he stays on the line.

While he waits, he frantically searches the room for any clues to Cleo’s whereabouts, tossing chairs to the side and upending the table, but he comes up empty. Stark’s voice brings him back to the present moment.

“Barnes, what was she wearing today?”

Bucky gives a disgusted scoff. “Christ, Stark, what the hell is wrong with you? I don’t think now -”

“Barnes,” Tony cuts him off, voice cold and serious. “Just trust me for one second and answer the fucking question.”

Bucky wants to kick himself when he realizes that he can’t - that he didn’t wake up in time to see her off. “I don’t know,” he says, voice small. “I - I was sleeping when she left.”

Stark sighs. “It’s fine, we’ll just track it anyway and hope for the best.” Bucky makes a sound of confusion, speech nearly impossible in his sheer panic. “I retooled her suit a bit,” Stark explains. “Used nanotech to fit the entire thing in two little shell pins she can wear on her shoulders. All she has to do is tap them and the suit comes out. Plus a pretty slick helmet that comes out of her glasses. Ruins whatever she’s wearing at the moment, but you win some, you lose some.”

“Focus, Tony,” Banner shouts in the background.

“Right,” Stark says. “The pins have a tracker embedded in them, just in case, and the HUD in the helmet does, too. If she was wearing them this morning, we can figure out where she is.”

“Got it!” Banner calls out. “Er, I think I got it. This doesn’t really make any sense.”

Before Bucky can ask what they’re talking about, he hears Steve’s voice cut in, sounding weary with resignation. “It does if you know HYDRA.”

******

When I force my eyes open, I’m nearly blinded by the pounding in my head from just the dim, exposed lightbulb hanging overhead. I try to moan at the pain and move to wipe at something wet just above my eye, but I can’t do either.

No. Fuck. NO.

My hands are bound behind the back of the hard, metal chair I’m sitting in, and my legs are as well - one duct-taped to each of the front legs of the chair. And, worst of all, my mouth is taped shut. 

I flick my eyes wildly around the room, moving as much as my restraints allow, but there isn’t a lot to see. I’m in a small space, no windows, with that single exposed lightbulb dangling above my head. Curiously, it’s all metal - the walls, ceiling, floors - everything. That’s the only remarkable thing about the room, though, and it doesn’t give me much of a clue to my whereabouts.

I try to think back over the events of the last few hours, mind still fuzzy.

I woke up next to Bucky after the most incredible - nope, no time to focus on that, Blake.

I got ready for my thesis defense, passed Meg on the way to campus and apologized for the state of her bedroom. 

I got to the English building, went to room 12C, and…

Oh, that fucker.

It all comes back to me in a crushing wave - the empty room, save for Dr. Sapros. His laughter at my confused look. Anxiously chugging half a bottle of water. Him thumbing through my notecards. And the look in his eyes when he reached out with that current of red electricity and fucking knocked me unconscious.

Just as I’m squeezing my eyes shut in frustration, the metal door to the tiny room creaks open.

Speak of the devil.

Sapros is wearing his usual professorial attire, except with the new addition of that red cape I’m all too familiar with from my fights with The Philosopher. He’s abandoned the Greek tragedy mask, though - I suppose he no longer needs it now that I know his identity.

“Cleo,” he croons, voice disgustingly smug. “Finally awake, I see. Did you have a nice nap?”

All I can do is narrow my eyes at him in a glare, with my mouth taped shut and hands restrained. Nat had been pushing me to practice more, to learn how to manipulate the strings of frequencies without using my hands or voice, but I hadn’t made the time with my defense coming up. The defense that never fucking happened.

“It seems you’re finally speechless. In all my time as your advisor, I never thought I’d see the day where Cleo Blake had nothing to say. Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.” Sapros grins widely, and I mentally kick myself for not putting it all together sooner - that cadence in speech, that ridiculous smugness - of course The Philosopher sounded familiar to me - he’d been my teacher for three fucking years.

“I’m terribly sorry your defense couldn’t proceed as planned, but there were more important things to be dealt with - you understand, right? After all, patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.”

I roll my eyes, hoping he sees. That was Aristotle, you stupid dick.

“Some of my… colleagues, I suppose you could call them, are hard at work trying to determine how we might extract that little beauty,” he says, pointing to my crystal. “However, until then, you’re serving another purpose here. Of course, you’d see for yourself soon enough, but I know how you despise surprises so I’ll just let the cat out of the bag, as it were. My colleagues and I lost a very important weapon some time ago, and we believe you are just the thing to draw him back.”

Him. Sapros said ‘him,’ not ‘it.’ That means…

My eyes go wide with realization and I fight against my restraints, crying out futilely from behind the tape across my mouth.

“Oh hush now, Cleo, no need for such dramatics. Though you always were a feisty one, weren’t you? It took everything I had to convince you to drop your Atlantis research in favor of something more ‘mainstream.’ Lucky for me, you were more desperate for belonging than you were to follow in your father’s footsteps. Once I threatened to remove you from the meager little community you’d scraped together at Culver, I could have demanded anything and you’d have given it.”

I freeze, eyebrows knitting together at the mention of my father. I never once told Sapros where my passion for Atlantis came from.

He smirks at me. “Are you just realizing that I mentioned your father? Nothing if not sharp, you are. Yes, I am well aware of your father’s little pet project. And, as it turns out,” Sapros says, tapping the crystal in a gesture that has me flinching away from him, “he was far closer to the truth than we gave him credit for.”

I blink at him, mind reeling as I try to piece everything together - every past-tense word, every mention of my father’s work - hoping none of it means what I’m starting to dread it might.

“It’s tragic, really, that he’ll never know just how close he was. He’ll never know that the crystal chose precisely who he suspected it would, despite my best efforts to find it myself and keep you as far from it as possible. How ironic that I was in the middle of the Mediterranean, following your father’s final theory, while you were stumbling upon the object of my desire in a dusty, second-rate library at little old Culver.”

I make a squeak of indignation when he calls the library ‘second-rate,’ but it goes ignored.

“By the time I returned,” Sapros growls, growing angrier as he monologues, “you had already been snapped up by the gods-damned Avengers. Tell me, Cleo, is Rogers still as self-righteous as he used to be, or has he lost some steam in his old age? And how is my favorite weapon enjoying the droll mediocrity of the fight for justice?” He pauses, sneering at me, before releasing a dark chuckle and bringing his palm to his forehead dramatically. “Of course. I’m terribly sorry, how could I forget I’ve finally managed to render you speechless? And thank the gods for that - your incessant prattling is nearly as irritating as your father’s was.”

I close my eyes, squeezing them tight. Sapros must be toying with me, attempting to rattle me or wind me up. Maybe he’s trying to make me emotional to see if the crystal will react in some way. Whatever he’s doing, he can’t possibly be telling the truth - he can’t possibly mean that my father had been working with HYDRA, or that my father is now gone. 

Sapros looses another chuckle. “Of course, you must be simply exhausted after preparing for your little thesis defense. I’ll just leave you to rest for a bit. You’ll need your strength, after all, if you’re going to give me that crystal.”

I hear the click of his footsteps on the metal floor followed by the slam of the door, and only then do I allow the tears to roll freely down my cheeks.

******

“I’ve just sent the coordinates to your phone so you can meet us. But Buck, we’re an hour out at best. I know you’re closer, but I’m begging you - wait for the rest of us to get there,” Steve says, voice pleading.

“Sure,” Bucky responds flatly.

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice is stern, warning. “I’m serious - we don’t know what we’re going to find, but it’s HYDRA, so it can’t be good. Don’t do anything stupid.” Bucky hears footsteps, and when Steve speaks again, his voice is a whisper. “We haven’t figured out how to break your trigger words, Buck. You can’t just go running in there.”

“Got it,” Bucky says, voice void of emotion. “Of course.”

Steve sighs. “We’ll get there as soon as we can, okay? Just hold tight.”

“Absolutely,” Bucky says, setting the flowers next to Cleo’s note cards on the lectern. Forehead creased with anger, he hangs up his phone and memorizes the coordinates before tossing it in the trash on the way out the door. He stalks out of the building and into the parking garage, doing a quick sweep of the vehicles before his eyes land on a motorcycle.

Perfect, he thinks. It takes him all of a minute to hotwire the bike, and then he’s speeding out of the garage, headed for the nearby coast. He has a submarine to catch.

[dee-writes-anime]

We Are Actually Meant to Name It?! With Yuta Okkotsu

FEATURING Yuta Okkotsu x Reader

SUMMARY In which you tell Yuta that your baby still does not have a name and he responds by trying to name the baby after his mentor

CONTENT WARNINGS mild panic descriptions from Yuta, fluff and cuteness

AUTHORS NOTE my grand return has arrived! And on a day where I am procrastinating a final of course! I'll hopefully be back to a "normal" (for me anyway) schedule these days so please feel free to leave behind some requests! <3

SERIES MASTERLIST

Yuta Okkotsu was a lot of things—Jujutsu sorcerer, second-year mentor, all-around kind guy—but prepared for fatherhood? That was a different story entirely. Sure, he was excited. Thrilled, even. But the reality of it all still hadn’t fully settled in, even though you were heavily pregnant and waddling around the house like a determined penguin.

Which brought him to his current predicament.

You stood before him, one hand resting on your very round belly, the other rubbing slow circles on your lower back. Your face was calm, a little too calm, as if you weren’t about to drop life-changing news on him like a bomb.

“We still haven’t thought of a name,” you said.

Yuta blinked. Then again, harder this time, as if that would help process the words.

A name?

A name.

“For the baby? Our baby?” His voice cracked slightly, and the air in the room seemed to thin as panic set in.

“Yes, Yuta. For the baby. Our child. The small human I am about to push out of my body any day now.” Your words were patient, but your raised eyebrow suggested you were very aware of the way his brain was currently short-circuiting.

Yuta let out a noise—somewhere between a wheeze and a strangled gasp—and gripped the back of the couch for support. “Oh my God. Oh my God. We were supposed to name it?!”

You sighed. “Yes, Yuta. That is generally how babies work.”

Yuta’s hands went to his hair, pulling slightly at the dark strands as his eyes darted around the room, as if inspiration for a name might be hidden in the corners of your apartment. “I—I thought maybe it just… came with one? Like, when it arrives? The hospital hands you a certificate with a name on it?”

You gave him a flat look. “Like a Build-A-Bear?”

“YES! NO—wait, I mean—no, I didn’t think that! But maybe subconsciously?!”

You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. “Yuta. We are about to have a baby. A real, living, breathing baby. And that baby needs a name. A name that we, as responsible parents, must come up with.”

Yuta took a deep breath and nodded, shaking out his hands like he was about to perform an exorcism. “Okay. Right. A name. We can do this. We’re responsible adults.”

You side-eyed him. “One of us just had a minor existential crisis over the idea that babies don’t come with pre-installed names.”

He waved you off. “Doesn’t matter. I’m back in it. I’m focused.” He smacked his cheeks. “Okay. What about… Yuta Jr.?”

You stared at him. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?!”

“I love you, Yuta, but we are not naming our baby Yuta Jr.”

He huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine. What about something cool? Like… Gojo?”

“Do you really want Gojo to think we named our child after him?”

Yuta visibly shuddered. “You’re right. He’d never let us live it down.”

You both stood in silence for a moment before Yuta snapped his fingers. “Okay! What if we name them after someone we admire? Like Nanami?”

You tilted your head in consideration. “That’s actually not bad. But what if it’s a girl?”

Yuta gasped. “Nanami-chan.”

“…We are not calling her Nanami-chan.”

More silence. More intense thinking. More Yuta looking like he was trying to solve the mysteries of the universe.

“What about something simple? Like Aoi?” you suggested.

Yuta immediately frowned. “You mean, like, after Toudou? No way. Next thing you know, he’ll be showing up uninvited, calling himself the baby’s uncle, and trying to instill his ‘best friend’ philosophy.”

You shuddered at the thought. “Good point.”

Yuta groaned, slumping onto the couch, dramatically dragging his hands down his face. “This is impossible. How do people do this?”

“They plan ahead, Yuta.”

“Okay, yeah, that would have been the smart thing to do.”

Another long pause. Then, suddenly, you gasped, grabbing his hand.

Yuta shot up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “What?! Are you okay?! Is it happening?!”

“No, no, false alarm.” You waved him off before placing his palm against your stomach. “The baby just kicked really hard.”

Yuta’s panic melted into pure wonder as he felt the movement beneath his hand. His heart clenched in his chest, a lump forming in his throat. “Whoa… our baby’s strong.”

You smiled. “Yeah. Just like their dad.”

He exhaled, rubbing slow circles over your stomach. “We’ll figure out a name.”

“You sure?”

Yuta nodded, his panic finally settling into something softer, more grounded. “Yeah. We’ve got this.” Then, after a beat, he added, “But if it’s a boy, we’re absolutely not naming him after Gojo.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

A few days later, you found yourself cradling a tiny bundle in your arms, exhaustion weighing heavy on your bones but warmth flooding your heart. Your baby girl blinked up at you with sleepy, dark eyes, completely unaware of the absolute disaster her father was currently making of naming her.

Yuta, standing at your bedside, had a look of pure determination. “Okay, hear me out. What about… Thunderstrike?”

You closed your eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out. “Yuta.”

“Or—or maybe something elegant! Like… Moonshadow?”

You gave him a slow, exhausted blink. “Are we naming a baby or adopting a warrior cat?”

He scratched the back of his head. “Okay, okay, no Moonshadow. How about… Excalibur?”

You groaned, grabbing a notepad from the bedside table and, without a word, scribbling something down.

Yuta leaned over, peering at the paper. “‘Aishiteru’…?”

You smiled softly. “It means ‘I love you.’”

His breath hitched, and suddenly all the ridiculous names he’d been suggesting melted away. Yuta reached out, brushing a gentle finger against your daughter’s tiny hand, his voice hushed with awe. “Aishiteru…”

You glanced up at him. “You like it?”

Yuta swallowed thickly, then nodded. “I love it.”

And just like that, your little girl had a name.

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