#also might make her jaw wider

[alastor-simp]

Alastor with a female reader who is selectively mute Part 1

I always wanted to know how Alastor would react to a demon character like this or who is similar to Komi-san from Komi Can't communicate, so this is going to be my take on it.

**First Meeting**

Your arrival in hell wasn't a pleasant one. Literally the second you fell, you were approached by demons left and right, either trying to rob you or offering to sleep with you. Yelling at them would have been easy, but you were a very anxious person to the point you were mute with everyone you encountered. Surprisingly, you were able to run away from the unwanted problems you faced in hell, and was able to come across a flyer that was taped to one of the alley walls. "Come stay at the Happy Hotel" it read, and you figured that it might be a good place to stay for a while and try to make a sense of what you could do now that you were in hell. Having followed the map that was on the other side of the flyer, you were able to come across the hotel, but the neon sign was different then what the paper said, but you figured they probably were remodeling it.

The hotel was huge, it was plastered with neon signs, but also had a radio tower on one side, a large fish like contraption, and a pirate ship. "Amazing" you thought to yourself as you made your way closer to the door, and lightly knocked. A cheery voice was heard on the other side and soon the door opened to reveal a pretty, blonde girl. She had devilish features, but a very adorable baby face, and her smile was quite cute as well. "Oh! Hello! My name is Charlie Morningstar. How may I help you?", she said to you with big bright eyes, as she was patiently waiting for your response. Clenching your jaw, feelings of anxiety began to well up in your stomach, but you bared with it and simply held up the hotel poster in front of Charlie. Charlie was a little curious about your strange response, but she put the pieces together that you were wanting to stay at the hotel. "SQUEAL!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR COMING!", she said as she threw her arms around you in a bear hug, then letting you go as she pulled you into the hotel.

The inside of the hotel was nice, but needed some remodeling, but you liked it overall. Looking around, you noticed the other demons that were in the hotel. A mini demon was zipping around in a cute dress, cleaning the ceiling with a duster, a cat like demon was chugging a bottle of booze at the bar, and a very tall spider was standing next to the record player, picking out a song. Stopping what they were doing, they all turned to look at you, curiously. Nervous, you raised your hand at them, signifying a hello. The cat demon just nodded his head and continue chugging, while the fast demon zipped in front of you, waving back with a smile, before zooming away to finish cleaning. The tall spider gave you a wink, as they walked to the bar and took a seat. "Vaggie! We have another patron!" Charlie said, as she yelled out next to you, while also leading you to one of the lobby couches to have a seat. As Charlie walked away, your eyes began to scan around the hotel, taking in every detail, and also glancing at the portraits hanging on the wall with Charlie and what looked to be her parents.

"Why Hello there! Who might you be?", a static voice said, as you looked up to see a red suit man with a very sharp smile standing in front of you, leaning down to place his face closer to yours. He was dressed to the nines in a red striped coat, along with a monocle and bow-tie. He also appeared to be holding a microphone staff? Was he a singer by chance? Realizing you were getting distracted, you just nodded your head at the man, and pointed to the poster, similar to what you did with Charlie. The man raised an eyebrow, as he continued to lean closer, most likely waiting for your answer, as his smile got wider, almost breaking his face.

**Alastor POV**

Alastor's eyes continued to stare at the quiet demon, who was holding the poster and kept tapping against it frantically. Amused, Alastor leaned closer, while moving his staff to tap against her chin: "Something wrong my dear? Cat got your tongue?" Alastor watched as the demon remained silent, but he could tell by their eyes that they were nervous, oh how entertaining. "Oh Alastor! So nice of you to show up! This is our new patron who just arrived at the hotel", Alastor heard, as he turned to see Charlie smiling at him, while dragging Vaggie by the hand. Leaning back from his position, Alastor continued to gaze at you while turning back to Charlie. "Ah! So this wayward sinner is here to stay at the hotel! Excellent!" Alastor beamed, as he look down at you, while you shifted in your seat.

**Your POV**

You started to feel a little uncomfortable with everyone's eyes on you, making you clench your hands on your lap. You noticed the other demon next to Charlie. She had long grey hair, and only one of her eyes was showing. She did give you a hard gaze when she saw you, but it softened after few minutes. As she came closer to you, she waved her hand as a hello, while also asking what your name was. You stayed silent, as the butterflies in your stomach made you feel like you wanted to vomit, as everyone was watching you, waiting for your answer. "Whats the matter with you, toots? You deaf or something?", The spider demon had taken a seat next to you, while wrapping an arm around your neck with one of his arms, while poking your cheek with his other hand. Freezing up, you felt your eyes start to water, and you started to slightly shake. Charlie noticed your reactions and bent down on her knees to gaze at you, asking if you were alright. Taking a slow deep breath, you nodded then made a notion with your hands asking for something to write on. Charlie quickly got up and ran to the desk to grab a large notepad and pen, before coming back to you. Once you had the notepad, you began to write down what you wanted to say, before turning the notepad around for everyone to see, while giving them a shy smile:

"Hello my name is Y/N. I just arrived in Hell a few minutes ago and I saw your poster and wanted to stay here. I'm sorry for not responding to you guys normally, but I am selectively mute, I'm sorry again. Its very nice to meet all of you!"

Everyone around you slowly read the notepad and all turned back to look at you. Charlie and Vaggie looked very apologetic, the spider just shrugged his shoulders, the mini one just continued to smile at you, but more softly this time, and the cat demon just continued to drink from the bar. The man in red, or Alastor as they called him, continued to smile at you, seeming unfazed by what you wrote, but you noticed his eyes soften a bit, but he made sure to hide it from the others. "Oh! I'm sorry if we made you uncomfortable." Charlie began to bow her head, but you waved your hands, letting her know it was alright. Charlie raised her head, and soon her frown turned back into a bright smile: "Oh yes, let me introduce everyone! This is Vaggie, my girlfriend. The spider next to you is Angel Dust. Niffty is the small cute one. Husk is the one at the bar, and this is Alastor." You listened to all of the names Charlie said, and looked at everyone, while smiling and nodding your head. Angel Dust smirked while looking at you, turning you head to look at him: "You're quite a cutie aren't ya? I bet your voice sounds very sexy." Angel continued to wrap his arms around you, continuing to flirt with you, until Alastor's staff smacked him on the head. "Now my good fellow! It's not proper to talk that way to a lady! Please kindly remove yourself from them!" Alastor said, as he gazed at Angel, smiling still, but it looked more menacing this time. Angel let you go, while rubbing his head: "Satan F*** Al! You didn't have to hit me with that thing!" Vaggie then yelled at them both to be quiet, as she walked over to front desk and grabbed what looked like to be a room key. She walked back and handed it to you, telling you that your room is on the fourth floor and you can go up there and get settled. Nodding your head as a thank you, you began to walk over to one of the elevators and made your way to your room.

Arriving in your room, you scanned around the interior. The room had some dust and cobwebs, but a little cleaning would help with that. The room was decorated in a maroon red, with a large bed with black sheets, two large windows with curtains, a bathroom and a very wide closet. It almost felt like you got the home suite, which made you feel guilty as you really didn't need a extravagant room like this. Still in thought, you were alerted by a rhythmic knock on your door. Walking over, you looked in the peephole to see Al standing there with his big smile. Opening the door, you nodded your head at Alastor, as he smiled down at you. "Hello again my dear! I was wondering if you had time to chat!"

***Alastor POV***

The quiet sinner nodded her head at Al, while opening the door, allowing me to come in. How adorable! He thought, while making his over to the center of the room and turning back to look at them. "Now my dear! I am here wanting to apologize for how I acted in the lobby! I wasn't behaving like a proper gentleman and I understand if I made you uncomfortable, so let me offer you my sincerest apologies! Let's start over from the beginning, shall we?" Alastor bowed his head a bit, as a sign of him apologizing, and extending his hand out in a handshake. You appeared taken aback in Alastor's eyes, ,but you gave him a soft smile and shook his hand. Once you finished shaking hands, you grabbed the notepad and pen again and began to write to Al, as he gazed at you, wondering what you were writing before you turned the notepad around. Alastor leaned closer, and began to read the message:

"It is alright, Alastor. There is no need for you to apologize. And besides, I'm the one that should apologize for not answering your question when you asked me."

Alastor finished reading, and turned his eyes towards you. His sharp smile slowly turned into a soft grin and his glowing eyes had softened. "Don't worry about that my dear! Now I take it since you will have just arrived in Hell, you are lacking some necessities correct?" Alastor had moved away from you, as he continued to talk while walking around your room. Turning back to you, you gave him a small nod. "Then we will head to the city! Me and Charlie can accompany you! What do you think?" he said, as he turned back to you, with his large grin coming back. Nodding your head at Alastor was his indication that you accepted. Smiling wider, Alastor turned back to you, as he made his way to your door. "It feels that I have extended my stay, so I will leave you be darling! Do make yourself comfortable!" he said, as turned his head back to you. Pulling out the pad again, you wrote down another message and showed it to Al.

"Thank you."

"Your welcome my dear! Have a pleasant evening! Also don't forget to head to the kitchen later! My mother's famous jambalaya is on the menu for tonight! So good, it nearly killed her! HAHA!" , Laughing out his response, Al watched as he saw you give him a smile, a real smile this time. "My! What a gorgeous smile!" He thought, as he bid you adieu and made his way back to the lobby. As he made his way back, Alastor stopped and thought about you. Puzzling was a word he used to describe you. He had never encountered a sinner down here who chose to not speak while having the ability to do so. He mostly assumed you were terrified of him, due to his status as "The Radio Demon. Most feared overlord in Hell.", but that wasn't the case. Something about you made him feel odd, hell he even apologized to you, which he would never do given his massive pride/ego, so he wondered why. Seeing you write on the notepad and apologizing for not responding normally, made his heart ache. Why should you apologize for something like that? Realizing he had stopped in the middle of the hallway, he carried on back to the others, still thinking about you and also how would your voice sound when you spoke out loud. Alastor smiled wider, as he thought you were going to be a very special and entertaining sinner here at the hotel.

Part 2 of the story is Here

[breadbrobin]

fate

clarisse la rue x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

[fem!daughter of apollo reader]

[part 2 to the trees]

summary: clarisse is being weirdly standoffish, and you’re not one to cave to that, no matter how much you like her. and no matter how things go, you still have to get your weapons from the forest.

warnings: swearing, arguing, fighting, monsters, PINING BUT THEYRE IDIOTS, everyone’s so mad at each other rn, kissing (AHHHH), canon typical violence, again probably slightly ooc clarisse but hey i love her anyway

word count: 3.2k

(uhhh so this is probably not what anyone was expecting for part two but this is how i alway a planned it, so here it is!! tag list in reblogs and also thank you for the love on the trees! i love you all so much <3 and i’d die for you just like clarisse and this dumb bitch here would die for each other)

(this is much more enemies to lovers than the first one btw so have fun)

———————————————

the day after capture the flag was always a little tense. of course it was. half the camp had just lost, and not many people at camp were good losers, especially not those who got their butts kicked.

this time, though, there was a new level of tension in the air.

ares kids didn’t often run the flag over the line themselves, and those who did were crowing about it at breakfast, then all morning too.

curiously, clarisse wasn’t. she was eating in silence, picking through her eggs like she was searching for something.

you’d never seen her like that before. no one had. but, it seemed you were the only person to notice. you always were, and you were okay with that.

your brother nudged your arm and shot you a questioning look, but you brushed him off with a smile.

why was clarisse so down? she’d won. what did she have to be upset about? was she mad at you? did you do something to piss her off in the tree? she hadn’t seemed exactly happy when she left.

stuck in your thoughts, you didn’t realise she’d met your eyes until your brother elbowed you.

“ow! what do you want?” you snapped, rubbing your rib cage tenderly.

“clarisse is staring at you,” he said with wide eyes. “dude… what did you do?”

“nothing,” you scoffed and stood up, taking your empty plate to the stack of dirty dishes, trying—and failing—to not look at clarisse as you left.

“y/n, wait up!”

you slowed down for sam as he jogged to catch up to you. there was a newfound bitterness in your mouth when you saw him. you’d never liked him, not like he’d liked you, but you’d never felt like you wanted to be away from him. not like you did in that moment then. but where would you go? to clarisse? yeah, right, she’d laugh in your face, regardless of whatever happened—or might have happened—in that tree.

“what’s up?” you asked. you couldn’t help your voice being drier than usual.

“just wanted to see how those arrows did you? were they good? i can make some more, if you want.” he looked almost eager to do so.

you smiled kindly. he really was sweet. “they were great, thanks, sam. best arrows i’ve ever used, even if i didn’t get too much of a chance to use them.” your steps faltered. “i did leave one in the forest though. i’ll have to get that later.”

your eyes locked on clarisse as she walked towards you down the path. two of her siblings were behind her, laughing, but she wasn’t. in fact, her jaw was set tight and she was glaring. at sam.

“i could come with you?” he suggested. “watch your back. keep you safe, you know?”

clarisse scoffed as she passed. “she doesn’t need you to keep her safe, tool-box.”

that was a little mean. sure, sam carried his tool-box everywhere, but you never know what might need to be fixed! despite yourself, you had to hold in a laugh. your eyes were alight with amusement as you locked gaze with clarisse.

she looked proud of herself, a jaunty grin on her lips. you couldn’t help your gaze dropping to them briefly. she smiled wider. it was infuriating. she now knew what her effect on you was, and she was using it.

“if she needed someone to protect her, she’d come to me, right, angel?” she tilted her head.

your mouth was infuriatingly dry. you nodded. “uh—“

“whatever,” sam snapped. “come on, y/n. let’s go.”

you kind of wanted to stay, but his grip on your arm didn’t leave any room for an argument. you trailed after him as he left, glancing over your shoulder just in time to see clarisse’s face darken with anger.

“angel?” sam scoffed. “who does she think she is?”

“uh…”

“whatever. gods, she’s just so—“ he turned and faced you, almost causing you to bump into his chest. you’d never seen him so intense before. “stay away from her, y/n. seriously. she’s bad news.”

“she’s nice to me,” you protested.

“she’s not nice to anyone. don’t be naive.” he turned on his heel and started to walk away, then turned back, his face softer. “come on. do you want to learn how to weld? you said you did last week.”

did you? you didn’t remember that. but you did vaguely remember a conversation with sam that you spent zoned out and staring at clarisse as she trained, so that was probably it. “oh, no… i have to… train…”

he looked disappointed, but nodded. “okay, that’s cool. maybe another day. or maybe, we can… go for a walk together? or even have lunch on the beach?”

you nodded absently. “maybe.”

“great, it’s a date!”

you frowned. “it’s a what?”

he looked happier than you’d ever seen him. he even kissed your cheek before walking off, a new spring in his step. you stood there for a moment, eyes wide, wondering what the hell just happened. then you heard a scoff from behind you.

when you turned around, clarisse was walking away.

“clarisse,” you said softly, jogging after her. “clarisse, wait!”

“go hang out with your boyfriend, l/n.” she snapped, her arms crossed as she walked. “he’s probably waiting for you so you two can make out in that sweaty little sex dungeon they call a workshop.”

your eyebrows shot up. “okay, first of all, i’m pretty sure it is actually a workshop, and second of all, he’s still not my boyfriend!”

she scoffed again but didn’t answer, stomping up the steps to the ares cabin and stopping at the top, looking down at you.

you felt small under her gaze, but you didn’t back down.

“what are you doing here?” she asked after a moment.

“you said i could come get a new dagger,”you said.

she rolled her eyes and leaned on the porch railing. “and?”

you frowned, looking up at her. “and… i’m here to get one?”

she regarded you for a few seconds in silence, then, just as she was about to speak, a new voice called out.

“clarisse, are you giving out girlfriend privileges already?” one of her brothers, marcus, you thought, stepped into the doorway of the cabin and peered around her to look at you. he looked like a stereotypical son of ares: buff, tall and mean. “that’s cute.” he continued, looking at you like you were an animal in a zoo.

“she’s not my girlfriend,” she scoffed like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

well, that hurt.

“yeah, we’re just—“

“we’re not even friends,” she added hurriedly, not even looking at you. “she just thinks she’s special.”

your jaw clenched. that really hurt. “i don’t think i’m special,” you snapped. “i think i want you to honour your word from yesterday or go and get my dagger out of the forest for me.”

“not my fault you forgot your dagger,” she studied her nails nonchalantly.

“but if you hadn’t thrown my dagger out of a tree and tossed my new arrow aside like it was trash then i wouldn’t have forgotten. and maybe if you hadn’t leaned in like you were about to kiss me, maybe i wouldn’t have forgotten either.” your gaze was as sharp as hers was, meeting in the middle with fire and lightning crackling between you.

she stepped forward, face to face with you. for a second, you thought she’d punch you, but you didn’t back down.

then she laughed. it wasn’t at all like her laugh in the tree the day before. this was her cold, cruel laugh that she usually saved for her victims. with a start, you realised that’s what you were: another victim of clarisse la rue. your heart broke for a split second before you pulled yourself together and straightened your back, meeting her eyes.

“kiss you?” she snickered. “get your head out of your ass, angel, you’re not all that because you can shoot a bow and climb a tree.”

you stepped closer to her, so you were right up in her face. “and you’re not all that because you scare away everyone who cares about you, just because your daddy’s a little mean. you don’t need to be a bitch about everything.”

you regretted it instantly. you’d gone too far. you knew that.

her face dropped and a hurt look flashed through her eyes, but it died as soon as it came to life.

you stepped back and turned, marching away.

“where are you going?” she called after you. “we’re not finished here!”

“you have something else to say to me, clarisse, you come find me!” you shot back, your voice hard. you didn’t start arguments often, but goddamn did you finish them.

you stomped into the forest, determined to find your dagger and arrow so you could prove to both clarisse and sam that you were capable of more than just shooting arrows from trees and running away from fights.

it was darker today. the clouds that covered camp half-blood permeated through the forest, leaving a heavy weight suspended among the trees. the air felt thicker, even, and the birdsong seemed quieter than usual. was there something around? something hanging in the air, waiting to attack you? drag your body back to camp and leave it on clarisse’s doorstep like a cat bringing in a dead bird?

or was your fear just because you were alone instead of with the rest of camp.

whatever it was, it put you on edge.

there was a clicking sound behind you, like someone was cracking a joint, but when you turned, no one was there. you weren’t foolish enough to call out.

you could feel a chill going down your spine, and that’s when you knew: the first shoe had dropped.

your eyelids fluttered and you nearly dropped to the ground, but you leaned heavily against a tree to catch yourself. typical. go out on your own, thinking you can take care of yourself and you get hit with a premonition. how’s that for fate?

you let the feeling wash over you; the pure panic of the near future and the warm grip of a hand on your wrist, like someone was pulling you along.

the future was not looking promising.

there was another clicking sound behind you as you finally managed to straighten up, much closer this time.

you turned around.

the bushes were rustling.

you suddenly realised what that clicking sound was.

mandibles.

two ants the size of german shepherds burst through the foliage. myrmeke.

there was the other shoe, dropping real hard.

“shit!” you stumbled backward, reaching for a weapon. you had no weapon. “double shit!”

you turned and ran.

the ants were fucking fast. they could have caught up to you if you weren’t so agile, turning and springing off in different directions every few steps, sending them careening into trees and rocks. that was the only thing keeping you alive.

where even were you? you didn’t recognise this area. hopefully you weren’t running directly for their anthill. that would be a real twist of fate.

then you burst into a new area, this one with a large tree—a large tree that you recognised.

“yes!” you exclaimed, dashing for the trunk. you found your dagger easily, then your discarded arrow too. you didn’t know what good they’d do against the myrmeke, considering that their shells were as hard as armour and, while force was good in some cases, you had to admit that sharpness may have helped you against them.

you couldn’t run anymore. your screaming lungs told you that. you couldn’t climb either. the ants could climb better than you and you’d be a sitting duck up there, no matter how high you went. but maybe, just maybe, you could hold them off until they got bored or someone realised you were missing.

it wasn’t easy, but you managed to deflect and dodge the myrmeke’s attacks. they were fast, but you were faster. you even managed a swipe at one of their legs as you rolled past, but all it did was leave a tiny chink in its armour.

you were beginning to lose hope.

honestly, what you wouldn’t give for a spear right now. your blunt dagger and slim arrow were about as good as a toothpick against these monsters.

just as you were backed against the tree that you’d once found a safe haven, you heard a battle cry. you could have sobbed from relief, but instead, as the spear-wielding figure landed on top of one of the ants, driving her weapon into the gap between its armoured plates, you took your opportunity to stab your arrow with as much force as you could into the other ant’s gaping mouth, slipping it precisely between its mandibles and, hopefully, into its brain.

it jerked back in pain and screeched, the sound making your ears ring, but it didn’t die. instead, it looked rightfully pissed off, and now it had an arrow sticking from its mouth.

as your saviour pulled her spear from the ants back, a warm, brown liquid sprayed on you. it smelled like ants always did after you crushed them, just a million times worse. you wondered if this was revenge for all the ants you’d murdered in your life.

“gross!” you exclaimed, wiping it off your face.

“grow up, bows, we gotta go!” clarisse. your saviour was clarisse. of course.

just as you were about to protest, two more myrmeke crept out of the forest towards you.

she gripped your wrist, right where that warmth was in your premonition, and dragged you away, making you drop your dagger in the rush.

“i dropped my—“

“save it!” she snapped, pulling you along.

the desperation in her voice kicked you into gear and you started running faster, alongside her now.

you didn’t use the same tactics as before. instead of dodging, you just ran as fast as you could and prayed that the myrmeke would be slower. clarisse seemed to know where she was going, at least.

“you’re such an idiot!” clarisse yelled as they ran.

“we’re doing this now?” you panted incredulously.

“you could have died!”

“we’ll both die if you don’t stop yelling at me!”

finally, gloriously, you breached the edge of the forest and stepped into camp. the myrmeke wouldn’t follow you there.

you dropped to you knees, panting and staring into the forest. clarisse was standing in front of you, her spear ready, just in case.

you’d stepped into a quiet part of camp up behind the amphitheatre, so there was no one around to see you, and no one around to help you. you had a feeling that if the myrmeke didn’t kill you, clarisse wouldn’t hesitate.

once it was clear that they weren’t following, she rounded on you.

you were still on your knees, your legs too tired and shaky with adrenaline to stand, but she didn’t seem to care.

“what were you thinking, going in on your own?” she snapped.

“well i wasn’t expecting to get attacked by killer ants within the camp’s borders!” you protested.

“everyone knows they’re there.”

“i forgot, okay? i’m not perfect.”

“oh, i know.” she rolled her eyes.

“gods, would you just fuck off?” you finally stood up, face to face with her. “you’re horrible sometimes, you know that? i can’t believe i’ve defended you.”

“i don’t need your defending.”

“and i don’t need your help!”

“you would have died!” she yelled, emphasising every word.

“but i didn’t!” you shouted back.

she rolled her eyes and stepped closer, anger practically radiating off her. “yeah, thanks to me. you’d be dead if i hadn’t followed you in there—“

“why did you follow me?” you asked suddenly, voice harsh.

“what?”

“why did you follow me?” you asked again, slower. “i didn’t ask you to look after me, clarisse.”

there it was again. that slightly relaxation of her shoulders when you said her name. it drove you nuts. you didn’t know if you wanted to kiss her for hours or throw her to the myrmeke.

she tensed up again and turned to leave. “whatever. i’m done here.”

“i’m not!” you gripped her shoulder and pulled her back around. to your surprise, she didn’t pull a weapon on you. “why did you follow me, clarisse? was it the same reason that you were flirting with me yesterday? and why you’re so protective of me? and why you hate sam?”

“i wasn’t flirting with you,” she grumbled. “and i hate sam for… personal reasons. and i’m not protective of you! why would you even think that?”

“that’s all bullshit and you know it,” you sneered.

“gods, you aggravate me!” she exclaimed.

“you didn’t have to come help me,” you scoffed, stepping back. “i didn’t ask for your help.”

“and i didn’t want to help you!”

“then why did you? huh? you could handle not winning a fight? you wanted to finish the argument on your terms?” your eyebrows were raised and your face was cold. “or were you gonna beat me up but the giant killer ants got to me first?”

she looked like she was about to explode with anger. “because i love you!”

the air escaped from your lungs in one sharp moment, and it looked like hers did the same thing.

“what?” you asked, your voice softer.

it was silent. she looked like she was trying to find something to say, but couldn’t. her mouth opened and closed weakly, and she shook her head, lips pressed together. you wanted to kiss her.

so you did.

she tensed up as your hands came to her waist, pulling her body and lips against yours hard. then, finally, she relaxed. she dropped her spear at your feet and raised her hands to your hair, threading her fingers through the strands. she was a softer kisser than you’d expected, but it was definitely her. it was all her. the tug on your hair, the underlying, undeniable harshness of the kiss, the spear that rested against your foot. it was perfectly clarisse. you could have kissed her until the sun went down and the ants came and carried you both to their anthill, and if you stayed kissing her like this, you wouldn’t even mind.

when, finally, you pulled away, you were both breathing heavily. all of the tension from the fight hid dissipated, leaving only a warm sparkling in the air, like a mirage around her face in the sunlight. maybe that was a sign? or a vision? whatever it was, it was heaven-sent.

she was smiling. she looked softer like this. gods, you loved it. it felt like fate, and you knew a lot about fate. fate was fickle. fate was cruel. fate brought you the arguments, the myrmeke, the terror. but fate also brought you this. this girl who was glowing in the sun like she was made of pure rays of light. the girl with a spear that she laid down at your feet and would save you barehanded if you asked. the girl who had sunk into your arms like she was made to be there.

“do you think i can get that new dagger now?” you asked cheekily, playing with the hem of her camp shirt. “i mean, i have girlfriend privileges now, right, babe?”

clarisse rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. “shut up, devil.”

“ooh, devil. that’s new,” you teased. “i like it. it’s apt.”

“it sure is.” she looked down. “i’m… sorry, by the way.”

“me too,” you nodded. “i didn’t really mean any of that, you know?”

“‘cause you like me,” she said in a teasing voice.

“yeah, ‘cause i like you, or whatever.” you kissed her again, smiling against her lips. “and i know you like me too, because you so did nearly kiss me in that tree yesterday.”

she shrugged. “maybe. maybe not. guess we’ll never know.”

you found out at the next capture the flag game. and the next. and the next. she would go out of her way to find you, defeat you, then kiss you before running off to win the games. and honestly, you didn’t really mind.

fate was a fickle thing, but with clarisse by your side, no one could touch you. sam left you alone, people started treating you better, and you had everything you could ask for. her.

and whenever you two argued, you’d go into the woods together and kill some ants. after all, what says ‘couple’s bonding’ quite like murder?

[childrenofcain-if]

That one scenario where C and MC have a kid has my heart completely 😭 Can we get a follow up for that? How are things going on in the joint household? I'm also very curious to see what C would name their kid 🤭

the hershey’s kisses glinted in the late afternoon sun, crinkled foil catching the golden light that streamed in through the window. aster sat cross-legged on the sofa, a small island of contentment in the messy sprawl of school bags and discarded socks she’d left in her wake.

she was humming under her breath as she unwrapped another piece of chocolate, oblivious to the way her shoes lay in two opposite corners of the room and how her lunchbox sat precariously balanced on the edge of the coffee table.

you leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and watching her with the detached amusement of a parent who knows they’ll have to clean up the mess but hasn’t yet summoned the energy to do so.

C was in the armchair, one foot propped on the edge of the ottoman, clicking through their macbook with half an eye on aster. it was domesticity in its sweetest form, the kind you don’t think about when you’re young and idealistic, imagining love and family like perfect polaroids on a wall.

“did you give her those?” C asked suddenly, their voice louder than the hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen.

you blinked and set your coffee down, moving closer to inspect the crumpled foil wrappers littered around aster.

“nope,” you said after a beat. “not exactly either of our flavor. that’s… what is that, cherry? we don’t have those in the house.”

C arched a brow, and without missing a beat, turned their full attention to your daughter.

“aster,” they said, voice soft but with a worried edge, “where did you get the chocolates?”

aster’s head snapped up, her chalcedony green eyes lighting up with excitement.

“felix gave them to me!” she said, her grin wide enough to show the little gap where her front tooth had fallen out last week.

C froze, their hand tightening slightly on the edge of their macbook. you, on the other hand, were far more amused.

“felix, huh?” you said, crouching slightly to meet aster’s eye level. “and who’s felix again?”

her grin grew impossibly wider as she happily declared: “my boyfriend!”

you chuckled, leaning against the arm of the sofa. “oh, really? you have a boyfriend now, kleine ster? when did this happen?”

“this morning actually!” aster exclaimed, bouncing a little on the cushions. “he gave me the chocolates at recess and said he liked me, and i said i liked him too, and now we’re boyfriend and girlfriend!”

C’s eye twitched, a muscle jumping just beneath the surface. they sat up straighter, their attention now fully honed on your seven-year-old’s revelation.

“did he now?” they said, their voice tight. “and what else did this... felix boy say?”

aster frowned, confused by the sudden shift in tone. “uh… he said i could have the last red crayon in art class.”

“generous of him,” they muttered darkly, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“C,” you said warningly, but they ignored you, leaning forward with the intense focus of someone about to conduct an interrogation.

“and does this felix… hold your hand?” they asked, their tone too casual to be actually genuine.

“sometimes,” aster admitted, her brows knitting together.

C’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “does he share his lunch with you?”

“yeah, today he gave me his oreos!”

C’s jaw twitched. you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“C,” you said again, a little louder this time. “let it go, darling. they’re just kids.”

but they were too far gone now, leaning forward as though proximity might grant them any sort of control over the situation.

“aster,” they said with all the solemnity of someone at a funeral, “you can’t have a boyfriend. you’re too young. your brain isn’t fully developed. you’ll... you’ll explode! you’ll leave your parents all alone then and it’ll make us very sad.”

aster blinked at them, unwrapping another hershey’s kiss with deliberate slowness.

“i will explode?” she asked, clearly confused by this turn of events.

you rolled your eyes. “no, you wo—”

“yes, you will,” C insisted, cutting you off. “and anyway, you’re not allowed to date anyone until you’re like 30 and paying taxes. it’s a rule.”

“that’s not a rule,” aster said with the stubborn certainty of someone who knew she was right. she really was her parents’ daughter. “and felix is a good boy.”

“‘good,’” C muttered under their breath, glaring at the imaginary felix as though he was lurking in the shadows, waiting to hand their precious little star another chocolate. “i’m going to fight this seven-year-old.”

“C!” you snapped, stepping between them and placing a hand on C’s shoulder. “calm down, my love. it’s harmless.”

C leaned back reluctantly, their gaze flicking between you and aster, who was now watching them like they’d sprouted a second head.

“fine,” they grumbled, crossing their arms over their chest.

***

after dinner, aster sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room, her brow furrowed in concentration as she examined a tiny instruction manual for building LEGOs with the intensity of someone decoding the human genome. her fingers, small but deft, picked up pieces and slotted them into place, her movements sure and deliberate.

C sat beside her, their long legs folded awkwardly beneath them, one hand bracing their bad knee. their fingers worked slower than hers, more hesitantly. the gap between them—her bright enthusiasm, their cautious quiet—was almost laughable. but C didn’t laugh.

they watched her instead.

aster had inherited their stubbornness, the precision of their thoughts, the way they spoke with certainty even when they were wrong, the hard-headed refusal to back down in the face of a challenge. but she’d also inherited your warmth, your easy charisma, the way people seemed to orbit around you like you were some kind of gravitational force.

she was both of you, but neither of you. something wholly her own. and she shone so brilliantly.

“non,” aster said suddenly, shaking her head. she spoke in a tone that was equal parts exasperated and amused, the way one might speak to a child who couldn’t quite grasp a simple concept. “that piece goes here. look.” she leaned over, plucking a flat blue brick from the pile and snapping it into place on the half-constructed spaceship.

“ah,” C said, their lips quirking into a faint smile. “of course, petite étoile. how foolish of me.”

she beamed proudly, her confidence growing with each small victory.

“it’s okay. you’re still learning,” she said magnanimously, patting their arm. honestly, it amused C greatly to see her reflect you back when you both argued everyday like your life depended on it.

C snorted, shaking their head. “merci, mademoiselle.”

“pas de problème,” she replied breezily, her accent and pronunciation impeccably like a parisian native.

C felt a pang of pride so sharp it was almost painful. french had been one of their gifts to her, a piece of their heritage they had handed down like an heirloom. and she had taken to it effortlessly, as if it had always been hers.

she slipped between languages with a grace that left C in awe, her young mind absorbing everything like a sponge.

“wat is dit?” she asked suddenly, holding up a strange piece they hadn’t encountered yet.

“hmm,” you said from where you were sprawled on the couch, your legs stretched out and a book resting on your chest. you barely looked up as you answered her in dutch, explaining what the piece was and where it might fit.

aster nodded thoughtfully, her small fingers turning the piece over as she considered its possibilities. C watched her, their heart swelling with a mixture of love and disbelief.

how could someone so small hold so much brilliance? how could she be so much more than they had ever dared to imagine for themself?

“do you think felix likes LEGOs?” aster asked suddenly, breaking their reverie. she was staring at them now, her eyes—C’s eyes, pale green and perceptive—narrowed in thought.

C felt their jaw tighten at the mention of the boy, the ghost of their earlier irritation flickering to life.

“i have no idea,” they said evenly, focusing on the spaceship.

aster tilted her head, clearly unconvinced by their tone.

“he’s nice,” she said firmly, as though this simple fact should erase all of C’s doubts.

“i’m sure he is,” C said, their tone carefully neutral.

you glanced up from your book, smirking slightly as you watched the exchange. let it go, your eyes seemed to say.

but it wasn’t that simple.

it wasn’t about this felix boy, not really. it was about aster, about the inexorable passage of time, about the impossibility of holding on to something as fragile and fleeting as childhood. she was growing up, and there was nothing C could do to stop it.

C reached for another LEGO brick, their fingers brushing against aster’s. she looked up at them, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“tu vas bien?” she asked, her voice soft and earnest.

the question caught them off guard. for a moment, they didn’t know how to respond. how could they explain the tangled mess of emotions that had been simmering inside them all day? how could they tell her that the thought of her growing up terrified them in a way they couldn’t quite articulate?

“i’m fine, petite étoile,” they said eventually, forcing a smile. “just tired.”

she seemed to accept this, turning her attention back to the spaceship. but C couldn’t help noticing the small furrow in her brow, the way her hands moved more slowly now, as if she was trying to puzzle something out.

they watched her in silence, their heart aching with a strange, bittersweet kind of love.

***

later, when the spaceship was complete and aster had been tucked into bed, C found themself sitting on the edge of your shared bed, their head in their hands.

“okay,” you said, sitting beside them. “do you want to talk about what exactly is bothering you, my love?”

they sighed, looking up at you now.

“it’s just… strange,” they said, their voice low and tired. “she’s growing up so fast. too fast. i feel like i blinked, and suddenly she’s not my little girl anymore.”

you stayed quiet, letting them find the words.

“i still remember holding her in my arms for the first time,” they continued, their voice thick with emotion. “i remember her first steps, her first word, the first time she looked at me and called out for me. and now… now she’s talking about boyfriends and whatnot.”

they let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through their hair. “i didn’t have this. a proper childhood. a father who cared. i don’t know what i’m doing half the time. i just… i look at her, and i love her so much it terrifies me. so much so that i still don’t understand how my father could—”

“hey,” you interrupted gently, placing a hand on their arm. “you’re nothing like him. you’re such a wonderful parent, C. she loves you so much. you can see it every time she looks at you. and yeah, it’s hard watching her grow up. but that’s the deal. you love them, and you let them go, little by little, so they can become who they’re meant to be.”

C nodded slowly, their eyes softening as they looked at you. “i know you’re right.”

you leaned in, pressing a kiss to their temple. “of course i’m right, i always am.”

they rolled their eyes, but a small, tired smile tugged at the corners of their mouth.

“do you think…” they hesitated, the tips of their ears turning adorably red. “do you think we should have another one?”

“another what?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

they scowled, burying their face in your neck.

“you know what i mean,” they mumbled, their voice muffled. “don’t make me say it out loud.”

you laughed, stroking their hair. “we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

but you already knew the answer.

[sh4dys]

Mother’s day » All three

summary: how the boys would react if you got MaryLou a Mother’s day gift <3

warnings: gn!reader for all three

A/N: happy mother’s day to all out there!! whether you’re a proud mom of a lil gremlin or a precious angel, today is your day to celebrate your sacrifices! my love goes out to all of you <3 (this includes mothers of cats, dogs, hamsters, etc. you guys deserve it too, they’re tough work)

Chris

- chris probably would have gone with you, thinking you were getting stuff from him to his mom

- you’d get a card, flowers, maybe some chocolate for her as well—the entire time he’s under the impression it’ll be from him

- he only realizes it’s not when he sees you signing your name

“Ma, why are you signing the card?”

“It’s from me to your mom.”

“Oh? She’s gonna love it.”

- he would definitely get all giddy inside, especially if you make a joke thanking MaryLou for keeping him

- afterwards she would pull him aside, expressing how thankful she is that he found you and how you’re a keeper

- and he may or may not have been a lil embarrassed when going to your moms place, awkwardly standing there because he got her a cheap card last minute

Matt

- he was completely oblivious to your plan, not even knowing what you were buying her

- he only realized you got her stuff when you gave her either a put together box or basket of stuff. card, flowers, jewelry, basically anything you could think of

- he was utterly shocked at this, his jaw slack as he watched the two of you converse after the gift

- he’d pull you wider discreetly, making you a bit worried that he was upset

“You know, I really love you.”

“I know.. but also why?”

“You just made my mom the happiest woman in the world! I might as well propose already.”

- of course he’d beg you to get your mom something before visiting her, it wasn’t as extravagant as yours, but it made your mom happy as well

Nick

- he would 100% be in on the plan with you, also getting your mom stuff from him

- you both would be so excited to see your moms’ reactions, wide smiled stuck in your faces

- when MaryLou got your gift, he couldn’t help but admire how the two of you hugged afterwards, pulling you to the side and engulfed you in a hug

“I’m so happy she loved it.”

“I am too. I was worried she wouldn’t..”

“I’m just scared of what your mom is gonna think of my gift.”

- despite his fear, your mom loved his gift

- he either got her a meaningful card, maybe a picture of you two from one of those couple photoshoots, some of her favorite snacks, a candle—basically whatever he deemed fit for her

- at the end of the day you both loved how much the other put into the gifts, and had to call your moms’ to hear how happy they were

[cheriecelestial]

Fitoor Pt.II

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Yandere! Batboys x fem! Desi!reader

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ swearing. fluff. crack.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Okay so this did take a lot longer than it should've. Sorry abt that. And like always Comment, Reblog and Like (☆≧▽^) Also credit to my co-writer/beta reader @swamiiyasssss ilysm🤍🤍

╰ ┈➤ ·:*:·゜Chapter list Pt.I Pt.III

Y/N wanted to crawl into her own skin. She felt exposed, like he’d been playing some elaborate game she hadn’t even realized she was a part of. But she refused to let him see how much it rattled her. She straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

“Y’know,” he continued in that cool, quiet drawl, “When I saw your name as a short-listed candidate, I really felt Luke was slipping off his game.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, but she refused to let him see how much his words stung. She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “And yet, here I am. Funny how that works.”

Tim’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew wider, like he was enjoying this little back-and-forth far too much. “You said I wanted something.”

“No, I asked if you wanted anything,” Y/N snapped back, her patience wearing thin. “In case you—”

“I what? Leak your little outburst to the board of directors? Please.” He rolled his eyes. “They have corporate profits and stocks to worry about, let alone Little Miss Perfect here with her stellar portfolio and even more stellar workplace professionalism.”

Y/N grabbed the opportunity to gain the upper hand—or at least feel like she had it. “So you think my portfolio’s ‘stellar’?”

That seemed to catch him off guard, but in his usual infuriating manner, he swiftly countered. “Luke does. I think it’s… decent.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, refusing to back down. “ That’s high praise coming from you.”

Tim leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the smirk faded, replaced by something almost serious. “Don’t let it go to your head sweetheart. You’re here because you’re just that, decent, not because you’re the best.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, but she forced herself to stay calm. “And yet you’re the one who wanted me to work directly with you. So, what does that say about your standards?”

Tim’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly. “It says I’m willing to take a chance on someone who might—might—have potential. Don’t make me regret it.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her resolve hardening. “I won’t. But if you’re going to make this difficult, just know I’m not backing down.”

Tim leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

The tension in the room was palpable, but Y/N refused to break eye contact. She wasn’t going to let him win this little power play. Not now, not ever.

“Because, miss L/N,” She despised the way her name rolled off his tongue so naturally. “I have finally decided what I want.” 

Tim put the tips of his fingers together as if in preparation to say something of great importance. “Since you’re an intern—and let’s be honest, grad school interns don’t really do much—I’ve decided to give you a… unique role.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of role?”

“You’ll be my on-field secretary,” he said, his tone casual, as if he were discussing the weather. “You’ll handle basic tasks—scheduling, note-taking, that kind of thing. The heavy lifting will still be done by my actual secretary, who prefers to stay in the office. But the rest of the time, you’ll have a free pass to work with the teams on high-profile projects. The kind of work you really want to do.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. Working on high-profile projects was exactly what she’d been hoping for, but she knew her lack of experience would normally keep her far away from those opportunities. This was a chance to prove herself and to really see what it was like.

But then his words sank in. On-field secretary? Basic tasks?

“So, let me get this straight,” she said, crossing her arms. “You’re giving me the chance to work on high-profile projects, but only if I play secretary for you part-time?”

“That’s the gist of it. Unless…” He paused, tilting his head as if considering her. “You think yourself above it? That attitude of yours sure screams something.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, her patience wearing thin. “I’m just trying to understand why you’re offering me this… arrangement.”

Tim shrugged, his tone dripping with mock innocence. “Call it a gesture of goodwill. Or maybe I just like keeping an eye on you. Either way, it’s a win-win. You get to work on the projects you’re dying to be a part of, and I get… Well, let’s just say I get to keep things interesting.” 

Y/N glared at him, her mind racing. On one hand, this was an incredible opportunity. On the other, it meant spending more time with him.

“Fine,” she said finally, her tone clipped. “But if you think I’m going to be your glorified errand girl, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Tim barked a laugh, the sound rich and infuriating. “I have a professional secretary for that. You’ll just be… my shadow. Think of it as a learning experience.”

“Oh, fantastic,” she muttered under her breath, “A front-row seat to your unparalleled genius.” She wasn’t usually this brazen, especially with authority figures, but between his age and his insufferable personality, she couldn’t bring herself to take him seriously—professionalism be damned.

Tim’s grin didn’t falter in the least and grew wider, like he was enjoying her frustration far too much. “Also, since I’m your boss, you are now to refer to me as sir. Is that clear, Miss Secretary?”

Y/N's hands clenched at her sides. “Yes…” Her voice came out strained, and the next words even more so. “...Sir.”

Tim’s smile was triumphant, his voice almost giddy as he sank back in his chair. “Good. Now off you go. My other secretary is at the desk. She’ll brief you on your new duties.”

Y/N turned on her heel and walked out of the room, a bitter taste in her mouth. This was so not how she’d planned for anything to go. She wanted to run as far away from him and this situation as possible, but she knew she couldn’t. This was her chance—her big break—and she wasn’t about to let this son of a bitch ruin it for her.

Y/N made her way to the secretary’s desk, her jaw still clenched and her pride still stinging. The secretary, Margaret Hayes, was a no-nonsense woman in her late thirties with sharp eyes and an even sharper demeanor. She looked up as Y/N approached, her expression a mix of curiosity and mild sympathy.

“You must be Y/N,” Margaret said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “Mr. Drake-Wayne said you’d be joining us. Have a seat.” 

Y/N sat down, forcing a polite smile. “Yes, I’m supposed to be… shadowing you, I guess?”

Margaret nodded, sliding a tablet across the desk. “You’ll be handling some of Mr. Drake-Wayne’s on-field tasks—scheduling, note-taking, managing his calendar during site visits, that sort of thing. I’ll walk you through the basics.”

Y/N picked up the tablet, her stomach sinking as Margaret began explaining the intricacies of Tim’s schedule. There were color-coded calendars, priority levels, and a seemingly endless list of protocols for how to handle everything from last-minute meeting changes to his very specific coffee preferences, something she was more than familiar with.

Noticing her eyes linger on the coffee order, Margaret spoke up. “Mr. Drake-Wayne is… particular. If you’re on-site with him and he requests coffee, you must know exactly how he takes it and where to get it. He insists it comes from a small backwater café called Sip and Savour and apparently, there’s only one barista who makes it just right.”

Y/N swallowed hard, recognizing exactly who the barista in question was. “I think I know who that is. Pretty sure that barista quit. I’m a regular there,” she lied smoothly.

Margaret gave her a scrutinizing look before responding dryly, “I see. I’ll inform Mr. Drake-Wayne and find out how he wants to proceed.”

As Margaret scrolled through the tablet with practiced efficiency, Y/N listened intently, absorbing every detail. The woman clearly knew Tim’s schedule inside and out, and Y/N had no doubt she’d have to be just as sharp to keep up.

“Now, a few key things to remember,” Margaret continued. “Mr. Drake-Wayne doesn’t appreciate being interrupted unless it’s absolutely necessary. If there’s a change in the schedule, you’ll run it by me first before bringing it to him. Understood?”

Y/N nodded. “Got it.”

Margaret’s lips twitched in what could almost be amusement. “Good. As for his meetings—he doesn’t like them running overtime, so you’ll need to be assertive when wrapping them up. Some of the execs can be… persistent, but trust me, he’ll back you up if you hold your ground.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “So I’m supposed to keep billionaires on a tight leash?”

The older woman smirked. “Essentially. Think you can handle that?”

She honestly had no idea. But she nodded anyway.

“Bhenchod.”

For those unfamiliar with the term, it’s a word deeply rooted in the vernacular of India’s capital city, Delhi. Technically, it translates to “sisterfucker,” but its usage extends far beyond its literal meaning. Bhenchod is an emotion, a linguistic tool to add weight and intensity to a statement. It’s one of the most potent, versatile, and yet oddly innocuous slangs known to mankind—a word that resonates deeply with the populace who use it.

A quick Google search for the term reveals an ocean of information, ranging from the trivial to the profound. Yet, almost all sources point to one undeniable truth: this remarkable slang has been a reliable outlet for venting frustration, anger, and distress for generations. Simply put, there’s hardly a match for it—not just in English, but in any other language.

And frustration, anger, and distress were exactly what Vanshita L/N and Y/N L/N were experiencing.

“You’re telling me that vo chutiya mendhak who’s been messing with you is Bruce Wayne’s son? Bhai, matlab kya? Aur tujhe pata kaise nahi tha?” Vani groaned, her head in her hands as she processed the absurdity of the situation. that fucking frog / Bro, I mean what? / And how did you not know? Who could’ve thought that the annoying customer from the coffee shop was someone of such high importance?

Y/N, sprawled face-down on her bed, let out a scream into her pillow. “I didn’t even know that Kim Kardashian isn’t black until like three years ago,” she half-sobbed, her voice dripping with despair. 

Vani sighed, shaking her head as she leaned back against the headboard, her expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Chal, baap toh samajh aata hai, cuz his Met Gala fit honestly slayed so hard last year. But like, you were going to work for his company. Uggh. How did you not recognize him?” Okay, I get the dad because his Met Gala fit honestly slayed so hard last year.

“How do you expect me to memorize the faces of Gotham socialites and their sons? It’s not like I stalk their Instagrams or read Gotham Gazette for fun! That’s enough. Didi, mai marne jaa rahi hoo,” Y/N wailed melodramatically, burying her face deeper into the pillow. Her voice was muffled, but the sheer drama in her tone was impossible to miss. Didi, I’m going to die.

Vani rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Kaha? Chowpatty pe?” Where? At Chowpatty Beach?

Y/N rolled onto her back, kicking her legs in the air as if trying to shake off the frustration. “Nahi, Gotham Harbour,” she declared, her voice thick with determination. No

Vani raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a smirk. “Lekin Mala, raat ko Gotham Harbour ka pani thanda hota hai na? Tum kal dopahar ko dhai baje, uss samay paani garam hoga. Aasani se upar nikal jaogi. Takleef bhi nahi hogi zyada. Hai na?” But Mala, the water at Gotham Harbour is cold at night, right? You should go tomorrow afternoon at 2:30 PM, when the water is warm. You’ll pass away easily. It won’t even hurt much. Right? (a reference to the 2010 bollywood movie Action Replayy)

Y/N sat up abruptly, glaring at her sister. “Chiiiii! Why would I drown in lukewarm Gotham Harbour water? Do you know how filthy that shit is? It’s probably full of toxic waste and who knows what else!” Ewww

“Then sneak into Wayne Manor and drown in their pool. The water is clean, and you’ll be able to maybe pin a murder charge on them. Imagine the headlines: ‘Intern Found Dead in Wayne Manor Pool—Mystery Surrounds Tragic End.’ It’s poetic, really.”

Y/N stared at her, torn between laughter and disbelief. “Didi, you’re supposed to be helping me, not giving me ideas on how to frame Tim Drake Wayne for my murder.”

Vani grinned, clearly enjoying herself. “Hey, I’m just saying. If you’re going to go out, might as well make it dramatic. Besides, think about it—you’d be doing the world a favor. Taking down the Wayne family from beyond the grave? That’s some next-level revenge.”

Y/N groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the bed with all the flair of a heroine in distress. “I hate you,” she declared, though her tone lacked any real venom.

Vani stayed unfazed. “But in all honesty, you need to concentrate on yourself. Look, I know men like him—they want to see you squirm, all hot and bothered. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbows, her expression skeptical. “So essentially, I become the perfect secretary and do exactly as he says? That’s your brilliant plan?”

“Yup,” Vani replied, popping the ‘p’ with a grin. “He’ll test you, but don’t break. Just think of him as the aunties at family functions. You got around them, didn’t you? This white boy can’t do shit to you, hmm?”

Y/N frowned, her voice softening. “But at family functions, I had you, Didi. Without you, I don’t know if I can maintain the same composure.”

Vani sighed, her heart tightening at the vulnerability in her sister’s voice. How she wished she could just reach over, brush that strand of hair out of Y/N’s face and hug her. “Agar mere haath me hota toh, I’d catch the next flight to Gotham aur uss ghatiya aadmi ko mai khud aake pel deti. But I can’t, not yet at least. Just four more months, Y/N. Then I’ll be right there.” If it were up to me then, I’d catch the next flight to Gotham and personally kick that jerk��s ass. 

Y/N’s voice dropped to a whisper, her words heavy with emotion. “Didi, I miss you.”

It was a simple statement, but it carried the weight of everything unsaid. Y/N didn’t miss anyone like she missed her sister. Their late-night cooking sessions, cutting bangs at two in the morning, spilling family gossip, stupid shenanigans, going on drives together—she missed all of it so, so much. But she rarely expressed it, knowing how much it would affect Vani.

Vani’s expression softened, her usual sharp edges melting away. “I miss you too, baccha. More than you know.”

Y/N looked away, her throat tightening. “It’s just… it’s hard without you. You’ve always been my shield, my person. And now I’m here, dealing with this… this mendhak all by myself.” frog

“Listen to me. You’re stronger than you think. You’ve always been. And you don’t need me to handle some spoiled rich boy. You’ve got this, Y/N. Our ancestors didn’t die for you to crack under a white dude. Just stay calm, stay focused, and don’t let him see you sweat.”

Y/N nodded, her resolve hardening. “Okay. But if he tries anything—”

“Remember what I taught you,” Vani interrupted, her tone firm. “Crotch, Solar Plexus and Throat. Got it?”

Y/N smiled, a small but genuine one, as she recalled the lessons Vani had drilled into her years ago. “Got it.”

Y/N walked into Wayne Enterprises with her head held high, her heels clicking confidently against the polished marble floor. The lobby buzzed with activity—employees rushing to meetings, security guards scanning badges, and the faint sounds of conversation filling the air. She took a deep breath, reminding herself of the plan she'd crafted the night before. 

Step one: Don't let Tim get under your skin.

Step two: Prove you're more than just a secretary.

Step three: Show him you're not someone he can mess with.

 She made her way to the elevator, nodding politely at a few familiar faces from her first day. When the doors slid open, she stepped inside, pressing the button for the 42nd floor—the Architecture and R&D department. As the elevator ascended, Y/N's mind wandered back to her conversation with Vani. Her sister's words echoed in her head: “No one messes with my little sister and gets away with it. Not even Bruce Wayne's brat.”

 The memory brought a small smile to her lips, and she felt a surge of determination. When the elevator doors opened, Y/N stepped out into the sleek, modern office space. The Architecture and R&D department was a hive of activity, with designers hunched over blueprints, engineers discussing prototypes, and interns scurrying around with coffee cups in hand. She spotted Margaret at her desk, typing away on her computer. The older woman looked up as Y/N approached, her sharp eyes scanning her with a mix of curiosity and approval. 

 “Morning,” Margaret said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “You're early. I like that.” 

 Y/N smiled. “I figured I'd get a head start. Is there anything specific you need me to do today?” 

Margaret handed her a tablet. “Mr. Drake-Wayne has a site visit at 10 AM. You’ll be accompanying him to take notes and manage any last-minute changes to the schedule. Make sure you’re prepared—he doesn’t like surprises.”

Y/N nodded, her stomach fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement. This was her chance to prove herself. “Got it. Anything else?” Margaret hesitated for a moment, then leaned in slightly, her voice lowering. “Just... be careful. He’s not an easy person to work with, but if you can handle him, you’ll do just fine here.”

Y/N nodded again, this time more determined. “Thanks, Margaret. I’ll keep that in mind.”

At 9:45 AM, Y/N stood outside Tim’s office, her tablet in hand and her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath, straightened her blazer, and knocked lightly on the door. “Come in,” Tim’s voice called from inside. Y/N pushed the door open and stepped inside. Tim was sitting at his desk, his attention focused on the laptop in front of him. He didn’t look up as she entered, but she could see the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Good morning, sir,” she said, her tone professional but firm.

“We have a site visit in 15 minutes. I’ve reviewed the schedule and prepared the necessary documents. Is there anything else you need before we leave?” Tim finally looked up, his blue eyes meeting hers with that mirth of amusement. “Good morning, Miss Y/N. You’re early. Impressive.”

Y/N forced a polite smile. “I like to be prepared.”

Tim leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening. “Good. Because today’s going to be a long day. Let’s see if you can keep up.” Y/N’s jaw tightened, but she refused to let him see how much his words rattled her. “I’ll do my best, sir.” Tim stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair.

“Then let’s get going. And remember—no mistakes.”

The car ride to the construction site was silent, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional tap of Y/N’s stylus against her tablet as she double-checked the project specs. Tim sat beside her, his gaze fixed out the window, his expression unreadable. The tension between them was thick, but Y/N refused to let it distract her.

When they arrived, the site foreman greeted them with a firm handshake. “Mr. Drake-Wayne, everything’s on schedule. We’ve hit a few minor snags with the steel delivery, but nothing we can’t handle.”

Tim nodded, his sharp eyes scanning the bustling site. “Show me.”

Y/N followed closely, jotting down notes and snapping photos of the areas Tim inspected. He moved with precision, asking pointed questions that left the foreman scrambling for answers more than once. She could see the frustration building in the man’s expression, but Tim didn’t relent.

At one point, he stopped near a half-finished support beam, running a gloved hand along the edge. “This isn’t the grade we specified.”

The foreman hesitated. “There was a substitution approved by—”

“By who?” Tim cut in, his voice dangerously calm.

Y/N quickly pulled up the procurement logs on her tablet. “According to the records, the change was signed off by Mr. Henshaw in procurement. It was flagged as a cost-saving measure.”

Tim didn’t look at her, but she saw the slight tightening of his jaw. “Get Henshaw on the phone. Now.”

The foreman paled but nodded, stepping away to make the call.

Tim finally turned to Y/N, his gaze piercing. “You caught that fast.”

She met his eyes evenly. “I reviewed the files last night. I know the specs.”

A slow smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. “Good. Because if you hadn’t, I’d have had to reconsider your position.”

Y/N didn’t flinch. “Lucky for both of us, then.”

His smirk deepened, but before he could respond, the foreman returned, phone in hand. “Mr. Henshaw’s on the line.”

Tim took the phone, his voice dropping into that deceptively smooth tone that always meant trouble for someone. “Henshaw. Explain to me why my project is being built with subpar materials.”

Y/N watched as he walked a few paces away, his posture relaxed but his words razor-sharp. She exhaled slowly, steadying herself.

No mistakes.

However as it turned out, Timothy Drake Wayne seemed to have every intention of making her his glorified errand girl—a pattern that had persisted for days, then weeks, growing more blatant with each passing task. At first, his demands had been subtle, wrapped in the guise of professional necessity. She hadn’t even realized what was happening until much later, when all of it finally settled in on her. Alone in the privacy of her home, she had groaned in frustration, cry into her pillow, bury her face in her hands, only to emerge the next morning with that same polished, unshakable smile. If he wanted professionalism, then fine—she would give him nothing less.

But as the weeks dragged on, Tim shed any pretense of subtlety. His requests became bolder, his tone sharper, his expectations more unreasonable. He’s frustrated, a voice in the back of her mind whispered, smug. That means you’re winning. And yet, despite her silent victories, the reality remained: he was still getting exactly what he wanted, while she was left gritting her teeth behind a carefully maintained facade. Oh, she wasn’t losing—technically, he was holding up his end of their unspoken bargain—but that didn’t make his behavior any less insufferable.

Then, just yesterday, he had crossed a new line. With that infuriatingly casual arrogance, he had informed her that his preferred barista had quit, and since she was already at his beck and call, he would very much appreciate it if she could make him a cup of coffee. That was the moment something inside her snapped—not in anger, but in quiet, devious inspiration.

A slow smile curled at the edges of her lips. Oh, I’ll make you a drink, alright.

“Sir,” she said smoothly, tilting her head just slightly. “How about I make you a cup of tea instead?”

Tim’s brows furrowed for a fraction of a second, clearly thrown by the counteroffer. But after a brief pause, he shrugged. “Fine. Just make sure it’s strong.”

Oh, it’ll be strong, she thought as she turned on her heel, heading toward the staff kitchen on their floor. Strong enough to knock you on your ass.

She had been subjected to his pathetic, watered-down excuse for tea far too many times to let this opportunity pass. Over the past few weeks, thanks to his insistence that she clock in early—cutting into her precious morning routine—she had adapted. No longer able to enjoy her usual chai ritual at home, she had taken to smuggling her own supplies into the office: a small tin of pre-ground spices, a knob of fresh ginger, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing that, at least for a few minutes each day, she could reclaim something just for herself. 

The kettle whistled sharply, snapping Y/N out of her thoughts as steam curled into the air. She poured the boiling tea into a mug, the rich aroma of ginger, cardamom and all the other spices already rising from the spice blend she’d stirred in. Followed by a careful stir—just enough to make it smooth but flawless —and then, with a final glance to ensure no one was watching, she added an extra pinch of black pepper for good measure.

Let Gotham's golden child try to call this “just tea” now, she mused, stirring the concoction with the deliberate care of a chemist perfecting a volatile compound. The aroma alone was potent enough to clear sinuses - warm, earthy, and carrying just enough heat to promise consequences.

Balancing the mug with practiced ease, she navigated the corridor back to Tim's office, her measured footsteps belying the electric anticipation coursing through her. The steam rising from the cup left a spicy trail in her wake, like breadcrumbs marking the path to her small rebellion. Through the glass walls, she could see him hunched over his workstation, fingers flying across the keyboard with that characteristic Drake-Wayne intensity that made interns quake in their loafers.

“Your tea, sir,” she announced, setting the mug on a coaster with exaggerated care, her voice the picture of professional deference. The corner of his mouth twitched in acknowledgment, one hand reaching blindly for the beverage while his eyes remained glued to his screen.

The moment the liquid touched his lips, time seemed to suspend.

First came the subtle widening of his eyes - blue irises flashing with sudden alarm. Then his throat convulsed as the full force of the spices hit his unprepared palate. A strangled sound escaped him as he jerked forward, the mug hitting the desk with enough force to send a dark droplet splashing onto a quarterly report.

“Christ-” he rasped, grabbing for a tissue as his eyes streamed. The usually immaculate Timothy Drake-Wayne was reduced to spluttering indignity, his fair skin flushing from collar to hairline. “What in the nine hells was that?”

Y/N tilted her head, the picture of innocent concern. “Oh dear, was it too warm? I did let it cool and stirred it clockwise seven times as per your usual preference.” Her fingers twitched toward the mug. “Shall I fetch some water to dilute it?”

“Warm?” His voice cracked mid-word. “This isn't tea, this is- this is-” He broke off, fanning his mouth as another wave of heat hit him. “Did you grind up cayenne peppers and call it a beverage?”

“Proper masala chai, actually,” she corrected smoothly, unable to suppress the tiny smirk playing at her lips. “A family recipe. Though I did modify the proportions slightly to suit your request for something... robust.”

His glare could have melted steel. “Robust? This is a biological hazard. I can feel my esophagus reconstructing itself.”

She allowed herself a small, graceful shrug. “You did insist on strength over subtlety, sir. I merely took you at your word.” The unspoken challenge hung between them, as potent as the spices still burning his tongue. Serves you right bitch. 

The office air crackled with tension as Tim studied her through still-watering eyes. Then, with deliberate slowness, he pushed the mug across the polished surface until it stopped directly before her. “By all means,” he said, voice deceptively light, “demonstrate how this is meant to be consumed.”

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N lifted the cup to her lips and took a long, deliberate swallow. The heat bloomed across her tongue - familiar, comforting, like her grandmother's kitchen on winter mornings. She made a show of savoring the flavor, sighing contentedly before setting it down with a soft clink. “Mmm. Just the right balance, if I do say so myself.”

Tim's expression morphed through several fascinating iterations - disbelief, outrage, reluctant admiration - before settling on something dangerously amused. “You're enjoying this,” he accused, though there was a new note in his voice that hadn't been there before.

“Enjoying what, Mr. Drake-Wayne?” She blinked owlishly. “Providing exemplary service as always.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. Then, to her utter astonishment, Tim threw his head back and laughed - a real, unguarded sound that transformed his usually composed features. “You're absolutely impossible,” he declared, though the words lacked their usual bite.

“And yet,” she countered, emboldened by his reaction, “you haven't fired me.”

He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly, and regarded her with something perilously close to respect. “Next time,” he said, pointing a warning finger, “you lead with 'this will melt your face off' before handing me something.”

Y/N retrieved the mug, her fingers lingering on the warm ceramic. “Where would be the fun in that?” she murmured, turning toward the door. Behind her, she could feel his gaze following, and for the first time since taking this position, she wondered if she'd finally found the chink in Timothy Drake-Wayne's polished armor.

The moment Y/N stepped out of Wayne Enterprises’ towering glass doors, she exhaled deeply, as if shedding the weight of Tim’s impossible expectations along with her blazer. The Gotham evening air was thick with the usual blend of exhaust fumes and impending rain, but to her, it smelled like freedom—at least for the next few hours.

She made a quick detour to her dorm, swapping her stiff corporate attire for something far more forgiving—a soft knit sweater, well-worn jeans, and boots that had seen better days. After tossing her work bag onto her bed, she grabbed her favorite oversized tote, already stuffed with a well-loved paperback and a small pouch of cat treats.

Her second job—if it could even be called that—was less of a necessity and more of a sanctuary. The Velvet Paw, a hybrid bookshop and cat café tucked away in one of Gotham’s quieter corners, was a world apart from the cutthroat corporate environment she endured during the day. The café was the passion project of Selina Kyle, a woman whose name carried weight in Gotham’s elite circles, though Y/N had long stopped caring about that. To her, Selina was simply the woman who had given her a haven when she needed it most.

The café itself was a relic of warmth in a city that thrived on cold ambition. Shelves of secondhand books lined the walls, their spines cracked, and pages yellowed with age. Plush armchairs were occupied by both patrons and feline residents, the latter often commandeering laps without permission. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and vanilla candles mingled in the air, a stark contrast to the sterile, caffeinated urgency of Wayne Enterprises.

When Y/N pushed through the door, the soft chime announcing her arrival, her coworker—a perpetually cheerful art student named Lila—waved from behind the counter. “Hey, you’re just in time,” Lila said, nodding toward the far corner. “MissSelina is here.”

Y/N’s face lit up. Selina’s visits were rare but always a highlight. There she was, draped in effortless elegance, seated at her usual corner table with a cup of black coffee and a small entourage of cats vying for her attention. Even in something as simple as a fitted turtleneck and tailored slacks, Selina exuded a magnetism that made it impossible to look away.

Y/N approached with a grin, her steps light. “Good evening, didi,” she greeted, the term slipping out before she could stop it.

The first time she’d called Selina that, it had been an accident—a moment of exhaustion-induced nostalgia. But instead of correcting her, Selina had merely arched a brow and asked, “Didi?” Y/N had explained, cheeks burning, that it was an endearment back home, reserved for older sisters or women who felt like family. Selina had listened, sipped her coffee, and then said, “Well then, I suppose I’ll allow it.”

Now, Selina’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Good evening, dear. How was your day?”

“Survived,” Y/N replied dryly, scooping up a particularly insistent tabby from the chair opposite Selina before taking a seat. The cat immediately reclaimed its spot in her lap, purring like a tiny engine.

Selina’s sharp eyes didn’t miss much. “That bad?”

“Let’s just say my boss is lucky I don’t believe in workplace violence.”

Selina laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Ah, those corporate sleazeballs. Always so… particular.” She took a sip of her coffee before gesturing to a small carrier beside her. “Speaking of particular—I come bearing gifts.”

Y/N peered inside. A rotte, butterball of a cat with golden-brown fur blinked up at her with an expression that suggested he was already judging her life choices. Beside him, curled into a tiny ball, was a fragile-looking white kitten, its ribs too visible beneath its fur.

Y/N’s heart clenched. “Selina…”

“I know we’re at capacity,” Selina admitted, stroking the kitten’s head with surprising gentleness. “But well—” 

Y/N let out a soft sigh, fingers still buried in the thick fur of the golden-brown cat, who had now sprawled across the table like a contented monarch. “With all due respect, didi, you own the place,” she pointed out, amusement coloring her tone. “I don’t think you need my permission to bring in more cats.”

Selina’s lips curved into a smile, her emerald eyes alight with something warm and genuine—a rare sight for a woman who usually moved with calculated grace. “That’s incredibly sweet of you,” she said, reaching over to scratch behind the ears of the frail white kitten still cradled in Y/N’s other hand. “But you know it’s more than that. You love them the same way I do. It…” She paused, her gaze softening as she watched the kitten nuzzle into Y/N’s palm. “It makes me happy, knowing they’re cared for like this.”

There was a weight to her words, an unspoken history that Y/N had learned not to pry into. Selina’s affection for strays—feline or otherwise—ran deeper than simple philanthropy.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Y/N replied honestly, her thumb brushing gently over the kitten’s tiny head. “And I could never mind more additions to the family. The more, the merrier.” She tilted her head, curiosity sparking. “So, where did you find them?”

Selina leaned back in her chair, the ghost of a smirk playing at her lips. “Actually, my boyfriend’s son found them. He already has enough pets at home, and he wasn’t sure his father would approve of two more.”

Ah. That explained it.

Selina’s long-term boyfriend—a man Y/N had never met but whose presence loomed large in snippets of conversation—was apparently as much a soft touch for strays as Selina herself. From what Y/N had gathered over time, their relationship was… complicated. On-again, off-again, full of unspoken rules and a mutual understanding that seemed to transcend traditional labels. She’d never understood how anyone could date a woman like Selina Kyle and not marry her at the first opportunity, but then again, Selina wasn’t the kind of woman who fit neatly into societal expectations.

What was clear, though, was how deeply she cared for his family—especially his children. The boy, whose name Selina never mentioned outright, as if protecting his identity even in casual conversation, had contributed just as many furry residents to the café as Selina herself.

Y/N grinned. “Let me guess—this isn’t the first time he’s brought you a ‘just this one, I promise’ case?”

Selina’s laughter was rich, melodic. “Not even close.”

The chubby golden cat chose that moment to roll onto his back, paws batting playfully at the air, as if demanding attention. Y/N obliged, scratching his belly. “So, what are their names?”

“Oh, they don’t have any yet,” Selina said breezily, swirling her coffee. “Feel free to name them.”

Y/N’s breath caught. Name them? That was a privilege usually reserved for Selina or—on rare occasions—her boyfriend’s son. The realization sent a flicker of warmth through her chest.

“I’d love to,” she said, already mentally running through possibilities. The golden one, with his regal bearing and demanding demeanor, could be—

“Oh, and also—” Selina interrupted her thoughts, reaching into her sleek designer bag. A moment later, she placed a small, velvet-black box on the table between them.

Y/N’s fingers stilled on the cat’s fur.

“Open it,” Selina said, her voice casual, but her eyes sharp—watching, waiting.

Y/N hesitated. The box was too small for jewelry, too elegant for something mundane. Her pulse kicked up a notch as she slowly reached for it, Selina’s gaze heavy on her skin.

With a slow exhale, she lifted the lid.

Nestled inside, gleaming under the soft golden lights of The Velvet Paw, was a watch.

Not just any watch.

The brand was Italian, the name etched in delicate script along the inner bezel—a name she recognized from storefronts she’d never dared enter, from magazines that featured price tags with more digits than her rent. The design was understated but immaculate: a silver band with a face neither too large nor too delicate, the hands moving with a quiet, precise elegance. The kind of timepiece that belonged on the wrists of Gotham’s elite, not on someone who still budgeted for instant noodles.

Her throat tightened.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, unable to tear her eyes away from the way the light caught on the silver numerals.

Selina’s smile was knowing. “It’s for you.”

Y/N’s head snapped up. “Me?”

“I heard you got the internship,” Selina continued, leaning back in her chair with effortless poise. “After all those late nights studying, all those applications you agonized over—you think I wouldn’t notice?” She tilted her head, her gaze softening. “You earned this.”

Y/N’s fingers twitched, aching to touch it, to feel the weight of it on her wrist—but she recoiled as if burned. “No. No. I can’t accept something like this. It’s—” She gestured helplessly at the watch. “Look at it. It probably costs more than my tuition.”

Selina sighed, folding her arms on the table. The movement was casual, but there was a firmness in her tone that brooked no argument. “You know what’s worth more than this watch?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You. The hours you’ve spent here. The way you treat these strays as if they’re your own. The care you put into this place—my place—even when you’re exhausted from your other job. That’s priceless.” Her voice dropped, just a fraction, into something almost tender. “Consider it a thank-you. And before you argue,” she added, raising a perfectly manicured finger, “ask yourself: Could you really reject this and break your poor didi’s heart?”

The words were playful, but the look in Selina’s eyes was anything but.

Y/N swallowed hard, her chest aching with something she couldn’t name. Gratitude? Guilt? The overwhelming sense that, for the first time in a long time, someone had seen her—really seen her—and decided she was worth this?

Her fingers trembled as she finally reached for the watch, the metal cool against her skin. It fit perfectly. Of course it did. Selina didn’t do things by halves.

When she looked up, her vision was suspiciously blurry.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice thick. Two words—too small, too inadequate—but they were all she could manage without her voice cracking.

Selina’s smile was worth more than the watch could ever be. “You’re welcome sweetheart.”

And just like that, the watch became more than an accessory.

It was a promise.

A reminder.

That she belonged somewhere in a way that mattered.

The white kitten— newly christened— batted playfully at the golden-brown cat’s tail while Y/N measured out their evening meal. “There you go Pari and Aloo,” she cooed, setting down two ceramic bowls. The mismatched pair immediately abandoned their game in favor of dinner.

“Pari and Aloo? How is it fair that one is called fairy and the other potato. It’s disappointing to bias names based on appearance. All felines are deserving of dignified names, I believe.”

The sudden voice behind her made Y/N start so violently she nearly dropped the entire container of treats. Whirling around, she found herself face-to-face with a familiar scowling preteen.

“Damian!” she exhaled, pressing a hand to her pounding heart. “Do you always materialize like that? One of these days I’m going to—”

“You’ve been saying that since November,” the boy interrupted smoothly, his green eyes flicking between the cats with undisguised judgment. “Yet your reflexes remain disappointingly slow.”

Damian had been visiting The Velvet Paw with clockwork regularity since Y/N’s first week. Unlike most twelve-year-olds who came to pet cats between video games and sugar rushes, he moved through the café with the solemn dignity of a Victorian naturalist cataloging specimens. Their relationship had settled into an easy rhythm of shared silences, occasional literary debates and mutual appreciation for feline company. In Gotham’s constant chaos, she’d come to cherish their quiet interactions.

“I didn’t know you understood Hindi,” Y/N observed, studying his features anew. The warm undertones of his complexion, the slight curve of his nose – traits that had made her wonder before about possible South Asian heritage.

“You never asked,” he replied with characteristic bluntness, though his posture relaxed marginally as Aloo butted against his shins. “My mother is Arab-Chinese. Hindi and Urdu are commonly spoken where she resides.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. Personal revelations from Damian were rarer than a calm night in Gotham. She filed this one away carefully.

“So what would you prefer then, your highness?” she teased, gesturing to the golden cat now sprawled regally across Damian’s designer sneakers. “Does Badshah-e-Alam suit his majesty better?” Emperor of the universe

Damian’s nose wrinkled. “Hardly. That pretentious stray couldn’t rule a cardboard box.” Yet even as he scoffed, Y/N didn’t miss the careful way his fingers checked Aloo for mats behind the ears – or how the usually aloof cat permitted the inspection without protest.

“Well,” Y/N said, hiding a smile by reorganizing the treat jars, “until you deign to suggest alternatives, Potato he remains.” She tossed a treat toward Pari, who ate the treat without any reservation. “And our little fairy seems perfectly content with her name.”

Damian made a noncommittal noise that Y/N had learned meant reluctant acquiescence. As she watched him surreptitiously feed Aloo an extra treat from his pocket, it struck her again how this guarded, brilliant boy reminded her so much of the strays they both loved – all prickly exteriors masking unexpected softness.

“You’ll spoil him rotten,” she murmured, though the admonishment held no real heat. The sight of Gotham’s most intimidating twelve-year-old being wrapped around a chubby tabby’s paw never failed to amuse her.

Damian’s spine straightened immediately, his mask of indifference snapping back into place. “Nonsense. Proper nutrition is essential for—”

But Aloo chose that moment to headbutt Damian’s knee with enough force to make the boy stumble, his carefully cultivated dignity crumbling under feline insistence. Y/N turned away under the pretense of rearranging mugs to give him privacy as he muttered what sounded suspiciously like endearments in what she now recognized as Arabic-inflected Hindi.

When she glanced back, Damian had retreated to his customary corner table— the one tucked between the philosophy section and the emergency exit with optimal sightlines of all entrances. His sketchbook was already open, charcoal moving in precise strokes that somehow captured the essence of cats' energy, some quiet some playful, even in rough outlines.

Y/N moved to the special tea cabinet behind the counter – the locked one where Selina kept the imported Darjeeling first flush and the small tin of Kashmiri saffron strands that cost more than most customers’ monthly rent. The ritual was familiar by now: warming the porcelain cup exactly 38 seconds before pouring, measuring the saffron threads with surgical precision, adding just enough honey to enhance rather than overwhelm.

The resulting brew shimmered like liquid gold in the afternoon light, the aroma alone enough to transport her momentarily back to her home. She carried it over without ceremony, setting it on the far corner of Damian’s table where it wouldn’t interfere with his sketching space.

“Your usual,” she said softly, already turning to leave.

Damian’s hand shot out with surprising speed, his fingers brushing the cup’s rim in silent thanks before retreating just as quickly. It was more acknowledgment than most patrons ever received. Y/N hid her smile as she walked away, giving him the solitude he preferred but so rarely seemed to get.

The café's wall clock ticked past 9:45 PM, its rhythmic clicking the only sound breaking the comfortable silence. Golden lamplight pooled around Damian's corner table like a protective halo, illuminating the growing collection of crumpled paper surrounding him. Y/N moved through the dim space with practiced quietness, her socked feet making no sound against the hardwood as she righted chairs and wiped down tables.

Most of the feline residents had long since retreated to their preferred sleeping spots – Mr. Whiskers curled in his heated bed by the register, Duchess sprawled across three cushions in the bay window. Only Aloo remained stubbornly awake, his tail flicking in time with Damian's increasingly frustrated charcoal strokes.

“Artist's block?” Y/N ventured softly, pausing by his table with a fresh pot of zafrani.

Damian's jaw tightened, his charcoal-smudged fingers freezing mid-stroke. For a long moment, Y/N thought he might ignore her completely – until his pencil snapped with an audible crack.

“No matter what I draw,” he ground out, voice uncharacteristically raw, “I can't make it work.” The admission seemed to cost him, his shoulders hunching slightly as if bracing for judgment.

Y/N set the teapot down with deliberate care, sliding into the chair opposite him. Without asking permission, she began gathering the discarded sketches, smoothing each crumpled sheet with the side of her hand. The drawings took her breath away – a sleeping Pari rendered in such delicate strokes the page seemed to breathe, a stunning chiaroscuro study of the café's front window at golden hour, even a few candid sketches of herself lost in thought behind the counter, steam curling from a teacup in her hands.

“You keep them,” Damian said suddenly, watching as she carefully tucked the papers into her canvas tote. It wasn't quite a question.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers brushing the worn leather cover of her journal before pulling it free. “Go through it,” she said, pushing the book across the table.

Damian's brows drew together as he flipped open the cover. His breath caught. Page after page contained his own discarded work – every abandoned sketch, every 'failed' study from months of visits, all carefully preserved and dated in Y/N's neat script.

“Why?” The word came out softer than he likely intended, his usual sharpness dulled by genuine confusion.

Y/N traced the journal's frayed edges, choosing her words with care. “Back home, I have a younger cousin – about your age, actually. Brilliant artist, same relentless perfectionism.” A fond smile touched her lips. “She'd spend hours weeping over 'ruined' drawings because one line wasn't exactly right.”

She turned to a particular page where Damian had angrily crossed out a stunning portrait of a person Y/N didn't recognize but from the looks of it she held resemblance to Damian. “I started keeping these for her. So she could look back and see how far she'd come. How even the pieces she hated had beautiful moments.” Her finger hovered over a particularly expressive stroke in the hairline. “Like this line here – it's perfect, isn't it?”

Damian's throat worked silently. He turned another page to find a series of rejected cat studies, each annotated in Y/N's handwriting: “Note the perfect ear angle in #3” or “The way the light catches the fur in #7 is stunning.”

“And you see her in me?” The question came out quieter than he intended, stripped of its usual defensive edge.

Y/N considered him for a long moment. “I see an artist,” she said finally. “One who's forgotten that mastery isn't about perfect pieces – it's about the cumulative beauty of all the attempts.” She tapped a sketch where Damian had captured Aloo mid-yawn. “Even Michelangelo had off days. The difference is, he didn't drive himself crazy over his practice sketches. Probably.”

A strange expression crossed Damian's face – something between frustration and reluctant understanding. Aloo chose that moment to leap into his lap, butting his head against the journal insistently.

“Traitor,” Damian muttered, but his fingers moved automatically to scratch behind the cat's ears. When he finally looked up, his gaze held a new, grudging respect. “You're... not entirely wrong.”

Y/N hid her smile in her teacup. “High praise indeed.” She rose gracefully, leaving the journal in his hands. “Keep it tonight if you like. Just don't let Aloo chew the corners – he's developed a taste for watercolor paper.”

“I understand, Y/N.” The words came clipped and precise, but with less bite than usual.

Y/N paused mid-step, a mischievous glint lighting her eyes as she turned back to face him. The shop's golden lighting caught in the loose strands of hair framing her face as she tilted her head. “Since you understand Hindi and Chinese,” she began, her voice dancing with playful challenge, “I'm guessing you also know it's considered quite rude to call elder people by their names?” She arched one eyebrow meaningfully. “Especially when said elder has been supplying you with illegal amounts of saffron tea for months now.”

Damian's face contorted into an impressive scowl, his green eyes flashing with something between indignation and reluctant amusement. His mouth opened, then closed with an audible click of teeth as he apparently thought better of whatever retort had sprung to mind. Instead, he pointedly looked down at his sketchbook, his charcoal moving with renewed intensity across the page - though Y/N didn't miss the faint pink tinge creeping up his neck.

Her laughter rang through the empty café, warm and rich as she turned back to her closing duties. The familiar routine of wiping counters, righting chairs, and ushering the last few feline residents to their beds carried her through the next half-hour. Aloo protested his bedtime with half-hearted meows but eventually curled into his plush basket with a resigned huff, his golden fur glowing in the dimmed lights.

When Y/N finally turned back toward Damian's corner to announce closing time, her breath caught. The booth stood empty, the usual clutter of art supplies conspicuously absent. Only the faint indentation in the seat cushion and a scattering of charcoal dust remained as evidence of his presence. Had he slipped out without saying goodbye? 

Her footsteps echoed softly as she approached the vacated table, hands already reaching for the abandoned teapot. The cool ceramic felt strangely light in her grasp, and beneath it, her fingers brushed against crisp paper. A neat stack of bills lay precisely arranged beside a folded sheet of heavy sketch paper, the amount far exceeding even his usual generous tips. Her breath hitched as she unfolded the paper with careful fingers.

The portrait staring back at her stole the air from her lungs. This wasn't one of the quick sketches she'd glimpsed earlier - this was a studied, intimate rendering that captured her in a moment of unguarded concentration. The play of light across her features as she read behind the counter, the way her hair fell across her shoulder, even the faint crease between her brows when she encountered a particularly difficult passage in her book - all rendered with astonishing sensitivity. It was more than a likeness; it was a revelation of how Damian truly saw her.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned the page toward the dim light, revealing the smudged charcoal inscription in the bottom corner. The letters were deliberately formed yet slightly uneven, as if the writer had hesitated over each stroke:

For didi -D

╰ ┈➤ A/n: And anyone who hasn't tried Masala chai already HAS TO TRY IT ASAP. I swear you wont end up like Timmy. He's just a weak ass bish.

╰ ┈➤ Masterlist

╰ ┈➤ Tags: @hana-no-seiiki @sophiethewitch1 @swamiiyasssss @lilyalone @cxcilla @one-pea-in-a-pod @cooki3dough @misaki-kira8 @br0ke-b1tch @fictionalwhor3 @cherriespopsicle @lilithskywalker @multifandom-simp @hayleym1234 @sukaretto-n @idontwantthis22 @sarveshishwarishsuta @eclipse-msoul @aaaashiiii

@joekitsu (credits for that one line)

© cheriecelestial - arabelle | 2025

[imagining-in-the-margins]

A Perfect Day (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer and Reader spend a fall day together. A/N: This is an excerpt from my series, Here to Misbehave! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Fluff Content Warning: Halloween mentions, Spencer!POV Word Count: 2.6k

MASTERLIST

Autumn has widely been considered the season of change. It is an understandable characterization; from the shifting hues of the leaves to the wildly fluctuating temperatures, few things stayed consistent in the fall. Perhaps that’s why someone who loathes change, someone like me, finds the season so thrilling.

It’s like the Earth and the Sun made a pact to make changes more predictable in their own unique, chaotic way. The breeze becomes biting and the days become shorter, but for these downfalls, we are granted a beauty and calmness that can’t be rivaled by any other season.

But my love wasn’t a season, and when asked where I'd rather direct my attention and appreciation, there were few choices that were easier to make.

“Spencer. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Her face was half covered by the cup she held tightly with both hands, but I could picture the hidden expression perfectly, regardless.

“What? We don’t have to agree on everything.”

The offered truce was received poorly; her response a heavy scoff and a shake of her head. I tried to follow along with her suddenly heated words but couldn’t contain the stars in my eyes that often accompanied my daydreams. If she did notice, she stubbornly ignored the adoration.

“I understand you’re a genius or whatever, but I think your opinions on cider and cocoa are… wrong. They are wrong.”

It was my turn to feign displeasure (I hoped hers wasn’t real, anyway). I clutched tighter to my own drink that I found myself defending on a park bench with dozens of strangers as an audience.

“An opinion can’t be wrong!” I chirped, only hating a little bit the way my voice jumped. After all, it was hard to hate it when it made her giggle. But despite how much sweeter the liquid seemed when I drank it in the presence of her smile, I also knew that she wouldn’t appreciate my immediate agreement. So, I pushed back just a little, “It can be misguided or ignorant but not outright wrong.”

“Unless it’s yours, on this topic,” she shot back without hesitation.

I tried to flash her a pout, hoping that maybe it would work for me like it did for her. It did not. Her eyebrows shot up and her jaw dropped open with another laugh, and I decided that I preferred that outcome, anyway.

The longer my bottom lip stuck out, the wider her smile got. I waited to stop until her eyes closed and turned away, just long enough to let the full force of my affection show.

She saw it, anyway, in the form of a similar smile spread over my face when I softly admitted, “Fine. You’re right.”

“Oh, I know.”

Her tongue peeked between her lips, and I found myself thinking less of cider and cocoa and more about how unbelievably lucky I was to find someone that I never felt the need to prove anything to. A person that didn’t care if I held all the answers.

I might’ve continued down that sappy train of thought, but it was hard to do while she hoisted herself halfway over the table to try and grab hold of my cup right as I went to drink from it.

Of course, she had failed to take into account just how big the table was, and just how close I was willing to come to falling before I let her drink from my cup right after she’d criticized my preference of fall flavors.

For a second, I really thought she might climb onto the table to win, but the judgmental looks from the parents in the park must have beaten her desire to win. As forlorn as humanly possible, she fell back into her seat with a loud “Hmph!” which really only managed to elicit an equally immature giggle from me.

“Shut up,” she laughed before shoving my paper plate toward my chest, “And eat your stupid pie.”

All I could think as she grabbed my fork and stabbed the middle of the piece to try to lift the entire thing at once, was that I was right about one thing: Autumn, in all its vitality and beauty, could still never compare to her.

That thought persisted through the pumpkin patch, growing in intensity as she skipped through the vine-laden path like a regular fall fairy. It was much easier to get lost in her there, crouched and inspecting foliage. Her arguments regarding gourds were much less spirited, with her watching me wide-eyed and curious as I explained the stages of pumpkin growth and all the different uses for the fruit.

I still let her make the final choices, opting to analyze her selections and tease her for them later, instead. That was the plan, anyway, to continue the competitiveness lest she gets bored with me before the day was over. When she walked past me holding open the passenger side door, I thought it might’ve already happened.

But then she just placed the pumpkin into my hands so she could open the back door. Before I could even move, she carefully removed it from my arms again and placed it in the seat.

“What are you doing?” I said through an amused chuckle.

She was decidedly not entertained by my confusion, stopping to turn to me with a bored, frustrated expression.

“I’m buckling him in,” she explained slowly, like I might need the help. Then, to add insult to silly injury, she added, “Duh.”

I was too distracted by the details to tackle the absurdity of it all.

“Him? It’s a boy pumpkin?”

“Obviously. Look at him,” she snorted, finally clicking the seat belt in before tenderly petting the top of the lucky little gourd. Once she was convinced it would be as safe as she could make it, she allowed me to begin to escort her into her proper seat.

“You know it’s safer on the floor, right?” I asked before she’d slipped past me. I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from the car so I could enjoy the warmth of her before it was replaced with the dry air of the engine.

“How dare you,” she balked with an open mouth that was just begging to be kissed. By the time I got close enough to try, though, her hand fervently shoved my cheek away.

I tried to laugh, but she used the same hand to cover the noise, trying and failing to convince me she was being serious.

“Why don’t you just hold him?” I mumbled against her palm.

That was enough for her to abandon my embrace altogether. With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, she pried my arms off of her and finally made her way to my passenger seat. I didn’t fight her too hard, even taking the time to shut her door like my mother always insisted I should.

The mercy was not returned, with her eyes narrowed into a playful disbelieving glare that I hadn’t seen in some time. I took a moment to appreciate the memory before she'd interrupted the thought with a new one.

“If this is any indication of how you’ll be with a human baby, I have dramatically overestimated your competence,” she droned, obviously unaffected by the stars that appeared in my eyes every time I looked at her.

“The one and only time you’ll ever be able to say those words. I hope you enjoyed it,” I joked. A funny enough joke that she couldn’t help but smile through her facade.

“Don’t worry,” she chuckled, “I did.”

The day could have ended there, and it would have been enough. But I think we were trying to prolong the high of the perfect day, finding even the faintest interest in an activity as enough of an excuse for a detour on our way home.

… Which was probably how we found ourselves in our third park of the day. After all, I loved any autumnal vision, so how could I decline an opportunity to let them serve as a backdrop for watching her?

And that was an accurate description of how I spent the day. It might sound boring, and if it were anyone else, it probably would have been. But no matter how often I saw her, I found myself learning new things about her every single time. Each freckle and scar became a part of the high-definition collection of memories that I would never let myself forget. The most beautiful images that kept me sane in the face of evil and filth.

“Do you see that?”

For a moment, I thought she might have read my mind. But then I realized that her eyes were still fixed forward, stuck on the horizon ahead of us.

“See what?”

“That,” she pointed, “Right there.”

My eyes followed the line, finding nothing but an area of carefully manicured, yellow grass and trees already set to rest for the season. It must have been clear to her that I was lost, because her pointing became more animated and her voice rose as she shouted, “Right there!”

“The giant pile of leaves?”

“Uh-huh.”

Then, in all of my obliviousness, I just sort of stared. Even when her hand grew tighter around mine and her feet started to move faster, I didn’t put two and two together until it was too late.

“What about— No!” I shouted, cutting off my own train of thought and only barely letting go of her in time to watch her jump straight into the collection of fallen foliage that some poor landscaper had obviously worked hard to gather.

I have to believe that even if that unlucky, underappreciated individual saw what she’d done to their hours of work, that they would forgive her. It was hard to feel anything but joy at the sounds that came from the pile. Yet I approached her cautiously, with both hands in my pockets to avoid the urge to throw myself into danger with her.

“You’re a terror,” I said, settling for a crouched position in front of her. Still able to see her but far enough from her grasp that she had to crawl through a wall of leaves to come nose to nose with me.

“This is literally the scariest thing you’ve done all season," I said.

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” she purred.

As enticing as the offer was, my mind was too preoccupied with statistics of spider and snake bites, not to mention the possibility of ticks still scouring the landscape for any last second hosts. The answer was easy.

“Absolutely not.”

With another exhale of pure displeasure, she threw her body back into the leaves, burying herself into a mess of yellows and reds that somehow only made her look even more beautiful. The chaotic scene matched her energy well, and the harm she was doing was minimal considering I was absolutely going to search every inch of skin for any marks later.

The only thing that was more appealing to me than watching her make an absolute fool out of herself in a pile of leaves was the intense urge to tease her about it. So, taking a regrettable seat on the grass, I sighed, “I think I’m going to have to arrest you for trespassing.”

There was a loud gasp from the center of the pile, followed by a scuffle of flailing limbs among the foliage.

“You don’t own this leaf pile! I do! I am queen of the leaf pile!” she screeched.

“Alright Princess,” I subtly corrected, “whatever you say.”

As promised, I didn’t put up a fight. Even when she finally got a hold of my hands and dragged me into the madness with her. I followed her no matter what nonsense she demanded, just as she had with me so many times. Granted, my desires weren’t nearly as dangerous or strange. They were pretty much just a collection of foreign films and reading that always lulled her to sleep.

But that day there was no sign of her energy waning. The early sun faded and we kept going. I’m not sure how, but she managed to enjoy herself in the D.C. landscape of bars and blaring car horns. Her joy became even more obvious when we'd stumbled upon a crowd of very drunk women who had insisted we join their haunted tour of the city.

“Are you scared?” she whispered into my ear.

The feeling of her warm breath against my skin caused a shiver to run down my spine, ruining any credibility I had in my response.

“No. Why would I be scared? It’s just history.”

“Are you sure?” she asked again.

“Yes!” I insisted with the worst possible timing. Because just as soon as the word had left my lips, I felt the distinct sensation of fingers running down my neck and arm opposite to her. I was so convinced that’s what it was that I even spun around with a yelp, crashing into at least three different people just to find a very startled woman with the worst hung scarf I’d ever seen.

My love had already put two and two together and was lost in an absolute fit of laughter. There were already tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she doubled over, barely able to stand through it all. Because there I was, her nearly middle aged FBI agent boyfriend, screaming over a scarf.

“Laugh it up,” I droned.

And she did. She kept laughing through any attempts at a response, and after the initial embarrassment wore off, I couldn’t help but join her.

“I hope you know you chose me. You chose this man!” I shouted, gesturing to the people around us who had already forgotten about our shenanigans, “And everyone knows it!”

“I’m sorry I can’t—” she wheezed, pausing to take a necessary breath that was all lost with another bunch of giggles “—You’re a fucking FBI Agent!”

“Well I can’t shoot a ghost, can I?” I mumbled through the hit to my ego. But any suffering was quickly dealt with as she threw dramatic arms around my waist, pulling me close and protecting me from any other errant scarves that might show up.

“I love you so much,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” I returned with a quick kiss on her forehead. And even if I implied otherwise, I think she knew that I was having just as good of a time as she was. In fact, it was one of the most relaxing days of my life, which was saying something, considering how much walking was involved.

But no matter how tired we both were, I still had one last place to take her. The final destination for us to rest our heads and reminisce over a day spent cycling through every autumnal activity. Just one more place to end the day.

Home, I thought as I looked at her. All there was left to do was go home.

The perfect end to the perfect day.

Want more? This blurb is actually an excerpt of my existing work, Here to Misbehave! Check out the series masterlist here!

[reiderwriter]

♦️Pardon The Way That I Stare♦️

Chapter 8 of That's What You Get

Prev Chapter || Next Chapter

Summary: After some encouragement from Emily and Penelope, you try to explain your reaction to Reid at work. Until you find yourself reacting to him more and more, distracting you from doing your job. Warnings: Alcohol consumption, mentions of sex, Reader is just really horny for Reid (REAL). A/N: We're getting closer to the climax and I'm SO beyond excited for everyone to read the next chapter because I think it's going to be so good but also so evil and I enjoy that very much. If you like the series, let me know by dropping a message in the replies or in my inbox, and follow my other account @reiderslibrary for just fics from me without my random thoughts and bullshit in between... You can find masterlist here, and the series masterlist is linked here!

You were stupid, there was no other logical explanation for it. Staring at Emily on your doorstep as your brain stood there, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, trying to process the words she’d just said to you, there was really only one thing running through your brain.

“I’m a fucking dumbass.” you groaned, your hands coming up to your head as you pondered your next move.

“There’s no chance that you’ll believe this was all just one practical joke that I’ve been playing to test how quickly you could turn up at my place with wine?” You looked up hopefully at Emily, and she returned with a concerned look of her own, that silently communicated ‘No, I wasn’t born yesterday.’

“Worth a shot, come on in.” You opened the door wider for Emily and grabbed a second glass from your kitchen to share the wine before she could start her interrogation.

“So,” she prompted as soon as you returned to the couch, and you sighed heavily as you nodded and began.

“I married Reid in Vegas.”

“Yes, I got that from the text, what I didn’t get was why, what, when, where, who, and how! Question words, Y/N, important information if you please.” You chuckled at Emily’s tone, and you melted a little into your couch. Just like with Penelope, letting others know had comforted you. You’d never been one to bottle up your emotions, and you couldn’t exactly tell Spencer how you felt about him, so your dearest FBI-assigned best friends were a welcome compromise.

“You promise not to tell anyone? Penelope knows, and so does Rossi, but no one else does. Well maybe someone else but I don’t know who that someone is - long story.” You rambled, still aware of the promise you’d made with Spencer, and knowing that you’d actually broken it twice now.

“Scouts honor, now get on with it.”

“You were never a scout.”

“That’s beside the point, Y/N, now spill!”

“Do you remember when we finished the case in Vegas last weekend, and we all wanted nothing more than to go home, but the jet was landed?” A small nod encourages you to continue. “Well, Reid offered to show me this bar that he thought I’d enjoy, and honestly, I’d had a tense phone call with my mom and was feeling a bit crappy, so I thought a drink wouldn’t hurt.”

“A drink might get you married though.” You glared at her at the interruption, and she held her hands up in surrender as you continued.

“The bar was amazing, and he noticed I was feeling down, and I don’t know, he just has this way of making me feel calm and fully together. I was a mess earlier that day, but with like one short conversation, he kind of turned my mood entirely around.” You flushed then and decided to ignore Emily’s next interjection.

“Oh god…”

“Apparently after that, we went to a casino or another bar or something, but honestly, I drank so much I don’t remember any of that. But at some point, we bought a very expensive engagement ring, made our way to the Bureau for Wedding Licences and then a chapel and now we’re legally married.” You tried to end your story there, but Emily wasn’t having that.

“No, you’re not stopping there. You said you kissed, and you ruined everything, and you mentioned a wedding night in that text, do not shortchange me now, Y/L/N. Wait, should I be calling you Reid now?” She grinned at the flush that coated your entire body with that, and you buried your head in your pillows.

“Okay, okay. Well, we’re trying to figure out who the witnesses to our wedding were. We know that two team members were there, and Penelope was one of them, but Spencer doesn’t know that yet. Again, another long story.” You let your words sink in as you realize the tangled mess you’d spun for yourself in the last week.

“We spent some time researching our options on Saturday night, to see if we could get our memories to come back and I might not have left until a couple hours ago?”

“Y/N! You’ve been banging Reid for the last three days?”

“No! No, nothing like that, we didn’t- well, we did just not at his house, but also I don’t think you want to hear about that.” You spilled all the details about your last few days with Reid, his touches, his care, the dates you’d been on, the way you’d wrapped yourself around each other in your sleep, but still woken up to an empty bed, all the way up to that fateful kiss and your stupid reaction.

“So there, I’ve ruined it.” Emily looked at you pityingly and started to say something when your doorbell rang a second time.

“That’s reinforcements,” Emily said, standing and moving to greet the newcomer herself. You were relieved when Penelope Garcia came marching through the door, ice cream in hand and mouth already moving.

“Have no fear, your guardian angel is here. Emily texted me en route and I disentangled myself from my plans with a now very suspicious Derek Morgan to race over here. I think I managed to throw him off the scent by mentioning my ukelele lessons with Sam though, he always kinda glazes over whenever I go into heavy details about that.” She perches herself on the couch beside you and starts organizing things on the table, pulling out three tubs of ice cream and locating adequate spoons in the drawer.

“Pen, you didn’t have to do all this…”

“Yes, I did. Emily tell her I did. I need all the details that you suddenly remembered Y/N or I’m going to go crazy, and let me tell you, I am not an effective tech analyst when my mind is all aflutter with wonder.” You smiled awkwardly at the situation. You’d glossed over the details of your wedding night with Emily, going no further than insinuating that you’d had sex, but now the pressure was on.

“We just want to help you, Y/N. And we’re morbidly curious.” Emily joined in. Both of their eyes were trained on you in a hopeful expression, leaving the ball firmly in your court as you fought down the embarrassment rising from the back of your throat.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath.

“I think it was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life,” was all you managed to squeak out before they were reacting, asking twenty questions each in the space of a minute as your body both caught fire at the memory and shrunk down to the size of an ant at the attentions.

“Calm down, calm down, I’ll tell you more but you have to calm down.” They stilled themselves and bit their tongue, and you continued.

“Well I don’t want to get into the, uh, specific details, but let’s just say that he’s very good at putting theory into practice. That or he’s actually very experienced in sex and nobody ever realized, because the things he was doing were like, expert-level maneuvers. I didn’t think I was that flexible until he was hitting from-”

“OKAY not that much detail, this is still Reid we’re talking about.”

“Sorry,” you giggled sheepishly and decided to spare them all the details. “All I’ll say is that we both finished multiple times. And I might have stupidly let him finish inside of me.”

“Y/N, you should know better! Safe sex is really important, especially if you’re fucking in a hotel room in Vegas.” Emily half-chastised you, but you could hear the humor in her voice and just rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly having sex with a stranger, I was having sex with my husband.” That got you a teasing cooing from the two women and you buried your face in your hands again.

“So he’s your husband now, is he? How long have you been married? Like three days?”

“Five. Fuck, we’re running out of time.” The length of time that had elapsed since you’d walked down the aisle shocked you as soon as you’d acknowledged it, and you downed your glass of wine as your brain ran rampant.

“Rossi said that if we didn’t tell everyone in a week, he’d do it for us so we didn’t lose our jobs, and we need to file for an annulment soon so we don’t have to get a divorce but there’s like… a one week window, and it’s already been five days. Shit. shit shit shit shit.”

“Hold on, Y/N, you said he kissed you earlier today, right? I wouldn’t exactly recommend getting married and then dating your partner, but it sounds like you both at least like each other enough to pursue this relationship, why would you need an annulment?” Emily’s confusion only served to remind you of the reason they were both here in the first place.

“That’s the problem. I think he thinks I don’t like him like that. And it’s totally my fault that he thinks that, because when he kissed me I didn’t react well and then he just left, and I think I ruined everything.”

“Define not reacting well,” Emily probed further.

“I pushed him away and slammed the door in his face. But that was only because I remembered everything that happened between us on our wedding night, and remembering the most satisfying experience of your entire existence while face-to-face with the man who you’d hitherto never thought capable of that, and having it occur in like 0.02 of a second is a paralyzing experience.”

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot,” Penelope whispered from her side of the couch and you nodded heartily in agreement.

“And what, he just left?” Emily asked again, tone incredulous with all the information she was receiving.

“Well when I’d had my moment and realized what I’d done, I opened the door again and he wasn’t there. And that was only like a minute later. He messaged me this after he left.” You grabbed your phone and opened it up, showing the girls the message and noting their winces in reaction to his words.

“It’s bad, right?”

“No! No, this is salvageable! You just have to… be brave?” Penelope didn’t seem to believe her own words as you pulled your phone back and poured yourself another glass, ready to drown your sorrows once again. Emily was a little more confident.

“Okay. Here’s what you do. I’m going to talk to Rossi for you tomorrow morning at work, get him to hold off on his big reveal while you go and explain everything to Spencer. How does that sound?”

“That sounds doable, I guess.” You sniffled a little, rereading the text having made your emotions jump back up to the surface again as you fought off tears.

“Brilliant. And then you can stay married and continue having wonderful sex, and make some genius babies and make me their godmother.” You threw a pillow at Penelope that she was just too slow to catch, and filled the rest of your evening with wine, ice cream, and good company.

–X–

Emily sends you a thumbs-up text after she talks to Rossi the next morning, and a weight falls off your shoulder. One step down, one to go right?

You’d arrived at work probably a little bit too early, having spent the night tossing and turning and playing every possible outcome in your mind over and over again. It had been half an hour before the next person turned up, and Hotch had only given you a confused half-nod in greeting before secluding himself in his office. Rossi had been the next to arrive, about twenty minutes later, and he too had questioned your presence but not in so many words.

“Early morning, Y/N? Settling into new routines in your newly-wed life, are we?” You’d stuttered out an answer but he was halfway up the stairs by the time you finished, obviously meaning the comment to be rhetorical.

Morgan, Emily, and JJ were all next, showing up only a few minutes before your shift officially started, but there was no sign of Reid, and you were running out of time - and privacy - to talk to him.

Then at 9 sharp the elevator doors opened, and from your seat at your desk, you watched him step out, feeling your tongue grow thick and your heart beat faster as he made his way into the office. This wasn’t how you were supposed to feel, this was cartoonish like a teenage boy in a brat pack movie watching the hottest girl in the school walk down a corridor. This was Spencer, your husband, and your best friend, and here you were feeling giggly and shy.

You almost felt like texting Emily back, telling her if you started giggling and twirling your hair, to take you out back and put you out of your misery.

He didn’t make eye contact with you as he settled into his morning routine, pulling off his scarf, putting his bag away, and then moving to the kitchen to fill up on his morning coffee. You did your best to covertly follow him, trying not to alert the others to your heart eyes as you looked at him and forgot everyone else.

“Spencer, can we talk?” You blocked off the entry to the kitchen as he spun around to face you, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips.

“Sure, Y/N, what’s up?” His voice didn’t betray any of his emotions, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes, and you could tell you’d hurt him the day before. You took a deep breath and walked closer to him as he continued making his coffee, again refusing to look you in the eyes as he continued as normal.

“It’s about yesterday-”

“We probably shouldn’t talk about this here, right?” He cut you off in a whisper, his voice sending shivers down your spine as you gripped the countertop beside him for support. You’d gotten closer than you expected at first, somehow magnetically drawn to him, your body language just as open to him as he was closed to you.

“I think we need to, Spence. I’m sorry, I panicked.”

“No, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have done that-”

“Spencer I got my memory back.” His eyes widened and he blossomed in front of you again, attention entirely on you now as he took in your words.

“You did?”

“Partially, only the… Only the memories of your hotel room.” His eyes darkened in understanding, moving unconsciously closer to you, placing a hand next to yours on the counter as he effectively trapped your body in.

“Oh. Those memories.”

“Yeah. So you can see why I was a bit distracted.” He nodded at your words, but he was still coming closer to you now. Your body felt weak underneath you, entirely reacting to his closeness, the warmth rolling off his body, the electricity sparking between you despite him not touching you anywhere.

“Distracted?” His eyes darted to your lips as he grew closer, and your legs chose that exact second to give in underneath you.

Your knees hit the ground uncomfortably, as he reacted to your sudden movement, trying to grab you and pull you up, but only managing to grab the hand that was already holding the counter above you, awkwardly twisting and pinning your arm up.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, I’m sorry, I think… I think I should go,” you were face to face with his crotch, and looking up at him in that position was certainly giving you unwholesome thoughts. He jumped back as you scrambled out from underneath him, begging whatever god was out there that none of the profilers you worked with would question the dazed state that would follow you for the rest of the day.

–X–

Despite your need to straighten things out with Spencer, you’d avoided him for the rest of the day, and, having been called out on a case, you spent the better part of the week avoiding him as well. After literally falling for him, you’d decided that maybe in your newly weakened lovesick stage, it was best for everyone on the team that you try to stay as clear-headed as possible.

Not everyone on the team, though, agreed. He’d trailed after you like a lost puppy for days now, and you wanted nothing more than to give in and throw yourself in his arms. But there was a murderer on the loose and you needed to give your entire attention to it.

He’d tried multiple times to get you to help him with some work, suggesting that you go through some files together, or check out one of the witnesses together, much to your discomfort. Luckily, Hotch had picked up on some of the discomfort between the two of you and had kept you somewhat apart, not asking questions.

But the last night on the case, he’d cornered you, and you had to work twice as hard to extricate yourself from the situation.

“Y/N, why are you avoiding me?” He’d caught you alone in the hotel lobby, pulling you into a dark corner without much foot traffic to confront you. “Is it because of the kiss? Because the way you talked about getting your memories back the other day made me think we were okay about that again, but if we’re not then I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not the kiss, Spence, and we really shouldn’t be talking about this here.” You tried to turn and leave, but he grabbed your elbow and spun you back into him, bodies pressed flush up against each other now.

“Spencer let go, someone could see us.” Even you knew your voice sounded half-hearted, not really wanting him to stop touching you at all.

“If it’s not the kiss, then why are you acting like I don’t exist?” His face was close again, and you felt your body reacting the same way it had done in the staff kitchen. Your knees went weak again, but he was prepared this time, holding you up in his arms, gently maneuvering you so you were pinned against the wall.

“Is this it?” He asked, letting his hands trail over your body as you whimpered under his touch. “Your reactions?”

Your brain was empty of a response, so you just held still, desperate to see what he would do or say next.

“You know, the deadline on our annulment has passed. It’s been over a week now,” he said, his forehead resting on yours as he brought his hips ever closer.

You were the one that gave in first, pushing your head up to capture his lips in a crushing kiss, needing him the way you needed water, food, and sleep. You’d deprived yourself for so long, and now you were hungry, ravenous, and he was the same. Your lips opened, and soon his tongue was snaking in, caressing you in ways both familiar and new, and your entire body heated up to its boiling point.

You moaned under his touch as his hands wandered, silently begging for more of him. Your brain only kicked back into gear when you registered the sound of voices about to turn the corner. Quickly pushing him off, you pulled yourself together just as JJ and Morgan found you there.

“Y/N, Reid, Garcia got a positive ID on our unsub, we’re about to go SWAT his house, get your gear ready.”

Either you were very good at masking your emotions and the physical outburst you’d just shared, or Morgan was just too caught up in getting his job done that he didn’t look too closely at the way Reid’s tie was half undone, your lips were pink and swollen and that both of you were breathing abnormally. Whichever it was, you were just thankful that neither of them questioned you as you all left to go and do your job.

–X–

To your detriment, you’d avoided him on the jet back as well, choosing to wrap a blanket around yourself and sit in a single seat at the end of the plane rather than risk his hands on you again like last time. You already couldn’t be trusted around him, and you wanted to take no risks with everyone else present.

He’d sat in your line of vision purposefully though, making eye contact every now and then to remind you that he was still watching you. You’d feigned exhaustion and pretended to sleep in the end, despite the flight duration only being a measly two hours. He’d let you exit the plane alone though, and said a general goodbye to the team upon landing, giving you a second look and wave before taking himself home.

The ball was firmly in your court.

“What the hell was all that?” Emily whispered in your ear as you both watched him leave alone. “What happened to the plan?” You smiled awkwardly, not wanting to admit how fucking horny the man made you feel, and how it was affecting your work performance so badly that avoiding him was the only way to keep your job.

“We had the talk, everything’s fine.”

“The two of you aren’t walking out of here hand in hand, so obviously everything is not fine, Penelope, tell me I’m wrong.” The other woman had stumbled into the bullpen upon landing and Emily had immediately drawn her into your hushed conversation as soon as Morgan had made to go home as well.

“What’s going on, hot stuff, I thought you’d be enjoying every second of your marital bliss by now.”

“He’s too distracting.” You whisper shouted at him. “He kissed me again last night and I almost let him take me in the lobby. And Morgan and JJ almost caught us, so yeah, he’s too distracting.”

“Oh god, you’re horny for Reid.” Emily laughed slightly at the implication as if it had just dawned on her and you hadn’t had an entire conversation where you fawned about how good in bed he was.

“Yes, I’m horny for Reid, okay, now please stop laughing, I’m in pain.”

“Well you know there’s only one solution, right?” Penelope said as if it were clear as day. “You need to go have sex with him again. See if you can be normal with him when you’re not so pent up.”

“I don’t know, Pen….” You were still staring at the elevator doors, even after it had been so long since he’d left.

“What is there to not know? You like him, he likes you, you’re married. Like you said before, it’s not like you’re having sex with a stranger, he’s your husband.” Having your words thrown back in your face gave you the boost of confidence that you needed, and you sprang from your chair.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Emily repeated and you looked back down at the two women.

“Okay, I’m gonna… I’m gonna go seduce my husband, I guess?” You turned on your heel and left, marching out to the sounds of whoops and cheers from the two women behind you.

🏷️ @w-windyy @multifandom-on-the-side @reidandhotchsgirl @babybluecakes @hugyourlungs @prentissesredtanktop @reidscaffeine @bethanyhaas01 @average-sunflower @academiareid @sailortongue @daddy-dotcom @high-functioning-cosplayer @anniewhalelover @abbyshmaby @isabel-ffl-xoxo @sujan39 @frxcless @bluestuesday @busy-buzzing @breadbrobin @maxinehufflepuffprincess @l0v3cam @booksandwonderlands @myescapefromthislife @ferrjulie @scoobydoopoo @aelinismyqueen @littlesingingbean @jamiemuscatosslut @xohoneybun @anchovy89freya @dysphoricsanity @ghostheartbeat @casss2111 @rebloggiest-reblogger @wishyoudaskme @imawhoreforu @academiacoffeelover @softservepunk @andiebeaword @r-3dlips @wakaladjarin @ratbastardchild @mcira @danika1994 @stargurl99 @whovianwholikesgirls @its-not-too-late-for-coffee

[hazza043]

Merle had been messing with you nonstop since you arrived. You were walking down to the quarry to wash some clothes when Merle appeared, a smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes. "Yes, can I help you?"

Merle smirked, his eyes gleaming with trouble. "Oh, I think you can help me, little lady."

"Please, not today. Just leave me alone," you said, frustrated.

Merle chuckled, his smirk growing wider. "Aww, come on now. I'm just trying to be friendly. You're so uptight all the time. You need to learn to relax and have a little fun."

You sighed, frustrated. "Merle, I'm trying to do my laundry here. Can you please just leave me alone?"

Merle took a step closer, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, I'll leave you alone, all right. But first, you have to answer a question for me."

You hesitated, wary of what he might ask. "What is it?"

Merle's grin grew even wider. "How about you spend the night with a real man?"

You scoffed. "Is the real man your brother?"

Merle's face turned red with anger, and for a moment, you thought you'd gone too far. But then, his expression changed, and he let out a loud laugh. "Oh, you're a feisty one, I'll give you that," he said, chuckling. "But I wasn't talking about my brother. Although, I'm sure Daryl would be happy to oblige."

You felt a surge of annoyance at the suggestion. "Merle, stop it. Just leave me alone."

Merle took a step closer, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, come on now. I'm just trying to have a little fun. You're so serious all the time. You need to learn to lighten up."

You yelled, "I'm not interested in you now, nor will I ever be! I'd rather fuck your brother!"

The quarry fell silent, with all eyes on you and Merle. You could feel your face burning with embarrassment and anger. Merle's expression turned dark, and he took a step closer to you.

"You're a real firecracker, aren't you?" he said, his voice low and menacing

Suddenly, Daryl appears out of nowhere, his eyes flashing with anger. "Merle, leave her alone," he growls, his voice low and deadly.

Merle smirks, but he takes a step back, his hands raised in mock surrender. "Oh, I was just having a little fun, Daryl. Don't be so serious all the time."

Daryl's eyes narrow, his jaw clenched in anger. "You're not going to leave her alone, are you?" he says, his voice dripping with menace.

Merle shrugs, his smirk still plastered on his face. "I make no promises, little brother."

You can feel the tension between the two brothers, and you know that things are about to escalate. You also know that you've sparked something in Daryl, something that could change everything between you.

[photmath]

Blue Scribbles | Trent Alexander-Arnold

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Female Reader

Summary: Trent and you have always bumped heads, but after seeing him kiss a girl, you begin to feel something you shouldn't.

Word Count: 8.0k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, little angst reader is drunk briefly, jerkface Trent, vomitting, loose-editing

Note: Not my best work but might as well free up space in my wips. Just a whole lot of nothing but Dominik cameos, sorrry.

“Trent, are you bringing anyone to the party?” Harvey asks, flipping through his notepad to jot down the number of guests.

Trent nods his head mindlessly, head still tucked down as he scrolls through his phone, “Yeah, just put down two.”

“Girls?” Dominik blurts. “Gonna have them meet at the same time?”

Trent looks up at his friend, a smug expression unfolding on his lips as he looks at the rest of the group. All six pairs of eyes await his answer. His eyes circle back to you, his smirk growing wider, “Something like that.”

You dart your eyes away. You don’t care who Trent brings to the party, it just bothered you that after looking at the entire group of six at the table, he stopped and stared at you to confirm his number of guests. It shouldn’t have made you feel anything, but it left you feeling bitter.

Harvey nudges your elbow, “And what about you?”

“Just me,” you murmur. Trent snorts from across the table and you look up at him, he sends you back a wink. “Say what you have to say.”

He shrugs, placing his phone face down on the table, “Nothin.’”

“Don’t start,” Veronica rubs her temple.

“Are you going to tell those two girls, who by the way, are bestfriends, that you’re fucking the both of them?” you remark, ignoring Veronica’s plea. The rest of the group groans, Jude gasping.

“You’re doing what?” His eyebrows wide.

Trent clenches his jaw, the smug expression he wore moments ago disappearing, “I’m not fucking either.”

“Yeah right,” you huff, closing your laptop and slipping it into your bag.

“Where are you going,” Tara sits up, grabbing a hold of your wrist.

“I’m going home.”

“It’s dark out, you can’t walk alone.”

“It’s not that late,” you reply, throwing your backpack over your shoulder. The sun had already set and the apartment was not that far away, although sure, it would’ve been safer to walk with someone.

You don’t notice Trent trailing behind you until the door swings open, him scurrying behind you, “Did you really have to say that so loud?”

“It’s not like we all didn’t know.”

Jude not knowing was his own fault, he was too airheaded at times to remember gossip.

He grabs a hold of your wrist and you spin around to face him. He shoves his hands into his black hoodie, “I’m not having sex with either of them.”

You shut your eyes close, “I don't need to know that.”

“Yeah, well you talk like you know everything,” he exasperates.

Huffing, you pull your jacket tighter to your chest, “Okay, fine. You aren’t fucking either of them.”

Trent purses his lips, “I’ll walk with you.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, come on,” he walks past you, bumping into your shoulder.

Trent is not someone who you consider yourself close to. He was a part of the friend group, but he was also your academic rival. The two of you bumped heads constantly in class, always on opposite sides in debate, and fighting over the better grade in biology. No amount of “forced-bonding”—as Veronica described it—stopped the bickering. Since you met him four years ago, nothing has changed and that didn't seem to be changing soon either.

Trent suddenly shuffles around in his backpack, tsking to himself as he looks back at you, “Do you have a pen I could borrow? We have that paper due tomorrow and you know, we have to write it out.”

You roll your eyes, swinging your bag around to your chest. You’re careful to make sure you don’t slip off the sidewalk but Trent stays close to the side closest to the road, him bumping into your shoulder to move you further away.

“Sorry,” you mutter, unzipping the small pouch. The only available pen you have is a brand new blue Pilot G2 pen, one that you got from the library. You sigh, “Here.”

“Thanks,” he takes it and threads it into the space between the tip of his ear and head. His locs fall on top of it.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, only helping him because he was walking you home—but he lived in the apartment next to yours. No surprise there.

“Have you already finished your paper?” He asks, turning back to you. A cloud of condensation blows in your direction.

“Yep.”

He nods, “You had what? Romanticism?”

“Uh-huh.”

He chuckles, “What’s got you so upset? I just saw you earlier and you were fine. And then the stunt you pulled in the library? What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m good,” you stare ahead, the apartment finally coming into view.

He bumps into your shoulder again, this time with more force, “Why are you being such an ass?”

You stop abruptly, attempting to grab your pen back but he just weaves away. “Am I supposed to thank you for walking me home?”

Trent smiles but not genuine, his tongue licking across his lips, “I try to be nice even after you’ve said something about me twice.”

“You live there too!” you scoff, and then turn back to the apartment. Scanning the key fob, the staircase doors open and Trent follows closely behind you.

“I was trying to make small talk with you,” he says calmly, rephrasing his words as if it will prolong the conversation.

“Don’t. We don’t do small talk.”

“Your mood changed so fast, sorry for trying to make sure you were okay,” he relents.

You halt, turning around and looking down at him, “Don’t act like you care about me.”

He gapes, “You’re my friend, of course I care.”

“Friends? We aren’t friends, Trent.”

“Why not?” he looks taken aback, his hand clutching onto the rail. His knuckles turn whiter the longer you take to respond.

“Because you ruined my presentation!”

“That happened months ago.”

“That was an asshole move and you know it, don’t be dense. I worked on it for an entire month and you fucked it all up, for what? A five minute laugh? You cost me my grade,” you cross your arms, feeling yourself grow hot as rage seeps through you. “I would’ve never done that shit to you. Why do you think I’ve kept my distance from you? All I want to do is punch your stupid face.”

Trent huffs, “Then do it, if that’s going to stop making you feel upset.”

You blow out a breath, “You don’t get it.”

“Then tell me.”

“I was this close to getting an A,” you pinch your fingers together, displaying the small gap you needed to bump your B to an A. All you needed was a superb presentation and you would've gotten it, but here comes Trent, infiltrating your hard drive and changing your entire presentation to Latin. Luckily, you had memorized and practiced what you wrote and was able to present it that way, the PowerPoint just a mere background. But it wasn’t enough to change your grade to an A.

You exhale slowly again, “And then you changed my presentation and I got a bad grade on it. Long nights worth of researching, gone.”

Trent glances around the stairs, biting down onto his bottom lip, “I’m sorry.”

“Too late,” you purse your lips. “It doesn’t matter now.” You turn around and head up the stairs. Trent lagged behind but then eventually caught up to your pace. You held the door open for him begrudgingly, him walking past you without a glance. His hands stuffed into his pockets as he walked down the corridor to your and his apartments.

He shuffles around in his pocket for his keys and then opens his door, slamming it closed and you furrow your eyebrows at his attitude. You slam your door back, not caring that it rattles the apartment.

-

Trent is a couple of minutes late to class, your professor going on about your papers needing to be passed down to the ends of the rows so that she could pick them up.

And for whatever reason, your eyes latch onto Trent’s appearance once he strolls into class. A black beanie covers his head as he climbs up the stairs, his backpack on one shoulder, and the black leather jacket he has on makes your eyebrow rise. Was it new?

As he passes by your seat, the scent of his usual laundry detergent is replaced with an unfamiliar cologne. You let out a cough, him glancing in your direction but then turning away as he sits down. His eyes look a lot more hooded than usual, and the sudden emergence of eye bags.

Two seats separate the two of you but the space is so small that it’s almost an arm’s length of distance in reality. You had missed the first day of class, not realizing the seat you chose the second day of class was next to Trent, neither of you daring to move away.

He takes out his paper quickly, passing it in your direction and the ink—it’s black? You give him a dubious look as you pass it to the person sitting beside you.

“Where’s my pen?”

“I lost it,” he mumbles.

“Are you serious?”

He nods, never looking at you as he props up his iPad, “Very.”

“Dickhead,” you whisper. You’d have to grab another pen. You had multiple colored pens, but nothing compared to the slick roll of a Pilot G2 pen. It was a good pen.

Class goes by without another peep from Trent, until the professor tells you you’ll be assigned a partner and topic for the next research paper. You hold your breath as you search through the class’s website to find your partner, and the universe always works against your favor:

Trent Alexander-Arnold. Darwinism.

Trent slams his iPad case closed, seemingly just reading the same list you did and you groan. The paper was due in a week.

“We can meet up later this week,” you suggest.

“I have to get to class,” he says, swinging his backpack over his shoulder and walking away.

You sigh, gathering your things and then following Trent. He is already at the end of the row when you notice a blue tab sticking out of the small pouch of his backpack. Your pen!

You pick up your pace, grumbling at your peers as they stop you from catching up to him. They crowd the stairs and take their time going down them, you attempting to maneuver through them but it’s no use. Once you exit, you stand on your tippy toes and catch the tip of his black beanie. As you beeline towards him, he turns the corner and once you round it, you stop dead in your tracks.

He’s grinning as he wraps his arm over a girl’s shoulder, leaning down to press a kiss on her lips. It isn’t a quick kiss, it’s a deep one, his fingers coming up to her cheek to draw her in deeper. Something tumbles in your stomach, making you lean against the wall for support. You turn away, feeling like you’ve invaded his privacy and you really shouldn’t have seen that. You swallow the bile in your throat and head to the library.

Dominik is the first one you see in the study room, his head perking up as he spots you, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you exasperate.

His eyebrows pinch, “You okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “Just motivating myself for Harvey’s party tonight.”

He chuckles, “He says it should be lowkey, just us.”

And whoever Trent is planning on inviting.

You gulp, “Mm-hmm.”

“You look like you’re going to puke,” he says, putting down his iPad and standing up. He grabs the bin and pushes it near you.

Before you can thank him or push it away, Trent walks in. And that’s it, you bend down and hurl into the bin.

“Oh my god,” Dominik yelps. “Maybe you shouldn’t go to the party tonight.”

Trent doesn’t say a word as he sits down, you take the napkin Dominik pulled out of his bag. You wipe your face, feeling flushed and dizzy.

“I’m going to go home.”

“Do you want me to walk you?” Dominik asks.

“Uh—”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Trent says, slouching down in his seat as he types on his phone. You glance at him and notice the tips of his fingers are stained blue. You don’t question it as you get up to leave.

You can’t keep a secret. It was your biggest weakness, always making you physically ill. Trent was kissing one of those girl’s, her bestfriend oblivious that they were both going for the same guy. You had to either tell her or somehow forget about it.

Dominik huffs, closing his iPad and grabbing your backpack. He swings it over his shoulder and ushers you out of the room. Once the door closes, you blurt, “Trent was kissing her.”

“What?” Dominik asks.

“He kissed her. Her bestfriend has no idea.”

“Her bestfriend?”

“They’re both going for Trent!” You turn towards him and he’s blatantly confused, his lips part open.

“Okay, so what?”

“One of them is bound to get hurt.”

“Maybe they know,” Dominik sighs. “It’s not our business.”

“But tonight, he’s bringing them both.”

He walks you into the lift, “And? Trent can handle his own business. If he’s going for a pair of bestfriends, let him.”

“I’m breaking girl code,” you murmur, letting your head fall dramatically against the lift’s walls.

Dominik rolls his eyes, “You don’t even know them.”

“But I know it’s happening.”

Dominik sighs, letting the conversation die out. He walks you back to your apartment, making sure you eat something before he goes next door to his own bedroom.

-

Tara has you out of the apartment before you can even protest. Dominik’s already too buzzed to tell you to go back home, instead he’s pouring you a shot glass. Even though you know alcohol wouldn’t calm your nerves down, you down it anyway. It burns your throat that you turn away from the island, accidentally bumping into someone.

Looking up, Trent wears a weary smile as he looks down at you. His beanie is long gone, but so are his locs. Instead his hair is cut short, super short that you blink repeatedly at it, just to make sure your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you.

Before you can say something, he looks away and walks past you. You don’t realize his arm is clutching onto someone else, the girl from earlier following closely behind him.

Dominik coughs and you face him, he shakes his head rapidly. His cheeks flush red as he starts choking.

“Jesus, Domi.”

“What?” he rasps, bending down to catch his breath. You rub his back as your gaze finds Trent. Trent brings a brown bottle of beer to his lips, his gaze flickering up at you. “You aren’t the only one who lost a boyfriend today.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend to lose—wait what?” you pick up Dominik by his shoulder. His eyes are brimmed red, his cheeks still beet red. “What happened with you and Ibou?”

He shrugs, “He said he wants a break.”

“What?”

He looks down at his shot glasses, pouring another round of whiskey into them, “And it makes sense why you threw up, you like Trent.”

“No I don’t,” you deny, your eyes finding Trent again, hoping he couldn’t hear Dominik. Trent is too submersed into conversation to notice.

He nods, handing you the glass, “Don’t deny it, it’s obvious the more I realize it. Always has been.”

He can’t be right. Whatever chance Trent had was ruined the day he messed up your presentation. He made you sob in the girls’ restroom, there was no way you could have a crush on him.

But your stomach tumbling earlier today. The burn of your neck and cheeks. And the way your chest caved in so deep that it felt like you were choking—no.

It didn’t help that Dominik had known you so well. He was the first friend you made on campus and he had always had a knack for reading you. He ended up meeting Trent through his football team, but you had already known of Trent.

“See,” Dominik murmurs, pointing out the horror etched across your face. “He’s cute, he’s just an asshole.”

“No, Dominik, you’re wrong.”

He purses his lips, face growing somber, “I wish I was, just so I didn’t have to see the disappointment on your face. Let’s just forget about it. Ibou is supposed to come and I don’t know…I might escape to your apartment to be honest.”

“Go for it,” you mumble, tearing your eyes away from Trent and tilting your head back as you gulp down the shot. Dominik is quick to pour another, and Jesus, how many were you and him going to have back to back?

Once the both of you drink the third shot, you take the bottle away from his tight grip. The party had barely got rowdy thirty minutes ago and you had maybe fifteen minutes before you couldn’t see straight. Drinking with Dominik was never a smart idea and you were going to regret it soon.

Tara drags you and Dominik away from the island to the beer pong table. Trent stands behind you, the girl—and her bestfriend—beside him. Dominik hums in your ear, before grabbing a cup and drinking the beer.

“Dominik!” Jude yells and Dominik apologizes, a sloppy grin forming.

“You two drink too much already?” Trent butts his head between the two of you, Dominik murmuring in Hungarian as he gets startled—or annoyed—with Trent’s voice.

You look away, crossing your arms as Tara and Veronica start the round of beer pong.

Trent’s presence behind you makes you feel hot, as if you can feel his breath on your exposed shoulder. And when you miss your first shot, he doesn’t let his presence go unnoticed, “You can’t be that drunk already.”

“Shut up,” you slur, jabbing him in his rib with your elbow. The white tee he wears hugs his biceps tight that you get distracted momentarily before Dominik pulls you back to your senses. He tosses the next ball and it lands in a cup.

As the game continues, Tara and Veronica don’t let up, making you and Dominik drink more cups of beer. Your head was already spinning, incoherent words flying past your lips as you tried to distract Tara and Veronica.

Once you two lose, Dominik sits down on the couch and you groan, finding yourself in the kitchen and searching through their fridge for a bottle of water.

“What are you looking for?” Trent asks behind you, his arms folded.

“Why do you have so many eggs?” your brows furrow as you stare at the drawer filled with eggs.

“Do you need water?”

“Yeah,” you stand up, feeling the weight of the world around your head, and then you bump your head against the top of the fridge. Before you can tumble, Trent wraps his arms around your waist.

“Okay, let’s sit you down, yeah?” He ushers you to a chair and you groan, your head pounding from the sudden hit. The wave of pain seemed to only exacerbate your nausea. Your cheeks feel hot as you close your eyes to make the room stop spinning.

Trent uncaps the water and taps your elbow. You hold your hand out, “Hold on.”

“Do you need to throw up?”

“Just shut up.”

He sighs, “C’mon.” He bends down to hoist you up from your waist, ushering you into their guest restroom that was a few steps away. He locks the door and leans you against the wall. He leans against the door, watching you carefully.

“Ibou and Dominik broke up,” you slur. Here go you spilling secrets that weren’t yours to tell. “Fuck you weren’t supposed to know that.”

He nods, “It’s okay, I already knew.”

Thank God.

“And I saw you kissing that girl—ugh—what was her name, Clare? Clarissa?”

He furrows his eyebrows, crossing his arms. Your eyes selfishly land on his bulging biceps. He coughs, “Anything else you want to spit out?”

“I know you have my blue pen. And I’m really fucking drunk right now.”

Trent fights off a chuckle, it was a sight to see you flushed from alcohol. You rarely get super drunk and this seems to be the night you are going to—or already were. Your eyes are more hooded than usual, hair a bit out of place, and your face is sticky.

“Yeah, you are really drunk,” he chuckles.

“Why are you laughing? It’s not funny,” you groan. “My head, it feels so heavy and then the fucking fridge—”

Trent bursts into another loud laugh, “I’m sorry, it’s just, I haven’t seen you like this since last year.”

“I didn’t plan on it, Dominik kept pouring shots and then we sucked at beer pong.”

Trent shakes his head, “No, you sucked. He was pretty good.”

“I sucked,” you throw your hands up in surrender but it only makes you feel more unbalanced that you wobble.

Trent reaches out for you, “Woah.”

He brings his head away from yours, his lips shiny with saliva as he peers down at you. Your hands are clutching onto his arms to regain your balance and god when did his arms feel so strong? And those eyelashes, were they always this long?

“You okay?” he whispers. His voice is so soft that it makes you close your eyes, you wanting to desperately lean forward against him to settle the spins.

You are too drunk for this. Instead, you fall back onto the wall and try to stand against it as straight as possible.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

He lets go of you and hands you the water bottle, “Drink up.”

Bile teases along your throat that it hurts swallowing but you continue on, feeling the bottle crush beneath your grip. Trent watching you gulp down the water doesn’t make the room any less stuffy or hot.

“You’re drunk,” he repeats, “so you won’t remember any of this in the morning?”

You let out a dry chuckle, “Probably not, to be honest. Being in a small restroom with you, god I hope not.”

Something flickers across Trent’s eyes but it’s gone within a heartbeat as he says coldly, “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to remember this either.”

“Why aren’t you with Clarissa and her bestfriend?”

“Because I’m here taking care of you being a sloppy drunk,” he spits.

“I can handle myself, I was doing just fine until you startled me and made me hit my head.”

Trent’s nostrils flare, his jaw clenching, “I don’t understand you.”

“Save your monologue, I won’t remember this and I really want to remember the way you look like you’re about to lose it,” you say monotonously, finishing the last bit of water.

Trent grits his teeth, “Can you stop being an ass for five minutes?”

“Timer starts now.”

“Why do Clarissa and Diane bother you so much?”

“Because they’re bestfriends, that’s cruel, Trent,” you say. “They have no idea you’re playing them both. I shouldn’t be surprised after you humiliated me in front of everyone in class, but that’s cruel. And you say you’re sorry but you’re doing the same thing.”

Trent’s eyebrows crease, “It’s none of your business.”

“It’s not, but you’re an awful person. And it just makes me look at you differently. If the presentation didn’t prove you to be the biggest jackass at this uni, that does.”

“What you think of me doesn’t matter to me.” Trent snarls, looking around the restroom but only faces the mirror, where he immediately darts his eyes away from his reflection. “You made it out to be that I was playing them both, I’m not.”

You gawk, “You were right, I am too drunk for this.” You step to leave the restroom but he stops you, your head bumping into his chest that you stumble back against the wall where you were. “So what, I’m wrong and you’re only going for Clarissa? You know what, you’re right again, it’s none of my business and I’m not about to sit here and try to get it right because I won’t remember this in the morning. I’ll still think of you the same.”

“I like you,” he blurts out.

“What?”

He looks…flushed? Shocked? His eyes wide and his lips part as if he can’t believe what he just said, “Nothing. I just wanted you to stop talking.”

Silence falls between the two of you as he scratches the nape of his neck. He chews on his bottom lip anxiously. You couldn’t have heard him right. Surely the alcohol was seeping deep into you that comprehending words was much more of a task than before.

“Why did you cut your hair?” you ask quietly. Your gaze shifts to his chest, it’s heaving rapidly.

He shrugs, “Just wanted a change.”

“Oh, okay. Cool.”

“Do you like it?” He glances at the mirror and pats the back of it down.

Instead of answering, your jumbled mind reads his expression. He’s looking away from you but he’s expecting an answer, looking shy. His hands are still patting misplaced curls back into place but nothing is out of place. He waits patiently for your answer, but didn’t he say that it didn’t matter what you thought of him?

“Didn’t even recognize you.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. He looks at you and his eyes urge for you to continue. “I guess good, but then I recognized you and it became bad.”

His eyes look down briefly, “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“Yeah yeah,” you grumble, having heard those same words over and over again.

“I want to show you something in my bedroom.”

Your brows furrow, “I’m drunk, I’m not having sex with you.”

His mouth drops, “No! That’s not what I meant.”

“I would hope not,” you gag as the image of you two pops up in your head. “I don’t think I’d want to remember that anyway, good thing I wouldn’t.”

Trent’s flustered state doesn’t go away as he rambles, “I made you something.”

“If I go upstairs, you might have to carry me down.”

“Okay,” he shrugs, holding out his hand. “Come on.”

You hesitate, “Won’t your girls get mad?”

He rolls his eyes, “They aren’t my girls. Come on.”

You clasp your hand into his but the second he pulls you, you stumble into chest. He places his free hand on your waist and helps you out of the restroom.

Dominik stands with a drunken smile perched against the wall beside the restroom, “Oh, I’m glad you two worked out.” He sends you a wink before taking another swig of his drink.

You turn back to Trent, “Make sure he ends up in his bed tonight.”

“I know,” he nods, tapping your hip so that you can lead the way. Despite your few stumbles and the death stares from the pair of bestfriends, you make it to the staircase. Trent guides you upstairs with his hand pressed against your back.

Your head still felt like it was spinning but the bottle of water helped. You just needed some kind of bread, or crackers, something.

You turn back to Trent, he stops abruptly and bends down to your ear, “What?”

“Do you have food? Water and bread?”

“Bread?” He scrunches his eyebrows, his hand becoming more heavy on your back.

“It helps with alcohol.”

He blows a raspberry, “I’ll get it for you once we get to my room.”

“Okay, thank you.” You continue up the narrow stairs, cursing as you trip over a step. Trent hoists you up quickly, his hands never leaving your waist, even after your shirt lifted and he was now touching bare skin. His fingers stung, firm as they dug into you.

Once you reach his bedroom, you plop down on the floor and lean against his bed and bed frame. He leaves to get you bread and water and you peek around his room. Not much has changed since you had last been in it. There’s a couple of books piled on his nightstand, a hoodie loosely thrown over his desk chair, and a floor lamp lighting up the room.

You expect him to return with a bottle and maybe three slices of bread, but instead he returns with a six-pack of water bottles and an entire loaf of bread. You selfishly gawk at his biceps but then feel your eyes well up with tears.

“Are you crying?” he scowls, getting onto his knees and prying open the six-pack. He then unties the bread and faces it towards you.

“You brought me a whole loaf?” Your voice trembles as you tear a piece off and eat it. Your jaw wobbles as more tears spill out, a much harder cry than you expected.

“It’s just bread…” he mumbles, sitting next to you and hesitating to look at you. He rests his hands over his perched knees while you stuff your face with the bread. A small smile teeters against his lips.

“You’re so sweet.”

“You just said I was an awful person.”

“You do awful things,” you correct.

“Wouldn’t I still be awful then?”

You nod through tears, not wanting to debate the logistics of your drunk mind because you knew somehow you’d convince yourself to see him through rose-colored glasses. You’d circle back to him being a “sweet” guy because deep down you know he is, but sometimes he does things that you don’t understand—much less he.

He shuffles up to his feet, “Let me show you what I made.”

You shake his head, “Don’t. I won’t remember.”

Trent looks back at you, his piercing brown eyes growing more gentle as he looks back at you. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“I want to,” you confess.

He swallows, his hand on the edge of his dresser, “You’d hate it if you were sober.”

“No I wouldn’t,” you say muffled, still chewing on bread. Being thirsty and hungry, this bread tasted like the best entree.

He nods persistently, “You’d get upset that I wasted your pen. Say something about it being a good pen, probably your last because you only ever have one pen on your person. And then you’d probably throw it at me.”

You chuckle, “That does sound like me.”

He doesn’t laugh, only purses his lips as he opens his top drawer. He pulls out two things, turning his back to you before sitting back down beside you with haste.

Your head still felt a bit heavy, but with you sitting and getting hydrated, it felt a lot better. Maybe you wouldn’t wake up in the morning with a throbbing headache, and maybe you barely missed your limit before blacking out and remembering nothing.

“Here,” he says sheepishly. He pulls out a papered flower, the petals scribbled with blue ink. The flower is so elaborate with layers of petals—it was a dahlia. It must have taken Trent hours to cut the pieces into the right shape and then scribble them all blue. You knew he had to color them blue afterward because of the way the scribbles lined up, all pointing to the apex of the petal.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, twisting the dahlia from its makeshift stem.

He pulls out what he hides from his waist, “I had to buy more blue pens, thought you’d want the extras.”

The blue pens are tied together with a white ribbon, a little bow in the center. They’re in a makeshift bouquet, baby’s-breath tucked in the gaps.

“Okay now I’m really about to cry and not because I’m drunk,” you say, setting down the dahlia and wiping away the tears that cascade.

Trent’s jaw drops, “You aren’t drunk?”

“I’m getting sober,” you sob. Somehow knowing Trent wanted to show you what he made you while you were drunk and couldn’t remember doesn’t quiet the ache in your chest. Why didn’t he want to show you while you were sober? Why didn’t he want you to remember? It would’ve helped the way you see him, not as the cold-hearted persona he puts out.

Trent stays quiet as his hands twirl around the bouquet of pens. You were going to remember everything in the morning.

“It doesn’t make sense,” you whisper through your cries.

Trent looks at you, his eyes frantic, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“You were kissing Clarissa after you made me this,” you pick up the dahlia. “Why would you do that to her? To me?”

He shakes his head, “It’s just a flower.”

“Trent, this is—elaborate. This is detailed. It’s beautiful, not something you can make within an hour. Is that why you were late to class? Why you looked so tired?”

He gulps down, “I had gotten a haircut, that took a couple of hours and then I still had to write the essay—”

“Why are you lying?” you look at him and he darts away. His jaw tenses as his hands tighten around his knees. “You didn’t write the paper yesterday. You already had it done before you asked me for the pen. You never wait until the last minute to do an assignment. You got a haircut and then you made this, tell me I’m wrong.”

A heavy exhale leaves his nose as he glances at you, “You’re right.”

As another sob escapes you, Trent’s breathing seems to become difficult. He shuffles his legs around until they’re outstretched in front of him.

You shake your head, “God I’m so fucking stupid. You are an awful person, and I should’ve never thought you were any different.”

Trent was going to bask you in gifts as if he wasn’t making out with an entire girl after giving you the cold shoulder the same day. He spent hours making and buying you something—and those pens weren’t cheap—just to screw around with someone else.

As you attempt to stand up, Trent grabs your wrist, “Wait, let me explain.”

“How do you explain that, Trent?” you ask, almost yelling. You snap your wrist out of his grip and gulp half a bottle of water.

“Just listen to me,” he stands up, pulling his shirt down. “I convinced myself it was stupid. You fucking hate me. Why would you forgive me after all that I’ve done to you? I wasted your pen and then bought you more to replace them when all you wanted was your pen. You didn’t want my flower or more pens, just like how you didn’t want my apologies after ruining your presentation. It was a joke gone too far and I get that, but I didn’t think it would hurt you. I didn’t know it would bring your grade down. I know you’re smart, I knew you’d know what to say, but fuck I didn’t know our professor was going to grade the PowerPoint so hard. I tried to tell him that I did it, but all he did was bring my grade down too, but I maintained my A. I care about you, I do, and I’m sorry for hurting you.”

You shake your head, even though you were getting sober his words were too much to digest especially when he spoke way too fast to keep you from leaving.

“Trent,” you rub your forehead. “Even if all that is true, that doesn’t explain Clarissa.”

He holds out his hand in front of you as if you are going to dash out his room. “I was distracting myself from hurting you. Yeah, I’m hurting her too. I’m not proud of it, but—I can’t hurt you more than what I already have.”

“Yeah,” you nod tiredly. “You fucked up really bad.”

You make your way to his door but he grabs a hold of your arm, physically pleading you to stay and listen to him. “Wait, okay, please—”

“You wanted to give me these when I wouldn’t remember. As if I wouldn’t realize it was from you?”

Trent nods, “I know you would’ve, but it would’ve been different with you confronting me. I could’ve lied and said it was from Dominik or something—”

“God, you and your lies,” you shake your head. “Just fucking stop. I’m not going to listen to you if you keep fucking lying, I’m done with this.”

“I said ‘could’ve,’” he says curtly. “I’m being honest. Fuck,” he rasps, pulling the ends of his curls as if he still has his locs. “I like you, stupidly and selfishly so. The only reason I went for Clarissa is because I know you don’t like me back and I’ve been trying to move on. But it’s hard when we’re in the same friend group, when I see you in class, and then get paired with you. It doesn’t help that Dominik is constantly in my ear talking about what a screw up I am because I’m not doing this right. But fuck, do you know how much it hurt for you to tell me we aren’t friends? That you don’t even see me as a friend? I made the dahlia as a gift to give to you as a friend but fuck—” He stops himself and runs his hands over his short curls.

He shakes his head, “I scrolled through your Insta and for the first time realized how I’m cropped out of your posts or barely there. Even before I ruined your presentation, you’ve always hated me. I thought we were bantering, I thought you knew I viewed you as my friend and me teasing you about grades was friendly fire. We’re both competitive, but I thought you knew I cared about you. I thought it was so obvious. After I scrolled through your Insta, I didn’t want to give you the dahlia or pens back. I thought it best to forget about it.”

You bite onto your tongue digesting his words. He has always been a rambler, especially when he was desperate and watching him nervously shift the weight of his body between his feet, the way he tugged his hair, or him constantly licking and biting his lip between pauses, it hurt seeing him like this. He wasn’t prepared to confess his feelings or his intentions, just spewing his thoughts without a blueprint. It was a mess.

He was a mess.

“Trent,” you sigh. “Do you want to talk it out or do you want us to just talk tomorrow morning? After we’ve both gotten rest.”

He scratches his face, “I don’t think I’m going to get any sleep after this.”

You sure wouldn’t either.

You nod, moving the hoodie from his desk chair to his desk before sitting in it. “Okay, then let’s talk. The only reason I cropped you out of my pictures is because you aren’t much of a social media person. You always seem reluctant to take photos, never really wanting to be in them, and posting you after you didn’t want to be in the photo in the first place seemed like I was throwing you under the bus.”

Trent looks down but the side of his lip curls up, “It’s okay to post me.”

“Okay,” your tired voice comes out as a whisper. “I know us competing in class was always friendly but you really messed up with ruining my presentation. I know you are sorry about it, I get it, it just made me view you differently. Not as my friend because friends don’t hurt each other, but obviously we aren’t strangers. I forgive you for my presentation and grade, there’s nothing we can do at this point and it makes me feel a little better that you tried to help me despite failing. So we’re friends, okay? Friends.”

You hold out your hand for Trent, he reluctantly grabs it and gives your hand a weak shake. His thumb strokes your knuckles before he lets go.

“I like you,” you admit. “I like you too, but you have a lot of redeeming to do because I’m not sure if I can ever get the image of you kissing Clarissa out of my head. And you have a lot to sort out with her.”

He nods, “Mm-hmm, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh.

Trent seems distraught enough. He didn't need any more of his wrongdoings pointed out. He understood the message, even if he had gone all about this wrong.

“I think we both need to stop assuming stuff for each other. Like me hating you. Hate is strong, Trent, maybe a strong dislike but that was before this conversation,” you chuckle. “And I shouldn’t have assumed you were messing with both Clarissa and Diane.”

He nods, standing upright against his dresser, “Okay. We’re good.”

-

The next morning, Tara, Veronica, and you head over to the boy’s apartment to help them clean. Dominik’s wearing sunglasses, his curls tousled as you sit down next to him on the couch.

He barely moves his head in your direction, “Morning.”

“It’s noon,” you chuckle.

“I threw up in Trent’s bathroom when he walked you next door,” he says. “He came back pissed.”

“Did you forget where your room was?” you laugh. Trent enters the livingroom, the mop in his hand as he sees the two of you settled on the couch. His lips simper as he places the mop into the sink and then sits down in the space next to you.

Dominik coughs, “No. I just wanted to be with you and him, but I didn’t realize you both left. And then it just came out.”

“You missed the loo, you idiot,” Trent replies.

Dominik waves his hand, “How was I supposed to know the lid was closed?”

Trent rolls his eyes, bumping into your shoulder, “Hi.”

“Hey,” you smile. He seems more lively than before, his teeth breaking through his lips as he smiles bashfully. His eyes scan your face and it makes your cheeks warm. You turn away, looking towards Dominik, “Well, it seems like you have a long day ahead.”

You tap on Dominik’s knee and he groans. You get up and look back at Trent, “Need help with anything?”

“Still cleaning my bathroom,” he stands up. The loose gray zip up he has on flaps open revealing his white shirt underneath.

You scrunch your nose, “You slept with his vomit on the floor?”

“He threw up a lot,” he groans, walking you up to his room. “I cleaned most of it but not a deep clean. And then forced him into his shower, but I had to stay with him because he kept crying about Ibou.”

“You’re such a nice friend,” you chuckle.

His eyes flicker away from you, “I’m not awful.”

“No, you aren’t,” you smile.

A moment of silence engulfs you both as you enter his bedroom, his sheets jostled around and his bathroom emitting cleaning fumes. You let out a cough, going to his window and propping it open.

He chuckles, “Yeah, I don’t think I was supposed to mix some of these.” As he points at the various bottles of cleaning supplies he’s opened, you let out a laugh. Your cheeks ache from smiling at his uncertain facial expression, as if he couldn’t have passed out from cleaning.

You glance down, “Oof, you are not.”

The two of you work in tandem quietly but also talk about various things. Trent even brings up the project the two of you were paired together for and hashes out the dates to work on it.

It was soothing to converse with him without feeling on edge as if he would say something to get under your skin. He wasn’t making any snarky remarks, only a few teasing words, but they were jokes, a goofy grin always following afterward.

“What?” you gasp.

He nods, he tosses a wipe into the bin, “You forced me into the restroom downstairs.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You were drunk,” he shrugs, a teasing smile teetering onto his lips. Last night wasn’t much of a blur, you remembered Trent and talking to him in his bedroom, but you didn’t remember how you got up there. The pen bouquet and dahlia were placed on your nightstand but you remembered him giving them to you.

You swipe at his chest, his jacket gone, “That’s such a lie.”

Trent bursts into a laugh, “You seriously don’t remember the restroom?”

“No, what did we kiss or something?” you quip but then palm your face. “Tell me we didn’t.”

He chuckles, “I think you wanted to.”

You laugh, feeling hot but not embarrassed, just nervous. Trent’s taunting gaze is unrelenting, the smile he hides by forcing his lips into a thin line. You chuckle, pushing his shoulder, “I don’t think so. I think I would’ve remembered you and Clarissa.”

Trent’s face simmers down as looks away, “I talked to her by the way. I apologized and told her the truth. She slapped me but—” you burst into a laugh while he rolls his eyes. “Don’t laugh, but yeah, I’m not going to be seeing her again—or Diane for that matter.”

“Good,” you nod. Even if he was doing it because he wanted to now focus on you after knowing you felt the same, it was good that he wasn’t going to be leading someone on when he didn’t feel the same for them.

“So,” he exhales, his chest bowing down as he looks at you, “can we hang out alone sometime? Doesn’t have to be anything big, maybe a walk around campus or coffee? I know I have a lot of making up to do with you, but I want us to be on the same page this time.”

You resist the urge to smile. Him taking care of Dominik last night stuck out to you the most. More than him bringing you water and bread to sober up. Dominik was too much of a heartbroken and vulnerable mess to handle himself, and after seeing just how much his vomit plastered on Trent’s walls, that was a big ask of him to deal with at three in the morning.

Trent was trying, flawed, but trying. You could work with that.

“Okay, we can grab coffee,” you smile. “But slow.”

He nods, “Okay.”

He breaks out into a smile as he pokes the broom against your shoulder. You let out a kiddish laugh, turning away from him to finish scrubbing the cabinets. Trent jabs your bent knee with his foot and you don’t catch yourself before you fall forward, your head hitting the cabinet.

“Oh shit,” he says, dropping down beside you and inspecting your forehead. Your head hitting the cabinet made the contact seem much more dramatic than what it really was, but Trent’s careful and concerned eyes only make you pretend it hurts more.

“Ow,” you feign, clutching the spot. He removes your hand gingerly, getting you to sit down on the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m already fucking this up, am I?” He suddenly leans forward and kisses the spot on your forehead, swiping his kiss over the spot with his thumb.

Your chest shakes as you laugh silently, him looking at you confused. Your silent laugh can be mistaken with a cry but he groans.

“You’re fine, aren’t you?” He stands up and holds out his hand.

“You looked so scared,” you tease, taking his hand and standing up.

He rolls his eyes, “That was loud.”

“The door was open a little,” you laugh. Your hand reaches out to grab a hold of his, “Thank you for checking out my forehead with your lips.”

“Ugh,” he flusters.

You give his hand a squeeze, “Thank you, Trent. You can kiss my forehead again.”

“No,” he moans dramatically, his eyes stopping at the spot on your forehead and then he gasps, “Oh my god, it’s already swollen.”

You turn around to face the mirror so fast that it gives you whiplash. His shit-eating grin is the only thing you see, your forehead unmarked. You scowl when you turn back towards him, not realizing just how close he stood in front of you.

He chuckles, leaning forward and pressing his lips chastly on your forehead, “You craving coffee?”

----

Note: I'll write a proper academic rivals to lovers eventually. I just got lost within the plot, too delirious to make it make sense LOL. 🫠🫠

[talesofesther]

what once was mine | ch 6

Loki x Reader

Series Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: This chapter might just be my favorite.

Masterlist | Read ch 5 here

It's been a few days since Loki had convinced you to share that cup of tea with him, and things have been… pleasant. You were still guarded and sometimes on the defensive when around Loki, but you were not actively avoiding him anymore, he may even go as far as saying you might be enjoying his company at times.

There were also moments where those same defenses dulled down, moments where Loki would have glimpses of that same girl he had seen on TVA's time teather when he'd first arrived. And the more he spent time with you, the more he understood why he would've fallen for you in his future. And why he was falling for you now.

"Please, Mobius," you made a show of clasping your hands together right under your chin, "I just need a moment to breathe."

Loki and Mobius were sitting at the latter's desk, mindlessly chatting, and you had popped out of nowhere a few minutes ago, making yourself comfortable on top of his desk.

"There's air all around you, breathe away," Mobius gestured widely.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile lingered on your features. Loki subconsciously found himself mimicking it as he looked at you.

"You know what I mean," you said quieter, avoiding his eyes and swinging your feet back and forth softly. You briefly looked at Loki, gaze roaming over the slope of his nose and the lines of his jaw, before focusing back on Mobius; "Please?" You asked more genuinely.

Mobius sighed loudly, clearly already giving in to your pleading. He cursed under his breath and fished out his tempad from his pocket, giving it to you. "If you get caught, I'm pretending I don't know you and that you stole it from me."

The grin that painted your features was big and bright, "You know I'm not getting caught," you gave him a wink, and then added softly; "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," Mobius waved you off, but he was smiling too.

Loki watched the exchange quietly until you left and were out of earshot. He turned to Mobius, one elbow resting on the desk. "You never gave me the tempad when I asked."

Mobius side-eyed him, "That's because she's responsible, and you're not."

A deep frown appeared on Loki's face, he straightened his posture. "That's absurd, I'm way more responsible than she is." He spoke matter of factly, gesturing to the general direction you had scurried off to, "Have you seen her desk? I don't know how she even works in the middle of that mess."

Mobius chuckled, he was enjoying this. "I stand by my point."

─── ·❆· ───

Your clothes were clinging to your body, your hair stuck to your forehead, there were droplets on your eyelashes, and pools of water appeared on the floor from your dripping clothes with each step you took.

The TVA was mostly dark and empty, with only a few dim lights here and there, as it was already late. You smiled and chuckled to yourself as you walked past the library and headed to the elevator, feeling alive.

The doors of the elevator slowly slid open only to reveal Loki. He had a small pack of Skittles in one hand that you were certain you had seen on Mobius' desk earlier. His other hand stopped midair before it reached his mouth as soon as he laid eyes on you.

For the first time, your smile grew just a tad wider upon seeing him.

Loki had a confused crease on his eyebrows, his lips hung open for a second more as his gaze roamed up and down your body before settling on your face. "You're soaked." He stated, as if you didn't know.

"Yes," You beamed.

Loki's mouth opened and closed a few times. "Why?"

You took a single step closer to him, tilting your head to the side softly, watching as he visibly gulped at your closeness. "Don't you miss it?" You asked, voice quiet. "The rain, the wind, the sunlight, the smell of grass and trees?"

His bright eyes softened then, he glanced away and his expression turned melancholic for a moment, as if your question had reminded him of the feeling; "Yes, I suppose I do."

You pursed your lips, holding onto Mobius' tempad in your jacket pocket. A part of you had alarms blaring inside your head, the other, was begging you to not think and just do it. The weight of Loki's presence was familiar and foreign all the same. Dangerous territory, as you tiptoed the blurred lines of what he had started to mean to you, and the memories from before that still haunted your nightmares. Despite what you had so adamantly told yourself as soon as you laid eyes on Loki… you'd gone soft. Having him around seemed to ease the parts of your heart that still ached, even when you didn't want it to, even when you were still scared and confused.

Only today, you told yourself. Only today would be okay. Because the ocean that was his bright eyes held that same sadness that had drawn you to him for the first time all those years ago, after all. Denying it was becoming a fool's game.

You took the tempad from your pocket and hit a few buttons until a smoked-glass doorway popped open behind you. Glancing up at Loki, you said; "Come on," and turned around, walking into the doorway.

Loki hesitated for only a beat before discarding the pack of Skittles and following after you.

The first thing he felt was the heavy raindrops hitting his cheeks and soaking his clothes. Loki blinked a few times, narrowing his eyes so he could see past the storm. It was a deserted street, the worn roadway stretched far beyond what he could see, surrounded by green fields with no houses in sight; the sky was mostly cloudy, but on a far corner a few faint stripes of a setting sun could be spotted; the rain falling down was heavy and constant, pattering loudly against the asphalt and the tall grass beside it.

You stood a few feet ahead of him, with your head tilted up to the sky and your eyes closed. The rain cascaded down your skin, kissing your lips and trailing a path down your neck that Loki couldn't help but follow. It soaked your clothes and hair, just as it did his. And yet you looked absolutely ethereal.

Loki found himself glued to the ground as he simply took in the sight before him. The rain glistened on your skin as it was shaped by the rogue bouts of sunlight, a small blissed-out smile lingered on your lips as you took in the feeling of being under the earth's elements. Straight out of a dream.

Finally turning your attention to him, you stretched your arms to the side, speaking louder so he could hear you over the rain; "doesn't it make you feel alive?"

"That's certainly one way of putting it," Loki told you, taking half a step closer to you as he put his wet hair behind his ears.

You rolled your eyes but your smile remained, "Come on, Loki. The rain washes your soul, it's freeing, it's-" You looked up at the sky again, breathing in deeply, "It shows you can still feel."

Words failed Loki, he tried not to dwell too much on the fact that this was the first time you had called him by his name.

When he didn't answer, you looked at him for a beat, hesitating and worrying your lower lip between your teeth before you extended both hands towards him.

The rain somehow grew heavier, paired with a cold wind that made your hair flow. Loki switched his gaze between your eyes and your outstretched hands. Confused, asking for permission. When you simply wiggled your fingers, he took one of your hands, delicately, almost as if afraid to touch you.

You grasped him tightly with the reassurance he needed and reached for his other hand. You pulled him forward as you took a step backward to get him moving, and then started circling him, making him copy your movements until you fell into a messy dance. A genuine laugh escaped you, "Don't you feel it?"

Loki's smile followed yours, and if his eyes were suddenly pooling with happy tears, the rain would hide it. "I'm starting to," he said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours.

The grin on your lips remained as you closed your eyes and craned your neck up again, you leaned back and allowed Loki's hands to support half of your weight, with the safety that he'd hold you up.

And if he had any say in it, he'd never let go either.

After a few minutes under the rain, you told Loki you had another place you liked to escape to sometimes. Another smoked-glass doorway opened then, and it led to a clear night sky; under it was a small forest with a clearing up ahead, and a lonely bench in the middle of the low grass that had been faintly covered with bits of snow. A thousand stars danced in this sky, with no other light or cloud in sight to outshine their beauty. The lonely bench overlooked a view from up a mountain, making everything seem small and distant. Just like the roadway before, this place was also deserted.

You walked ahead, the only sound on the eery night being your boots crushing the grass and snow underneath. Loki followed, and with a flick of his wrist, his magic had the two of you dry and warm again.

You turned to him with a small, knowing smile and took a seat on the bench, "Thanks."

He simply smiled back, making himself comfortable beside you and looking up at the stars.

This place had always been your favorite, the first one you found after coming to the TVA, and the one you inevitably always came back to.

Feeling the weight of Loki's presence beside you, you weren't sure what you were doing. Only a few weeks ago you said you wanted nothing to do with him, yet here you are. You closed your eyes, pushing the thoughts away for now.

"I usually come here for the stars," you whispered into the night, your breath coming in white puffs of air.

Loki hummed, his gaze roaming over the constellations in the sky, "It is beautiful, but Midgard's skies-"

"Don't compare to Asgard's skies," you finished for him and shot a glance his way before focusing back on the sky, "yeah, I've been told."

A small chuckle escaped Loki, he nodded his head softly and looked down at his hands, his thumb scratching the skin of his other palm.

"One of the few good things about the TVA is this," you hugged your jacket closer to your body, "being able to be anywhere, anytime."

"Are you not worried about disrupting their so-called sacred timeline?" Loki asked.

You smirked, watching him from the side of your eye. "With time, you learn a few tricks on how to not create a branch right away. Such as avoiding people, not disrupting the place," you shrugged, "it gives you a few minutes at least."

Loki kept silent as he took in the new information, he looked from the starry sky to the low grass around his shoes. It would all stay the same when he left.

"It's almost as if we don't exist," you told him quietly.

Suddenly, a different flash of color caught your eyes, and your heartbeat sped up. You held onto your breath, feeling strangely giddy. "There it is," you pointed at the sky.

Loki looked at where you were pointing and his lips parted in silent wonder. It started on one side and soon flowed all around the stars above your heads; flashes of bright green, blue, and pink. Lights dancing in the sky.

A shaky sigh escaped you, "This is the other reason why I like to come here," you kept your voice low, as if the moment was a well-kept secret. The colors of the aurora were reflecting against your eyes. "It's so… enchanting."

Loki kept silent for a few beats, simply watching the show amidst the starry night. He then turned to you, taking in the way those same dancing colors shaped your profile. "It is," he breathed.

You didn't have to look at him to know he was looking at you. You could feel it. It wrapped your heart in a tight grip and blurred the sight of the colorful sky. You pursed your lips, lowering your head and curling in on yourself. "Please don't do that," your words broke in the middle.

Loki gulped the sudden lump in his throat, he felt as if he'd just ruined the moment yet he didn't know how. "I-"

"Don't look at me…" your voice got stuck. You glanced up at the sky, breathing in sharply to chase away the rogue tears. "Like that." It was nothing but a breath past your lips, you softly raised your eyebrows to accentuate the last word.

Don't look at me the way you used to when you were mine.

In the same heartbeat, Loki's gaze shifted to his shoes. An apology already lingered on his lips, but before he could say it, you spoke;

"We should go." You got up, reaching for the tempad in your pocket, "or we'll create a branch soon and this place will be crawling with minutemen." You didn't wait for his answer before walking a few steps away, needing a bit of space.

You heard as Loki followed you, but he kept his distance as he waited for you to open the doorway. You didn't like that distance.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 7 here

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[eff4freddie]

After She Left | Thirteen

Words: 6.4k

Joel and Tommy head to the town to search for Ellie, not knowing the danger they're heading into. Furious, you ride with Shauna, hoping to find Ellie and intercept Joel before any infected find them first.

Chapter warnings: Description of death by suicide, canon-typical violence, blood, Shauna's a piece of shit (again)

Twelve | Series Masterlist | Fourteen

Joel had felt this before; this twinning, this divergence. Needing to be in two places at once.

Had felt it as he held Sarah in his arms, needing to stay in the moment with her, to breathe with her as she gasped out her last, and also to run, to evaporate, to pump his legs as fast and as far as they could carry him. Away from the smell of her blood on his clothes. Away from the silence, the stillness, in her little body as he held her.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her so quiet. She arrived, screaming from her mother’s womb and into his warm arms, and didn’t stop squawking until she departed, his arms quaking around her. He blinked away the memory, his stomach churning.

He needed to be in the town. He needed to be in the moment, scanning the road for any sign of Ellie. He needed to breathe.

‘Easy, brother,’ Tommy called from two horse-lengths behind him. ‘We need to watch for any signs of her.’

‘She’s a fast walker,’ Joel pushed out through his straining jaw. ‘Even more so when she’s angry. We gotta…we gotta get there, Tommy.’

‘We don’t even know she came this way,’ Tommy reasoned, but Joel shrugged this off. He’d seen the way Shauna had been hiding something, had been the only one to see it. She knew something he didn’t, yet. About the town. About Ellie.

The two brothers rode in silence, Joel doing his best to keep his eye on the path. He didn’t see any tracks, but he’d taught Ellie better than to walk out in the open. Out here the road was wider, the trees set further back. She would have been smart about it, making her way through cover.

‘Why did you fuckin’ do this…’ he pondered aloud, his thoughts suddenly too loud to stay tucked up in his head. He heard his brother scoff behind him, even over the pelting of the horse’s hooves.

‘Really, Joel?’ he asked, causing Joel to pull up on the reigns, ease the horse into a canter, letting his brother catch up beside him.

‘The fuck does that mean?’ he asked.

‘You can’t think of a single reason why Ellie might have taken off? Not one single person who might have given her a reason to run?’

Joel held the reigns firm in his hands as he stared hard at the ground. Of course he could.

‘They were startin’ to get along,’ Joel said. Tommy stared at him, even as they rode.

‘Were they?’ Tommy asked. ‘Or did you just stop lookin’?’

Joel felt the back of his throat go dry. ‘Easy, brother,’ he said, by way of a warning. But Tommy was having none of it.

‘Ya selfish fuck,’ he said, simply. Joel turned his head to his brother, blinking at him. He hadn’t noticed how worked up Tommy was, how hard he was holding his own reigns.

‘Tommy, I…’

‘I know… “because of Sarah”,’ Tommy groaned. Joel could see he was upset, now, agitated and wiping hard at his cheek. ‘But you had another chance, with Ellie, and with Teach if you wanted it. You let it all go to shit for Shauna, even after everything she did.’

It would have been less painful, Joel considered, if he just turned himself inside out, so strong was his instinct to crowd in on himself.

‘I…’ he started, but trailed off. He didn’t have the words to fight, knew that his brother was right, in an insane moment almost resented him for not saying something sooner, before Joel had let everything decay.

‘You’re not the only one who lost her,’ Tommy said, after a while, quiet. His voice carried on the wind, echoing against the wood, the trees.

‘You ain’t lost a daughter,’ Joel grit out, misplaced fury flashing hot across his sternum. ‘You ain’t got any idea what you’re talkin’ about.’

‘Don’t I?’ Tommy asked, and he turned to his brother, then, let him see his face. The tears tracking down his skin, the red of his eyes. ‘I know she wasn’t my daughter, Joel, but she was my family. Saw her nearly every damn day. Loved her just the same as you.’

Joel felt his jaw tic. ‘No one loved her the same as me,’ he said, but he could feel the venom leaking away, leaving only the desolation in its wake.

‘But I loved her, Joel. You gotta know that.’

Joel did know it. Remembered the way Tommy had pulled him along, for months, and then for years, after Sarah’s death. Kept him going, made him eat, stayed up all night keepin’ watch just so that Joel could toss and turn in his bed and cry out for his girl. Through all of it he knew Tommy was hurting, too, swept up in the same wave of grief that had near obliterated him. But it was that same crashing water, that same briny foam over his head, that stopped him from helping his little brother, that stopped him from guiding him through it. That had made it impossible for them to be together like they had been, easy and fun and oblivious to the true horrors of the world.

‘I think about losin’ Robin,’ Tommy said, pulling Joel from his thoughts.

‘Don’t…’ Joel said, raising a hand to stop him.

‘I do! I fuckin’ do! You think you’re the only one…’

‘No, I mean don’t think about that,’ Joel interrupted, the fight gone clean out of him, his shoulders slumped. ‘Trust me on that, little brother. Don’t think about it, don’t imagine it. It’ll eat ya up f’ya let it.’

The two rode in silence, the road winding down the slope towards the town. Just over the tree line they could make out some crumbling roofs edging the valley.

‘You remember my Michael Jordan basketball?’ Tommy asked, suddenly, his voice distant as he stared out over the valley.

‘Your what?’ Joel asked, happy for the distraction but confused all the same.

‘My Michael Jordan basketball? Had it signed and all, Dad bought it back from Chicago for my eighth birthday.’

Joel had a distant memory of it – red and black in the Bulls colours. He’d only ever caught glimpses of it, had only been allowed to touch it once, and even then only after Tommy had supervised him washing his hands.

He grinned at his brother. ‘You loved that thing,’ he said.

‘I did, my most prized possession,’ Tommy agreed. ‘That thing made me happier than anything else in the world.’

Joel nodded as they started to ease down the slope, his eyes still watching the road for any sign of Ellie. They started to pick up the pace.

‘I hardly ever saw you play with it,’ Joel observed, and Tommy tutted at him.

‘That’s just the thing, brother,’ he said. ‘Something that precious, you can’t play with it. You gotta keep it safe and clean in your closet, gotta bury it under old – but clean – clothes, in case your dumbass older brother comes snoopin’.’ At this Joel huffed out a laugh. ‘You gotta…protect it,’ Tommy finished.

Joel nodded at this. ‘Makes sense.’

‘But then you can’t enjoy it,’ Tommy went on. ‘You spend all that time with it locked away, you never get to bounce the damn thing.’

Joel felt, for a moment, that he’d been tricked. He swallowed tar and glue down his throat, felt sawdust stuck to the roof of his mouth, collecting behind his teeth.

‘What happened to it, in the end?’ he asked, and Tommy sighed.

‘It deflated, then it warped. The rubber went kind of weird and it never looked right again.’ Tommy urged his horse forward, picking up the pace again as the road levelled out. ‘I left it in there. Didn’t feel I could get rid of it, but lookin’ at it made me sad.’ 

His little brother was right. Of course he was right. All this time he’d kept it buried under a pile of old clothes: beating but bleeding out through the cotton, protecting it, protecting her. Even after she was long gone. All that time his heart hidden at the back of the closet, stashed to keep the pain away, and taking all the goodness with it.

At the time, it had felt like saving himself. Locking it all away, letting it warp in the darkness, not caring that it took with it all the kindness, all the tenderness, not caring that without it the world turned almost entirely to grey. He had no use for colours without Sarah. Had no use for light.

Then one day he’d felt you, standing just outside the door, your hand pressed gently to the wood. He’d wanted you there and also couldn’t tolerate it. Craved you and stood, terrified, in your way. It had been too long, and he wasn’t even sure what it looked like in there anymore. Couldn’t account for what you might find.

Then Shauna had shown up and pulled the damn thing off its hinges, rifled around in there, hurled everything out of their drawers. He’d hurt so many people he’d cared about trying to shove it all back in again. Trying to bury it. Trying to hide.  

And now, Ellie was gone. And you were out there, out in the wilderness beyond the wall, trying to find her, and he and his brother were riding into God knows what to pull her back. He cleared his throat trying to let out the sob but there was no masking it, the little whimper sneaking away over the top of his breath as he felt his brows saddle.

‘Jesus…’ he said. The way he had let her banish herself to the studio in the garage. The way he had known it was wrong and he’d let her do it anyway, just to keep the peace. Just to keep pushing it all down, the anger and the loss and the despair of it. ‘Tommy, I…’ he started, but he didn’t have the words for it, could speak for a thousand years and never find them.

His brother leant over and put a firm hand on Joel’s knee.

‘I’m so sorry…’ Joel sobbed, his voice catching on the words.

‘It’s OK, brother,’ Tommy assured him. ‘We’ll always be family.’

‘Yeah, but my girls…’ Joel said, feeling his heart kick up at the thought of you both. ‘Jesus Christ, Tommy, I’ve hurt my girls.’

You, grinning from his table in his kitchen after he finally made some decent mac and cheese. You, under Ellie’s paper stars in the mess hall, making magic for teenagers out of twenty-year old school supplies and determination. You, holding his arm and helping him breathe through it after he’d found Ellie’s studio empty, when the world opened up and swallowed him whole.

Your face fallin’ as you realised the eggs were a consolation prize. Your sweet body pressed against his as you practically begged him to stop hurtin’ ya, to leave you be. All the little ways he’d failed you, so wrapped up trying not to fail a girl dead twenty years.

‘You love her,’ Tommy observed, watching his brother’s face fall as he reckoned with all he’d avoided for so long.

‘Course I do, she’s practically my daughter,’ Joel muttered, blinking hard to clear away the tears.

‘Not her,’ Tommy said.

Joel felt little sparks across his chest. The kind that come from exposed wires, that start house fires in the dead of the night. ‘Yeah,’ he said, eventually, because he knew even then there was no sense in denying it, that his body wouldn’t let him even if his mind tried.

Tommy nodded, the two brothers falling into silence as they approached the outskirts of the town. For the first time in a while, he felt like his big brother was back.

--

Some of the houses looked well enough maintained that for a moment Joel struggled to remember the twenty years of decay. There didn’t seem to be any pattern to it; two houses in a row could be decrepit, roofs collapsing under the weight of rotten wood and the third almost entirely intact, as if the occupants were just called away for a surprise holiday that went longer than expected. It unnerved him, the unpredictability of it.

Proceeding on foot, the two brothers rounded on the town from the South, down behind what once would have been a soccer field, the bleachers standing untouched for decades, the paint peeling in the breeze.

The mud beneath their boots muffled their footsteps, but their progress was still frustratingly slow, if silent. Joel could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing, could feel the way his pulse thrummed erratic and needy in his chest. He wanted to bellow for Ellie, wanted to rip any man, woman or child between him and his daughter limb from limb. He saw the worried looks Tommy shot him from over his shoulder, both men inching forward with rifles raised. There were signs of activity, a campfire long snuffed out, fading tracks in the dirt. Joel had a sense for it, anyway, honed over years. Knew when he wasn’t alone. His eyes scanned the windows, watched for movement in the curtains, for reflections or shadows in the wrong places.

It was still. Quiet. Joel swallowed on a rough throat.

‘Something’s not right,’ Tommy hissed to him, his whisper catching on the wind. Joel nodded at him, held up a hand to be quiet. If they could get to higher ground they could survey the perimeter better, could figure out a plan of attack. He looked at the crumbling roof of what used to be the local library. Joel didn’t like the chances of standing on a shifting roof tile and breaking his neck, of making enough of a ruckus just trying to get up high enough to be able to look down.

Wordlessly, he gestured to Tommy to go left behind the library, while he went right towards what he guessed was the centre of the town. Tommy shook his head, a combination of terror and frustration on his face, but Joel knew it would be better to cover more ground. He wasn’t sure she was here, but if she was he knew he had to get her out, get to you, get you both to safety. Then, maybe, he could breathe.

His boots slipping in the mud, Joel went right, picking his way through abandoned cars and rotting fences until he came up behind a two-story wooden building with a crumbling staircase out the back. One hand still holding his rifle over his shoulder, he opened the door and stepped back, flush to the wall, listening for any outcry. Willing his hands to stop trembling he counted to five under his breath, before cocking the rifle over his shoulder and swinging his torso in through the door.

It looked like it had once been a post office, the backroom stuffed with dry paper and mildew. He could tell any packages had already been pilfered, that desperate travellers had already split open every box in the place to rifle for anything to eat, to drink, to trade. All that was left behind was ancient bills, handwritten notes to loved ones, letters hawking insurance. The air was heavy from the dust and the decay of drying paper and Joel stifled a cough into his sleeve. There were patterns in the dust, swirls of footsteps leading to the front counter, and Joel tracked them through to the shopfront. As he inched forward he saw on the ground a collection of blankets, a stained pillow, a book or two piled up neat in a pile. He nudged the heap with his foot, his rifle trained on it in case it made any sudden moves. The air was stale, the room draughty and unlived in for some time. Whoever had been here was long gone, Joel thought. Or at least, hadn’t been able to return.

A creak behind him caught his attention and before he’d even had time to consider it, he swivelled, rifle raised, to the direction from which he had just come. Tommy immediately raised his hands, eyebrows high enough to reach his hairline.

‘It’s me…’ he hissed, and Joel rolled his eyes, lowering the rifle to the floor.

‘I told you to go left’ he whispered, the sharpness of his words spearing the dust motes floating in the sunlight between them.

‘I did, but I don’t think we should split up. Something’s wrong out here, brother,’ Tommy said, and Joel could see he was scared, the way his eyes were darting around the room. Joel stepped back, revealing the heap of blankets at his feet.

‘What the fuck…’ Tommy muttered, coming closer to inspect it before Joel held out a hand to his chest and pushed him back.

‘Easy…’ he said, Tommy immediately shrinking back behind his brother.

‘Where’d they go?’ he asked.

‘Don’t know yet,’ Joel said. In front of him the front windows were boarded up, sheets of old paper stuck to the glass. Little shafts of light shone through the gaps. He shuffled forward, careful not to trip, and raised his eye to it, gazing out at the main street.

It appeared still. He shuddered. Wondered if he would have preferred someone to be out there just to ease the tension currently clawing at his throat.

He tried the door, and it creaked on its hinges as it swung open.

He felt Tommy behind him, coming up over his shoulder, lifted his rifle as they prepared to step out.

 --

Even as the horse galloped underneath you, even as the breath was knocked from your chest every time the hooves hit the ground, you yelled over your shoulder to Shauna. To keep up, to hurry, to tell you what she knew about the layout of the town.

You could feel the rage in your belly, but you needed to find a way to tamp it down, to concentrate, as you headed down the road at full speed. Approaching from the west you could make out the way the streets curled around each other, cul de sacs that would make it impossible to see or hear from one end of the street to the other. Perfect places to hide out, but complicated to search.

You could see tracks, now, occasional footprints in the dirt beside the road, and it spurred you on even as the fear licked at your chest.  

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ you screamed over your shoulder, your voice carrying in the wind.

‘You seemed so sure!’ Shauna called back, grunting under the strain of trying to stay upright on her horse. ‘I thought you knew her better than me.’

‘You couldn’t even mention it? That Joel and Tommy were heading into a nest of infected?’

‘I don’t know that they are, maybe they’ve all moved on…’

‘Shauna for fucks sake,’ you muttered, biting down hard on your teeth to stop the fury racing up your throat, clouding your vision. ‘Just tell me the fucking truth for once,’ you called to her.

‘I was scared, OK? I’m a bad shot. I thought…if there’s infected down there, who better to send than Joel and Tommy?’

You let out a shaky breath, trying again not to let the rage take over, instead scanning the horizon as the town loomed closer.

‘What was I supposed to do?’ Shauna continued. ‘Let’s be real, honey. I’m not the heroic type.’

‘There was so much you could have done,’ you said, pulling your horse up to slow, decaying fences and overgrown backyards appearing in front of you. ‘You could have fucking warned them, you could have been honest with Ellie in the first place. You could have…you could have told me when we were hours in to following the fucking river!’

‘OK, I’m sorry, I thought it was safer out of the way…’ Shauna said, struggling to manage her horse even at a slower pace. You reached over and held her horse’s reigns, pulling her along beside you.

‘You fucking coward,’ you said, suddenly exhausted. You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to will away the blooming ache behind your eyes.

‘Strategy,’ Shauna said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘You think you can make it this far in an apocalypse blundering into fights when you’re outgunned?’

‘So, you send other people to do your fighting for you.’

‘Other, more qualified people, sure.’

You pulled both of your horses up, slipping from the saddles. You took the second rifle from your horse.

‘Tell me you weren’t trying to get rid of Ellie,’ you said, point blank, staring her in the eye, as Rose cheered you on over her shoulder. ‘Tell me.’

Shauna glanced down at the rifle in your hands. ‘Of course I wouldn’t…’

‘Tell me. Say it. Say “I didn’t try to get rid of Ellie.”’

‘I didn’t try to get rid of Ellie,’ Shauna said, pouting.

You noticed the inflection. Weren’t surprised to hear it, not really. You knew Shauna’s type, the people who survive at FEDRA by being the biggest crabs in the barrel. Who pull others down to stand on their backs. Shauna may not have expressly set up the situation, not intentionally, but she was going to let it play out because she knew as well as anyone else that Joel wouldn’t withstand another loss like Ellie. Knew more than anyone that a weak man, a grieving man, a man so broken down by the world around him, is a man who will accept any arms willing to hold him.

‘You didn’t try to save her, either,’ you observed.

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ she spat back at you. You nodded at her, throwing her the rifle.

‘Try not to shoot yourself in the ass,’ you said. You took a step forward, looking back at her over your shoulder. ‘Silent from now on. No more fucking talking.’

The road gave way to simple streets, little houses dotting the outskirts of the town. Over to the South you could make out a couple of taller buildings, maybe a library or a town hall. As much as you could, you stuck to the tall fences, hiding behind rotting fence palings and tree trunks thickened over twenty years uninterrupted by mankind. Above your head telephone wires blew free from their poles, waving like ribbons in the wind.

It would grow dark and cold before long. You shivered, scanning the houses for any sign of life. On this side of town things seemed more weather-beaten. You guessed that no-one, not even the raiders, had inhabited this area in a long while.

You saw Shauna waving to you out of the corner of your eye and you turned to her. She pointed to the end of the road, where it curved left towards the rest of the town. You nodded at her, watching as she fumbled the rifle in her shaking hands.

Following her, and putting more faith in her than she deserved in the process, you came around behind a motel. As she ducked down behind a dumpster you followed, squatting beside her so she could whisper in your ear.

‘That was where we were camped, in the motel. Another couple of rooms over was where the…others turned.’

You nodded, noticing now that some of the motel doors were ajar. The air smelt of rot and dirt, and you weren’t sure if it was the smell of the fungus or just general suburban decay. You watched for a while, the stillness setting your teeth on edge.

‘Were there others?’ you asked, and she nodded.

‘There was another camp, out by the gas station.’

You looked back at the motel. The breeze was blowing a curtain through an open window. Other than that, there was nothing to say anyone, or anything, was home.

‘We’ll try there,’ you said. Shauna nodded, gathering herself to stand.

‘It’s down behind the main street,’ she whispered, as you glanced up at the sky. You estimated you had maybe an hour before you’d need to find somewhere safe to camp overnight.

‘Should we try and find Joel?’ she asked you, and you shook your head.

‘No, we cover more ground split up.’

‘What if they’ve already found her?’ she asked, and you steadied yourself.

‘Then when we’re done searching we go back to Jackson, and we’re all very happily reunited with the girl we all care so much about,’ you hissed back. You could feel the top lip curling, exposing your teeth.

Shauna nodded, seeming for the first time to sense your fury.

‘Are you going to tell him?’ she asked, and you could see fear there. You stood up, pulling her with you.

‘Where’s the gas station?’ you whispered, and let her lead you on.

--

On the other side of town, Tommy and Joel were attempting to silently jimmy open the door to what appeared to be the town butcher. Joel felt his stomach roiling, steeling himself for what they might find inside.

‘You sure about this?’ Tommy muttered, and Joel shook his head.

‘Not at all, but we’re goin’ in anyway,’ Joel whispered back. He knew how cool rooms could be turned into cells. What things could be hung up on meat hooks.

Twenty years of neglect finally won out over the bolt, and the door swung open. Swinging his rifle over his shoulder Joel instead reached for his knife. In such close quarters the weapon would be useless, and he was suddenly realising he didn’t want to draw the attention of the rest of the town.

Beside him, Tommy sniffed. ‘Y’smell that?’ he whispered, and Joel nodded. Blood. Not fresh, but enough of it to still be lingering in the air. He held his finger to his lips to indicate silence. Tommy nodded, his eyes wide and adjusting in the dark.

Joel navigated around the counter to the back, stepping carefully over broken glass and trash. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a smattering of blood, droplets dried and tarry, leading from the main room to what he guessed was the cool room behind the door. Tucking his nose in under the neck of his shirt he silently pulled the handle.

The smell was overwhelming, the copper and bile. At first Joel thought the man had hidden himself away, that he had been running from his attackers. But then it didn’t make sense that he had bled to death, surrounded as he was by sticky clouds of dried blood. Maybe he had been dragged in here and left after an injury, maybe some kind of punishment, whatever might count for justice at the end of the world.

Joel saw it, then, the bloodied knife on the floor by the man’s hand. The clean slice of his wrist, travelling almost all the way up to his forearm.

‘Joel…’ Tommy said, peering in over his brother’s shoulder. ‘The ankle.’

And then it made sense, the bite mark peeking out from under the man’s pant leg.

‘He took himself off here to…’

‘In case the knife didn’t work, so he wouldn’t hurt anyone, I guess,’ Joel finished for his brother. Cool rooms make effective cells because they rarely have handles on the inside. Many an enterprising raider had discovered that fact in the last twenty years.

Bile rose in Joel’s throat and he swallowed it down. He wasn’t sure why it was, even after all these years, even after everything he’d done, that the scene in front of him was getting to him. Something about the way the man had tried to protect the others. Something about the sacrifice, the locking himself away to face the end on his own. Something about the love and the fear in it.

He turned away before it could work any further under his skin.

‘We should keep goin’,’ he said to Tommy, who nodded but still hadn’t looked away, eyes a little misty even in the darkness of the room around them.

Back out on the street the brothers considered their options. There had been only scant signs of life, and no sign of Ellie. Both were aware of the dwindling light, but the man in the cool room had been bitten, which meant there was still a threat.

‘I ain’t goin’ back,’ Joel said, as if he could read his brother’s mind. Tommy nodded.

‘We can hole up somewhere here tonight if we gotta,’ he agreed. ‘Should we go back and get the horses?’

Joel shook his head. ‘We keep searchin, wanna clear the main street at least. Then we go back to the horses, find a house with a garage, hide ‘em away til sunup.’

If Tommy had asked him, Joel wouldn’t have been able to say how he was so calm. He wondered if it was just years of survival, years of workin’ against impossible odds to stay alive. Wondered if his brain hadn’t caught up yet, that some part of him wasn’t even fully aware of what was actually going down. Wondered if it was knowing you were out there, searchin’ for his girl, that you were as stubborn as he was and loved Ellie nearly as much, that you wouldn’t give up on her, would never give up on her, and that between the two of you you’d have to bring her home.

--

You blinked cold air out of your eyes, straining to hear above Shauna’s sodden footsteps beside you. She held her rifle loosely, too loosely, as you gripped yours. She sighed, loud enough to attract attention, and you glared at her. Guilty, she shrugged, which you guessed was her best attempt at an apology.

You were making achingly slow progress, the bulk of the town behind you as you inched towards the gas station on the far perimeter. You didn’t like how exposed you were, even as you stayed close to walls and fences. Shauna was crap at checking her six, and your neck was aching from having to check it for her.

The light was dying, cold setting in. You shivered as the wind whispered your name.

You blinked, turning to Shauna. The other woman, distracted, was watching the road. You held still, straining your ears.

‘Teach…’ you heard, your heart hammering in your chest.

Taking three or four unwise steps into the centre of the road you swivelled your head, trying to locate her. Finally, just when you’d decided you were actually going mad, her little head popped up over the edge of a two-storey building to your left. It looked like it had once been a doctor’s office. The red of the door was peeling away to expose the wood.

‘Ellie!’ you stage whispered, waving your hands over your head as if she hadn’t already seen you, as if she hadn’t been smart enough to get to higher ground, to survey the area while keeping out of sight.

‘Ssssh!’ she motioned to you with her hands. You grabbed Shauna before she could take another muddled, deafening step, directing her gaze to the rooftop. You watched her eyes widen as she took in the teenager.

You were proud of her. So proud at her survival instinct, at her quick thinking. You beamed up at her, relief surging through your belly before you realised she wasn’t smiling back, was instead motioning to something around the corner. You saw the panic on her face.

‘What?’ you mouthed to her, and she rolled her eyes in return, because she was still, even in these most extreme circumstances, Ellie. Standing more fully upright she pantomimed a clicker, gnashing teeth and curled fingers and all, before gesturing again to the corner.

‘Oh fuck,’ Shauna whimpered beside you, and you clamped a hand over her mouth.

‘How many?’ you mouthed to Ellie, who held up two fingers. You shuddered. One you might have been able to handle, but two would require the participation of the woman you currently held gagged in your arms.

As silently as possible you let Shauna go, motioning for her to stay put, and came forward, spying a dumpster pushed up against a wall you could just vault yourself onto. Slinging the rifle over your shoulder you watched as Ellie disappeared behind the eaves of the building, reappearing at the gutter above you as you stretched on tippy toes towards her.

‘I can’t reach you…’ she whispered, her hand outstretched, before you shook your head, instead pulling your rifle around to the front of your body and handing it up to her. She shook her head, face going pale even in the fading light, but you insisted, bouncing on the balls of your feet to make her take it.

‘Be safe…’ you whispered to her. ‘Stay out of sight. Joel is coming.’

‘What about you?’ she whispered back, but you were already moving away, climbing down as quietly as you could to the cracked pavement below.

Shauna’s eyes were wide, watching the scene play out in front of her. She gripped her own rifle harder now, holding it fast to her chest, as if terrified you were going to pull it from her. As you made your way back to her, preparing to pull her back to the horses, back to safer ground, she took a step away.

‘Why did you give her that?’ she hissed, eyes swivelling between you and the corner.

‘She’s a good shot,’ you said, wondering if this was true but confident none the less that Joel would have taught her, wouldn’t have let her flounder, and that Ellie would have insisted on it even if he initially tried to resist.

Casting a look over your shoulder you saw her regain her position on the roof, her back to you as she watched the clickers around the corner.

‘We’ll find Joel, tell her where she is. So long as she’s up on higher ground she’s safe enough for us to get her out,’ you explained, as much as you could in a whisper, while you tried to grab Shauna and pull her away. As you took her arm you felt her shaking. You swallowed. You could see, now, the white knuckles on the barrel of the rifle. The sweat dotting her brow.

‘Shauna, we’re OK,’ you said, as low as possible, hoping that the wind would quiet your voice enough. ‘Just breathe.’

Her eyes swivelled back to you, putting you in mind of a doe staring down the jaws of a bear. You hesitated, the panic in her eyes making your stomach turn.

You heard it, then. A high-pitched squeak, a footstep. You felt your breath catch in your chest, your head turning achingly slow to the corner. Above you Ellie waved silently, rifle over her shoulder, terror in her eyes.

‘Oh shit…’ Shauna whimpered again, too loud, but you were frozen, unable to clamp your hand on her mouth again.

It had been so long since you’d seen one, and you weren’t sure you’d ever seen a clicker properly in the daylight. The bloom of fungus from the side of its head, obliterating its left eye, put you in mind of the coral you had tried to teach your students about, before Joel had whittled you a few visual aids. It lurched from side to side as it moved, one ankle twisted almost completely in the wrong direction, its clothes torn across its torso. It had been a man, a young man, you realised.

You could have sworn you’d seen that shirt before. Fleetwood Mac, the same as the one Tommy owned, before his belly grew from general safety and particularly proximity to the mess hall, and he donated it to the Jackson clothes swap. They used those clothes for when newcomers showed up with nothing. Like Shauna had. Like Steven, and Wren.

You felt your eyes start to water. Wren.

Unaccountable anger flashed up your spine then, jolting you into turning your back to him, rounding on Shauna. You wanted to scream at her, wanted to throttle her right there in the street, grab her chin and make her watch as he lurched towards them, the sum total of all her shitty decisions to this point.

But the sight of Wren had steeled something in her, too, you saw. The panic was gone, replaced instead with something colder, something burning brighter. You almost thought you saw a smirk appear on her quivering lips.

Gripping the gun to her chest she wrestled her arm free of you, with enough force to send you reeling, your arms wheeling around your body to stop yourself falling heavy to the ground. You righted yourself, staring deep into her eyes as she backed away. Somehow now she was moving more silently than she had all day, her eyes trained on you as you heard Wren lurching, sniffing at the air, behind you. He was maybe twenty paces away, swivelling, taking one or two steps in one direction, turning around and doubling back.

You stared at Shauna as she retreated from you. She was going to leave you here, was going to make off with the only weapon either of you had. She was going to let you be bit, was going to do nothing to stop it, was going to let you be the bait while she made it out. She was going to tell Joel it was an accident, that she couldn’t help you, say that Ellie didn’t have a good enough vantage point to see it the way she did.

And she would fucking smile as she did it.

You turned your head back to Wren, seeing that he had managed to advance several paces. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Ellie drawing her rifle, aiming for him, but you frantically motioned for her to stop. There was another clicker loitering somewhere beneath her and the shot would draw their attention, and if they crowded around the building she would have no way to get down.

You felt something still within you, something lift from your chest. For a moment you let your gaze drift up and away from the street to the mountain beyond you, watched the way the dusk turned the snow pink and orange in the last light of the day.

You supposed you had already decided, didn’t need to confer with Rose. You knew, standing in the middle of the street in that moment, that you would draw them to you, take off in a sprint past Wren and lead the other away from the building, hopefully far enough that Ellie could get back to your horse. With both horses and both rifles she and Shauna had a pretty good chance of making it back to Jackson.

Joel would have his girl back. You could be with Rose.

You considered, in this moment of calm, that perhaps it had all been leading to this. You crouched, readied yourself to sprint, shifted your weight to the balls of your feet.  

Ellie’s voice rang out above your head, clear as a bell and straight as an arrow to the street below her. ‘HEY YOU FUCKERS, COME AND GET ME!’  she yelled, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed

@vickie5446

@kaseyconnour

@orcasoul

@missladym1981

@spacesoutdaydreamer

@tangled-tumbler-blog-blog

@fancyyoouu

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@wand-erer5

@somedayheaven

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@wand-erer5

[bitch-potatoes]

Prompt: Swirl 26/10/24 @rosekillermicrofic

Word count: 640

Evan fidgeted nervously, watching the man behind the bar mixing drinks - the way the muscles in his arm flexed, and he tossed the shaker from hand to hand, practically juggling the thing. He was wearing a tight black t-shirt which didn't leave much to the imagination and had streaks of neon green in his dark hair, but blonde roots peeked through slightly. The dim light caught every shining glint of metal of the peircings in his face.

Evan found him embarrassingly fit, but he lingered with his sister and her friends rather than making a move. His logic was that he couldn't be rejected if he never tried. The last thing he wanted was to fumble or, worse, find out the bartender wasn't even queer.

"I don't get it" Pandora muttered, walking back from the bar and handing Evan a vodka lemonade and taking a sip from some drink that was probably more syrup than alcohol "you won't even order your own drink, and he's not even that fit" she scolded playfully before settling down beside her girlfriend.

"You should go talk to him, the fates are in your favour" one of Pandora's best friends drawled out around a straw as he sipped on some floral drink, they were some weird hippy with waist length white-blonde hair and shared a wardrobe with her - their name was Xenophillius but everyone called them Xeno. They handed Evan a silver coin that said 'yes' on its face, flipping it over in his palm it said 'no' on the other side.

Evan downed his drink and burped, slamming the glass onto the table harder than was necessary and letting the alcohol give him courage. Though it might have been the lingering sense that Xeno would berate Evan for not taking a chance when the stars aligned in his favour.

Strutting towards the bar and waiting nervously for the man to finish serving the customer before him, Evan didn't pay them much mind too busy staring at the bartender. He stopped towards the bar and smiled the best he could.

"What can I do you for?" the man said cheerfully, leaning against the counter in a way that made his forearms look delicious. Evan couldn't help but imagine sinking his teeth into that smooth skin.

"I... uhhh... I, " Evan stuttered out, unable to find the right words to say. He scrubs a hand over his face, trying to hide the flush on his cheeks as he fumbled.

"How's about today's special?" the man grinned as he placed a small glass down on the bar and grabbed a bottle, filling the glass halfway with what Evan recognised as some sort of cream li "Chocolate and strawberry liqueur, layered with milk and topped with chocolate swirls." he slid the glass over to Evan. It was a pretty drink, layered like neopolitan ice cream. It was tasted similar to the neopolitan ice cream, too.

Evan shuffled for his wallet. "How much?" He mumbled. The bartender shook his head and smiled wider, showing off sharpened canines."It's on the house, pretty boy, " he teased before winking.

"I get off as soon as my coworker bleeding gets here. He's 10 minutes late already. Then me and you can go grab dinner or what?"

Evan did a full double take blinking heavily and jaw slack, slightly disappointed he didn't get to make the first move properly but elated that he'd managed to bag the hot bartender. "I'm..  I'm uhhh Evan, " he murmured awkwardly, offering a hand out to shake. The bartender took the hand and pulled Evan forewards, making him lose his centre of balance and tumble towards him. "Barty, but call me Bat," he muttered back, his lips close to Evan's as he grinned like the Cheshire cat. He pecked a kiss before leaning back to serve another customer, leaving Evan dazed and watching as he poured another drink.

(A/N: nonbinary Xenophillius is my fav, and so is them being absolute besties with Pandora. Also love the supportive sibling moment between them)

[sueheesblog]

Let's talk about some stuff! SZN 3: SPOILERS I watched the season after I saw some spoilers on X and from friends lmao. I didn't sleep. Sorry for the typos n shit. I need to vent.

- First off, Syd and Cousin carried the whole fxcking SZN on their backs, while Carmy was too busy being a psycho. Ayo n Ebon deserves all the awards. JAW is a fantastic actor - 10/10 for all 3 of them. Everyone else did great too, Napkin was 😭😭😭 AYO DID THAT. Those 3 are legends in my eyes!!!! If Ayo leaves or if the writers do her dirtier in SZN 4 I'm DONE. I cried for her this SZN, n for Carm too.

- All of Sydcamry scenes for some reason gave me butterflies even though they drifted farther apart each eps. Syd getting Carmy's dish was top tier - incredible writing from the writers. I just need them to explain more - what is the purpose of having Syd n Carmy tied together - if Claire is so great why not tied her to Carmy? Why does she seem like someone who died, haunting Carmy like his toxic boss? She more unbearable this season n I think it's intentional.

- Some ppl were saying Claire had alittle more substance this SZN and I beg to differ. She's like a dead gf to me. Her scenes with Carmy are so cold, dead, and heavy - like a burden. She triggers my anxiety n I don't know y - n I don't want to be mean, but just how their scene are edited, it literally puts me at the edge of a panic attack. The writers had the audacity to call her PEACE. I did not experience peace watching her scene and I think Carmy feels the same way from the jump. So, Fxck no, she ain't PEACE, that's Syd and it's obvious.

- Claire being labeled as PEACE makes no sense - the writers are trying too hard n it's make me sick. If she's so great, let her n Carmy run/manage The Bear.

- Syd is the invisible string that's holding everyone together in this chaotic sh!thole, while babysitting Carmy and keeping him from combusting. Unc, Nat, Pete, COUSIN, Marcus, and everyone else are staying afloat because Syd is the fxcking life vest that's strapped to their chest.

- Syd is calm, organized, observant, caring, considerate etc. Yet, these fxcking writers said Claire was peace- that line had my blood boilingggggggg.

- Syd's relationship with her Dad is everything

- Sydcarmy is sooo far apart it physically hurts. They didn't even do ther sign thing over their chest this season.......I get this feeling (just a FEELING) that Syd might be in love or has a crush on CARMY 😭😭😭. The margin wider scene gave me that vibe. When you like someone, you notice every little thing they do. There were times I wanted her to hug him soooo bad, I just felt like if she did if would've grounded him. He really needed a hug this season.

- Something I think some of you might have missed. Remember SZN1 Ep1 when Syd said her dad ate at The Beef on Sundays. We got confirmation from Carm, in SZN 3 that The Beef/The Bear only closes on Sundays. 😂😂🤣😂 (this was in the scene with him n Claire in a dark room or whatever. It might have been a dream scene idk) So, Carm knew Syd lied. I need the writers to have Carm n Syd talk about it and the meal she had in NYC. These are only a few important stuff they hid in the storytelling and I need to know WHYYYYYYYY.

- Carmy had a panic attack during service. Syd's voice took him off the edge. And I must say, her voice could really calm me down too lmao.

These fxcking writers are lowkey abusing Syd at this point. She's being stretched thin, and again this is also why I think she's in love with Carmy. It hurts her, but she's so into him, connected to him physically n mentally. It's really hard for her to let him or The Bear. It reminds me of the time Donna said "I make things pretty for others, but no one makes things pretty for me" not being verbatim lol. Syd did sooo much heavy lifting this SZN and no one noticed it, they all subconsciously over look her and gave all praises to Claire and making her the peace and angel.

- We finally saw Syd broke tf down in ep 10. Baby girl couldn't be strong anymore. She doesn't want to leave Carmy or The Bear but after the round table talk with the workers from Ever. She realized that Carmy - the person she idolize or even love/crush on, might not be good for her. Carmy is trying but the communication is lacking so bad, and on top of that he's pushing her away.

At this point, the partnership agreement seems like a trap to keep her. If Unc cut his connection to The Bear that's going to be Syd last straw. And if she leaves, I kinda see Tina, Marcus, and maybe COUSIN going with her or they will stay and give Carmy HELLL for losing her. The tables would turn. Everyone is so hang up on Claire leaving, if Syd leaves, Claire would go straight through the window. That would be the moment of realization (for all of them. Especially Carmy) that the woman he really NEEDS is Syd and not Claire. But for some reason, they all think Syd ain't going nowhere which is so naive. She got a bigggg offer and I can't wait to see when she tells Carmy. Would he confess her importance to him to keep her? Would he beg her to stay? Would he listen more or communicate more to keep her? Would he ask her what would make her stay at The Bear? Or would he be a b!tch and tell her to go cauase it's a great opportunity? And then after confess that he's having a hard time letting her go. Very interesting stuff.

- Last thing - Unc talking to Syd. I was shock he was looking to Syd for answers as to what's going on with Carmy. This was also telling. Unc believes or senses that these too are CLOSE. And Syd being a good gf/partner kept her mouth closed. SYD is an angel sent from heaven, cause I would be so done with The Bear😭😭😭😭.

We saw that Carmy and Syd are having conversations that we are not seeing on screen. For example, he asked her about her new apartment. When did she tell him?? He then asked about her dad. Sir, what about her dad? Did she tell him about the annoying bathroom exchange? Are they sharing more about their personal life that we, the audience is not seeing? So many fxcking questions in SZN3.

This is just my thoughts. I saw the season once so this not an analysis.

[alchemistc]

tastes like (he) might be the one

an: So this post made me feel some things and the drabble I started out underneath got wordy enough that I decided not to fully hijack the post.

Tommy is just now realizing has no idea how to prepare a meal.

Evan had told him where the spare key was and Tommy had wanted to do something nice for him but he is a forty year old man with NO concept of how to make a meal.

What do you put in a salad? Kale goes into the bowl and he finds Evan's cheese grater and a Romano wedge, but there's no bread around and Tommy eyes the bag of premade croutons in his pantry with unease before he calls it good.

The caprese is easy, he's made it a million times, a quick snack that reminds him of afternoons on his grandmother's back porch, drinking the thimble of espresso she'd allowed him while she spoke in her heavily accented voice.

He doesn't actually know how to tell Evan he's avoiding gluten without disappointing him, yet, (God he's down bad, the thought of Evan's bright smile faltering a bit like he's disappointed he hadn't thought to ask makes Tommy want to launch himself into the stratosphere) so he throws the pan of lasagne back in the oven on low and just... takes a deep breath.

Evan won't be back for at least another hour, though, and Tommy is fighting the itch to snoop, so he takes a quick glance at the supplies on hand and ends up whipping up the stracciatella recipe his mom had used to make him when he was sick. He's halfway through prepping it when he realizes he's fucking insane, but it's too late now.

The text hits his screen before he can contemplate hiding the evidence of the soup.

Be there in twenty.

So Tommy stirs, and rubs his suddenly sweaty hands on his thighs, and then he stares at the disaster he's made of the kitchen and starts sweeping things into the sink.

Evan, Eddie, everyone always thinks he's so cool, but the reality is that behind closed doors he's a fucking disaster and his head is a jumble of nerves. This is too much. Cohesively, it might make some semblance of sense in the range of 'this is all vaguely italian' but a minestrone would have been better, he just hadn't had the time. This is too much -- too much food, too much effort, too much like ripping open his chest and guiding Evan's hand to wrap around his pumping heart and squeeze.

The locks on the doors tumble open just as Tommy is drying the cutting board, and Evan presses in with a tired smile.

The smile goes wider at the sight of his table, laid out in some semblance of order Tommy doesn't remember, but it had made sense at the time.

Be cool, Kinard, Tommy thinks to himself, but he can't help but melt a little when Evan tosses his keys carelessly to the side board and then slides across the room, no unease in his face as he sidles up, hands curling around Tommy's hips, head tilted in the way Tommy absolutely knows is a flirt, now.

"Hey."

Tommy blinks. He's disarming, unreal, Tommy has known him for barely any time at all but he'd bend over backwards to make that smile stay on Evan's face forever.

"Hi."

Evan's thumbs are playing with his belt loops, and his grin dimples his cheeks, and suddenly he's slightly less alarmed that he'd cobbled together a disaster of a three (four?) course meal like a crazy person.

Tommy wants to hand him his spare key back. He also wants to grab his key ring and add the spare to it, full eye contact going while he tucks it in between the truck key and his own house key. He wants to bite Evan's neck, and tug him into his chest and never let go, he wants -

"Smells good in here. Did you make something? You didn't have to make anything, I would have -."

"I wanted to," he manages, around the blinding flare of Evan's smile.

Tommy is cool as a fucking cucumber. Evan presses his lips to the junction of Tommy's jaw, darts around him before Tommy can reciprocate. Grabs two wine glasses from a cabinet and when Tommy turns to look at the broad expanse of his back, Evan has his head ducked bashfully, and Tommy can see the edges of his grin, the swell of his cheek in profile.

At least he's not alone in this, Jesus.

Evan pours them wine, fingers curling around Tommy's. He stares at the meager offerings on display, and Tommy can see him ticking off serving utensils in his mind. He doesn't say a word about the monstrosity that is a kale and Romano salad (???), just dances around Tommy again, wine glass balanced in his hand, to grab some dressing from the fridge.

"Hey, there are oven mitts in that top drawer, there, can you grab the lasagne? It's gluten free, Chin mentioned something about you avoiding it?"

Tommy contemplates sinking to his knees right there in front of his sad sack salad. Why hadn't he looked for ingredients for the caprese first?

Instead he pulls the lasagne out, lays it out across the wicker hot pads he'd set out earlier. The moment it's securely on the table, Evan presses fully against his back, and Tommy wonders if he should have stopped to get flowers. Or condoms.

Both, probably.

"Did you make me soup?" he asks, lips pressed to the knob of Tommy's spine.

"From what I hear you've had a rough day. Soup always makes a rough day better." He wishes his wine glass was still in his hand, and not next to the oven where he'd left it. He twists to face Evan and Evan gives up zero ground, toe to toe and a delighted little gleam in his eye Tommy knows is going to get him in trouble one day.

"Hi," Evan says, again, and Tommy curls a hand around his hip and drags him half an inch closer.

[corralinesage]

Learning you by heart (15/?)

One more chapter after this!! 🤭

Chapter 15: Here and now

“Where’s the body?” Wanda walked into the more open space in Natasha’s living room, her hands crackling with red, sparks appearing alongside a faint scarlet glow around her irises.

“I burned it behind a dumpster in New Jersey.” Their eyes met, Wanda’s wide from shock.

“Fuck… Natasha.” There was a hint of chastise in Wanda’s tone and for a good reason.

“Not my proudest moment.” Natasha shrugged.

“That’s-” Wanda was struggling to find any kinds of words for the information she had just received. “Must’ve been awful.”

“Just another kill.” Natasha’s voice was heavy, her grim features countering her words rather heavily, but Wanda didn’t comment. Natasha’s life had gone astray badly enough to not need any reminders of or judgement over what she had had to do to achieve it all.

“I think it’s best we get going then. There’s nothing here for us anymore.” Wanda looked apologetic as she raised her hands up.

“Take me home… please.” Natasha looked tormented, her hand clutching the Polaroid picture of you. “I…” Her voice disappeared as she nearly broke down.

“It’s okay, Natasha. I got you now.” Wanda changed her stance, preparing herself to go through the effort of creating a portal. A large abrasion ripped into the air in front of them, but it disappeared just as quickly as Wanda had created it.

There was a knock at the door, both of their heads turning in the direction of the sound before flitting quickly at the other’s face to make sure they had both heard it. Wanda dropped her hands, the red glow disappearing immediately, Natasha turning toward the door expectantly as if it might just open on its own. They looked at each other again, the corner of Wanda’s lips drawing up into a slight smile. Natasha looked hopeful, but there was also fear mixed into that expression on her face. She didn’t have it in her to believe that it was you behind that door, yet it was all she was hoping for. Wanda’s hand touched Natasha’s arm, nudging her gently toward the door.

“Don’t forget what you can have”, Wanda’s words tugged at Natasha’s chest, her heart racing as she walked to the front door of her variant’s apartment, her hand finding the doorknob and twisting it slowly. She almost couldn’t believe that you were standing there, eyes bloodshot like it hadn’t been all that long since you had stopped crying, Wanda standing beside you. Natasha opened the door wider, hearing her Wanda’s footsteps behind her.

“Hi.” Natasha wanted to pull you into her arms, her body yearning to feel your own, to squeeze you tightly enough to ensure you could never slip away from her again.

“Hi.” Your voice was timid, wary of the fact that you crawling back to her might not have been as welcome as you were hoping it to be. Your eyes flitted down to the floor briefly before coming up to Natasha’s face, but your words got caught in your throat when Wanda emerged into the doorway. Your eyes widened in shock, your jaw dropping rather comically. You looked at Wanda beside you, grasping her hand as if to test if she was still right there beside you and as real as ever. Wanda was less shocked by her variant’s presence than you were, but she still seemed rather astonished by what she was seeing, her shock sidelined by curiosity. The disbelief on your face was evident yet all you could do was believe your own perception and the very reality that you were witnessing as your gaze went back to the doppelgänger of your roommate and best friend. “You were telling the truth”, you gasped quietly.

“I would never lie to you, not if I might lose you because of it”, Natasha whispered, smiling gently, your eyes itching with tears.

“Sort this out”, Wanda said from behind Natasha, her attention shifting to her variant. “You and I need to talk.” Your Wanda looked rather taken aback but she nodded in agreement immediately, letting go of you and allowing you to go inside Natasha’s apartment as both Wandas went into the hallway. You stared after them through the door that Natasha closed between you and them, only moving into the living room when Natasha’s hand brushed over your forearm as if wishing to grab your hand, but she let go before she could reach your wrist. A small, hopeful smile found your lips as you followed her to the couch. You took a seat on the cushions, recalling your tipsy night there, your eyes threatening to itch with tears again. It was now or never. You could have more of those moments, infinitely more, if you just managed to trust her and undo the damage that you had done by lashing out on her.

“I guess I should start off with an apology”, you hummed, still quite shaken from having witnessed two of Wanda. “I- I don’t know what got into me.”

“I don’t blame you, dorogaya (darling). I know it’s beyond the comprehension of many.” You nodded at her words, glad to know that she was understanding.

“I was cruel.” You couldn’t even look at her, still struggling to wrap your mind around everything. It felt like you were missing bits and pieces of the fight, of the thoughts that had been regurgitating in your mind all night.

“You were reacting”, Natasha said placatingly.

“I shouldn’t have said a lot of the things I did.”

“Maybe not”, she hummed, placing her hand on your knee in an attempt to make contact with you. “But you’re here now.” Your eyes rose up to meet hers, your gaze wary, longing.

“I am.”

“What does that mean?” You could tell that she was asking in all earnest. She didn’t want to get her hopes up and start to imagine that any kind of a happy ending was even remotely in her reach.

“I don’t know”, you whispered weakly, unsure of what to say or how to continue from the fallout you two had had.

“What made you come here?” Natasha’s stomach ached, her heart hammering in her chest from anxiety. She could not take any more.

“You. I can’t seem to stay away.” You let out a slight chuckle as if in an attempt to bring levity into the situation, but it did little to coax a smile on Natasha’s face. You remained silent for a while, sorting through the thoughts in your head. You felt your throat squeeze shut, your head aching from your sleepless night. “I think I’m in love with you.” Natasha couldn’t react to your words. She couldn’t receive them. She couldn’t let her heart be torn apart once more. She had nothing more left to give.

“Don’t say that.” Your heart sank. “I’m leaving.” She stared into the interior of the house, ignoring your tormented face on purpose. Your heart started hammering in your chest ruthlessly, your lungs feeling empty, drained of the air that you couldn’t seem to breathe no matter how you tried.

“No.” Natasha’s head turned to look at you at the sound of your pained voice as if to make sure she had heard right. “No, no- You can’t.” You sounded teary, the lump in your throat preventing you from articulating clearly, your hands reaching for her own.

“There’s nothing here for me. It’s all a distant mockery of what I’ve lost”, Natasha mumbled, shaking her head in defeat.

“I’m here”, you whimpered, your hands squeezing her forearm even tighter.

“I can’t trust that it’ll work.”

“Natasha.” You could not believe your ears after all the effort you had put into figuring out your feelings.

“I’m going. I don’t belong here.”

“Yes, you do.” You felt helpless. “What about all the weeks we spent together? Did they mean nothing to you?” Your eyes were filled with sorrow and pain.

“They did and they do, but I have no fight left in me. I can’t risk it. This might be my only ticket home.” She nodded her head as if agreeing with herself and choosing to fully carry through with her decision.

“No! No, you do not get to do that!” You suddenly sprung up from the couch, unable to control the jumbled-up feelings inside you. “You do not get to come here and make me fall in love with you, only for you to leave me at the first bit of hesitance you sense.”

“Y/N”, Natasha began in a quiet, weary tone, but you interrupted her.

“I’m allowed to be careful!” You looked exasperated, your lower lip trembling, chest heaving with your heavy inhales.

“Y/N”, she tried again rather calmly. “I love you more than anything. Losing you for a second time will kill me.” She sighed softly to herself. “We can never work.”

“No-” Your tone was close to begging.

“I was foolish to think that I had a place here, that I could love you how I loved you before.” Natasha looked devastated, her bloodshot eyes and blotchy skin truly emphasizing her pain. “I don’t expect you to understand.” You seemed to calm slightly down at her words as you sat back down on the couch beside her, closer than before, your hand finding her own again.

“Then help me understand. Maybe you don’t have to love me the way you used to. Maybe we can figure it out as we go”, you suggested carefully, mindful of overstepping her boundaries after nearly exploding on her once again. “Tell me more about myself, about us, all of it. I can’t understand if you don’t give me a chance to.” Natasha knew from the look in your eyes that you were seriously asking to be included in her complicated situation. There was logic to your words. Why reach for the unreachable when she could reach for something more realistic, something perhaps just as good in its own way?

“You’ve seen the Vengeance franchise.” Natasha shrugged, an amused smile on her lips, her hand finally responding to your touch. The familiar names of the superheroes crossed your mind, reminding you of the fact that you shared a name with one of them. “The name is not just a coincidence… Of course, you’re played by an actress who can’t quite match your beauty.” She was giving in, slowly melting under your touch. She was willing to hear you out and try for one more time. You looked at Natasha in disbelief, unsure how you should respond as you gasped quietly.

“You’re telling me I’m a superhero?” You felt a smile tug at your lips at such a ridiculous statement.

“Heroes of the world”, Natasha recited a line from the movie. “Not only a superhero, but my hero, as sappy as it sounds.” You looked at each other. “You saved me from myself. You made me human again.” She bit her lip to avoid smiling too widely.

“The… you’re in the movies too.” You barely had any words. “There’s a kiss in the third one.” It sounded crazy, it sounded insane, but you couldn’t deny the similarities of the characters in the movies and the two of you. The actors looked alike to some extent, and many other features and characteristics mirrored you and Natasha’s, maybe even the dynamic to some extent.

“That kiss started it all”, Natasha whispered, her smile not enough to hide the tears she had to wipe away. “The movies aren’t hundred percent accurate, and painful to get through, but they’ve got some truth to them.” You took a moment to take in all that she was saying, recalling the battles between aliens, the characters, the events, all of it.

“I was pretty badass”, you hummed almost playfully, thinking about the character that you had always thought of as a fun and admittedly interesting person. You had been an incredibly skilled spy and sniper in another universe. You had been a righteous warrior who had saved countless lives, including that of the woman beside you. You had worn a black suit with violet accents that glowed like stars in the sky. You had been perhaps snarkier, tougher, more ruthless than you could ever imagine yourself being in your own reality, but you had also been just as loving and caring toward your loved ones as you were in your own reality. You had had mean fists and a thirst for justice like no other, paired with incredible skills with all kinds of guns. No other sniper could quite reach your level.

“Oh, you were.” Natasha nodded her head, a fond look on her face, a confident, knowing smirk finding her lips. “You were truly badass.” You both remained quiet for a moment as you let the information sink in further. Natasha looked away from you as memories filled her mind. No matter how much you were there beside her, she was still in such immense pain whenever she remembered you as her wife that she could not bear to look at you. It wasn’t hard to sense the emotionally charged demeanor that Natasha was wrapped up in, but you decided to approach it gently despite any hesitation you might have felt. You moved your hand up from her arm to her cheek, cupping it gently to guide her face to yours, her jade eyes locked with your own.

“Tell me more?” Your voice was nothing but a whisper. Natasha searched your eyes, searched her own emotions regarding the situation and regarding you before opening her mouth again.

“Your mother was a hunter.” There was a storytelling quality in the way she spoke. “Which I’m sure you remember from the movies. You learned to shoot with precision before you learned to properly read. You always had steady hands.” She nodded her head, looking at you for a moment, allowing herself to admire your beauty as her eyes ran over every part of your face. “By the time you were in your late teens you were probably one of the best shooters the country had seen, except nobody knew you, nobody knew about your existence outside of the little cottage you and your mother inhabited.” She let out a long sigh before being able to continue. “That was until your mother died. Your anger and sadness made you seek for an outlet. You needed a way to make a living and fortunately for you, or rather unfortunately in many ways, you got caught in the middle of the alien invasion on Manhattan.” You nodded your head. That was in the movies. “You picked up a discarded gun and joined the fight without anyone asking you to. It was Maria who eventually realized what was going on.” She leaned a little bit closer to you, your body painfully aware of the fact that you weren’t fully pressed up against one another in a way that would have left you satisfied.

“Toward the end of the battle, you got shot in the calf. It was a flesh wound. I told you to drop out of the fight and leave because you as a civilian were only going to be in the way –I was a bit defensive back then– but you never listened.” She chuckled at the memories. “As long as you could shoot, you were of use. That’s what you told me.” She laughed again. “I couldn’t understand what kind of a lunatic civilian would be crazy enough to take on an alien invasion, but then I saw how good you were, even when injured. You shot down aliens one after another from your hiding place. It was incredible.” Your eyes were wide with wonder as you listened to her intently, unwilling to miss a single word. “After the battle, Fury demanded to know your identity, so that we could all thank you appropriately. You were asked to join the Avengers and things were never the same after.”

“The Avengers? That name is way better than the Vengeance league”, you snickered quietly. “Oh wow, what a story.” Natasha smiled brightly, pleased that you were taking the entire situation seriously and actually listening to her. “But what about us? How did we… fall for each other?” Your eyes couldn’t help but to dip down to Natasha’s lips, your body longing to be closer to her, to touch her and feel her.

“You fell first. It took me a while to realize that I was even feeling any kind of way. I tried to hide behind layers upon layers of snark and witty banter, and even went as far as taking distance from you before I finally managed to look myself in the eye and realize that you were not just a teammate, but something more.” Your gut churned with butterflies as you recalled the feeling of falling for her. You wanted to get closer to her, your thumb stroking her wrist carefully. “You were always so gentle with me. It was jarring to someone who had only ever been treated with violence.” You felt your eyes itch with tears. It was unfair, all of it, both you and her situation.

“In a very heartbreaking way, that’s rather beautiful. I’m glad I could do that for you”, you whispered, glancing down at her hands, your touch reaching up to her forearms to feel more of her. Natasha smiled gently, her eyes moving down to your joint hands before coming up to your face again.

“You’re doing it right now.” Her voice could barely carry loudly enough for you to hear. “You’re being gentle with me.” Her hand responded to the touch of your own, caressing your fingertips back in the same manner as you did. You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t really do anything other than keep touching her. “Whenever I was angry beyond reason as a result of a battle or a dispute with the people in charge, or my friends, you would come to me, and you would be gentle with me.” She sniffled, pursing her lips to hide how affected she was by the memory, by the parallel. “I couldn’t stay angry when you touched me like this.” She moved her hand a little more to clarify what she was referring to. “When you spoke reason to me in soft whispers.”

“Kind of like now”, you mused, smiling gently.

“Kind of like now”, she agreed in a small nod, her heart aching worse than it ever had at the thought of leaving you behind.

“You were always the voice of reason for me. You made me see what life had to offer…” She sounded wistful, and at that moment you felt like a hint of the clarity was extended to you. She sounded truly in love, but it wasn’t directed at you. She was talking about someone else.

“Were.” You sounded bitter to your own ear despite not meaning to, but you couldn’t help the feelings of jealousy toward your alternate self.

“What?” Natasha turned to look at you, her brows furrowing.

“How could I ever compete?” You looked at her with a heartbroken expression of realization on your face. “Natasha. I’m not her. I’ll never measure up to her.” She looked away from you, her smile wiped away from her face. It was an impossible situation. There was no winning.

“It won’t be the same. I know that. I’ve always known that, which is why it’s perhaps for the best if we end it here.” Every ounce of pain that shone on Natasha’s face countered her words, but she couldn’t help but to try to protect you. “It’ll hurt the least this way.” She shrugged her shoulders, shaking her head in defeat as she pulled away from your touch. “It was just a fling.” It felt wrong to voice out such blatant lies, your face falling into a desperate frown.

“Don’t say that. Please, Natasha, don’t say that.” You felt your tears spill against your own will. “You can’t say that”, you sobbed, unable to control your emotions anymore, your hands reaching for hers again. She couldn’t let go of you. You would not be able to take it.

“I have to.” She wouldn’t let you touch her. “It’s the only way I can still go back home.”

“You don’t have to go back. You can stay here with me.” You leaned closer, cupping her cheeks to make her look at you. “Stay here with me, baby.” You held her face gently, Natasha’s heated cheeks damp against your palms. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t resist your face.

“But what if it doesn’t work out? What if it’s just more pain?” Natasha’s eyes glistened with tears that pooled at her lash lines. She was broken and beaten down, and it was more evident than ever.

“What if it does?” Your faces were mere inches apart, eyes searching the other’s. “What if it all works out?” Natasha could feel your breath brush over her chin. “I don’t have to be like her. You don’t have to be who you were. We can just be us. Here and now.” Your eyes were wide with anticipation, begging her to hear you out. Natasha’s eyelids fluttered shut as she tried to make sense of her screaming mind. She didn’t know what to do, torn between two, torn by her pain and her search for comfort and security. “I can be exactly what you need.” Your whisper brought goosebumps to her skin, her muscles melting under your touch as she leaned forward. She paused, hesitating for a moment before she pressed her mouth to your own.

You kissed her irritated lips that were hot and salty from her tears, swallowing each little whimper that escaped her. You pulled her closer, sucking on her plump top lip that often gave her a slight pout, your mouths fitting together as well as they always did. Your chest felt light and airy, full of relief despite knowing that it wasn’t all over yet. Her kiss might very well have been a goodbye kiss, but you were going to take it nonetheless because her hot mouth against your own felt better than life ever had. You didn’t care to breathe. You didn’t care. All you wanted were her lips, her hands at your waist, her warm cheeks against your palms. Neither of you deepened the kiss, keeping it tame and gentle, but the underlying passion was hard to shove aside. Her lips were rough and needy, kissing you fervently as if to savor every last bit of you to ensure that it lasted her a lifetime, lasted all the way to another reality. You pecked her lips a few times as you tried to find enough self-restraint to pull away from her to breathe. The chaste kisses made her smile, her teary eyes fluttering open to see your face.

“I want you. Just you”, she mumbled gently, her eyes flitting down to your lips. “I don’t need you to be anyone else. I fell in love with you.” You could feel your lips tug into a smile, your thumbs swiping over her reddened cheeks as her face fell. “But I’m scared.” You could barely hear the words.

“So am I”, you whimpered, swallowing back your sob. “But you know w-what I heard from my version of a woman I know you appreciate greatly?” Natasha chuckled at your wording, sniffling quietly.

“What?” You both had tears streaming down your faces as you held each other close.

“Life is scary.” Natasha huffed out a laugh. “Love is scary.”

“She’s right about that”, she moaned softly, casting her gaze down, shaking her head in disbelief over the entire situation. You guided her chin up, your eyes moving down to her lips before you leaned back into a kiss. It was wet and messy, but loaded with an unbelievable amount of emotion, your lips pressing together with bruising intensity that you both hoped would convey your affection and admiration toward the other. The kiss grew heated the more desperation started to seep into it, your hands leaving Natasha’s face to tug her even closer to you by her waist and her arms and any part of her you could reach, her hand moving to the back of your head to guide the kiss. You felt dizzy from all the crying you had done, the passionate kiss swiping you off your feet. You felt her tongue caress the seam of your lips, Natasha asking to deepen the kiss, but you pulled away before allowing her access.

“You have to promise me that we’re in this together”, you said in a watery tone. “I need to know that if we get into a fight, or things get hard, you won’t disappear out of my reach.”

“I won’t, malyshka (baby). I promise you.” She sounded solemn, her jade eyes boring into your own with such intensity it almost felt jarring. “I won’t leave until you tell me to.” You searched her eyes for confirmation, looking for reassurance despite taking her words at face value. She had no reason to lie to you. She would not lie to you if it meant losing you. She had told you so herself.

“Good.” Your grin was brighter than the sun, a small chuckle getting muffled against her lips as she pulled you back in, unwilling to stay away from your delicious lips that were begging to be kissed. She brought you into her embrace, nearly pulling you fully onto her lap, her firm thighs against your own bringing a familiar heat to your lower abdomen that only fueled the intense affection and longing you felt in your chest. You pushed your tongue against hers, pleased to feel her respond, your entire body melting into her hold as you sank into the kiss, molding against her in every way possible, a weak, helpless moan slipping from you when she switched angles to kiss you even deeper. Once Natasha’s lungs were on fire, she was

forced to pull away to catch her breath, her glossy eyes finding your own to admire.

“I should go tell Wanda I’m not leaving. She’s a busy woman”, Natasha mused, brushing some of your baby hairs behind your ear, her fingertips lingering close to caress the soft skin of your face. You nodded your head but didn’t dare to pull away to initiate the move. “You sit tight and pretty. I’ll be right back.” She cupped your face firmly, placing a proper kiss on your lips before pulling herself out from under you and heading to the door. You could not take your eyes off her, staring at her back profile longingly. She was wearing the flannel pajamas she had lended you the week before, paired with a warm, dark grey knit sweater. She looked rather adorable, your features softening visibly at the mere sight of her, at the knowledge that she was yours to keep. She let both Wandas back inside, yours coming over to the couch to check in on you and get a situation update from the more familiar side. Natasha couldn’t hold back her smile as she approached Wanda who needed no further elaboration to know that you and Natasha had been able to even things out with each other.

“I’m staying”, Natasha stated, Wanda nodding her head in understanding, immediately welcoming the former into her arms.

“Remember this moment”, Wanda whispered in Natasha’s ear, squeezing her tightly. “Remember that you felt like staying was impossible, but you were able to work it out nonetheless.”

“I will.” Natasha hugged Wanda even tighter.

“This won’t be a forever goodbye, but I hope I don’t see you for a very long time. Build that life you’ve always dreamt of here. You have all the tools. Your battle is over now, and this is your reward”, Wanda hummed, pulling away from Natasha to see her face. Natasha looked emotional but at peace.

“Take care of yourself”, Natasha said a bit more sternly, nodding her head toward Wanda’s appearance, mainly referring to the darkening skin around her eyes. “Don’t play with your powers.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” The smirk on Wanda’s face told Natasha that there was no use in chiding Wanda. She was going to do whatever she wanted to do, and Natasha already had a feeling what Wanda was after. Wanda had never been the same after losing Vision. She had her own pain and baggage to mend which Natasha already knew could easily lead her to the world’s end, or perhaps even the multiverse’s.

“I mean it, Wanda.” Natasha gave her a pointed look.

“I can take care of myself.” Wanda shrugged.

“I have no doubt that you do.” Natasha smiled. She knew that it wasn’t always about one’s ability to care for oneself but rather about one’s will to care for oneself. It was far too easy to get blindsided and forget what was for the best and what was overly ambitious.

“I’ll see you someday.” Wanda said with a fond but tired smile on her face.

“I’ll see you.” Natasha gave Wanda’s hand a squeeze before backing away to give her room to create a portal. You and Wanda watched in awe as the other Wanda’s hands came up in front of her and sparked with light, a large abrasion appearing in the air. You could see with your very own eyes another place beyond that spot in Natasha’s living room. You could see that when Wanda stepped through it, she disappeared out of your sight, the portal closing behind her. You could see with your very own eyes that Wanda was gone and there was no possible way for her to still be in the same room with you. Wanda was gone, the world opening up to you right then and there as the truth of Natasha’s words sank in. The concrete proof of what had been told to you was overwhelming but more than necessary. You felt lighter, more secure. You were alright. You turned to look at Wanda who seemed truly fascinated at her alternate self’s abilities, her green eyes wide and filled with wonder before slowly returning to you.

“Who would’ve thought that I was right?” Wanda said in a flabbergasted sigh that made you laugh.

“I’m glad you were”, you hummed, placing your hand on Wanda’s. “Thank you.” You pulled her into your embrace. “And I’m sorry for ruining the party.”

“Shh, no such thing.” Wanda’s hand rubbed your back before she pulled back. “I’m happy this worked out.” She glanced at Natasha who was slowly making her way into the living room. “Now, I’ve done my part, so you need to behave. No more fighting”, Wanda ordered playfully, hearing Natasha chuckle.

“No more fighting”, you agreed, nodding your head in emphasis as Wanda got up from the couch.

“Come pay me a visit before next year”, she hummed in amusement, a knowing smirk on her face as she placed her hand on Natasha’s shoulder in acknowledgment of her before moving to the entrance of the apartment. She had a feeling that you and Natasha were going to be hard to pull apart from then on. She got her shoes and her coat before she was out the door accompanied by you and Natasha’s respective goodbyes.

Natasha’s hand found your head, gently smoothing over your hair in a very affectionate manner, your head tilting back to see her. Your stomach flipped at the mere sight of her as she rounded the couch to you, taking a seat beside you. Her hand guided you into her embrace on its own as you allowed yourself to find comfort and solace in her sturdy body and sink into her hold. She let out a long sigh to rid herself of the tension that had accumulated inside her from all the stress, the heartbreak, and the pain. You pressed your head against her chest, listening to her even heartbeat, your arm hugging her waist. You had to muffle your yawn into her sweater, Natasha’s chest sparking with thrilling electricity of excitement at the way your face pressed into her body.

“Tired?” Natasha asked, her hand sinking into your hair to comb through it repetitively, soothingly.

“Couldn’t sleep a wink.” You nuzzled closer to her, feeling the weight on your shoulders shake off as an overwhelming sense of safety found your body. Her arms tightened around you, lips pressing into your hair and on your forehead in a few gentle pecks.

“You can rest now”, she mumbled, her hand stroking down your back to your waist as if to attempt to pull you closer but it was no longer possible. You hummed your agreement to her words, squeezing her just a little tighter as you inhaled her familiar scent, unable to get enough of her fragrance.

“How do you feel?” You wanted to comfort her as much as she was comforting you.

“I feel fantastic”, she whispered into your ear, her breath tickling you, making you chuckle.

“Me too.” You lifted your head off her chest despite how much you didn’t want to, but there was something you wanted just that little bit more. Natasha’s chin tilted down to look at your face, her smile widening at the sight of you, your lips pursing slightly to ask for a kiss. She leaned down to bring her warm lips into your reach, her soft mouth connecting with your own. She exaggerated the smack of your lips on purpose, pleased to see your lips curve into a grin, prompting her to lean back in to kiss your smile, your chin, your cheeks. Her hands came up to either side of your face, holding you steady as she peppered you with as many kisses as you could handle before your laughter got to be too much.

“You’re the cutest”, she chuckled when you finally buried your face into her chest to escape the tickle of her lips, her hands rubbing your back in long strokes, her face in your hair to remind herself of how good your shampoo smelled. It was hard to describe the relief you both felt in the presence of the other. The air around you felt lighter, easier to breathe, your bodies ridden of the plaguing anxiety and worry. You could just sit in each other’s embraces and be in the moment.

“So are there two of you as well?” You asked in curiosity after a long moment of silence, your smile against her breast widening. “Do I have to be worried about another version of you lurking about?”

“No. She’s not here anymore.” Natasha didn’t quite want you to know the extent of her cruelty despite not being fully able to hide it away from you. She already knew that you were familiar with her rough past and upbringing, but she would rather not tell you such things right into your face, especially when she was trying to leave all of it in her past. You could sense from her tone that it was wiser to leave the matter be.

“Is there anything else I should know about your past life?” It was important to be up to date about everything that had made it possible for you and Natasha to be together. Knowing and understanding were essential for trust.

“I don’t like to talk about it. I want a clean slate, but if you need to know something for the sake of this relationship or to better understand me, I’m open to it.”

“I appreciate that, and of course, if you ever feel like you need someone to listen to your troubles, I’m right here, love.” Your tone was soft, bringing a smile to her lips. You had always been good at listening.

“Yeah, you are.” It was almost like Natasha couldn’t believe it to be true, the look in her eyes carrying just a hint of disbelief with it. You were right there in her arms, your warm body touching her own, your heart beating loudly in your chest, protected by your ribs that were strong and fully intact. Your soft skin was smooth and unmarked by scars and cuts from battles you should have never had to fight. Your lungs were functioning steadily, making use of all the oxygen you breathed in with every inhale you took. Your face wasn’t dragged down by grief and pain, your hair wasn’t falling out from all the emotional torture the final battle had put you through. You had a spark in your eye, mirth in the sly smile on your lips. You had a chime to your laughter, a heat that coursed through your veins with such intensity that it infected Natasha with it. You were alive and well, happy in the most truest sense, far, far away from a reality that had only ever hurt you time and time again.

“Natasha?” Your tone was thoughtful as you pulled away. “We’re missing something essential.”

“What?” She frowned.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Natasha couldn’t help but to laugh out of joy at your question, amused that she had forgotten about such formalities.

“Yes, I will, detka (baby). I already thought of you as mine.” You felt your cheeks heat at her words, her hand squeezing your waist. “You were mine from the moment we locked eyes.” You allowed your fingertips to caress her left cheek, carefully tracing over the light mole there, a faint smile on your lips as you recalled the first time you had ever seen her with her bloodied, dirty face and tormented eyes. It felt strange to look at the memory from another perspective and in light of everything that had happened between you and everything that had happened before Natasha’s arrival. It all made sense. The yearning in her eyes, in her demeanor, made sense. The look felt no longer haunted to you, but one of love and admiration, of deep sadness and loss. The thought of her grieving you before even meeting you was absurd, but you knew that there had been a reason, a purpose, for it all along. It had never felt coincidental or meaningless. You never could brush it aside because it was simply meant to be. Your eyes met hers, your forefinger trailing down over the corner of her mouth to her jaw. You never wanted to see that look of sorrow on her face ever again. You pressed your lips to hers to seal your promise to one another, the kiss coming off confident and strong, prepared for a new beginning.

[lem0nade-gurl]

Maddvi (Maddie x Vi) fanfic I’m making Bcs I love this shop with all my heart. I wanna know how to make this fic better so I’m gonna post it here for feedback ; also, this is only chapter 1 and 2 bcs chapter 3 is still a WIP, but if this does good ill finish it. Anyway enjoy ^w^!

Chapter I: “Hung Me Out To Dry”

Maddie had never ventured into the Undercity before—at least, not off duty. The place felt foreign to her, even dangerous, especially now, with the heavy tension lingering in the air since Ambessa and Caitlyn’s declaration of martial law. For a fleeting moment, she considered turning back, retreating to her cramped apartment in Piltover, and pretending this journey had never crossed her mind. But she couldn’t—not with what, or rather who, waited down here.

The echo of Noxian fists pounding against their chests had been too much to bear. Maddie had abandoned the scene to find Vi. She hadn’t seen her since Caitlyn had insisted on continuing the “Find Jinx” mission alone, claiming it would be better that way. Maddie hadn’t been convinced, and she hadn’t stopped worrying since. When she asked Loris if he had any idea where Vi might be, he had laughed, recalling how Vi, in a drunken haze, had overshared about her personal life—including, fortunately, her address.

And now here Maddie was, standing outside a three-story apartment building, narrow and weathered, tucked into the chaotic sprawl of the Undercity. She’d walked past it twice, dismissing it as abandoned before realizing her mistake. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d say when Vi answered the door. Professionalism didn’t seem necessary, but she still wanted to present herself with some degree of composure.

She pressed the third-floor doorbell. The faint chime echoed from above, strangely clear against the unnerving silence of the street. The wait stretched on, every second feeling heavier than the last. Maddie shifted her weight, wondering if she should try again. But then, a door creaked open behind her, snapping time back into motion.

Vi peered through a narrow crack in the door, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. When recognition hit, she opened it wider, her expression equal parts annoyance and surprise. 
“You?” Vi’s voice carried an edge, though it lacked its usual bite.
Maddie blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Were you expecting someone else?” she shot back, her tone laced with unintentional sass. Old habits died hard.

“What are you doing here? How did you even find me?” Vi demanded, her tone sharper now.
“Loris told me. Apparently, you’re chatty when you’re drunk,” Maddie said matter-of-factly. “And I was worried about you.”

Vi’s scowl deepened, her eyes narrowing. “Worried? About what? I can handle myself, carrot top. Now beat it.” She moved to shut the door, but Maddie’s foot shot forward, wedging it open. “Caitlyn’s declaring martial law,” Maddie blurted, her urgency stopping Vi in her tracks. The name—or perhaps the situation—seemed to grab her attention. Maddie pressed on. “This might lead to a civil war.”

Vi scoffed, crossing her arms. “What does that have to do with me? I can’t stop a war.”
“You can’t,” Maddie admitted, “but maybe you can stop its commander.” Vi’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering behind her guarded expression. Maddie took a breath, steadying herself. “Caitlyn might listen to you. If you can convince her to call this off... She was on the right path with you by her side, but then you left—”

“I didn’t leave,” Vi snapped, her voice cutting through Maddie’s words like a blade. Her gaze turned sharp, her jaw tight. “Caitlyn was the one who hung me out to dry.”

Maddie stared at Vi, her eyes wide with surprise. She hadn’t known that. It certainly wasn’t the story Caitlyn had told her when she returned to Piltover without the pink-haired woman by her side. The revelation left Maddie silent for a moment, but then she spoke softly. “Well then... she made a mistake,” Maddie said, her voice steady, almost soothing. “One she clearly can’t fix on her own. That’s why she needs you.”

Vi’s expression was difficult to read—or maybe it wasn’t. Maddie often found Vi’s perpetual scowl impossible to decipher, though it seemed to lean more toward anger than anything else. She decided not to press further. When Vi finally spoke, her words carried a weight Maddie hadn’t heard before.

There was something raw and unguarded in her tone. “I’m done trying to change people.”

Without waiting for a response, Vi turned her back on Maddie and started up the stairs. Maddie didn’t try to stop her this time. She remained frozen in place, listening as Vi’s footsteps faded, followed by the dull sound of a door closing and the distinct click of a lock. Maddie stood there, staring up at the empty stairwell. She told herself Vi would come around. People often said Maddie’s best—and worst—trait was her inability to quit. But even so, this encounter felt heavy, like she’d already lost.

Still, Maddie would try again. If not for Caitlyn, then for Piltover. And if not for Piltover, then for Vi.

——————————————————————————Chapter II: “Bringing Home a Champion”

Maddie squeezed through the rowdy crowd of ruffians and overly confident gamblers. She’d never understood the thrill of gambling—relying on luck, basing outcomes purely on chance, especially when money was involved. Draped in a dark red cape to blend into the chaos, she tried to mask her Piltover ties. But beneath the cape, her attire defined her. She wore a tailored brown vest over a crisp cream-colored shirt, paired with tan, wide-legged trousers. Despite how hard she tried, she still stood out.

Her destination loomed ahead: the pit. It had been her destination yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. She often wondered why she kept coming back. It wasn’t for the carnage, certainly—not to watch blood and teeth scatter across the floor like gruesome confetti. No, it was for Vi. Always Vi.

And as if summoned by the thought, Vi emerged from the shadows, streaks of black paint slashed across her face like war paint. She moved with purpose, her posture sturdy as she stepped into the arena.

The fight unfolded as it usually did. Vi dominated in the early rounds, racking up a winning streak as her fists met flesh with brutal precision. But by the later rounds, the injuries she’d sustained began to slow her down, leaving her vulnerable. Whether she won or lost came down to those final moments—a gamble in itself. That unpredictability, Maddie suspected, was what the crowd came for. Would she rise again, or would this be the match that took her down?

Tonight, Vi didn’t disappoint. With a devastating uppercut, she sent her opponent sprawling to the ground, unconscious before he hit the ground. The crowd erupted, a cacophony of cheers and groans as money changed hands. Maddie, for her part, felt no joy or frustration. She wasn’t here to win or lose. She was here for Vi.

“I should be honored,” Maddie thought wryly as she watched Vi regain her strength through the cheers with a stoic face. “I’m bringing home a champion.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Vi heard the scrape of a chair being pulled out beside her, the legs groaning against the pavement.

“Vodka, salted caramel, please.” came a familiar voice.

Vi didn’t look up. She stared into her empty glass as the bartender began preparing the order. “Didn’t know you drank,” she said, her tone casual, almost indifferent. “What made you think that?” Maddie replied, nodding in thanks as the bartender slid her drink across the counter.

Vi shrugged, still not meeting her gaze. “Figured you could drink—just thought you’d be more into cocktails or something fancy. Never struck me as the vodka kind of gal.”. Maddie hummed thoughtfully, taking a sip of her drink. “I don’t drink often. Only on special occasions.”

“Oh?” Vi finally glanced her way, an edge of sarcasm in her tone. “You celebrating something?”

Maddie caught it—a subtle jab, one that most people wouldn’t notice. But she’d spent enough time around Vi to recognize the layers in her voice. “Yeah,” Maddie said, a small grin tugging at her lips. “This is your fifth win in a row.”

Vi raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by Maddie’s attempt at enthusiasm. They both knew she didn’t exactly support Vi’s fighting “career”. If that’s truly what you’d call it. Scoffing, Vi leaned back in her chair. “Oh, so now you’re supportive?”

Maddie shrugged. “If you can’t beat em’, join em’ I suppose.” Maddie concluded, taking the last swig of her drink. “Okay,” Maddie sighed, getting up from her chair and leaving a few coins on the counter for the bartender. “Lets get you home while you can still walk in a straight line.” She encouraged Vi, definitely expecting some form of pushback. Vi groaned, “I can have a few more, I’m not a lightweight.”

“Fine, suit yourself,” Maddie said with an oddly calm voice, which grasped Vi’s attention. “I was just worried you wouldn’t be sober enough to appreciate the gift I brought you.” Maddie said in a defeated voice. Vi finally looked back at Maddie, who was now standing behind her.

She looked at her empty glass, then back at the woman who was staring at her with her eyebrows raised and her eyes expectant. Vi sighed, and put down a few coins on the counter before getting on her feet. “This better be good, Butterscotch.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. At first, Vi was convinced Maddie kept coming back because no one else could tolerate talking to her for longer than absolutely necessary. But eventually, she stopped questioning it. She began to grudgingly accept Maddie’s presence. They found a few common interests, and their conversations shifted—light, casual, sometimes even calming.

Spending time with Maddie didn’t feel tedious anymore. In fact, Vi started to look forward to it. If Maddie didn’t show up one day, Vi couldn’t shake the absence, carrying it with her until they crossed paths again. She didn’t even realize she was spending less money at the bar. Time seemed to slip away when Maddie was around.

Then came the night Maddie walked her home.

Maddie always walked Vi back to her apartment after nights at the bar, especially when Vi had slammed back one too many shots. That night was no different. But Maddie must have noticed Vi’s bad habit of forgetting to lock her door when she got home drunk, because shortly after Vi collapsed onto her bed, there was a knock.

It was Maddie, standing in the doorway with that exasperated, concerned look she often wore when dealing with Vi. “You shouldn’t go to sleep with the door unlocked,” she’d said firmly, like it was a lecture.

Vi, bleary-eyed and half-tangled in her bedsheets, was too tired to argue. “If it bothers you so much, just spend the night with me, then,” she muttered, waving a dismissive hand.

She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but the way Maddie froze in the doorway—and the way her cheeks flushed a deep pink—made Vi pause. Maddie looked surprised, maybe even intrigued. Vi was drunk, but not drunk enough to miss it. Flustered but quick to recover, Maddie stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

Nothing happened that night. Not really. But the tension in the air had been thick, charged, almost magnetic. Even in her drunken haze, Vi had felt it. She still remembered every detail as if it were yesterday—how Maddie looked in the slightly oversized shirt she’d borrowed, how Vi wished she hadn’t been so quick to agree when Maddie asked if she could sleep on the floor. She should’ve told her to stay on the bed.

Instead, they’d spent the night talking softly, sharing a few songs, and half-watching a movie before falling asleep apart from each other.

Now, walking side by side with Maddie under a vibrant sunset, Vi couldn’t stop thinking about that night. Maddie’s voice bubbled with excitement as she rambled on about the gift she’d gotten for Vi, her words brimming with pride and anticipation. Vi barely heard her.

It hit her, then and there. She didn’t want to miss her chance again.

Pulling herself out of her thoughts, Vi let herself sink into the moment. Maddie glanced up at her, her eyes sparkling with that unique mix of excitement and glee she always had when she thought she’d done something special.

When they reached the building, Vi nearly kissed her. The urge was there, strong and insistent, but she stopped herself. It would be better once they were inside. Together. Alone.

——————————————————————————

Okay that’s it :>