#and they’re like Wh-SHUT UP

[odessastone]

Writing some Mauga/Venture that was supposed to just be straight-up PWP. but now feelings are getting involved.

[nereidprinc3ss]

stakeout

in which spencer reid and flirty!reader are stuck in a car together with nothing to entertain themselves but each other.

fluff! warnings/tags: fem!reader, they have little crushes on each other, some of you will not like reader, but spencer does, it’s all banter, lots of teasing, playful insults, jokes about handcuffing so suggestive jokes i guess, so cheesy, reader enjoys flustering spencer, written with earlier seasons spencer in mind a/n: bandages!reader and spencer are so back!! i missed them!! this is SOOO cheesy! cheesiest thing ever! thank you to the person who requested this!!! thank you for giving me an excuse to just write cheesy banter!!! yyyayyyy!!! ilysm

“I am so fucking bored. Am I allowed to say that?”

It’s exactly the kind of thing Spencer should expect you to say, and maybe when you first joined the team it would’ve made him squirm, but now as you drop your binoculars and give him a look, bored, head tilted to shoulder, like you're waiting to be entertained, he only shrugs. Your insouciance is one of the things you know he’s come to love about you and would probably never admit. 

“Who’s going to stop you?”

You bump his shin with the toe of your leather boot and he glances down only momentarily before he’s raising his own binoculars to pick up your slack. 

“You. You don’t like when I swear.”

Spencer makes a face that you can only see the bottom half of. His voice is strained with focus. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Where? The faces you always make. You’re a judgy little bitch, you know that?”

“I don’t judge you for swearing. Frequent and creative use of profanity is correlated with a broader vernacular and greater social intelligence.”

“Oh, shut up. Yes you do.”

“You’re punchy tonight.” The leather of your seat squeaks underneath you as you slide down and groan, loudly. Spencer grimaces as he reaches over, gently swatting your shoulder with the back of his hand. “You should try to be louder. They might not have heard you.”

Your jaw drops indignantly. “Wh—the house is like 300 feet away! They’ve been blasting music all night. And not even, like… good music.”

“What, you don’t like death metal?”

You give him a side-eye. “Do you?”

He shrugs, giving up on the binoculars. A strand of hair has fallen over his face. You fight the urge to fix it. “I don’t know. It’s loud. And grating. And incessant. It begs for attention shamelessly and tactlessly. I’m kind of used to it.”

“Watch your mouth,” you scoff. “It would be a shame if I had to ruin that gorgeous face of yours.”

Spencer smirks and shakes his head disapprovingly, cheeks dusted scarlet. 

“You just can’t help yourself.”

“Who could around you, baby? Look at the bone structure on you. And those sweater vests. Can’t believe you walk around like that. It’s distracting.”

“Baby?” He grumbles, like he’s utterly displeased, but the way he’s losing a fight against that smile tells you otherwise. You lean your head against the headrest, boring your eyes right into his profile and giving him the opportunity for some searing eye contact, should he take you up on it. But for some reason, he can’t seem to look away from the steering wheel. 

“Do you choose them just for me?”

There are those pretty eyes—on you for maybe a second before they’re darting away. He fiddles with the binoculars in his lap. It’s adorable how much he doesn’t know what to do with himself when you get like this. Morgan once likened it to a cat batting around a mouse. Don’t play with your food, he told you. Take a little pity on the poor kid. He doesn’t know what he’s up against. 

But Morgan’s not here right now. 

“What?”

“Do you pick out your little sweater vests because you know I like them? ’Cause, you know—I also like when you just do a button up. The blazers, too. Those are sexy. But if I had to pick, it would be the sweater vests.”

You reach over to straighten out the grey one he’s got on right now, and he entertains your fiddling for only a moment before catching your wrist in a considerate hold. 

“Alright, can you—can you behave? Please?” He laughs. Unfortunately it makes your stomach flip. 

“Probably not. You could try cuffing me.”

“Or,” he begins, carefully pressing your own hand to your chest, “we could keep our hands to ourselves.”

You pout. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Where’s the fun in getting yelled at if Hotch has to come and unlock you because I dropped the key between the seats?”

“So it’s a maybe on the handcuffs?”

He falls back, eyes fluttering shut like you’re exhausting him, and offering you the perfect vantage point to admire that jawline of his. 

“Alright. Five minutes.”

There’s no way he’s actually taking you up on this. 

“Five minutes of what?”

His head rolls over his shoulder and he gives you a look of his own. “Of silence. I’m begging.”

Oh. 

Well then. 

You settle back in your seat and swing your own binoculars around by the strap. 

“You know, you’d be bored to tears right now if it weren’t for me.”

“I count myself lucky every day,” he says. And despite the sarcastic tone, you actually believe him. 

A moment passes, during which the bubbly tension of your shared repartee fades into a sincere comfortable silence. 

You kick your feet up on the dash. “How about I cuff you? Is that more your speed?”

You’re already grinning when he answers, not bothering to take your eyes off the house outside. 

“You are… astoundingly inappropriate.”

“Well a girl has to try, Spencer.”

[jinxs-gf]

snack thief

the team x spider!reader

summary: someone is stealing your snacks and you’re going to figure out who.

content, warnings: kind of a crack fic, spider cusses a lot? not proofread

word count: 1.8k

a.n. Aunt May mentioned! who cheered?

It was peaceful in the confines of Mount Justice. So peaceful it was almost suspicious to the team. They barely get downtime nowadays, something they used to practically beg for. Now all they want is a break.

It's perfect and quiet and peaceful.

Until they hear their friend scream bloody murder.

Spider.

Everyone jumps up, alarmed and ready to fight.

You're in the kitchen holding an empty container, the refrigerator wide open, and looking more stressed out than they've ever seen you. But there was no threat?

The team is still worried but confused. There was no one else in the kitchen with you so...? Why were you screaming? And there was seemingly no spider on the container you were holding, the only creature that could scare you bad enough for you to freak out like this. (You denied this claim again and again, unfortunately they didn't believe you. How embarrassing was that? Spider had arachnophobia? How damaging to your reputation.)

You continue to stare at the container, and your friends have concluded their near heart attack at your cry for help was all for not.

Their shoulders all sag simultaneously, breaths of relief leaving their mouths.

Kaldur is the first to speak, "What has gotten into you, Spider? You scared us all." He does not sound happy.

And if you took the time to look at the rest of your teammates, the annoyance would be evident.

But no. You continued to stare at your stupid container.

"Hello!" - Artemis

"Earth to Spider!" - Robin

"We're not getting any younger over here." - Wally

Roy only sighs, shaking his head, Conner raising a brow beside him, amused for the most part.

M'gann just stands quietly, wondering if she should read your mind without your permission to figure out the problem or not.

"Which one of your imbeciles did this?" Your voice was eerily calm...it was disturbing.

They all shared the same sentiment. What?

You glare in their direction, eyeing each one of your supposed friends carefully.

"One of you is the cause of this," you hold up your empty container. "Someone ate my cookies. I've had the worst day of my life and the only thing that could help was having my precious cookies. Only I get here and they're gone!" Ah. They get it now.

"I'm going to find out which one of you is responsible. And it won't be pretty."

"Uhh why was it in the fridge anyways?"

"Shut it Robin. They’re leftovers. And you’re at the top of my suspect list. You and your little buddy there," you eye Wally.

He squirms in his spot.

You were grocery shopping for your aunt when you spotted them.

Spider-Person gummies.

You wince, the name Spider-Person did not roll off the tongue correctly. You prefer Spider like the team calls you. Or maybe Arachnid would be cool? Oh well, it's too late now. The name Spider-Person was plastered onto kid's snacks for Pete's sake! There was no coming back from that.

Whatever. You threw it in your basket and immediately opened the box when you got home. Showing off to Aunt May, she was very proud, just like you thought she’d be. Except for when—

"I always thought you'd be known for curing diseases or something, but children’s snacks? This'll do!"

"Hey!" She was joking of course (right?).

And later that day you brought it to the team's kitchen, wanting to show off to them. You didn't want them to eat it of course, it was going to be your post-mission snack. A little pick-me-up.

No one but Red Tornado was there, which was a little weird but it was a rare day off. You'll just come back when everyone is here.

You made sure to stick a post-it on the box of gummies, effectively claiming them yours that shall not be touched.

You hadn't left your snacks alone in the kitchen of Mount Justice since your cookies disappeared a mere week ago.

You still hadn't figured out who the culprit was.

You will. One of these days.

You leave and don't come back until the next day, everyone is there.

"Oh goodie! I have something to show you guys!"

Only you get to the kitchen cabinet, open the box, and...no.

Nonononono

The box of "Spider-Person Gummies" was completely empty.

The box that clearly had your name written with the words "DO NOT EAT!" on the post-it!

You scream like the first time.

"Who did it?!"

The team is a little slower this time around, not trusting your panicked screams after the first incident.

Robin face palms, "Come on spider, it's not that serious."

You gape at him, "Not that serious?! Are you crazy?!" You eye him suspiciously, "it was you, wasn't it?"

"What?! No! I'm just being reasonable here. You can always buy more,” he shrugs, clearly not seeing the bigger picture. Someone is eating your snacks without permission. Deliberately ignoring your name that was written in bold on the post-it stuck to the front. You try a different approach though.

"First of all, I don't exactly come from a background of money. I can't just waste valuable green for some fruit snacks! And second, it was the last box in that section. How do I know they'll be restocked by the time I get back? What if they were there for limited time?!" The thought terrifies you, "oh no."

The team watches you nearly have a breakdown over your gummies "...those snacks are usually less that 10 dollars, Spider."

"And that's too much!"

"You can't be that poor."

"Eh, you'd be surprised."

It’s a full two weeks of the snack thief’s attacks.

Your spidey senses go off at the two week mark and they lead you to the kitchen.

You gasp.

"You!"

Wally is caught mid slice into the chocolate cake you made for the team, he looks petrified at being caught.

His voice cracks, "what?"

"It's been you! I knew it was you!"

"What! No! You made this for the team, right? That's not fair to pin the blame on me when I have permission to eat this!"

Okay, he's got a point.

"Whatever. You're still at the top of my list."

You’re in stealth mode with the rest of the team, waiting for your cue to attack.

You communicate through the mind link to keep yourself from boredom, this is gonna take a while.

You decide to bring up the most recent snack attack.

‘I still need to figure out who this snack thief is. They took my leftover brownies this time! The ones May made for me. Do you know how upsetting it was to see the brownies made by my very precious, hardworking Aunt all gone?’

You hoped to weed the rat out through sympathy.

‘Oh...that was yours?’

‘M'gann!’

‘I'm sorry! I didn't know!’

Just then, Kaldur makes your cue to attack. And before you know it, you’re in battle. However, your mind is elsewhere.

The distraction earns you a kick to the face, your spidey senses were screaming but you couldn't be bothered to really care at the moment, too focused on the fact that M'gann admitted to eating your brownies.

She's the snack thief?! But she was at the bottom of your list...

You regret ignoring your senses immediately, that kick was more powerful that you thought it’d be. Definitely going to bruise later.

‘I'm not the snack thief! I just thought Red Tornado left them! Remember? He said he wanted to be more involved with us outside of missions? I swear I know better! You forgot a post-it with your name this time. I'm really sorry, I should've known.’

You sigh, she sounds too sincere for it to truly be her.

‘It's alright, I forgive you. This time. It was my bad anyways.’

There’s many instances of coincidences as your friends would call it.

Robin caught digging into your chips;

“But you said I could have some!”

“No not those ones! My other chips!”

“Wow, thanks for specifying that.”

Conner caught…eating your candy?!

Conner doesn’t even eat sweets like that, so what changed? Or was that all a ploy? Pretending to not be fond of sweets only to eat yours behind your back…

But his eyes pleaded forgiveness, truth. Damn him.

Roy, Kaldur, and Artemis also had their moments of suspicion.

So who was it?

You only had one more course of action. You beg May to let her borrow your phone.

“It’s an emergency!”

“An emergency that could last all day? Or more?” She lifts a brow, don’t let her intimidate you, Spider.

“Pleeeaaaase,” you bat your lashes at her.

She can’t resist you. The child she’s come to see as her own. You are hers, no one could tell her otherwise. She sighs, “Don’t know why I even try with you.”

“Thanks May!” You plant a kiss on her cheek, “love you!”

“Whatever kid,” trying not to show disappointment in herself for allowing you to get to her.

Set your phone up in the kitchen cabinet of Mount Justice with your snack. Hit FaceTime with Aunt May’s phone and accept on yours.

There’s no way you don’t catch your thief now.

~~

You wait a good 20 minutes before you’re already tired of your plan.

You groan in annoyance, can they hurry up and attempt to take your snack already?!

It takes another three hours before something happens.

Your spidey senses blare, making you jump from your place on the couch with Artemis and Roy. They look at you like you’re crazy, yeah you were getting used to that.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the call.

Whoever is in the kitchen is toast. You look down at May’s phone.

“You!”

“Uh oh.”

“I knew it! I knew it I knew it I knew it! From the beginning! How could I be so stupid and not listen to my gut?!”

Wally states back at you through the phone screen, eyes wide.

“You lying son of a-”

“Listen, we can talk this out-”

“Put my cookies down! You know damn well my name is written on the box!”

He surrenders, placing the cookies back in its place.

The rest of your team came out to witness this very amusing and long awaited moment.

It was funny, the living room you were in was right next to the kitchen, meaning speaking through the phones was pretty useless. They won’t say anything, lest they catch your attention and get yelled at.

“I’m going to ruin you for what you did, Speedy Bitch.”

Roy hears his code name and it’s enough for him to scare. He holds his hands up, “whoa! What did I do?”

“Not you! Obviously not you!”

You get up from the couch, bolting to your “friend.”

Wally panics, “Someone call Superman! Spider’s gone crazy!” And he books it.

It’s okay. He may be the fastest man alive, but no one messes with a Spider’s food.

so who’s attending Wally’s funeral? definitely not spider.

this is based off a video I saw, someone’s sibling was on FaceTime w a phone in the cabinet to catch who was eating their snacks 💀 I just HAD to use it

[l0vergirlwrites]

gulity as sin ; eddie munson

synopsis: since eddie joined your friend group, you’ve fallen for him. but sometimes the feelings you’ve harboured for him make you feel guilty—but he’s just too dreamy, so how could anyone blame you?

warnings: sexual innuendos, mentions of weed & alcohol & partying, mentions of sexual thoughts, downbad!reader & eddie, love confession & makeout!!!!

note: inspired by taylor swift’s song “guilty as sin”

alsooo i just had to get this out of my system because ahhhh!!!

“just so you know, you’re staring at eddie like you wanna fuck him” robin whispered in your ear as she came to your side with extra vcr tapes to stack near the back of the store.

“jesus! am i really?” you asked in a hushed whisper, face crowing warm with embarrassment. you couldn’t help it when eddie just looked so good as he leaned on the front counter talking to steve.

while you mentally face palmed yourself, robin gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “just a little bit”

peeking back over her shoulder at eddie to make sure he wasn��t looking at you (because you’re anxious & paranoid), you let out a breath of relief. “you think he noticed?”

she laughed “i hope not”

letting out a quiet gasp, you shoved robin’s shoulder “thanks for the vote of confidence, rob” you said sarcastically.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry!—but seriously…” she paused for moment to create dramatic effect. “when are you gonna fess up & tell him how you feel?”

the big question.

with a big sigh, you shook your head in retreat. “probably never. it’s just some stupid crush—& besides, we’re just friends. i don’t know if he’d like me like that, rob.” you said while getting back to work, trying to get the image of eddie’s ring clad hands out of your mind so you could focus.

“is that really how you feel? or is your fear of rejection speaking for you?”

narrowing your eyes at her, you rolled your eyes knowing she was kidding (but was she? were you really hiding behind a guise so you wouldn’t get hurt?).

“you know,” she paused to look at eddie. “if he doesn’t want to jump your bones, i’d be floored” she said cheekily, causing you to nudge her rib cage.

“he doesn’t” you stated, but in your mind you hated the thought of it.

“if that’s what’ll help you sleep at night” she chided before moving onto a different shelf, the open space letting your eyes drift back to eddie, only to find that he was looking right at you.

“you coming to the party by reefer rick’s place on the weekend? i convinced stevie boy here to tag along—“

“—& to be the DD. i don’t know how i got roped into this” steve cut eddie off with an exasperated expression.

with the spotlight (eddie’s eyes) on you, you couldn’t help but feel stuck in place & your mind was running a million miles a minute.

clearing your throat, you nodded. “yeah sure! i should be able to if keith doesn’t make me come in last minute”

the last sentence caused eddie to roll his eyes.

“who cares about what keith says—you’re coming & you’re gonna have fun! you’re deserving of blowing off some steam, right?” eddie said convincingly.

“he’s right! fuck keith & his stupid last minute shift calls“ robin agreed with steve soon following suit.

jokingly with your hands up in surrender, you finally agreed. “maybe you guys are right…”

“of course we are, babe!”

the pet name eddie called you made your stomach flip in six directions, your face growing warm until steve beat you to speak.

“when the hell did ‘babe’ get into your vocabulary, munson?” he asked eddie with a quizzical eye.

“oh calm your tits harrington—“

“hey man, i don’t have tits & i am calm so shut—“

“hey!” you yelled, shutting them both up. “no bickering on my watch, idiots” you pointed to them both, causing eddie to place his right hand in his heart in apology.

“what do you expect,” robin chimed in. “they’re five year olds”

you both laughed a bit at her comment while the guys just rolled their eyes.

“well, i’m gonna head out & prep for my next campaign. butttt, i’ll see you geeks saturday?” he asked while twirling his van keys around his index finger.

before steve could try to rebuttle against eddie about him calling you all “geeks”, you beat him to it.

“yes—we’ll be there! bye eds” you waved sweetly, your hand flattering when eddie shot you a wink before heading out the door.

as the glass door chimed & shut after his departure, you immediately turned to robin.

“he winked at me!” you mouthed to her with excitement.

“are you guys secretly talking without including me, again?”

turning to steve, you gave him an apologetic look. “she was just fawning over how eddie winked at her” robin said with a nonchalant smile, causing you to gasp.

“robin—“

“why do you care if he—wait… ohhh… that makes sense” he lit up like a light bulb, going back to checking through the return log on the computer.

you stood there stumped at his reaction.

“is me liking eddie predictable?” you asked aloud, causing steve & robin to share a glance.

“yes” they said collectively, leaving you to sigh & turn back to the shelf to finish stacking the pile of tapes.

**~*~**~*~*~**~*~~*~**~*~*~~***~*

it was now saturday, & you were on speaker phone with robin as you were getting ready for the party.

you had decided to wear a short flowy black skirt, fishnet tights, your favourite black boots, & a dark green babytee with your favourite band on it. it was simple, but cute (& you secretly hoped eddie would think the tights were a nice touch).

“do you think you’ll tell eddie how you feel once you get some liquid courage in you?” she asked genuinely.

with a thoughtful sigh, you stopped applying blush to your right cheek. “gosh, rob—i don’t know. i don’t think it’s a good idea”.

you could tell she was shaking her head from the other side of the phone.

“remember when i was too afraid to tell vicky i liked her?”

you knew what she was gonna say. “yes, i do”

“so, you remember how you told me i should just ‘go for it! do it before it’s too late—what’s the worst that could happen?’, right?”

you slumped in your desk chair, fidgeting with your makeup brush. “yes…”

“sooo, you gotta practice what you preach—tell him before you regret it!” she encouraged, but still, you were horrified to.

“what if—“

she shushed you. “no what ifs. don’t do that to yourself—just be honest when the right moment comes along”

staying silent for a moment, you thought it over in your head before coming to a conclusion.

“maybe you are right, robin”

“i’m always right—regardless of what steve says” her words made you laugh, relieving you of a little stress.

**~*~*~~~*~***~*~**~**~*~*~~*

it was now nine-thirty on the dot & you could hear steve’s beamer honking from your driveway, signalling that it’s time to go. as soon as you stepped onto your driveway, you were met with hollers & whistles from your friends in the car—including eddie.

as soon as you saw him with his head out the window, whistling & vocally saying “shit y/n, looking good!”, you could’ve sworn you were going to collapse then & there.

shushing them before their hyper annoyed your neighbours, you (coincidentally) got into the backseat with eddie.

“you have everything?” steve asked before reversing the car.

“yes, dad” you joked before a silver flask was shoved into your lap.

“got you your favourite” eddie told you with a smile, causing you to audibly “awe” & thank him before taking a swing from it.

despite steve having a fancy car, the backseat was surprisingly small, so you knew it was going to be a long night with how your thigh is already pressed into eddie’s & his fingers were tapping his jean clad thigh dangerously close to your exposed one.

you caught him every now & then staring at your tights too, which didn’t help the fantasies brewing in your mind of him taking them off you.

“you excited?” you asked him while steve & robin were caught in their own conversation.

swiping his tongue across his teeth, he looked at you with a gaze that made your stomach tighten. “as long as you stick close by, then yeah i’m excited” he nudged you gently, allowing you a moment to process what he just fucking said.

tucking your hair behind your ears (a sign that you were nervous & liked him & were going insane), you let the conversation drift into comfortable silence as steve turned the radio up.

thank god for that.

**~*~~**~**~***~**~*~~**~**~*

the party eddie brought you guys to was packed at some random house on lover’s lake.

& it reeked of pot & beer, which was normal & expected.

with the flask eddie gave you in your right hand & eddie’s hand in your other (because the front lawn was packed & he didn’t want to lose you), your group maneuvered your way inside to disco party lights, sweaty bodies, more pot & more beer.

your grip on eddie’s hand was taut as you continued sliding past more & more people while muttering “excuse me, sorry!” over & over until you guys arrived on the dance floor.

“do you want anything?” eddie leaned down & whispered into your ear so you could hear over the music.

you took a second to answer because of how warm his breath felt against your skin. “no i’m okay, i got this remember?” you said with a smile, holding up the flask he gave you.

returning you a smile, eddie let go of your hand because robin was pulling you to dance a little.

“be back in five!” eddie mouthed to you, holding up five fingers & looking at you until you waved in acknowledgment.

“okay there’s no way he doesn’t want you” robin yelled into your ear as the song changed & people roared happily.

laughing & shaking your head, you disagreed.

“cmon! let’s just dance, yeah? destress!” steve yelled to you both before bopping his head to the music, causing you & robin to look at each other before laughing & join in.

the more songs played & the more you swing back eddie’s flask, you could feel yourself letting loose a little—possibly even making you feel courageous.

so much so that when eddie returned with a red solo cup with some sort of drink, you slung your arm around his middle for a quick hug.

“missed me?” he yelled in your ear.

“just maybe” you replied, feeling his right hand rub your arm up & down before fetching a joint from his pocket.

“missed me more now?” he asked again, laughing when you nodded your head, eyes glassy from the smoke in the room that was building.

“outside?” he yelled again, & you were the only one that agreed.

*~*~*~~*~~*~*~~**~***~*

departing from steve & robin to go smoke, eddie grabbed your hand once again & kept you close as you both made your way to the back porch that outlooked onto the water.

the backyard was still filled with people, especially jocks who were doing dumb keg games, but you didn’t mind. with your back against the siding of the house & eddie in front of you, caging you in, all you saw was him.

& god he looked hot. his hair was a bit frizzy, but his leather jacket managed to showcase his muscular arms & his slightly cropped band tee allowed you to see the happy trail on his abdomen.

it took everything in your power not to fold then & there.

“you want the first hit?” eddie asked as passed you his drink & pulled his lighter out of his pocket.

with a simple nod, you placed the joint between your lipstick covered lips & leaned forward for eddie to light the end of it for you. the action felt extremely intimate & already hand your skin tingling.

with the joint slotted between your fingers, you took a few hits & relished in the buzzed feeling it already gave you. & knowing eddie & is interest in pot, you knew whatever was wrapped within the joint was the good shit.

while you were taking your hits, eddie was reminding himself to not get hard at the thought of your lipstick rubbing off onto the joint or how you looked pretty with smoke exhaling from your mouth—he could feel his pants start to feel the tiniest bit tight at his view of you.

when you handed the joint to him, eddie stood beside you on the wall & took his time (possibly so you could look at him a little longer?).

& you didn’t care because he just looked too perfect with his head tilted up, the veins in his neck showing in the porch light, the joint rested between his ring clad fingers—you could already imagine yourself getting off to this image of him later—but you reminded yourself to stay cool.

everything was fine! you guys were just friends!

“you feeling okay?” eddie asked, turning to you who was already giving him soft doe eyes.

“better than okay” you smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder because you felt too warm under his gaze.

“wanna get off inside?” you heard him ask, causing you to cough & blink for a moment.

“shit—what did you say?” you looked at him, feeling his hand begin to interlock with yours again.

“i asked if you wanna go back inside—you sure you’re good?”

oh god, now you were hearing things.

“y-yeah, good idea” you mumbled as you followed his lead, holding on tight to avoid getting broken apart through the sea of teenagers & college students.

you only broke apart when robin pulled you in for a hug, hearing her say “it felt like you were gone for ages!”

for the rest do the night, you told yourself to he lost in the music rather than thoughts of eddie munson doing nasty things to you, which was going pretty successful until you felt his breath on your neck again.

“wanna dance?”

& how on earth could you say no?!?!

you let him pull you into his arms, his hands firm on your waist while yours were loose around his neck.

with the pot & other alcohol mixing in your system, you felt on top of the world. especially with eddie’s eyes on you. he’d twirl you around in circles & give you room to dance your heart out with him in your grasp & steve & robin would give each other knowing glances about whatever was brewing between you too.

you felt hot, sticky, & tingly all over your skin (not just because eddie was touching you) so you pulled his head down a bit to yell in his ear. “i’m gonna find a washroom!” & he was leading you around the house to find one without a question.

once you both found one of the third floor of this outrageous house, you pulled eddie in with you & turned on the light, thankful there was a dim setting.

“jesus, that was bright!” eddie shielded his eyes, causing you to laugh as you hopped up onto the counter.

exhaling a sigh of relief, you let your head lean back & rest against the mirror while eddie leaned against the closed door.

“do you need me to like, turn around or something…?” he asked, wondering what you were going to do.

“no—i just wanted to go somewhere quieter. less sweaty bodies”

he nodded understandingly before shamefully looking you up & down, telling himself to not get hard at the sight of you so pretty. you were already falling down a rabbit hole of all the things you want to do with him right now, each more dirty than the next—it would be just so easy for him to take off your skirt & unbuckle his pants—wouldn’t it?

but the guilt started to seep in & make you hide your face to groan in annoyance because why on earth were you spiralling like this?

“is something wrong?” he walked to you, holding your wrists & pulling them away to uncover you.

“just going insane is all” you replied, causing you both to laugh until he reached up to wipe off some of your smudged eyeliner from your under eye. he just needed to touch you somehow.

“guess what an old friend told me while i was getting a drink earlier”

you tilted your head in wonder, staring directly at eddie’s lips as he spoke.

“he saw us walk inside & told me that we looked like some couple from a movie—don’t remember which one though…” he ended with a murmur, too focussed on swiping his thumb on your cheek until you spoke up.

“is that a bad thing?” you asked, suddenly feeling small in this washroom with his hand directly on your skin.

eddie was closing in on you now, & you didn’t want it to stop.

you instantly felt sober now. especially with how each swipe on your skin felt like he was making you his—which was definitely an exaggeration but how could you need feel that way when he was holding you so delicately?

shaking his head ‘no’, eddie’s brows furrowed. “of course not—it’s not a bad thing. i-i just thought it was, i dunno, cute—“

“cute?” you questioned softer than him, a smile in the beginning stages of forming on your face.

was this your moment that robin was talking about? you sure hoped so.

“i-i think that’s the right word” he stumbled over his words, feeling your right hand brush some hair out of his face.

“i think so too”

& then there was comfortable silence.

you weren’t sure how to move forward from here. do you tell him all your feelings for him that you’ve keep hidden in a vault at the back of your mind? do you tell him that you’ve been fantasizing about him for weeks? that he’s the only one that makes you feel so many things?

you wish this part was easier.

“would it be, i dunno, uncalled for if i told you that you’ve been driving me crazy?” eddie asked, immediately unlocking said vault inside you.

“are you serious?” you asked, completely sober now as you pulled his hand away from your face & fixed your posture, eyes locked on his for the answer.

“as serious as the dead” his breath hitched, unsure if he made things worse or misread whatever signs you sent, but before he could apologize your hands were already on his face to pull his lips to yours.

it was a messy, top lip & hungry kiss that you’ve been dying to experience since you first laid eyes on him. & god did it felt right, with his tongue meshing with yours & his hands gripping your fishnet covered thighs as he pulled you closer to his body with aching need.

it was the kind of kiss that tried to convey just how you felt about him, the wanting & lusting from afar, the longing glances & lip bites when he made you feel a certain type of way.

it was catastrophic & heavy but sweet with laboured breaths of beer & smudged lipstick.

“holy shit” eddie breathed out against your lips, chasing him for another kiss because it was just that good but you were smiling & clashing your teeth against his & giggling from how silly it all felt.

“that is why i’ve been going insane” you panted against him, hands falling to grip the cotton of his shirt.

“i’m crazy about you eddie. & it’s not the drugs talking, i promise” you swore, scouts honour.

with his forehead pressing against yours & laugh escaping his lips that had little bits of your lipstick, he squeezed your thighs. “i would hope not, ‘cause i’m really crazy about you too”

you closed your eyes now, relishing in the weight lifting off your shoulders & how his touch felt electric. “eddie” you exhaled.

“yeah, sweetheart?” his fingers were pressing different patterns on your thighs to the point where you asked in yourself if he was writing ‘mine’ across the fishnet material.

“can we do this again tomorrow?” you asked, already longing for this feeling to last, praying this wouldn’t be just a one time thing at a party.

“i don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon, so yeah, i think we can make it happen” eddie smirked, kissing you quick before pulling back to see your swollen lips.

“wanna go back to the party & surprise the geeks?”

“i’d love to”

& with eddie whisking you from the counter, hand on your hip as he lead you back downstairs, you both immediately saw steve & robin jumping up & down happily when they witnessed you two looking like love sick idiots who finally fessed up.

young love, am i right?

[rogueddie]

There are a lot of rumors about Eddie Munson. From his sexuality, to his religion, to him being some sort of supernatural creature.

Steve doesn’t put a lot of merit in most of them. They’re usually just bullshit people make up to entertain themselves with whilst beating down on the weird kid. Steve thinks it’s boring… usually.

He’s seen enough weird things happen around Munson to know that something isn’t right. Something about him is unnatural. And Steve is staying clear out of the way of whatever the hell he is, or whatever the hell he’s messing with.

Unfortunately, his friends haven’t gotten the message.

“Do it at your own house!” Steve complains, though he makes no move to stop them. He’s sure it’s nothing, that it’ll only lead to an annoying clean-up job, but there’s a nagging sense of dread writhing in his gut. “This shit is bull anyway.”

“If it’s bull then what’s the problem?” Tommy counters.

“Because none of you dickheads are going to help clean this shit up!”

“I promise to help you clean up,” Carol says. “There. Problem solved. Right?”

"It's still stupid," Steve mutters, glaring at the janky make-shift pentagram they've made. "And a bad idea."

It's drawn on nine pieces of paper- they wanted to draw it big on the floor, but Steve had but his foot down. He lets them use some of his moms candles as a compromise.

With the lights off, sitting with the two of them in a circle, it suddenly feels too real. Even Carol looks suddenly nervous.

Tommy is the only one still smirking, though Steve is sure that it's forced. His voice shakes a little as he begins reading off the paper he'd torn out a library book. His Latin is clunky.

At first, nothing happens.

Long enough that Carol says, "did you even say it right?"

"Yes, it even has-" Tommy starts.

The candles all blow out, suddenly. The light Steve had left on in the kitchen flicks off too, plunging them into complete darkness.

After a horrible moment, where they're still and silent, Carol yelps.

"Don't grab me, Tommy, that's not funny!"

"I didn't grab you."

"Wh- Steve?"

"No," is all Steve can get out.

"I'm turning the lights on," Tommy says. "This is ridiculous."

Steve listens to his footsteps and, when he sounds like he's almost at the light switch, he yelps.

"Fuck this," he says.

"What the fuck, Tommy!" Carol yells when they both hear him running past them. She's up on her feet immediately, chasing after him.

He wants to scream after them, plead with them to come back, that they shouldn't be abandoning the circle.

But, the same gut instinct that insists he stay where he is, keeps his mouth shut. Everything in his being is telling him that if he leaves, if he speaks first, horrible things will happen to him.

Something tuts, like a parent admonishing a child.

The living room light flicks on, so bright that Steve has to blink a few times to clear away the white spots.

Eddie Munson sits in the space they left empty.

"Someone didn't read the terms and conditions," he snickers.

"What..." Steve pauses, clearing his throat. "What are the, uh... terms and conditions?"

"Oh, they're simple, really. Look," he holds up the page Tommy had read the incantations from, pointing to the little paragraph at the end. "They even translated it to English! But all you need to know, big boy, is that you are A-OK."

"And... Tommy and Carol?"

"Eh, they're fine. Lucky, really. I'm trying to relax up here. I'm only gonna pay them back with a minor curse or two. Nothing lethal."

"Fuck."

"We haven't even got to you yet!" He spins around so hes laying on his belly, resting his chin on his palm. "You didn't technically summon me so you can just tell me to leave... or."

"Or?"

"Deal with no consequence, baby. One wish, whatever you want, free of charge. Well... I'd want your silence about the whole... summoning thing. Let's consider that payment."

He doesn't need his gut or book to warn him that it's a bad idea. Munson could be lying, easily. There could be fine print. It's a bad, very bad idea.

"There's... definitely no consequences? I won't, like, go to hell for this?" Steve finally asks.

"Do some charity work for a week, you'll be fine," he says, waving his hand around. "What do you want, King Steve?"

"Could- could you make someone love me?"

"Oh, ho ho ho! Who's the unlucky lady who said no to you?"

"No, it... it's not like that. I mean, um... my mom."

Munsons smile drops. The temperature drops with it, making a chill run up Steves spine.

"Your mom," he repeats.

"They're busy like, all the time," Steve automatically defends. "And they're barely here so, uh... of course they wouldn't- I mean, it's normal, right? You can't love a stranger or... whatever. It's fine. It's just... I don't know."

"Steve..." Munson pauses.

He groans, throwing his head into his hands, dramatically. He almost immediately flings his head back up, hair flying everywhere, giving Steve wide and pleading eyes.

"I can't make people fall in love or any shit like that. I can make illusions, that's it. Love is, like... way out of my jurisdiction."

"I- I'm ok with an illusion. Like, just one day or something."

"Steve, baby, you're breaking my heart."

"Please?"

"Jesus- ok!" Grumbling, Munson shifts so he's kneeling. "And in return, you won't say shit about any of this. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Great. Ugh. This next part is... weird."

"What do you mean, weird?"

"It's weird, I don't know. Deals about, like, love are sealed with a kiss."

"You're joking."

"Nope, and that's not even the weird part. Now, come on and pucker up, let's get this over with." He gestures for Steve to shuffle closer, waiting until they're sat close enough that their knees almost bump together. "You can still change your mind. Anything at all, Steve. Anything."

"I thought you wanted to get this over with?"

"On your head..."

Munson leans forward, kissing him. It's just a peck, simple and easy. No big deal, right?

Steve feels possessed. It's like someone lit a match in his stomach, leaving him lightheaded and confused. He's not sure how he ends up in Eddie's lap, clutching onto his shoulders, desperately trying to lick into his mouth. He feels so-

He wakes up in his bed, the morning light blinding him.

"What the fuck..." he mutters to himself, grabbing at his throbbing head.

At first, he thinks he's hungover. That he'd just had a weird dream... but he's wearing the same clothes. And, sat on his stomach, is a guitar pic. It's got 'corroded coffin' written on it too- Eddie's band.

"Steve!" He hears his mom call. "Time to get up!"

He scrambles out of bed, dashing down the stairs.

She smiles when she spots him, so bright and warm. She even raises an arm, laughing when he practically throws himself into her side and hugging her tight.

"Morning, sweetheart. Good dreams?"

"Yeah. Yeah, great. But, uh... I feel sick."

"Oh no," she frowns. She puts her hand to his forehead, cooing when she brushes his hair out his face. "Is it your stomach?"

"Yeah. Just... might be better to stay home today. If that's ok?"

"Of course it is. I'm sure we can find something fun to do together, yeah? How about we get a vhs movie, hm?"

"I'd love that."

"Great. Well, if you're feeling up to it, I've made breakfast." She steps away, plating the food she's cooked up. "Oh, did I ever tell you about Paris? It was beautiful, you would have loved it. We should bring you, next time we go."

Steve can't stop smiling. He's sure that his cheeks will be aching by the end of the day.

He'll have to thank Eddie- as soon as he can even think about him without blushing. He'll need to ask if it's normal to still feel... affected, even after the deal is done.

Part of him knows it isn't the deal. Part of him is too curious about how Eddie will react.

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch. 4: Black Out Days

Ao3 | Previous - Next | Masterlist

Vampire!Poly 141 x Fem!Fat!Reader

MDNI | cw: sickness, hallucinations, injury, some light dubcon

Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life. Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate.

A/N: the tone of this story has sort of shifted as I’ve worked on the next few chapters/plot points. I hope it’s not too jarring, but I’m excited for the direction it’s going in.

Your mother rises out of her drunken stupor - spine too straight and head flopped back limply. As if her hips are the only thing capable of moving and her neck has snapped at every ligament. The worn sheets pool around her hips, torn neckline of her nightclothes exposing her gaunt, bruised collar bones.

She says your name in that sickening, gruff voice of hers. A voice too exposed to the poisons outside. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth, coats her teeth as she speaks. Black and viscous. “Oh, darling, what have you gotten yourself into?”

You’re small. A child kneeling by her bed like you always did, waiting for her to ask you to bring her water or pain pills. “What?”

“It’s easier if you give in.”

People aren’t buried anymore. There isn’t room. Your mother’s urn is painfully cold in your hands. You stumble as the train lurches. A new voice hisses above you. Wild eyes and big hands that leave clawing, bloodied stripes in their wake down your body. A flash of blonde, some sort of scar. An accent so old you don’t recognize it.

“It’s easier if you give in, little girl.”

You fall back, out of the train doors and onto something soft and silky. For a few beats you stay there, in the quiet. In the dark. Comfortable in a way so deeply foreign to you it might as well be alien. Until some thick cover pulls away from your face. John grins down at you, shirtless with his head resting on his hand and elbow on the pillow below him.

“Knew you were awake.”

You rub your eyes. “Wh- when did- when did I get here?”

He frowns, a deep crease forming in his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve…” You run a hand through your sleep tangled hair. “I don’t know…”

“It could be so easy, Fancy.” He murmurs, voice low and far away. “It doesn’t have to be… this.”

“I can’t…” Something complicated swirls in your chest. A twisting of guilt and love and unadultered disgust.

The world shifts. You’re standing, now. Simon leans on the railing of the penthouse balcony, staring out at the city. He takes up so much space. Envelopes you without even touching you. “How many memories do you think a person can lose before they’re someone else entirely?”

“What?” You frown. There’s an ache in your head - a drumming pain growing more intense by the second. Your bones rattle along to the rhythm.

“It’d be so easy…”

You peel your eyes open only slightly. It hurts, as if they’ve been glued shut. An offensive light blazes in your face. It takes a moment before you realize the tingle on your skin comes from the UV lamp beside you. Did you fall asleep under it again? No matter how hard you blink your vision won’t clear. When you finally manage to swallow it feels like your throat has been lined with shards of glass.

You grope around the bed uselessly, hands unsure. The edge of the bed takes longer to get to than it should. With a low groan you crawl to the edge, barely managing to swing your legs over. Well, swing is a generous description. In reality you end up on your back on the floor, head thunking against some sort of plush rug or carpet. Your vision swims.

With another groan you slowly pull yourself up into a shaky stance. Wherever you are, it’s big. The bed you fell out of is easily a king with richly woven sheets and a thick comforter. The rug on the floor has such intricate patterns it makes your pounding head dizzy. There’s even a fireplace in the far corner, unlit at the moment.

Something different catches your eye - an item too familiar for this foreign room. Your box of valuables sits on an elegantly carved wooden dresser. Real, actual wood. You run your fingers over the strangely organic material, so rare that it almost feels more unnatural than the plastic plywood you’ve grown accustomed to in the slums.

You limp weakly toward the heavy door on the far wall. A whine escapes you as you pull it open, the heavy wood causes the hinges to creak quietly. You poke your head out, walking down the empty hall like a person with decade long atrophy. Sweat drips down your back, the sickness in your gut turning to anxiety as you realize where you are.

The penthouse.

Voices waft through the mostly open central area - deep and growling. A sound you might mistake for an angry beast if it weren’t for the intelligable words the noise makes up.

“Bloody ‘ell, Price, what the fuck?” That baritone could only belong to Simon. You poke your head around the corner of the wall, peaking into the living room where the four vampires stand.

“I know, I fucking know. I couldn’t-” An exasperated sigh. “I couldn’t lose her again.”

“So you fuckin’ marked ‘er?”

Your hand lifts shakily to the still sore cuts on your neck. They’ve scabbed over but barely. The action makes you look down at your hands - neatly bandaged. Recently, too, you think. At least if your blurred vision is to be believed.

“We’ll lose ‘er anyway if you fuckin’ scare ‘er away!” Simon’s volume continues to grow. He steps forward. John doesn’t back away.

“Guys…” Kyle tentatively steps in, hands outstretched between them as if stepping into a dog fight. He might as well be, frankly.

“You promised her you wouldn’t!” Simon’s voice wavers. It makes your heart skip, the unsteady sound so bizarre coming from him. “We all did!”

“Simon’s right.” Johnny crosses his arms. “We said we’d take our time. See where she’s at.”

“Weren’t exactly taking your time when you fucked her raw were you?” John snaps back. It’s shockingly childish and out of character for the man. Not that you would know. He sighs, rolling his wide shoulders. So much for not being angry about it.

Before you can make heads or tails of the scene playing out in front of you, your vision blackens, one leg stiffening and the other giving out. You barely catch yourself on some random side table, knocking it against the wall in the process. Despite your efforts to hold yourself up you collapse onto the cold, hardwood floor.

“Oh, baby girl.” It’s Kyle at your side first, cool hands tenderly enveloping you as he checks for damage.

“Don’t…” You push at his chest weakly. “Don’t touch me…”

“Dove-” A crack sounds throughout the penthouse, deafening and ringing as Simon’s palm comes into contact with John’s chest, forcing the man back a few steps.

“You’ve done enough.”

There’s a moment, long and silent as you watch them stare each other down. A power struggle. John is the head of the coven, objectively. The only way to change that is an exchange of power. A death. You’ve seen it out on the streets within lesser covens. Simon is bigger, but you can see the cold, dogmatic shift in John’s eyes. The look he gave you in the car. The one that says he is well and truly Right and there is nothing to stand between him and what is Right.

The moment ends when you double over, lungs heaving as you choke and cough. A slimy, viscous glob of red-black comes up from your throat. Barely liquid with the thickness of it. You fall limply against Kyle, as much as you’d rather be left in a dark alley than with these psychopaths your body just can’t hold itself up.

Someone scoops you up, pressing you tightly to their chest. Johnny or Kyle, you think. A touch so soft and sweet you might mistake it for love. Not that you would know. You’re back under the wave of nothing before you even touch the sheets.

You sit still as you can, arm growing tired of the stiff angle you have it positioned in. Laid out across some old loveseat that creaks every time you move even slightly. You don’t trust it to not have at least a little dry rot considering it’s from a good few centuries ago. One of those random pieces John hoards for some secret reason. The light positioned carefully above you feels too warm, discomfort making you twitchy.

“Johnnyyy!” You whine. “Hurry up!”

“Ye can do it, bonnie. Just sit like me.” He goes still. Inhumanly still. Transitioning from living (well, undead) being to a marble statue in barely a second. It sends a frightened shiver down your spine - the prey instinct in your hindbrain moving into overdrive.

You take a shaky breath. “I hate when you do that.”

When he does what? Has he done that before? Have you been here before?

“Jus’ be a good lass f’me.” Johnny murmurs. A different sort of shiver runs down your spine.

You recognize his room but it’s… different. Lighter, somehow, than the last time you were here. The only time you were here. The wall has far more drawings tacked to it, nearly doubling the amount and bleeding across onto another side of the room. You squint. It’s you. Well, mostly. All in different poses, some more salacious than others, each carved out with a deep attention to detail. Were… were those there before? They couldn’t have been.

Your body lights up, the room grows darker. Nearly pitch black. Your hips roll lazily. You feel… good. Ecstatic. The warmth from the light replaced by an immeasurable heat. The man below you comes into focus as the dream settles - a mountain. Blonde and pale and scarred. Part of his right ear is clipped off from a fight. At least you think it was a fight. His hair just barely long enough for you to tangle your fingers in. You’d know those dark eyes anywhere - the ones that look right to the very core of you. That know you wholly from Eve.

“Fuck, Si…”

“Tha’s my girl.” He grins. The action pulls at a scar covering his lips. “Always so good f’me.”

The hands on your waist lift you like nothing. Like you weigh as much as paper and are just as delicate. A burning fills you, a tension that pulls a grating whine from your chest.

A distant part of you remembers to question what this is. Why you’re here, with him. Why you’ve never seen his face before but seem to know every detail of it by heart. The rest of you falls into the moment without a care, allowing yourself to be consumed entirely by him and his desire. It’s all you want - all you need.

Simon’s voice rumbles in a sort of call and response to your devoted babbling. “I love you.”

You jolt, snapping forward and sloshing water around you. For a moment, you panic that you’re drowning. That you’ve been dropped into some great sea and left to flounder.

There’s a quiet rumble behind you, vibrating through your back. Simon. You couldn’t make out whatever he said.

You relax instinctively. Some unconcious part of you falls back into him. Until he runs a soap rag over your chest and you tense, clumsily attempting to cover yourself and curl into a ball. The water sloshes over the edge of the tub again. You don’t get very far, despite the massive size of the bath you’re utterly surrounded. Bracketed by Simon’s strong thighs and large hands.

“None of that.” He barks, pulling your arms back to continue washing you. “You’ve been sweatin’ in bed for four days. Gonna make y’self worse.”

Four days? Worse?

You stay quiet, limp and pliant as he pours a hefty glob of shampoo into your hair. Vanilla. Far too exhausted to put up any sort of fight. Not that you would win. It feels good, if you’re honest, the way he systematically scrubs every part of your scalp, slowly detangling with conditioner. You nod off for a moment, coming back when he pours water over your head to rinse you.

“Simon?” You murmur weakly.

He grunts.

“Why am I here?”

The hands in your hair pause. Only for a moment before going back to their gentle movements. “Because you’re ‘ome.”

You shiver, another coughing fit wracking your body. At least nothing comes up this time. There aren’t bandages on your hands, just the scabbing wounds that have obviously been carefully tended to. Even as the coughing subsides your breaths wheeze, shallow and hollow in your chest.

When you were young, your mother would set you in a cart to walk to the supermarket. The cracked streets would bump and rock you uncomfortably but it was better than walking all those miles. You always hated the market. Too loud and confusing. A maze of sterile white tile and shelving so high it felt giant to you.

One time you lost her, distracted by a massive plushie that she said you can’t afford. You’d stood there staring at it, angrily contemplating why you couldn’t afford it. What sort of societal disservice had been done that you can’t have that bright pink creature. Angry and lost you ended up wandering the aisles for what felt like an eternity. Walking through that white void in search of… you’re not really sure what, actually.

That confusion continues to eat at your mind as the aisles transition into a small, lush greenhouse. The UV lights above you would burn, if it weren’t for the large hat covering your head and shoulders. Gardening gloves protect your hands as you carefully harvest a few tomatoes. They came in so well this year, bright and firm.

You’re lost in it. The green. So accustomed to grays and neon lights that it feels unnatural. You turn your gloved hands over, palm up, down, up, down. They’re yours but distant. As if you’ve possessed some alternate version of yourself. You suppose you have, in a way, if these fever dreams are in pattern. Not that you remember the others well.

The lights turn off suddenly and you freeze, muscles tensing and hackles raising. You turn slowly as the door begins to creak open, trowel in hand. Not that it would do much against whoever has you cornered. John said to be wary.

He’s been acting strange lately.

Isn’t he always?

A hand clamps over your mouth and you shriek behind it. You claw at the stony hand covering you, instinct taking over. Adrenaline pulses through you.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.” Kyle coos, letting you go quickly. “Sorry, love, I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t do that!” You snap, harsher than you meant. Or less so?

He deflates a bit, shoulders sagging. “Sorry, I just wanted to come in here with you for a bit.”

“Why?” You snort. Kyle is the only one brave enough to venture in. Even with an external light switch, the others are far too wary of the UV lights hanging across the roof to enter. It’s a joke between Simon and Johnny - that they’ll throw Johnny into the greenhouse if he doesn’t behave.

Kyle nods, scooting forward. You can barely make him out, the only light being that of the faux stars drifting gently through the fogged greenhouse glass. “Missed you.”

“I saw you, like, five minutes ago.” Did you?

He shakes his head. You wish they would tell you more. They always hold back so much, as if your puny human brain can’t grasp what they think. You could. You’d learn to. Even if it was some horrid, eldritch secret you would bear it for them. He pushes you back until you’re laying on the floor, slowly resting his weight on you and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Just let me stay like this for a bit.”

You frown, but only move to reach up and pet his hair. It’s smells like vanilla. He stole your shampoo again. A fraction of you screams, rails against the idea of being this close to an apex predator. To a man you don’t know. Strange. You know Kyle. You love him. Both the fear and the fondness swirl together into a confusing mixture in the back of your mind.

“We can stay. For as long as you want.”

Something heavy and cold coils around you. You weren’t out as long this time, you think. If you’re even awake now. The room is dark. A pitch black void that you float in outside of the grounding weight holding you in place. That vanilla scent felt so real, still wafting through your nose. A nagging sense of despair settles in your chest as it dissipates.

“Need t’go home.” You croak, unsure of why you say it. Your tongue feels heavy and numb. God only knows why.

“Ye are home.” Johnny murmurs in your ear, voice low.

“Not m’bed… sheets’r t’nice.”

“It’s yers.” Johnny’s arms tighten around you. His voice shakes. “It’s always been yers.”

“N-no…”

“Knew it was tae soon tae bring you back.” He buries his face between your shoulder blades. “Told Kyle it’d be tae much.”

“Wh-”

“Ye make us such a mess, bonnie.” He sighs. “Cannae believe Price-“

Johnny cuts himself off. You can’t find it in yourself to argue or press. A sob wracks you out of nowhere. Something about Johnny, about being wrapped up in his strong arms sends you over the edge of it all. The weight of him mimics the one in your chest.

“Dinnae cry.” Johnny sits up a bit, running a thumb under your eye.

“I’m s-so confused-“ You sob. “I can’t- I-“

Somewhere in the midst of your crying fit the bed dips in front of you. Kyle cages you in between himself and Johnny, pressing you tightly in the center. It makes you want to thrash, to fight and scream.

It also feels so, so good.

You’re back in the slums, in your apartment, with some random man groaning above you. He works down the street, you think. Smiles at you whenever you go get a coffee or cigarettes. You stare at the ceiling blankly. You brought him here… why did you bring him? What- You hiss at the living heat of his hands, burning through your skin - gut churning at the blue of his eyes. It’s wrong. Neither bright nor tranquil enough. You can’t voice it. Can’t place it. They’re just wrong.

You catch a flash of dark irises as you take drinks to some slimy little vampire paying on credit. Immortal but still poor. Pathetic. Suddenly, though, you don’t care when he and his friends grab at you, your gaze trained on the man lounged in a booth on the other side of the club. You can’t stop staring at him, something tugging at you deep down to go to him. His eyes connect with yours, and you nearly leap with joy when he waves you over.

Except, when you get close, you freeze in place. Straddling his lap, a crushing weight lands on you all at once. They’re not what you’re looking for…

What are you looking for?

You sob in your bed late into the night, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. You’re so lost. So hollow. You don’t know why - don’t understand what changed. Some portion of you carved out into nothing. A soulless tulpa born of someone’s imagination. You can’t be human, there’s no way you can be human and this empty. A walking carcass. Not even undead, just barely animated. A puppet, almost.

It’d be so easy…

You wake in a fog this time, limbs heavy. As much as you try to will your arms to move, they won’t quite do it right. Your hands glide over the soft fabric around you, barely moving a few inches. The muscles twitch and shake. It feels like wading through molasses and with a thousand pounds of steel strapped to your back as you attempt to sit up even slightly.

“There she is.” A familiar voice murmurs. It’s soft, comforting, but also incredibly far away. “Hey, lovie.”

“Kyle?” You croak. You might as well be speaking around a massive ball of cotton. There’s something hot and wet streaming down your face. Are you crying?

“You’re alright.” He murmurs, soothing down your hair. Petting you like a dog in pain. An injured, feral animal.

You collapse back on the bed - not that you made it that far in the first place - unable to see more than a few feet in front of you. Kyle, really. Kyle is all you can make out. His face so vivid you’re sure you could draw it from memory. “Where am I?”

He pauses. “…Your room.”

“M’chest hurts…”

“I know, lovie. We’ll make it better.”

“What’d y’do t’me…?” Your vision flashes in and out. You’re going back under, as hard as you try to fight it. The edge just comes closer. You teeter on your heels.

“You just breathed in some bad air. You’ve been out for… a while.” Somehow, you get the sense that what he says is an understatement. That there are layers he has to hold back. Simon said four, you remember, though you can’t quite define if that was real or a dream.

“I hate you.” You whisper, barely audible. “I hate all of you.”

“I know.” Kyle sighs, continuing to run his fingers through your hair. “I know.”

Teeth sink into you. A choked gasp escapes your lips, body stiffening and hands knotting into some thick cloth. The pain is searing but fleeting. A part of you, the present part of you, feels disgusted. Wants to shake and batter whatever parasite has you caught in its maw. Another part, a far more distant piece of you that you aren’t even sure is you, blossoms with warmth. You melt into the strong arms that hold you against a cool chest.

“John?” You murmur. Or, rather, this other you murmurs.

A low groan reverberates from his chest to yours. Your head gets lighter, vision fuzzy around the edges. A hand clamps over the bloodied parts of your neck. Your vision fractures, partially the scene in front of you and partially the ceiling of your room that isn’t your room. Your lashes flutter and you’re back loosely straddling John’s lap.

“Yes, love?” He pants, mouth and teeth stained red. It sends a wave of panic through your veins.

You swallow roughly. “I don’t-”

Something shatters - the staccato sound reverberating through the apartment.

You startle, sitting up and throwing your blankets back. The bed is empty, room dark except for the few embers trapped in the fireplace off to the side. You don’t notice the box missing from your dresser.

“Hello?” You frown, standing and moving toward your door as if possessed by some external force. As if you at all know where you are going. Your bare feet pad quietly against the hard wood, door silently sliding open a fraction.

There’s another smashing sound. Your heart rate spikes, fear coursing through your veins. No one’s home - they left days ago. On business.

How do you know that?

Suddenly you’re in the living room of the apartment, crouched behind the couch and groping underneath for one of the silver daggers stashed around in various hiding spots. An insurance policy. Your breath comes in short, rapid gasps. You have to get out. Get downstairs. There’s security down there. They’ll help you, they know you.

How do they know you? How did you know the knife was there?

With the small dagger gripped tightly in your fist, you flinch at another smash. It came from John’s room across the apartment, another following right after. It sounds like this person (or people) tore his metal bed-frame apart. Splintered into pieces.

You take the opportunity to carefully move toward the front exit, allowing the noise to cover the sound of your movements. Damn the open concept design. You told John you didn’t like it. Breaths come in faster and shallow. You’re not built for running - too soft from all that pampering. A chubby, well loved pet. Not that you’re complaining. It’s just not the best for this particular moment.

A figure moves at lightening speed from John’s room to Kyle’s. You duck down behind the kitchen counter, covering your mouth to stifling the sound of your breath.

“I can smell ya.” A low voice taunts, echoing through the apartment. Fortunately, your scent is everywhere. It will take longer to distinguish where you are in particular than he may think.

Why is your scent everywhere again?

There’s more tearing and smashing. A door groans loudly as the intruder tears it off the hinges. More shattering. Your heart breaks a little - that must have been Kyle’s pottery. Oh he worked so hard on those. Some of them are from a century ago.

Anger begins to boil up your spine. Who is this fuck who thinks he can just wreck your home? Someone you know, for sure. He would have had to be invited in at some point. With a sneer you continue making your way through the penthouse, toward the front door. John’s going to rip this fucker in two when he gets back.

Except, just as you’re reaching for the front door, the vampire exits Kyle’s room. You meet his eyes - glinting in the dark of the hall. There’s barely a beat before you begin to rush, opening the door as fast as you can.

Not fast enough, of course. You’re only human, after all.

A scream rips it’s way through your throat as you connect with the far wall, knife clattering who knows where. Something broke, you’re not sure what. Every nerve ending seems to light on fire as you try to sit up. Your arm doesn’t move more than a twitch when you try to stand.

“Hey there, little girl.” The man pins you suddenly. You get the nagging sense that you know him, his name on the tip of your tongue. Buried somewhere under lock and key in your mind.

You thrash, punching at his chest and tearing at his hair. To no avail, of course. He just lets you, a cruel grin spreading wider and wider the harder you try to get away.

“What do you want!” You finally sob, going limp when your body finally gives out under pain and exertion.

“To destroy John’s coven. Obviously.” He huffs. “Yer step one.”

The vampire grabs your jaw in an iron grip, your teeth crack under the pressure as his pupils dilate. They’re bright - so blue and infinite and you can’t look anywhere else no matter how hard you try.

A clarity washes over you almost violently as you come to - like breaking through the surface of water after staying under too long. Everything from yo ur time under washing away, sinking back into the deep. A forgotten wreckage - old and twisted and grown over. Another lost Atlantis somewhere in the depths of your mind.

“John?” The name falls from your lips before you even realize you’re speaking, before his face comes into focus. Soft and familiar - comforting and enraging.

“Right here, dove.” He murmurs, dabbing your face with something damp and cool.

“Wh…” You swallow roughly, not entirely sure what you even want to say. So any words threaten to spill from your lips and yet your mind feels blank. All fuzz and static.

You want to beg him to let you go. To keep you forever. To tell you why he brought you here despite the ever nagging sense that you know why. Something deep in your marrow that connects you to this place - to these men - at the very soul. You are theirs and they are yours and you want nothing more than to run from them as far as you can go.

Those blue eyes focus on yours, so oddly gentle for all of their inhuman qualities. “We’ll talk when you’re better, okay?”

Talk about what? There isn’t anything to talk about. You don’t know them and they don’t know you, no matter what that tugging in your chest tells you. You’ve lied to yourself before - you’ve lied to others before - surely you’re just doing it again. This man hurt you. Marked you, whatever that means, so why do you still melt into his touch?

Your name falls from his lips, reverent and frightening. You blanch, eyes wide and mouth falling open. You didn’t tell him that. You didn’t-

“Just sleep for now, yeah?”

~~~

John watches intently as you fall back asleep. There was panic in your eyes for a moment, but your sick body can’t do much more than drift in an out of consciousness. You look more peaceful this time, at least, your breathing even and your body still. You’d been thrashing before, for what reason he isn’t sure. The lower city’s poison air does a number on the body, it’s effects only growing worse as time goes on and the pollution becomes more dense.

He did that, didn’t he? He left you and now you’re sick and hurt. John runs his fingers over the Mark, nearly entirely healed now. Just two small, faded marks that will follow you to the grave.

“I’m so sorry. I just keep failing you, don’t I?” He sighs. You always said he was a good man even when he didn’t believe it. Even with all the things he’s done. Would you still agree?

John‘s eyes sting. He’d be crying if he was human, surely.

He glances at the door. The others are out - taking care of business while he watches over you. The world doesn’t stop even when you need it to desperately. It took Johnny and Kyle nearly dragging Simon away to leave you alone with him.

He takes your hands in his, guilt wrecking him. They’re so much smaller, so much warmer. He can feel your pulse in every fingertip. Surely he’s ruined any chance to fix this before they could even try. He wouldn’t blame Simon if the man decided there needed to be a change - that John needs to be removed. He wouldn’t fight it.

John crawls into bed beside you like he’s done so many times before. Nestles under your pink silken sheets - the ones you picked out for Christmas. That was years go, now. Over two. Two tortorous, draining years that felt longer than the past six hundred.

He ran for days. Weeks maybe. Tearing through the city block by block, dodging and weaving between people and buildings alike. Speaking to anyone, using up every connection and resource he ever gained under this damned dome. It took a week to get through the sewer system.

No one knew where you went.

No one heard a thing. At least, nothing they would admit to. Even under compulsion.

You were gone, just like that.

Two years go by in the blink of an eye for a vampire. Might as well be a day, a night, a handful of hours. Time in such small increments is nothing to an immortal. Decades are barely enough to measure with. Not for them, though. Every second drug on. The days were long and tense.

A fracture formed between them. Kyle retreated into himself - quiet and frayed around the edges. Sometimes John caught him with a far away look in his eye, staring at nothing. He thinks Kyle would have been crying in those moments if he could. Johnny became far too unpredictable. Ripping and tearing any lower level vampire he can find. He spent a few months hunting Frenzies in the lower city without contact.

And Simon…

Simon turned into a fucking nightmare.

After the first year, they at least hoped to find your body. After the second anniversary of your disappearance came around, they gave up. The guilt of giving up brought a whole new wave of grief on them. Johnny laid in your bed for weeks, nearly beginning to petrify as he denied any blood. John couldn’t blame him, opting to re-read your favorite books with shaking hands. Simon fished your last knitting project, eyes heavy and tired. Kyle meandered listlessly through the house, sometimes laying with Johnny but most often sequestering himself in the now empty greenhouse.

They try to fill the hole with pretty girls that look sort of like you. Never enough and they never act like you. Too busy placating to snap at them like you were so willing to do. These others are only place fillers - something to take up the space you left between them. They could never truly fill it, though. It was far too great. A chasm that continues to swallow the four of them whole.

He’s so tired. The others were, too. Kate handled business well enough but their involvement was still required. Each issue and event weighing on them more and more. Kingpins of the city and they’ve been nearly ruined by the loss of a single girl. A single, human girl. None of it mattered in the face of what they lost.

John looks up, the pin-drop silence in the room bringing his attention back to the present.

And there you are.

Like Lazarus returned. An angel bathed in low, red light. Your hair spills around your shoulders framing that face he knows so well, one he’s held more times than he can count. A face that made him pray to a god he does not believe in every day to get back. Just once. Those unmistakable pearls grace your neck, the ruby latch glinting as you twist your neck and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I’ll be your Companion tonight.” You say so softly. Almost the way you used to, laid up in his bed, whispering about nothing and everything with your fingers running through his hair. Asking about the things he’s seen with such awe.

“What happened t’ Cherry?” Kyle asks faux casually. John can feel the tension in the man next to him. He’s feeling it out - always so good at that. Better at human subtleties than the rest of them. His dark eyes sparkle, though, with a light John hasn’t seen in so long. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed it.

“She was unfortunately unable to come in tonight.” You slide the tray onto the table. You look the same. You sound the same. There’s a few new scars, some scratches here and there. A wariness in your eyes that wasn’t there before. Damage done to your skin that could only come from the lower city air.

Where have you been?

You shift nervously. “If I’m not to your standards-“

“Well, now, none of us said that.” John says far too quickly, smiling despite himself. It might not even be you. Maybe a doppelganger. A distant relative. A clone is more plausible. “What’s your name, dove?”

“Fancy.” And oh, John is sure his dead heart comes back to life. It is you. It has to be.

“Fittin’.” Johnny says, eyes raking over you. He might as well be vibrating, struggling to keep himself held back from yanking you into his hold.

They’re all measuring you up the same way he is. Feeling for anything unfamiliar. Outside of your distant, distrustful gaze with a lack of recognition that makes his chest ache, it’s you. It’s all you.

“Do you know who we are?” Simon murmurs. You’re having trouble looking at him, only meeting his gaze in small glances. Not so different from when they first met you. You and Simon have always had a certain… connection. Not that you weren’t all close - that they all didn’t love you deeply - but you and Simon had an understanding. He wonders if you can still feel it somewhere, deep down in the back of your mind.

You’re panicking a little, eyes flitting between their faces. John’s heart sinks. He feels it in the others. A deep disappointment - a turbulent melancholy- seeping into their bodies. You don’t know them. You don’t recognize a single one of them.

It’s all gone.

“It’s not a trick question.” Kyle says gently, ever one to soothe.

“No, sir.”

John’s heart breaks all over again.

A/N: My initial summary for this one was just “Fancy tripping balls on pollution while John and co. have a meltdown”

[navybrat817]

Puppy Dog Eyes

Pairing: William Miller x Female Reader

Summary: Will feels betrayed by someone he thought was his ally.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Fluff, humor, established relationship, talk of threats and interrogation, slight feels (it's me, okay?), William Miller (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by this post @ghotifishreads tagged me in. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Will counted the seconds in his mind as he stared his adversary down. Someone he should've considered an ally. Maybe even a friend. But now? He didn't recognize the beast in front of him.

He was used to people playing dirty behind enemy lines, but this? Betrayal in familiar territory? The sting was like a bullet to the gut.

“Before you test my resolve, I want you to know that I have forty three confirmed kills.”

A huff was the only reply he got.

Crouching down so he was at eye level, he huffed, too. His enemy was much smaller in size, but looks could be deceiving. “Now, I’m not going to hurt you. It wouldn't do either of us any good,” he said, tapping a finger against his thigh. “I just want to know why.”

He didn't get an answer. Only a defiant stare. The silent treatment. That was fine. Nothing he hadn't faced before. He had ways to make enemies talk if it came to that. And the puppy dog eyes wouldn't garner sympathy from him.

Battle had hardened him too much for that.

Shut down. Control. Manipulate. That’s what he did with his human instincts until he completed his mission.

Will continued the staring contest until the smaller one whined. It wasn't an answer, but it was a start. “You made this personal, you know. And I’ll throw you out in the rain if you push your luck,” he threatened, tilting his head to maintain eye contact. “No. You don't get to look away. Not after what you did. After I took you into my home.”

And how did he repay him?

“Honey?”

Your voice pulled Will’s attention away from the task at hand. “Yeah, baby?”

You leaned against the doorway, a smile tugging at your kissable lips. “Are you interrogating Bandit?”

Bandit, the puppy Benny got weeks ago. The puppy you offered to watch since his brother was going out of town for a few days and he didn't want to board him. The same little rascal who chewed up a pair of tennis shoes. New tennis shoes.

And hadn't touched a single one of his chew toys.

Will nodded to his ruined shoes. “You saw what he did.”

“I did and I'm sorry,” you said, though you had no reason to apologize. It wasn't like you chewed them up. “He’s a puppy and they’re going to do those kinds of things from time to time. Is it really worthy of an interrogation?”

“Yes, it is.” Bandit swung his head toward you and whimpered. “No, don’t you-”

“Aww. Is the former Captain bothering you?” You walked over and scooped him into your arms. The light golden puppy snuggled close, but looked at Will like he was taunting him. You had a soft spot for dogs and Bandit sensed that. Used it to his advantage.

“Taking his side?”

“I’m always on your side, Will,” you said, softening his resolve. “Now, Bandit, you know you aren't supposed to do that. Play with your toys, not shoes. Okay?”

Bandit barked. He actually barked for you. How did you do that?

“And apologize to Will,” you urged.

He barked again.

“Good boy,” you smiled as Will stood up and crossed his arms. “And don't worry, we won't throw you out in the rain.”

“I still might just to teach him a lesson,” Will half teased. “Or I can just put him in his cage.”

Bandit whined and hid his face. “Don’t you dare. He’s a puppy, not a soldier. And you were happy with watching him until now. Besides, he said he was sorry,” you said, giving Will your own set of puppy dog eyes.

You had a point. Bandit was a pretty well-behaved puppy, all things considered. He didn't bite. Didn't make a mess when he ate. Went to the door when he had to go outside. And he seemed content to sleep in his dog bed and didn't demand to sleep with the two of you.

“Fine. No cage,” he relented.

“Thank you. And I’m sure Benny will buy you a new pair of shoes once he gets back,” you added.

“Maybe,” he said. He wouldn't hold his breath to get new shoes or money for the damage done. He may be Benny’s big brother, but Benny adored his puppy and would likely blame him for leaving them out in the first place. He had a routine though. He put his shoes in the same spot after he exercised.

To be fair, he should've been more careful. He would be in the future. If anything, he could try to see the positive side of things and use this as a learning experience. That's what you tried to do when you ran into unfortunate situations.

“Is it a bad time to suggest we get our own puppy?” You asked, smiling as you lifted Bandit up higher and put his cheek against yours. “Chewed up shoes and a scratched up couch aside, it might be nice.”

Dogs did make for great companions. He’d be lying if he said he hadn't pictured the two of you having a kid and a dog for them to grow up with. Someone who would be a friend to and watch over his child.

“What do you think?” You smiled when he stayed quiet for too long.

He softly smiled. Most people couldn't sway him to do anything, but you had a way about you. Maybe it was because he loved you. “I’ll think about it.”

You put Bandit down before you leaned in and brushed your lips against Will’s. “Thank you.”

He went in for another kiss, but stopped when the words fully registered. “Wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did you say scratched up couch?”

“...Did I say that? I don't recall.”

“I remember everything you’ve ever said to me,” he told you.

You put a hand over your heart. “That is so romantic.”

“And you said ‘chewed up shoes and a scratched up couch aside, it might be nice’, so what exactly did he do to our couch?”

Your eyes widened as you took a step back. “Run, Bandit!”

And he did.

I couldn't help myself. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[girliism]

patrick giving art a sloppy and kinda bad blowjob one night when they’re drunk. “i can help you with that.” patrick slurred, eyeing art’s boner. they had been talking about how one of the ball girls forgot to wear safety shorts so everything time the wind blew they could see her panties. “wh-what?” patrick nodded towards the tent in arts pants. “i can suck you off if you want.” art stared at him, it’s not like patrick hadn’t helped him before, but that was different that was just hands. “you wouldn’t even know what to do.” patrick rolled his eyes. “it’s not rocket science art.” he looked the blonde straight in the eye. “just wanna help you.” patrick pouted slightly, letting his fingers tug at his best friends belt. art not being able to deny his friend, nodded his head. “ok.” the sounds of the shitty ac in their room, and the two men’s breathing gets interrupted by art’s loud moan when patrick takes him into his mouth. “h-holy shit.” art’s hand immediately flies to grip at patrick’s hair. patrick’s mouth was so warm and he had absolutely no rhythm, just bobbing his head up and down sometimes going a little to far down cause him to gag around art’s dick, but that didn’t matter to art who had his head thrown back, loud and almost whiny moans coming out. patrick pulled off of him for a second. “you’re so fucking loud.” patrick smiled shaking his head, before taking art’s cock back into his mouth. art bit his lip trying to quiet himself, but then patrick’s hand came down to squeeze at art’s balls and art couldn’t contain the sound that came out. “oh fuck!” the hand hold patrick’s hair left it’s spot, art slapping it over his mouth. kinda annoyed at how art took his comment on his volume as patrick telling him to be quiet makes him reach up pulling art’s hand off his mouth to interlock their fingers instead. art only got louder with patrick sucking him faster his teeth dragging lightly against the skin of his cock ever so often. “think i’m gonna cum.” art whined, his fingers digging into the other males hand. patrick looked up at him through his lashes. their lust filled gazes meeting each other had art cumming down his friends throat with a loud cry of his name. patrick swallowed down what art gave him, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. the two of them sat there catching their breath. art was the first to speak. “you look good with my dick in your mouth.” patrick stared at him before laughing, pushing art’s shoulder. “shut up.”

[chocum]

i saw you post about tattooartist!choso recently and now i can’t stop thinking about him … with a tongue piercing …

sigh i love talking abt him cW. femreader (she/her), tongue piercings, nipple play, oral

tattooartist!choso who is surprisingly gentle— kind, paralleling the dark ink that artistically lines and covers just about every inch of his bulky body. smiling up at you so, so sweetly when you ask the most obvious questions just to hear his smooth, almost melodic voice ring in your ears. just to ogle and watch him speak, his round tongue piercing catching the warm, orangey glow of his dimly lit parlor.

he can tell you’re nervous with how you chew down on the puff of your bottom lip, eyes glossing as they flit anxiously around the cluttered room. so he hums out a soft “it’ll be fine” attempting to press out your nerves, offering a larger hand to take your bag, “you’re in good hands”

but you’re still so antsy, shifting and squirming against the cracked-up darkly leathered seat before he can even begin outlining the design. every sound around you seems so jacked up and amplified— the hum of familiar R&B music, the rev of cars passing by, the thump of your heart booming rhythmically.

and he can’t have that. how is he supposed to ink you like this? he needs you to calm down and sit still for him … so he presses his pillowy lips against your neck to “help you relax” tenderly dragging the silver ball against your heated skin before slowly moving to peel your shirt off.

“wh- what are you- o- ooh”

with tightly gloved hands, he’s grabbing at your doughy tits— suctioning his lips around your perky nipple, before flicking his pierced tongue, watching starry-eyed how you squirm so cutely for him.

“was tryna calm you down, but you’re still all twitchy, what’s wrong hm? do you want something from me?” his pointer finger and thumb find the flap of your zipper and he’s tugging at it with a stupid smirk. dragging it up and down making your body tense at the sharp metallic hiss.

you only nod sheepishly. then there’s a heat that takes shelter on the apples of your cheeks when you glance down, unable to meet his starved eyes, “pretty girl, use your words”

“i want you, cho, please”

“want me to what?”

his dark purple irises are almost scary. they engulf you, drowning you, making you lose yourself, sending shocks and chills up your spine.

“to- to fuck me..”

you flinch at the laugh that pools from his lips, “see that wasn’t so hard was it”, fingers running through his thick, black hair, tousling it slightly, before moving to yank at your jeans, “let me taste this pussy first, then i swear i’ll fuck you good”

skillfully, sinfully he’s ridding you of your pants, gliding your cute little panties to the crease of your thigh. “she’s all twitchy too,” pressing a sweet kiss to your clit, making you whine, your hips bucking up in a desperate plea for his warm tongue.

and because you asked so, so nicely, the shiny ball littered with spit pokes out his mouth to flick at your most sensitive parts, the rubber of his gloves gliding across the maps of your thighs to rest on your tummy pressing and pushing against it, encouraging you to make a mess of him as if he’s not already the messiest eater— drooling and slobbering all over your cunt.

each time he flicks his piercing against your abused achy clit you swear you see stars, your eyes burning at how tightly they’re screwed shut behind long lashes, both your hands lost in tangles of his fluffy hair as you rock your hips against the sticky mess you’ve made of him.

“so eager now, huh? be good f’me and cum all over my face so i can finish my job”

[domjaehyun]

the boy is mine (l.dh) teaser #2

teaser word count: 1.4k // smut below the cut; minors don’t interact 💖

smut contents: fingering, finger sucking, nothing too crazy!

It’s late at night and you’re half asleep in your sleeping bag on the carpet of Mark’s bedroom when you hear a rhythmic rustling sound that seems to be getting louder. 

You peek over your shoulder as subtly as you can to see Haechan strategically rolling in his sleeping bag to approach you. Facing front again, you can’t help but stifle a giggle at the ridiculousness of it all, the cut off giggle manifesting as a loud splutter of amusement when his sleeping bag collides with yours.

“Haechan, what is wrong with you?” you whisper incredulously, peering across the dimly lit room to see if Chaewon’s stirred from her sleep or if Mark’s roused at all.

“Can’t sleep,” he says with a sigh, and you roll your eyes while he still can’t see you. “Turn around, I didn’t roll over here to stare at your back.”

“Oh, you could’ve fooled me,” you remark sarcastically. “I thought you were in the mood to ogle at this sexy patterned synthetic nylon sleeping bag of mine.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re so funny, I know,” Haechan remarks drily. “Now turn around.”

You grouch and grumble and groan, but you most certainly do turn around, now facing a smiling Haechan.

“Hi, pretty.” he greets quietly, eyes bright with affection, and you roll your eyes in a feeble attempt to hide how flustered he’s made you with a simple greeting.

“Hi, Haechan,” you murmur quietly, and he pouts.

“I called you pretty, can’t you compliment me back?” he asks, and you blink twice.

“Hi, handsome,” you coo, and his eyes widen, Haechan blinking several times in a stunned silence before focusing in on you with a sudden intensity that makes you gulp.

“Definitely do that more often,” he mumbles, gaze dropping to your lips. “As a matter of fact—come here.”

“I’m already here, what more do you want?” you snort in amusement, and he sighs before unzipping his sleeping bag and doing the same to yours, tying the two together at the top so they’re crudely linked together by the straps before you can protest. “Wh—? I feel like you basically just handcuffed yourself to me.”

“Oh, hush,” Haechan chuckles, shifting closer to you with a content sigh. “That’d be kind of hot, though.” 

“Shut up,” you laugh quietly, and you feel his hand slip around your waist and under your shirt to graze your skin, making you gasp softly as he pulls you closer. “Stop, your hands are cold.” you complain, and he nuzzles his face into your neck, breathing in deeply.

“Then come here and warm me up, baby.” he purrs, and your eyes widen, lips barking out a dangerously loud laugh of surprise as you move to pull back from him—an action which would have had more impact if Haechan hadn’t clocked your intentions immediately and gripped you tighter so you couldn’t move away.

“That was painfully cheesy,” you complain in a low murmur, and he smiles, wiggling his eyebrows.

“It made you smile, though,” he points out, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to your lips and continuing on over your muffled yelp of shock, “so I think it was worth it.”

“You need to go back over there before you fall asleep here.” you whisper worriedly, and he waves you off dismissively. 

“You owe me something,” he reminds you with a knowing smile that would probably be a lot more meaningful if you knew what the hell he was talking about.

“Haechan?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Earlier during pizza time,” he brings up with an exasperated roll of his eyes. “I had to stop what I was doing to you; we never got to finish.”

“You want to make… me… finish? Right now?” you whisper incredulously, and he nods with a dazzling grin.

“I sure do, pretty girl. Now be good and open your legs for me a little bit, yeah?” he murmurs, hand snaking down your body and into your sleep shorts, fingertips dancing teasingly along the warm seat of your underwear.

“Haechan,” you whine faintly, and he shushes you with a soft kiss on the lips.

“If you thought you had any chance of me letting up on you,” he begins, lips brushing against yours as he speaks, “you effectively kissed that goodbye when you whined my name all pretty like that.” And without another word, he brings his hand from your shorts and gently pushes two fingers into your mouth for you to suck. “That’s it,” he whispers, eyes blazing as he moves closer to you until your noses are practically touching. 

When he’s satisfied, he pulls his fingers from your mouth, inspecting them thoroughly as they glisten with your saliva in the scarce streaks of moonlight on the floor, before winking at you and sucking on his fingers as well, making a small gasp escape you.

“What was the point of me doing it, then?” you huff, and he smiles around his fingers.

“I just wanted to taste you again,” he says, pulling his fingers from his mouth with a cheeky grin and maneuvering them back into your underwear, this time wasting not a single moment before pushing them into you. His lips fall on yours instantly, silencing your quiet keens and whimpers with slow, languid movements of his lips and teasing, almost lazy strokes of his tongue that mimic the way his fingers move inside of you.

The sleeping bags lend nothing as far as maintaining discretion, the noisy fabrics rustling together rhythmically as his fingers move in and out of you, twisting and curling as they become intimately familiar with the feeling of your walls wrapped around them and clenching with desire. 

Thankfully, any other noises you two make are nothing more than pants and quiet whispers of swears, the occasional stray whine from you being mostly muffled by his kisses. 

“Listen, baby,” he whispers in a low hush, moving his fingers in and out of you faster. “Listen to how wet your little pussy gets for me.”

“Fuck—” you hiss when the wet sounds of his fingers moving against and between your folds make it to your ears, and he chuckles, the sound low in his chest.

“You want me to make you cum?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye. When you nod, he grins widely and nods back at you in understanding before massaging your clit with the palm of his hand as his fingers fuck into you. “Say it.”

“Make me cum, Haechan, please?” you whisper with a teary-eyed pout, and he wets his lips slowly, eyes darkening with desire, before his fingers curl into you just the right way at the right time for you to come undone, spilling all over his hand as you bury your face in his neck to collect yourself. 

His fingers slowly come to a stop once he’s milked your orgasm as far as it’ll go and he gently pulls them out of you, laughing when you immediately and pointedly avert your gaze.

“Look at what I did to you,” he urges, and when he’s certain you’ve peeked at the glistening strings of arousal connecting his splayed-out fingers, he sticks his tongue out teasingly as if to lick them, and you squeak, covering your eyes immediately.

“Don’t be obscene,” you half-whisper, half-beg, and he sighs loudly. “The bathroom is literally right there. Just take your sleeping bag and when you come back, just go to the right side and go to sleep.”

“Fine,” he huffs with an air of petulance, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his antics. “Gimme a good night kiss, then.”

“One.” you stress, and he nods in understanding.

“One.” he confirms, and you shift forward, kissing him sweetly on the lips. When you two break apart, his lips chase after yours for more, his eyes still closed, and you have to gently hold his chin and shake his head from side to side to snap him out of it. “Sorry,” he apologizes, and you wave him off with a smile.

“It’s okay. Now go,” you stress, pushing him away from you.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” he mumbles, untying your sleeping bags, and stands up, rolling his sleeping bag up and gingerly lying it down to his spot on the opposite corner of Chaewon. 

You don’t even bother to watch him to make sure he goes to the bathroom, you just flop over on your side and start trying to go back to sleep, doing your best to ignore the sticky wet sensation between your legs. 

Before long, you’re drifting off to sleep where you dream of warm brown eyes and a constellation of beauty marks.

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Say the Word Author's Notes: I have no clue how the military works or even how a base looks like and not gonna lie I don’t respect it enough to do research. Warnings: MDNI, Racism

Ghost really wished he was a better man. Because a better man would have thanked you for your gift instead of ridicule you for it. A better man would have dropped everything to be at your side. A better man would have chosen you over duty. 

But alas Ghost is just a ghost. A husk of a man. A monster. 

But if there’s one silver lining here is that only a monster can recognize another monster and Ghost knew that look in Nikto’s eyes — it’s the same one he sees everyday in the mirror. Ghost couldn’t protect you from himself but that doesn’t mean he won’t try to protect you from this new monster. 

So as you inch your face closer to Nikto’s mask to hear him, Ghost does not hesitate to rip you from the Russian’s jaws. 

“Nikto!” he barks. Nikto slowly turns, almost annoyed by the sudden intrusion while you fly back, feeling ashamed for… talking. When this is all over, Ghost will rid you of this guilt. He promises. 

“You should stand next to me. Will make it easier when I introduce you to the rookies,” Ghost explains. The two lieutenants were tasked in going over basic combat skills with the rookies. 

(And you were here because you’ve been wanting to dust off your own skills and after you heard Nikto was joining Ghost this time around, you felt more comfortable in joining.)

Nikto begrudgingly makes his way over to Ghost, leaving you alone on the mats. And just on cue, the rookies walk into the training room. They surround you with sadly, your “favorites” opting to stand at both of your sides. 

Ghost quickly introduces Nikto and splits the room in half. One half would work with Nikto while the other with him. Ghost pretends not notice the “help me” look your shot at Nikto when you got stuck with him. That was his imagination… that had to be in his head. 

Ignoring the tightness in his chest, Ghost walks up to his group and quickly goes over today’s lesson plan: submission, how to take down your opponent without any weapons. Easy and just the perfect way to get under you… for professional reasons, of course. After calling you as his partner, which your eyes nearly popped out of your head when he said so, he asks the rest to pair up and take a spot on the mats. 

However, before the group split, one of the rookies that especially loved to give you a hard time, spoke up. 

“Lieutenant, quick question?” 

“Make it quick,” Ghost snaps. You are literally about to throw him to the ground. He needs this rookie to shut up. 

“Does the pencil pusher really need to be here? They’re literally just taking space,” he asks. The rookie shoots you a taunting smile. 

You couldn’t believe it. You felt your body go hot.

“Say that one more time,” you spit back. You got in his face. Fuck professionalism. 

And it seemed like the rookie agreed as he got in your face as well. “Learn your fucking place,” he hisses. “You’re just a means to check off a box. No one actually wants you here so why don’t you go back to your office and fuck off, —!” Your ears start ringing at that last word. He towers over you and stares straight into your eyes. Pure hatred is in his eyes. 

You haven’t felt this level of anger in so long. Fuck this guy. Fuck this job. Fuck the 141. Fuck the military. Fuck everyone. You pull your arm back ready to swing when…

Nikto flies past you, throwing the rookie to the ground. He starts to wail on the dumb fuck. The rookie’s little posse tries to pull Nikto off but it’s no use— Nikto pushes them off like nothing. You remain still and watch the scene before you. 

And you’re not the only one. Ghost is in utter shock. In the matter of seconds, Ghost was cockblocked, you were disrespected, and a rookie was getting his face caved in and Ghost didn’t do anything. He just watched. Ghost is a man of action. But he just couldn’t at this moment. Why?

“Lieutenant!” one of the rookies shriek. That finally breaks Ghost of his trance. He rushes over to Nikto and pries the man off the rookie. The fellow lieutenant fights back. However before Ghost can really get into it with the Russian, your voice is heard. 

“Nikto,” you say. No emotion, just a statement. You look at the two and just shake your head. Nikto stops and moves towards you. He cradles your face and gently buds his head into yours. He grabs your hand and begins to walk out the training room with you when he turns around. 

He stares daggers in Ghost’s face and hisses.

“Ask yourself this lieutenant! Why did he feel comfortable enough to disrespect your teammate in front of your face?” 

And with that he leaves with you, leaving Ghost with the question he didn't know the answer to.

Word Count: 838

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Butcher!Simon x gn!reader Part 9 We're coming to the end of the date and is that... *le gasp* hand holding? How lewd. You're such a harlot, letting him hold your hand.

I'm not dead guys, just pretty busy with life, but this guy lives rent free in my head (he'd prefer to live in yours). Part 8 | COD Masterlist | Part 10

Abort. Fucking abort mission. He knows it’s going to be a no before you even open your mouth. How could he be so stupid. Your expression is troubled and he wants to kick himself for asking. Too quick, too much. Did he seriously forget how careful and easily startled you are just because you joked about Johnny? (yeah he did, too busy imagining your wedding)

“I”, you slowly start your hands nervously wringing “don’t want to intrude on your guy’s night. And I don’t know them and I bet they’re really nice but they’re three men I don’t know and it’s getting late and hell, I barely know you and…”

You’ve started rambling and Simon hates how he made you nervous like that again, so before you can get too much into your head about it he takes a small step forward his hands reaching out and gently covering your fiddling ones. God, they fit perfectly into his. He never wants to stop holding your hands again.

That effectively shuts you up and your eyes go to his again, looking up from the ground (such a good little lovie).

“It’s fine, sweetheart. I get it.”, he grumbles out, trying to keep his voice soft, lest he scares you off like a startled deer. He doesn’t want to have to chase you (maybe he does, but only if you’d like him to).  His big hands dwarf yours, gently squeezing.

You don’t pull back and that alone makes his heart do a victory jump in his chest. If you don’t mind him touching you like this maybe he can get bolder the next times, make his interest more obvious (okay, he needs to calm the fuck down, you haven’t even agreed to going to the concert with him yet).

“No need to explain. I shouldn’t have asked.”, he continues and you shake your head freeing your hands from each other so you can grab onto his too (oh fuck, you’re grabbing onto him, holy shit, holy shit).

“No! It’s very sweet of you. It’s just… too much?”, you say and it sounds more like a question than a statement. At least you’ve grown so comfortable around him that you continue to explain: “Meeting you today was already a lot for me.”

He nods in understanding, quietly accepting your words. He gulps heavily hoping you can’t hear his nerves when he asks: “Was it too much? Meeting me today?”

You grip on his hands tightens and you take a small instinctive step closer, stealing all the oxygen from his lungs. “No! It’s not too much. You’ve been great, really. I just…”

You look troubled at having to explain further and his thumbs begins to soothingly brush over your hands. “Okay.”, he says simply, stopping you from trying to convince him.

The way you tilt your head up at him in surprise makes his heart squeeze and he swears he needs to take his cuteness aggression out on one of his pillows when he gets home because the urge to squeeze you tightly is nearly overwhelming. It fills his entire body up until he feels like he’ll vibrate right out of his skin and break into pieces at your feet.

“Just like that?”, you ask, evidently surprised at his acceptance and he nods, subtly starting to walk again but keeping one of your hands in his. You don’t seem to notice and if you do, you don’t complain. Shit, his hand is getting sweaty from how nervous holding your hand makes him.

“Yeah. No need to explain. That’s how it is.”, he says with a harsher tone than intended. Shit, he meant to sound conclusive not harsh what if you think he’s mad and…

“Thank you.” The squeeze of his hand is thankful and gentle making him stuff his other hand into his pocket again because he might start to shake from your proximity at any moment now.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart.”, he murmurs and wonders how people usually react to you if you feel the need to thank him for just accepting what you said. The thought of anyone not treating you right makes quiet rage settle around his chest and he vows to never mistreat you (yeah, not like he fantasizes about keeping you locked up so he can have you all to himself or anything, no hypocrisy there, Simon).

That’s the moment Wraith comes bounding back again and looks at your joined hands. Suddenly the big dog stops dead in his tracks and huffs a low bark. Your laughter rings out and Simon doesn’t know whether to cry tears of joy at the beautiful sound of your laughter or take cover because your mutt does not look happy at him touching you.

He fights the urge to jerk his hands back like he’s a naughty child getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Damn him, if he lets a goddamn dog intimidate him into letting go of your perfect little hand. Wraith cocks his head at you two and a low rumble starts in his throat, not quite a growl. Something Simon can’t decipher.

You can though and when you try to go to your dog, Simon tightens his hold on your hand so you don’t slip from his grip completely. The way your head whips around nearly makes him let go of you after all but he decides to swallow his nerves and gently strokes the back of your hand with his thumb again. Your eyes are wide, not scared just surprised and you seem to search his gaze for something.

He’s not sure what but he doesn’t break the sudden and intense eye contact, trying to hide his pout at you taking your attention off of him to give it to your dog.

“Only need one hand to pet him.”, he grouses and against anything he expected you giggle again and call Wraith closer. The ugly beast trots closer still grumbling and you pet his head.

 “There you go, Wraith. Is my poor puppy jealous?”, you ask your dog and he gives a huff in response. Simon has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t answer with a ‘yeah I am’.

He truly is trying to hide the side eye he gives Wraith when you coo at the mutt and gently scratch his chin, but he can’t help it. Wraith’s tongue lolls out and Simon swears the pleased grumble is aimed at him. Damnit, maybe he should get one of those puppy ear headbands. Maybe you would pet him too if he did.

[emilys-bangs]

bloody mishaps l e.p

Tags: fluff, use of petnames however r and em are not together—they're just flirty like that, periods, emily is a knight in shining armor (save me emily prentiss)

Summary: You get your period at work. Salvation comes in the form of emily prentiss

Word count: 1.4k

A throbbing headache pulses at your temples and you groan, closing your eyes against the list of potential suspects Hotch assigned you and Emily to go through. 

Her gaze snaps to you and she frowns. “You okay, hon?” 

Her usual nickname for you doesn’t even stir any butterflies this time, not with your aching head.

“No,” you mumble miserably, pushing off your chair and standing up to go make yourself some tea. “It’s like someone took a hammer to my head.” The edge of your voice is tinged with a whine as you walk out of the empty conference room, looking for the kitchenette.

Emily jumps up from her chair and stops you before you walk out into the hall. Her hand is suddenly on your stomach, nudging you back against her, into the conference room.

“Wh—”

“Don’t panic, but I’m pretty sure you just started your period.” She says quietly into your ear, bringing you back into the threshold of the conference room. 

Your body freezes up. 

“What?” You breathe, your stomach dropping as she lets go of you and shuts the door. Emily shrugs off her blazer, her eyes sympathetic as she comes closer and swings it around your waist.

“Our go bags are still in the SUV, I’ll go grab you some change, yeah?” Her voice is low and soothing, but your muscles are locked tight with tension. 

“Em,” your voice trembles in unison with your shaking hands. It’s natural, nothing to be embarrassed about, you’ve told yourself a million times. Yet shame heats your cheeks.

“Shh,” she murmurs, hands gentle as she ties her blazer around your waist. “I got you, okay? Don’t panic.”

Her words do nothing to soothe you. You’re still frozen in mortification as she opens the door and leads you out, her hand gentle on your arm all the way to the bathroom. You follow her mindlessly, feet thudding after hers as you drown in your thoughts.

How did this happen? you think deliriously. You always know when your period’s coming, you’re always prepared for this. You don’t register Emily pushing you into the bathroom and locking the door behind her.

“I don’t—I’m usually prepared—” You stumble over your words, your cheeks flaming and hot. When you swallow, your throat is dry. “I’m always prepared,” you say desperately, trying to explain yourself even though there’s nothing to explain.

Emily frowns as your chest caves, your breathing panicked and loud in the silence of the bathroom. “Hey,” she grabs your hands in both of hers. They’re cold, but her grip is tight. Your eyes snap to hers and you’re met with warm, steady brown. “It’s okay. These things happen.” She soothes.

A weak scoff slips past your lips. “When you’re thirteen and getting it for the first time.”

You still don’t know why you’re reacting so hard, throat dry and heart racing. It’s fine, you tell yourself. Nobody saw. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s f—

“When you’re any age.” Emily says firmly, cutting off your spiral. “Getting used to it doesn’t mean it doesn’t come unexpectedly sometimes.” 

She tightens her hold on your hands. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, okay?” Her voice softens as she rubs her thumbs over your knuckles.

The logical part of your brain knows she’s right. You jerk your head in a close imitation of a nod and her lips tip up in a smile, ever so patient.

“I have some pads in my purse,” she tells you, impossibly softer, her hands squeezing soothingly around yours. “Are you fine with pads?” She speaks slowly, gently, her voice low and warm, as if she’s calming down a skittish child. “I could ask JJ if she has tampons—”

“Pads are fine.” You interrupt.

Emily nods. “Okay. I’ll go get those and I’ll grab you some change from your go bag, okay? You get in there,” she tilts her head to the stalls behind you.

You blow out a breath and nod, the tight knot in your chest loosening. Emily’s here. She’ll help; she always does. “Thank you,” you whisper, your eyes glazing with irrational tears.

Emily squeezes your hands, her smile warm. “’Course, honey. I won’t be long.” She releases your hands and pushes you to the stall with a gentle force in her fingertips.

You shut yourself inside it and quickly untie her blazer, your cheeks heating again at the thought of staining it. Luckily the dark blue fabric is unmarred, so you hang it on the hook and tap your foot on the floor, too jittery to sit down.

Your stomach cramps and you scoff at the late reminder, crossing your arms over your stomach and leaning your head against the wall. The headache makes sense now, you think bitterly. It’s somehow the only symptom you clocked, your aching back and stomach falling through the cracks. You’re quietly cursing yourself again when the door to the bathroom creaks open and shut.

Emily knocks on your stall. “Y/N?” She murmurs.

You open the door and find yourself startlingly close to deep, coffee brown eyes. She gives you a quick, reassuring smile before digging into the purse she’s carrying. It’s fit to burst; a pair of your pants are rolled up and stuffed into it hastily, the material catching a little on the zipper of her bag.

She takes them out like it’s nothing and you feel your heart burst in your chest. “These good?” Emily asks, extending the pants to you. 

She looks genuinely concerned, her brow slightly creased, as if she’s ready to go back to the car and grab another pair if you say no.

“Perfect,” you choke out, taking them and the pads she hands you. Her hands linger against yours and though they’re still cold, you want nothing more than to hold them again. 

Unfortunately, you have more pressing concerns at the moment. 

“Thanks, Em.” You rush out, barely catching her responding hum before you shut the door again. 

Sorting yourself takes a while, but when you walk out of the stall, Emily’s blazer in one hand and your stained clothes tucked under your arm, you find her still there.

The small smile she gives you disappears when you hold out her jacket. “No, keep it,” she pushes your hand into your chest, forcing the jacket away from her.

Keep it? You swallow down the heartbeat in your throat.

“Emily it’s fine, I don’t need it anymore,” you frown and try to hand it back.

“Honey,” she sighs and takes the jacket from your loose grip. This time you do feel your stomach flip at the nickname, your skin growing warm.

Emily moves closer to you and drapes her jacket over your clothes. “To cover these,” she murmurs, adjusting the fabric so it obscures the pants. “Isn’t that better?” She looks at you, her dark eyes boring into yours.

“Oh.” You breathe. “Right, yeah, thanks,” you mumble, cheeks flaming, but not from embarrassment this time. Her perfume hangs softly in the air, travels into your lungs when you breathe in. Her lips quirk up in a smile, soft and gentle and everything she usually isn’t at work.

Silence hangs between you two. You don’t know what to say, so you say the most obvious thing. “Thank you, Emily. Really.” You repeat. How many times have you said that already?

“Stop thanking me,” she chides softly, her hand coming to rest on your elbow. She squeezes lightly, “You’d do the same for me.”

And you would. 

She pretends to need something from the car and you pretend to believe her, smiling at her when she comes up beside you, empty handed, after you dump your clothes back in your bag.

“Didn’t find what you needed?” You ask, extending the blazer to her. She takes it this time.

Emily shrugs. “Must’ve left it in the other car,” she says breezily, hooking her fingers in the collar of her blazer and swinging it over her shoulder.

She nudges you and you trudge back to the precinct. “C’mon, hon. I don’t think Hotch’ll appreciate our tardiness when he comes back. Period or no period.”

You sigh. “You couldn’t have even waited an hour?” You shake your head, pretending to disapprove.

Emily loops her free arm through yours. “You were never in any danger as long as I was there,” she says lightly, but you both know it’s true.

Her arm is warm against yours, her skin like silk. You tighten your grip on her. “Let’s hope you’re always here, then.”

*Reblogs and comments mean the world 🫶🏼 if you liked this lmk what you think!!🩷

[brunchable]

POV: You're sucked into your Fanfic - Part Three

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Writer!fReader Themes/Warning: Comedy - Chaotic Duo (mainly y/n), breaking 4th wall. Fanfic Bucky meets his writer. Swearing. Summary: So you got kicked out of your own fanfic and know you have to go to work and face real life problems. . . or so you thought. A/N: Listen, don't expect this fanfic to be well organized because it's not supposed to be. I don't know where I am going with this yet, do enjoy this chaotic fanfic with me for now lmfao.

tags: @winterslove1917 @zeeader @iamdedsthingz @hzdhrtss @almosttoopizza

@yiiiikesmish @literaryavenger @aquabrie @ramp-it-up @nash-dara

@winchestert101

You leap out of your car like a bat out of hell, convinced that you’re finally back to normal life. No more fanfic shenanigans, no more redemption arcs gone wrong. Just a regular, boring job where I definitely won’t have to deal with anything weird.

As you stumble into the elevator, trying to untangle yourself from your coat and shove a half-eaten granola bar into your mouth, you breathe a sigh of relief. Finally. Back to real life.

You slap the “Close Door” button repeatedly, desperate to get moving. The elevator hums, the doors sliding halfway shut. But just as they’re about to close completely, they flicker—a sudden, sharp flicker of the lights overhead—and the entire elevator rumbles like it’s having a midlife crisis.

Your eyes widen as the lights dim and flicker again, the walls creaking. 

“Uh... what the hell?” 

You press the button frantically, but the flickering intensifies for a brief moment, making the whole thing feel more like the start of a horror movie than an office elevator ride.

Weird. Really weird. But then, just as quickly as it started, the flickering stops, the lights stabilize, and the doors begin to glide open again.

The doors glide back open, and in walks CEO Bucky Barnes, striding into the elevator like he owns not only the building but the entire damn planet. And the universe beyond that. He’s dressed in a sleek, tailored suit, the kind that screams: I make more money in an hour than you’ll see in a lifetime.

Your granola bar nearly falls out of your mouth as you press yourself against the elevator wall like a frightened mouse, eyes wide. 

“Oh, come on.”

Bucky glances at you, arching an eyebrow as he steps inside, completely unbothered. He casually hits the close button, taking a bite out of the apple he’s holding, and then gives you a look, as if your entire existence is mildly amusing.

Oh, no. When I said I want to go back I meant in my other fanfic, NOT THIS. You swallow hard, gripping the railing in the elevator. Is this another one of those fanfics I wrote and abandoned?

You glance at him again, suddenly realizing the flickering, the rumbling, the tailored suit, and the attitude. This is definitely not the action Bucky from before. Nope, this is CEO Bucky, and apparently, he has zero patience for your existence.

Great.

You groan internally, wishing you could rewind the last five minutes of your life.

He’s holding an apple—eating it, actually—like some kind of smug Greek god. The crunch echoes in the small space of the elevator, and with every bite, you can practically hear your sanity cracking.

You backup more—if it’s even possible—against the corner of the elevator, eyes wide, heart pounding. 

“Oh my God. Oh no, no, no—” you mutter to yourself, eyes darting around like you might find an emergency escape hatch. 

Bucky side-eyes you, not missing a beat as he takes another crunch of his apple. He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your sudden and very visible panic attack.

“You’re late,” he says casually, as if pointing out the weather. The way he speaks, smooth and lazy, is enough to send a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t even look fully at you—just a quick glance that screams you are insignificant in my kingdom.

Your eyes dart around the elevator, fully cornered now. 

“Wh— I—Late? What—no, I’m not late!” You tug at your coat, flustered, hands shaking as you clutch your bag like it’s a lifeline. “I mean—yes, I’m late, but also... what are you doing here?”

CEO Bucky pauses mid-bite, looking at you as if you’ve just sprouted two heads. He finally turns fully toward you, taking another slow, calculated bite of his apple. 

“What am I doing here? I own this building.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like you should already be bowing down to him or, at the very least, shining his shoes. His eyebrow arches higher, and his lips quirk up at the corner into the slightest smirk. A smirk that makes you want to scream and faint simultaneously.

You sputter, pressing yourself further into the elevator corner like you’re trying to melt into the walls. 

“Right. Of course. You’re the CEO. That’s... that’s normal. Completely normal. You just... randomly show up in elevators eating apples and ruining people’s lives.”

“You always this chaotic first thing in the morning?” He shakes his head slowly, clearly unimpressed with your rambling.

“What—excuse me? Chaotic?” You blink, momentarily thrown off.

He takes one last bite of his apple before tossing it in the trash bin in the corner with a smooth flick of his wrist. 

“Yeah,” he says, turning to face the elevator doors as they slide shut. “Usually you’re nice and quiet”

You gape at him, jaw practically on the floor. “Nice and quiet?!”

The elevator starts to move again, and you just stare at the back of his head, blinking rapidly. This can’t be real. This CAN’T be real. You glance up at the ceiling, half expecting the universe to laugh in your face.

“Right, okay,” you mutter to yourself. “Cool. I’m in a scrapped fanfic where CEO Bucky Barnes exists and I’m... late for something. That’s fine. Totally fine.”

The elevator dings as it reaches another floor, and you brace yourself for whatever happens next.

Bucky side-eyes you again, folding his arms, his suit jacket stretching over his broad shoulders in a way that is entirely too distracting. 

“Try not to make this a habit,” he says coolly, his voice dripping with condescension.

You blink. “What—what habit?”

He shrugs casually. “Being late. And whatever this is,” he gestures to you, still cornered and clearly flustered, “your whole... thing.”

“My whole thing?” You’re so flustered you don’t even know what to say. “This isn’t even a thing! I don’t have a thing! This is just... my life, okay?”

Bucky smirks, his gaze sliding over you like he’s assessing whether or not you’ll survive the next five minutes. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, stepping out as the elevator doors open again. “Totally, your thing.”

And just like that, he’s gone. You’re left standing there, dumbfounded, staring at the empty space where he was just seconds ago.

The elevator doors close again, and you let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I hate this fanfic already.”

× × × ×

You sit at your desk, your fingers tapping anxiously on the keyboard, but your brain is doing everything but work. It’s going a million miles a minute, trying to piece together what exactly happened to land you in this ridiculous situation.

You glance down at the stack of papers on your desk, all labeled with the company’s sleek logo, and let out a long, tortured groan. 

Then it hits you like a freight train: You’re Bucky Barnes’ assistant. This is what you wrote months ago before you rage-quit the whole story.

Your head drops into your hands. Fuuuuck.

“What was this about again?!” you mutter under your breath, trying to dig through the mental files of your abandoned fanfic plot. 

You remember vaguely setting this story up to be some kind of CEO!AU where Bucky was... what? Brooding and powerful? Sexy, for sure. In control of everything? Definitely. You were supposed to be some mild-mannered assistant who totally had her life together.

But that was so not you either. You had given up on this story for a reason—writer problems. Why did I even scrap this plot again? Oh right. Because it got so cringey you couldn't even finish it.

You try to think back to why this fanfic had hit the writer’s block wall. It was something to do with the plot going absolutely nowhere. You had no idea where to take it, so naturally, you abandoned it like a badly cooked lasagna and moved on to the next story with more action and less... corporate nonsense. 

And now, here I am, stuck in the very fanfic I gave up on because I couldn’t figure out what would happen next. Fantastic.

You sigh dramatically, rubbing your temples. Great. I’m in an unfinished fanfic where I don’t even know the plot. Awesome. Totally normal day.

Just as you’re contemplating throwing yourself out the window—or at least hiding in the bathroom for the next eight hours—you decide to take a break. Maybe you can sneak out for five minutes and regroup. Get your chaotic brain together before CEO Bucky calls you for something ridiculous like filing his taxes or fetching his tenth coffee of the day.

You push away from your desk and stand up, trying to be stealthy. But just as you make your way toward the door—

“Hey, you.”

You freeze mid-step. Oh for fuck sake.

Slowly, like a guilty child caught sneaking out of class, you turn around. There’s CEO Bucky, leaning against his office doorframe, arms crossed like some kind of modern-day Greek god. His suit is perfectly tailored, every inch of him screams I own this place, and of course, he’s got that little smirk that makes your brain short-circuit.

He gestures with two fingers, that damn lazy motion that makes you feel like you’ve been summoned by royalty. 

“Come here.”

Your eye twitches. 

“I have a name, you know,” you say before you can stop yourself, crossing your arms defensively. It’s completely out of character for the version of yourself that you wrote into this fanfic, but your chaotic brain can’t help it.

Bucky pauses, clearly not expecting you to talk back. His eyebrows lift slightly, and then that smirk grows even wider, like you’ve just amused him. 

“Do you now?”

You groan internally. Oh crap. 

But now you’re stuck, because CEO Bucky Barnes, in all his smug glory, is eyeing you like a predator who’s just found something interesting to toy with.

“Yeah, last I checked,” you say, now fully committed to the chaos as you shuffle closer, arms still crossed like you’re trying to shield yourself from the intense vibes he’s putting off. “It’s not ‘hey you,’ it’s Y/N.”

He chuckles softly, leaning back slightly and watching you approach. “Y/N, huh? Interesting.”

You squint at him, already regretting your entire life. “Why is that interesting?”

He shrugs, still smirking. “I don’t know. I like ‘hey you.’ It fits you.”

You resist the urge to scream into the void. “Well, I’m taking a break, so if you’ll excuse me—”

“Break?” He interrupts, his smirk not fading. “You’ve been here what... five minutes?”

You open your mouth to argue, but the way he’s looking at you—like he knows exactly how to push your buttons—makes your brain scramble. 

“I need to regroup. You know... organize my thoughts. Get my head in the game.”

His smirk widens as he watches you try to squirm out of the conversation. “Right. Organize your thoughts. Good luck with that.”

You blink at him, genuinely baffled by how this man manages to look so smug while saying so little. 

“This is why I scrapped this fanfic,” you mutter, too quiet for him to hear. “Why did I write him like this? All smirky and... and haughty and... ugh.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, clearly noticing your muttering, but chooses not to comment.

“You’re really something,” you grumble under your breath as you turn and make a beeline for the door, desperate for some air.

You can feel his eyes on you as you walk away, and just before you leave the room, you hear him chuckle again. 

“I’m sure you’ll do great. Don’t get lost on your... regrouping.”

You grit your teeth, giving him a tight smile as you exit the office. “Sure. I’ll be regrouping. Totally.”

The moment you’re out of his sight, you let out a groan, practically melting against the hallway wall. How do I survive this fanfic?

And then, like a jolt of lightning, you remember why you gave up on this fanfic. Because Bucky Barnes as a smug, controlling CEO is TOO MUCH!

You smack your forehead, slumping down the wall. “I am so screwed.”

× × × ×

You return to your desk, a glass of water in hand, mentally cursing your decision to ever write CEO Bucky Barnes the way you did. Smug, intense, and probably the reason for my inevitable breakdown. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down as you plop into your chair. 

I can do this. I survived getting my ass beat up by action Bucky. I just have to survive the day. No more weirdness.

But, of course, life—or rather, your fanfic—has other plans.

As you sit down and try to focus, you hear the sound of high heels clicking against the floor, getting closer. You glance up, and there she is: Bucky’s soon-to-be ex-girlfriend. The character you completely forgot about when you abandoned this fanfic. She turns on her heel, clearly satisfied with her silent insult, but something inside you snaps. 

Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out in a deep, gangster voice, “Da fuCK you lookin’ at, Discount Cruella?”

She freezes mid-step, as if you’ve just slapped her with a fish. Her head turns slowly, like she can’t quite believe you just called her that. You add a taunting little eyebrow raise, tipping your chin up like you’re daring her to respond.

What the hell just came out of my mouth? You blink, stunned by your own voice, but you don’t back down. Commit, commit!

She glares, her jaw tightening. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, you heard me,” you say, leaning back in your chair, sipping your water. “You struttin’ around like some budget Bond villain? What, you think I’m intimidated by your off-brand designer knock-offs? Please. I’ve seen scarier outfits at Walmart.”

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she turns with a dramatic huff and stalks off, her heels clicking furiously against the floor.

You lean back even further, casually waving after her. “Yeah, you better walk away, Dollar shop Donatella!” 

She disappears down the hallway, leaving you feeling victorious, if not a little surprised at your own audacity.

You take another sip of water and mutter to yourself, “I swear, this fanfic is making me brave... or stupid. Probably stupid.”

As you’re mentally patting yourself on the back for that little victory, you hear footsteps approaching again. You look up, expecting it to be her again, but nope—it’s Bucky. 

“Hey, you,” he says, that smooth, infuriating voice drawing your attention.

You roll your eyes but try to act casual. “Yeah, what now, boss?”

Before he can answer, you take a sip of water—probably the worst-timed sip of your life.

Bucky’s just about to say something, but the sight of him leaning casually against your desk, all brooding and smug and tall and sexy, makes you choke on your water. You try to hold it in, but before you can stop it—

PFFFFTTTTT!!!

You spit your water all over him. Like, right in his face.

Time freezes. Bucky blinks, water dripping from his face and his perfectly styled hair. He looks stunned, as if this is the first time in his entire smug CEO existence that someone has dared to water-blast him.

You freeze, your eyes wide in horror. “Oh. My. God.”

Bucky wipes his face with the back of his hand, his expression unreadable as he stares at you. You panic, leaping out of your chair and rushing over to him, grabbing the nearest paper towel in an attempt to salvage the situation.

“I am so, so sorry!” you babble, dabbing furiously at his face, then his shirt, then—oh no, his chest. Holy crap, his chest.

You keep muttering in a frantic whisper. “Oh my God, his muscles. I’m touching the muscles—holy crap, I am such a perv. This is inappropriate workplace behavior—so much muscle—why did I write him this way?” 

You write every Bucky character this way.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, watching you with a mix of amusement and confusion as you continue to pat him down like he’s a spilled drink. 

“Are you... okay?”

You blink up at him, paper towel still in hand, your brain short-circuiting. 

“I—uh—what? Yeah! Totally fine. Just, you know, touching muscles—I mean—patting you down! Because of the water! That I... spat in your face. Oh my God, I spat water in your face.”

Bucky chuckles, his smirk back in full force. “Well, this is definitely a first.”

“I’m going to die of embarrassment now. Please, just... let me dissolve into the floor.” You groan, backing away from him with the soaked paper towel in hand. 

Bucky, now completely unfazed by the whole situation, shrugs and gives you a half-smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just water.”

You stare at him, still mortified, and mutter under your breath, “I hate this fanfic.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. Instead of heading back to his office, though, he leans in slightly, his gaze flicking down to your water glass and then back to your face.

You freeze. Oh God, why is he leaning in? Your brain is already preparing to short-circuit again. What now? Is he about to call me out on my water-spitting habits? Does he smell fear?!

“Actually…” Bucky says, his voice dropping, his smirk now in full dangerous levels of smirkiness mode. “There was something else.”

Your heart skips a beat. Oh no. Oh no, not again.

“Yeah?” you squeak, gripping your water glass like it’s your last hope of survival. “What’s that?”

He leans in a fraction closer, his eyes practically dancing with mischief. 

“I was going to ask you for the Henderson file, but now I’m thinking...” He pauses dramatically, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “Maybe you should get me a towel first.”

Your jaw drops. “A towel?!”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, not missing a beat, “since you’re so keen on throwing water at people.”

You blink at him, utterly mortified. “I didn’t throw it! I just—ugh, fine! I’ll get you a towel.”

He grins wider. “Good. And then... you can grab the Henderson file.”

“I’m not your assistant and your personal dry cleaner!” You groan, turning to leave, but of course, you have to get in one last grumble.

Bucky watches you, highly amused. “You sure? You seemed pretty eager to pat me down a minute ago.”

You freeze mid-step, spinning around with wide eyes.

“Oh my God, I—I wasn’t—I was just trying to—you know what? Never mind!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m getting the damn towel!”

You rush off toward the break room, muttering under your breath the entire way. “This fanfic is literally out to humiliate me. Why did I write him like this? Why, past me, WHY?”

Behind you, you swear you hear Bucky chuckle softly, and it only makes you walk faster.

× × × ×

Y/N, now on a mission to redeem herself after the whole spitting water fiasco, rushes back to her desk with the Henderson file in one hand and a towel in the other. No more screw-ups, you tell yourself. No more embarrassing moments. I’m going to act like a professional human being for once.

You take a deep breath before stepping into Bucky’s office. He’s seated behind his desk, looking as composed as ever, typing away on his computer. Cool, calm, collected, you remind yourself. You carefully place the file on his desk, and then with way too much flourish, dramatically whip out the towel.

“Your towel, sir!” you announce like you’re a butler in an old movie, bowing slightly for extra effect.

Bucky glances up from his computer, one eyebrow raised. “Thanks... I think?”

You nod seriously, trying to keep a straight face. 

“Only the finest hand towels for the World’s Wettest CEO,” you add, clearly not able to stop yourself from clowning.

Bucky’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s definitely a flicker of amusement in his eyes. 

“You know, usually assistants don’t mock their boss right after spitting water on them.”

Before you can fire back with something clever, he stands up and—without breaking eye contact—starts stripping off his jacket.

Your eyes widen to saucer-size. Oh SHIT. Look at those biceps, I bet he could crack an egg with those.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you blurt, taking a cautious step back. Your eyes dart to the door, your brain immediately thinking of the worst possible scenario.

Bucky casually shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto his chair, and takes a slow step toward you. His sleeves are rolled up just enough to show off those forearms—and, holy hell, is it getting hotter in here?

You gulp, stumbling back another step. “Why are you coming closer? What—no, don’t come any closer!”

But he doesn’t stop. In fact, he smirks as he undoes the top button of his shirt, rolling up his sleeves even higher as if he’s about to give you some kind of private show.

Your brain completely short-circuits. 

“I will call the police!” you shout dramatically, pointing a shaky finger at him. “Don’t make me do it! I have a phone!”

Bucky takes another step, clearly enjoying watching you unravel.

“Stop!” you squeak, backing up so fast that you almost trip over your own feet. “I swear, if you come any closer—Please! I’m a virgin!”

Wait. WHAT? Did that actually just come out of my mouth?

Bucky stops in his tracks, his brow furrowing in pure confusion. His smirk falters, and he blinks at you like you’ve lost your mind—which, honestly, you might have. 

“Wait, what?”

You slap your hands over your mouth. 

“Not... not really!” you blurt, mortified, feeling your face turn a thousand shades of red. “I just—what—I mean, I don’t know why I said that! Forget I said that! WHY DID I SAY THAT?”

Bucky stares at you, clearly torn between laughing and being genuinely confused by your outburst. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You point at him again, eyes still wide. “You were stripping! I thought—I don’t know what I thought! I thought you were about to—look, can you just—stop doing whatever it is you’re doing?”

“I was just getting comfortable. You’re the one making this weird.” He finally gives in and lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. 

“I’M MAKING THIS WEIRD?!” you shout, nearly flailing in disbelief. “You just started stripping in your office like we’re in some kind of romance novel!” Well. . .technically. . .

Bucky shrugs, clearly amused by your total meltdown. “I wasn’t even halfway through, and you’re already threatening to call the cops.”

“I panicked!” you cry, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “What do you expect when you come at me like some... some walking smirk with biceps?”

“Relax, hey you, I’m not gonna bite.” He takes one more step toward you, the grin on his face infuriatingly smug. 

“Right... okay... great. But, uh, no more sudden movements, okay? I don’t think my dignity can take another hit today.” You’re still staring at him, pulse racing, trying to get your heart back to normal.

Bucky, still smirking, unbuttons his shirt completely, slipping it off and tossing it aside as if the entire interaction hasn’t completely short-circuited your brain. Now, he’s shirtless, and your brain is screaming 

NOPE, NOPE, yes NOPE.

But he doesn’t stop there. Bucky takes another step closer, clearly enjoying the absolute chaos unfolding on your face. He gestures toward the towel still clutched in your hand. 

"Since you’re so eager to help, why don’t you pat me dry?”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?!”

He tilts his head, completely unfazed by your reaction. “You spat water on me. Now it’s only fair you clean up the mess.”

You clutch the towel tighter, staring at him like he’s grown a second head. 

“Do you not have arms? You seem perfectly capable of drying yourself off with all these...” you gesture wildly to his bare chest, your voice rising in pitch, “...muscles!”

“I’m not saying I can’t. I just thought you might want to.” Bucky chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Your face is practically on fire at this point. “Oh, I’m sure you’re more than qualified to handle it yourself!” you say, thrusting the towel toward him. “I’ll just—uh—get you some new clothes! Right?”

Bucky shrugs, clearly still enjoying your mortification. “Sure. Or you can keep patting me down. Your call.”

“I WILL NOT BE PATTING ANYTHING,” you declare, your voice an octave too high as you spin around and dash toward the door. “I’ll get your clothes!”

“Take your time.” As you stumble out of the office, you can hear Bucky’s soft chuckle behind you. 

You groan internally, your face still burning as you make your escape. 

“This is getting worse and worse,” you mutter under your breath, gripping the door handle a little too tight. “I miss action Bucky. At least he wasn’t... shirtless and smug! God, why is this happening to me?”

You rush out the door, praying for some kind of divine intervention—or at least for your brain to stop short-circuiting every time you’re within ten feet of his ridiculous muscles.

You blink, and suddenly the world shifts beneath your feet. One second you’re in the office, still mentally head-slamming yourself for your awkward slip-up, and the next, you’re standing in front of two massive, intimidating double doors.

You blink again, confused. “Wha—What the—Wait... where the hell am I?”

Your eyes scan your surroundings, and it finally hits you—you’re in some fancy penthouse building, way too expensive-looking to be anywhere near your normal, boring life. And then, just as you’re about to piece things together, glowing words flash above your head:

Business Proposal, Part 4: Sick Leave

You stare up at the words in disbelief, slowly lowering your water bottle. It went up to Part Four?!

“That’s new,” you mutter, looking around as if someone’s watching you. “Why does this feel like some kind of twisted game show?”

Before you can contemplate further, a voice—loud, deep, dramatic, and all-knowing (totally not Bucky’s voice)— suddenly echoes around you, narrating your life like it’s the season finale of a telenovela.

“It’s been a few days since Bucky’s break-up with Yasmine, and Y/N has been very worried—”

“No, I’m not,” you cut off the voice, raising your hand like you’re silencing an annoying ad.

The narrator pauses, then comes back, clearly annoyed. “Yes, you are.”

You cross your arms defiantly. “Nope. Not worried. Zero percent concerned. I barely even remember her name—Yasmine, was it? See? Forgettable.”

There’s an exasperated sigh from the unseen narrator. 

“Yes. You are. Bucky’s been distant, and you can’t help but wonder if this is affecting him more than he’s letting on—”

“Oh my God, I literally do not care,” you interrupt again, dramatically rolling your eyes toward the sky, wondering if you could just teleport out of this madness. “Can I at least care about something that doesn’t sound like a rejected soap opera plot?”

“You do care,” the voice insists, the irritation building. “You’ve been wracking your brain about how to comfort him, wondering if now is the right time to—"

You wave both hands in the air like you’re directing traffic. “Nope. Absolutely not. I’m not showing him anything. If anything, I need a vacation. A spa day. A break from all this fanfic insanity.”

There’s a very heavy pause, like the narrator’s deciding whether to keep talking or just yeet themselves into the void to escape you. 

Then, with maximum exasperation, the voice finally asks, “Do you ever just shut up?”

You gasp, clutching your chest in mock horror. “Wow! Rude! Is that how you treat all your characters? Is this why all my stories keep getting abandoned halfway through? Is this your fault?”

There’s a very, very tired sigh. “You do know this is your story, right?”

You blink, then scratch your head. “Oh yeah...”

You can practically feel the narrator rolling their eyes, probably contemplating retirement.

“Fine,” the narrator says, now with the exhausted tone of someone who just ran a marathon through an obstacle course of idiocy. “You’re not worried. But you are here at Bucky’s penthouse, and he’s expecting you. And deep down—”

“I literally do not care!” you yell, flailing your arms like a cartoon character.

The narrator groans again, even louder this time. “Why do I even bother?”

“Honestly? I’ve been wondering the same thing,” you mutter, finally stepping forward to push open the ridiculously huge doors. “Let’s just get this over with. What’s next? Is Bucky going to burst into song? Or is this the part where I accidentally knock over some expensive art?”

“For the love of—Just get your ass inside!” the narrator snaps, sounding like they’re one sarcastic comment away from quitting entirely.

You pause, your hand hovering over the doorknob, and then snort. “Wow. Testy, aren’t we? Someone needs a narrator spa day.”

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh that echoes in the hallway, clearly done with your antics.

“I’m just saying,” you add with a shrug, “I’ve been through a lot today. I feel like a little sass is warranted.” You push open the door with an exaggerated flourish, muttering, “I swear, if Bucky’s standing there with some dramatic lighting or a tragic backstory about Yasmine, I’m out.”

The narrator doesn’t respond, probably because they’re off somewhere wishing they had another job. You step through the doors, bracing yourself for whatever ridiculous fanfic nonsense is about to hit you next.

You step through the doors, fully expecting some serious businessman vibes from Bucky. Maybe sitting behind a giant mahogany desk, brooding over paperwork, casually looking out at the city skyline like the high-powered CEO you wrote him to be.

But no. Instead, you find Bucky on the couch, wrapped in what can only be described as the world's most excessive blanket burrito. 

His hair’s a mess, his nose is red, and—oh my God—he’s holding a mug like it’s the last ounce of warmth in the universe. Surrounding him? A small fortress of tissues and cold medicine.

This is not CEO behavior!

His head slowly turns toward you, his eyes slightly puffy, and you swear there’s a pitiful sparkle in them. He sniffs dramatically, like a rom-com hero in his darkest hour. 

“Y/N?”

Your brain stutters. “I—uh—what?”

“I think... I’m dying,” he whispers hoarsely.

You blink at him, completely dumbfounded. Oh, this is bad. This is really bad. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It’s the “sick love interest” trope. Your life has officially hit peak cliché.

“Dying?” you repeat, hands on your hips. “Aren’t you, like, a super soldier? And a CEO? You manage hostile takeovers and boardroom battles, and now you’re... this?”

Bucky sniffles again, managing to look both miserable and somehow, annoyingly attractive. He shifts under the mountain of blankets and croaks out.

“I’ve never been this sick in my life.”

“You have a cold. A cold.” You cross your arms, staring down at the pathetic excuse of a man swaddled like a sad burrito. 

He coughs dramatically, like the very act is draining his soul. 

“It feels like... more than that.” His eyes meet yours, shining with exaggerated sorrow. “Can you... can you make me some tea?”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. This man is running an entire company, and right now, I’m supposed to be... what? His nanny?

“You’re serious?” you ask, incredulous.

Bucky nods weakly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. 

“With honey. And lemon,” he rasps, voice full of the weight of his tragic illness. “Please.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes so hard you might strain something, and head to the kitchen. 

“What happened to you, man? You’re supposed to be intimidating! A force to be reckoned with! What is this?”

He sneezes loudly from the couch, followed by a pitiful groan. “I’m emotionally compromised.”

You pause mid-step. “You’re emotionally compromised... because you have a cold?”

Another tragic sniffle. “It’s more than a cold. It’s the end.”

You fill the kettle, trying not to laugh. “The end? Of what? Your dignity?”

From the couch, Bucky coughs again—this time sounding even more over-the-top dramatic, like he’s trying out for a role in a period drama. 

“I think it’s... fatal.”

“Oh my God, you’re unbelievable,” you mutter, pouring the hot water into a mug, stirring in honey and lemon. “How are you the same guy who intimidates boardrooms? This is embarrassing.”

Carrying the tea back to him, you set it on the table in front of him with a flourish. “Here’s your tea, Mr. CEO. I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You’re... my hero.” He takes the mug with both hands, looking up at you with wide, grateful eyes.

You deadpan at him. “If you expect me to wipe your nose, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Bucky takes a sip of the tea, then stares at you like you just saved his entire existence. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You sigh, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, staring at him like a tired parent. “Is this what rich people do? Get over-the-top colds and drag innocent assistants into their melodrama?”

“It’s not just a cold. I’m suffering.” He pouts, snuggling deeper into his blanket cocoon, clearly loving every second of the attention. 

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m suffering too, buddy.”

Bucky coughs again, though you notice it’s less dramatic this time. “You’d do this for me, though... right?”

“Do what? Be your unpaid nursemaid?”

“Would you?” Bucky flashes a smirk, though it’s weak and slightly pathetic due to his current burrito state. 

You sigh, feeling like you’ve officially reached rock bottom. “Sure, why not. What’s next? Should I bring you soup and read you a bedtime story?”

His eyes light up. “Could you bring me soup?”

You throw your hands in the air, standing up in mock surrender. “Oh my God, I walked right into that one.”

From the couch, Bucky manages to look even more pitiful. “Please?”

“I swear, if this turns into a romantic montage, I’m jumping out the window.” You groan dramatically, heading back to the kitchen. 

Somewhere, the narrator’s voice hums, clearly enjoying this too much. "And so, Y/N found herself drawn into a reluctant role of caretaker, tending to Bucky's every need—"

“OH MY GOD, NO!” you shout to the ceiling. “Not this trope! Why is this happening?!”

Bucky, now fully alert, blinks at you. "Who... are you shouting at?”

The narrator sighs dramatically. “You’re really ruining the ambiance.”

Bucky's eyes narrow, looking around the room as if someone's going to pop out of the walls. "Seriously, who are you talking to?”

“GOOD,” you snap, ladling soup into a bowl. “Ambiance is overrated.”

Bucky frowns, staring at you like you've completely lost it. "You're... really freaking me out right now." 

You mutter under your breath, "Join the club, pal.”

As you return with the soup, you place it in front of Bucky, who looks up at you with the sad puppy eyes again. “Thanks for taking care of me, Y/N.”

“This is my life now, isn’t it? Fanfic sick-nurse tropes and soup.” You groan, staring at the ceiling.

The narrator hums again. “Exactly.”

You dramatically flop down on the couch next to Bucky. “Next time, just write me into an action scene. I miss action Bucky.”

“Action Bucky’s tired. Let CEO Bucky have his moment.”

You groan again, burying your face in a pillow. This fanfic is literally trying to kill me.

[rafestyles]

should've known it was a matter of time pt. two || rafe cameron

author's note: if you haven't read part one yet - read it here. thank you so much for the love on the first part!! i haven't written anything in so long, but i'm going through something horrible (being completely addicted to rafe cameron). anyways - i hope you enjoyyyy :)

warnings/content: toxic!rafe, pogue!reader, maybank!reader, fem!reader

the next morning finds you perched on the bed, eyes trained on the sunlight as it spills over the horizon. at the sound of rustling, you turn your eyes below to catch rafe still sleeping on the floor - the rise and fall of his chest moving at a steady rhythm. anxiously biting your nails, you wrestle with your thoughts as you try to map out your next move.

last night, as you attempted to drift off, the words he sadly muttered to you echoed in your mind: “you forget i used to know you, y/n.”  your past self - the one who didn’t know everything that would happen - keeps urging you to tell him the truth about the diary, to confess. but this version of you, the one who’s learned the hard way, knows better. you can’t trust him, not after everything and especially not when he’s making deals with his father. 

getting frustrated with yourself, your feet hit the floor with a sharp sense of urgency. you pace towards the window, heart pounding in your chest. one thought rings through your mind: you need to get out of here. now. you know your brother and friends are on their way - they’re coming for you, they always do - but that doesn’t mean you should sit back and wait, that feels like surrender. 

you steal one last glance at rafe before drawing the curtain back and tapping hastily on the glass. the guard standing in front turns around, his brows furrowing in confusion before you speak, praying he can read your lips. “go get mr. singh.”  you subtly gesture towards the door, “i need to talk to mr. singh.” 

as he begins to turn away, the sound of rafe’s groggy voice suddenly breaks through. “shut up! shut up! shut up!” he demands as he stands, reaching you quickly and gently grasping onto your arm, “what are you doing?”

you yank your arm away, “like i owe you an explanation.” you snap, shouldering past him as you stalk towards the door. “think for a second” he demands, scrambling to follow, “y/n, wh-what are you doing?”

you pound on the door, your voice desperate, “hello?” rafe steps closer, desperation lacing his tone. “y/n, what are you doing?” he reaches out to touch you again. “don’t - don’t touch me.” you beg, raising your hand to halt him.

to your surprise, he actually listens to your command, his hand clenching once before dropping back to his side. for a brief moment, a look of defeat flashes in his eyes but you watch as it quickly turns back into anger. 

ignoring him, you twist back to resume pounding on the door, “hello? i need to talk to mr. singh!” you call out, your voice firm. 

rafe dares to step closer to you, his voice a soft whisper as he speaks, “you’re lying about this diary thing.” it’s not a question - it’s a statement and you refuse to look at him as you shake your head, “no.” 

he scoffs, voice dripping with disbelief.  “you know where it is.” you squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head again, “no.” your voice barely audible, “i don’t.” 

abandoning your efforts at the door, you turn back into the room. rafe shifts with you, his eyes sharp and trailing your every move. “you don’t? okay.” he shrugs, but his tone betrays his frustration.

“you wish.” you mutter under your breath as you make your way towards the window, determined to get the guard’s attention again. 

“okay, listen - i wouldn’t tell me either.” he says, his voice low but frantic, “but he’s never going to believe we don’t know something, y/n.” 

you block his words out, rapping your knuckles against the window, “hey!” you plead, your voice rising, “hey!” 

rafe catches up to you, his hands laying gently but firmly on your shoulders as he turns you around to face him. his expression is intense as he speaks, “he killed that guy, y/n. don’t you get it?”

“hey!” you snap, shoving at his shoulders, desperate to get him off of you. your eyes lock for a heated moment as the only sound echoing through the room is your heavy breath. 

“look around, y/n.” he shakes his head, resigned, “i’m the only friend you got.” 

before you can respond, the sharp sound of a lock turning breaks the tense moment. rafe spins instantly, moving to shield your body as the door swings open.

you step around him without hesitation, your posture stiff but determined. “baby” he whispers desperately behind you, his voice raw. the nickname sends a shock through your body, but you push it aside, keeping your focus. 

“i need to talk to mr. singh.” your tone firm as you stand facing the guard directly. the guard’s gaze sweeps over you, assessing. “i have something to tell him. it’s urgent.” you insist.

as the silence lingers, you glance back at rafe to find him flexing his jaw angrily, his gaze burning a hole through yours.  “yes.” the guard finally responds. relief has no time to settle before a hand clamps down harshly on your shoulder. refusing to flinch, you force a nod, allowing him to guide you out of the room.

as you pass through the door, you steal one last glance at rafe. his eyes widen in panic as he takes a step forward. before he can speak, the door slams shut and the sound echoes through the hallway as you find yourself alone with the guard. 

–

“i lied,” you state firmly, standing in front of singh as he sits leisurely at the table. His eyes fix on you as you take a steadying breath. “i know about the diary.” 

he exhales sharply, a look of satisfaction crossing his features, but you continue on before he can respond. “i don’t have the original, but i can get you a copy.”

singh leans forward in his seat, reaching to grab a grape from the bowl in front of him. he pops it in his mouth with a smirk, “i’m relieved to hear you say that, you know.”he says smoothly. “may i offer you something to eat?”

“i’m not hungry,” you reply, your voice flat. 

“relax, nothing’s gonna happen to you now. you’re cooperating, and i don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

you inhale through your nose, trying to keep your composure. “i just want to get you what you want,” you say tightly, “and then i want to leave.”

the room falls silent for a moment as you gather your courage to say the next part, “look - i know where it is. but,” you hesitate, your voice faltering, “i have to go by myself. alone.” 

singh chuckles darkly, shaking his head as if he’s amused by your audacity, “but how would i know that you’d come back?” he leans back in his chair, voice dripping with condescension. “i need some collateral.”

“rafe’s here.” you offer, your voice quiet but resolute, “keep him.”

he scoffs, pushing himself up from the table “rafe.” he repeats, almost laughing as he strides towards you. “how did someone so young get into so much trouble?” 

he circles you and you turn to follow, “look, i know where the diary is. and if you let me go, i promise you, i can get it to you.” 

he halts abruptly, pivoting his body to face you again, “you know, i built this fortune myself from nothing.” his expression hardens as he steps towards you, “from absolutely nothing.” he points a finger at you, his tone taking on a darker note, “do you know how that happened, miss. y/l/n? hm?” 

“i can assure you, it wasn’t by being a fool. don’t waste my time.” he snarls, his voice low and menacing. 

you stand frozen, your heart pounding as fear coils tightly in your chest.

“the diary holds the key to the ultimate conquest, and that, my young friend, miss. y/l/n, is my destiny.” he points to his chest with emphasis, his eyes blazing with obsession.

you swallow hard as he leans in closer. “so you need to tell me where it is,” he hisses, “or i’m gonna -” 

the sharp ping of his phone cuts him off. he pauses, his jaw tightening as he glances at his device. after a moment, he exhales and walks towards the table, picking it up. you turn with him, watching as his expression shifts, a mocking smile spreading across his lips.

“hm,” he murmurs thoughtfully, chuckling as he reads the screen. “amazing.” he mocks, his eyes flicking back to you, “a text from our friend jimmy portis.” he waves his hands theatrically, “from beyond the grave, apparently.” 

alarm slams through your body as realization crashes down - this could only be your brother’s doing.

“it seems mr. portis has captured your friends,” he sneers, turning the phone to face you, showing you the picture of john b. and sarah on the screen. you swallow around a lump in your throat as he barks, “ryan!” 

the door creaks open and the guards steps inside, “get the big trucks and meet me in the back in three minutes.” singh commands without looking up. 

“copy.” the guard replies before disappearing back through the door.

he types a reply on his phone and gestures towards another guard. “get miss. y/l/n.”

“mr. singh, please -” you begin, but the guard grabs you roughly by the shoulders, steering you toward the stairs.

“please don’t hurt my friends! please!” you plead desperately, struggling against the weight of the guard. “please! please don’t hurt them, please!” 

“that depends, miss. y/l/n.” 

“Please.” you cry out again, tears stinging your eyes.

singh smirks, already turning away, “we’ll continue our chat later. i look forward to it.” he strides towards the exit as the guard pushes you towards the bedroom door. 

the door swings open and your eyes instinctively find rafe’s. he steps towards you immediately, concern etched across his face.

“inside.” the guard commands, pushing you past the threshold and slamming the door behind you. 

rafe’s hands gently grip your shoulders as he bends his knees slightly to try to meet your gaze.. “y/n, what happened?” he whispers, his voice low and urgent.

you can’t look at him. your eyes fixate on the space behind him, dread pooling into your stomach at the thought of singh’s men trailing after your brother and friends. 

“y/n..?” he murmurs again, his voice softer now.

you step back, letting the edge of the bed catch you as you sit down. rafe follows, kneeling directly in front of you. his eyes search yours, pleading for answers.

“please tell me what happened.” 

when he’s met with your silence, he stands back up, pacing around the small room. his patience begins to fray. “what happened?” he demands, sharper this time.

you exhale a breath, the tears threatening to pool over as you run your fingers through your hair anxiously. the words refuse to come as terror grips you.

rafe huffs, annoyance cutting through his worry. “you’re gonna have to talk to me at some point. okay?” 

finally, you lift your head, your voice cold and detached.“do i have to remind you of everything you’ve done?” 

his movements still, his body going rigid as your words hit him. 

“you killed peterkin.” you state bluntly, your expression unreadable. “do you remember that? and everything you’ve put your sister through?” 

he steps towards you, frustration radiating off of his body. “peterkin? i was protecting my father, okay? i did what i had to, so… don’t.” 

he turns away again, pacing furiously before dropping into the chair across the room. “i’m as much a victim as she is.” he mutters.

you stare at him, incredulous, “a victim?”

 “no?” he snaps, his voice rising as he gestures widely. “think about it, okay? what did i get from shooting peterkin, huh? nothing. okay? i had nothing against her. i liked her, y/n.” his voice breaks slightly, “you think i wanted to make that choice?”

his movements become frantic as his emotions boil over. “what i did was a gift from me to my father for… for him, and i got screwed because of it, okay? so don’t get that look when i say i’m a victim, all right? i am!” 

the outburst makes you flinch and he notices. his shoulders sag as his voice softens, “i will admit though, what i… what i did to sarah.,” he pauses, and you look over at him as you watch his eyes glisten with unshed tears.

“what i tried to do, um…what i tried to do to sarah. i admit that was wrong.” he looks at you as you watch him crumble, tears spilling over as his voice cracks,“i know that. all right? so you don’t have to remind me.” 

he runs his hands over his buzzed head,  standing as he begins to pace the room again. a small sob breaks past his lips as he exhales a deep breath, attempting to control himself. after a brief moment, he starts slapping his hands against his head repeatedly. 

acting on instinct, you stand and close the distance between you. you take his wrists gently, your thumbs brushing soothing circles over his pulse points. you watch as he struggles for words, “she was family. i never should’ve touched her, you know?” he says suddenly, looking at you through his tears, “i should’ve never touched her, but, you know, i just lose control in moments like that and i don’t know what happened.”

“i know.” you whisper. when he gets like this, you know how hard it is for him to regain his control. only allowing yourself to hesitate for one moment, you take a steadying breath before pulling him into an embrace.

he freezes before you feel his body relax slightly, “i’m trying.” he murmurs against your shoulder, his voice raw, “i’m trying to get better.” 

when he seems calm enough,  you take a step back, “i know,” you say softly, meeting his gaze.

but his face hardens again, the desperation momentarily replaced by defiance. “it doesn’t matter. all i’m saying is that i’m not the bad guy you think i am, okay?” he sniffs, his tone defensive. “but even if i was - even if i was just ‘bad rafe cameron’” he gestures between the both of you, his voice breaking slightly again, “you got no choice.”

the tension in the room sharpens as you snap,“and what about me?” 

he falters, face crumpling slightly.

“what about when you made me choose between you and my brother? between you and my friends?” your voice cracks as the tears finally fall.

he exhales and begins to pace the room again. “y/n…” he starts but you cut him off. 

“don’t,” you mutter, shaking your head. “i don’t want to hear it.”

“y/n, i -”

“seriously, rafe. don’t,” you beg, your voice barely above a whisper. “forget i asked.” 

he freezes, his frustration evident as he runs a hand over his head, “you may… you may not want to trust me,” he finally speaks, “okay? but i’m your best bet.”

you remind silent, the weight of his words sinking in. slowly, you sit back down, your gaze dropping to the floor.

from the corner of your eye, you see rafe kneel in front of you again. his hands rest tentatively on your knees, warm and grounding. 

“i got a boat that can get us off island, okay?” he says, quietly, “but first, we gotta get out of here, and it is better if we work together.” 

before you can respond, the sound of vehicles outside the window pulls your attention. your stomach sinks as you realize singh’s men are on the move. you stand quickly, stalking towards the window and pulling the curtains open.

“they’re leaving?” rafe questions, his voice breaking the silence.

“they’re going to find john b.” you say softly, dread evident in your tone as you turn back to face him, “and your sister.” 

you begin pacing, your mind racing as you try to formulate an escape plan.

“sucks for them.” rafe murmurs, his words making you stop in disbelief. “that’s good for us though. this may be our only shot at getting out of here.” 

the anguish on your face is enough to make him pause, but you shake your head, a look of determination washing over instead.

“you’re right,” you say finally, your voice resigned. “let’s make a plan.”

rafe nods, determination hardening his features. “let’s make a plan.” he repeats.

[probably-writing-x]

All The Firsts (Part 3)

Summary: So, could you write something about the reader being in her first relationship with spider (hbh) and her being worried about how she’s new at this?

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of drugs, cursing, some sexual references and hints but no actual smut (UNLESS THIS IS SOMETHING WE WANT IN PART 4????), mentions of anxiety

Word Count: 7.9k

Author’s Note: Okay I LOVE writing this series and I love the love i’m getting on it!! I’m already setting up for part 4 - please let me know what y’all want to see in that part and whether we’re wanting smut or not <3

“Alright, well, we’re going to leave before this gets any more awkward than it is,” Amerie grimaces, reaching for Harper and dragging her by the wrist to get out of the room.

Missy scoffs and mutters something incoherent under her breath before standing up from the bed and following the girls out of the door. Her eyes linger on Spider as she walks past and you feel your stomach turn.

He pushes into the room and the door shuts swiftly behind him, Spencer taking a spot on the bed opposite you where Missy had just been sat.

“What’s going on? Why are you upset?” He frowns, reaching out for your hands just as you draw them into you, folding your arms over your torso. His hands fall just in front of his lap, like he’s not sure where they should be if they’re not holding yours.

“I-“ You clear your throat, trying to stop the emotion from taking over.

This was Spencer. You could be annoyed at him. You’d done it before.

“What did you say to Missy about me when you two were dating?”

“Wh-“ He exhales, scanning your face as if wishing you would tell him more, “What do you mean? I probably said a lot of things I-“

“About me,” You say abruptly, “What did you say to her about me?”

He visibly shifts at the change in your tone, like this is no longer him trying to comfort you and instead him trying to fix whatever damage he’d done.

“I said a lot of stuff about you, in fact, she got annoyed about me talking about you so much,” He half-laughs like he hopes it will brighten your spirits, “We argued about it, actually. About how I spoke about you too much.”

“And in that argument you told her that you felt sorry for me,” You bite through the words, feeling the same bubbling sickness rise through you, “You told her you’d never see me like that. And then you told her you feel fucking sorry for me. So is that what this is Spencer? Is this you just feeling fucking sorry for me?”

You stand up from the bed and try to fight back the tears brewing in your eyes, taking a deep breath to try to suppress any spilling emotion. Your back is to him now and it feels easier to deal with when you weren’t looking at those eyes.

“Sorry for you?” He breathes out, “Do you think that’s what I’m doing? That me kissing you was just some sort of pity party?”

You bite your lip to stop it from shaking, feeling the looming presence of him stood just two feet behind you.

“You think that when I kissed you, when I told you how long I’ve been waiting to do that, when I told you I want to be with you,” He steps forward, “You think all of that was just some fucked up version of charity?”

You glance upwards into the mirror over the sink in the bedroom and watch as he steps closer to you once more. His hand reaches forward and pulls down one of your arms, gently, letting your arm fall to the side before lacing his fingers with yours.

“(Y/n) you shouldn’t ever think that,” He clenches his jaw and unclenches it like he too is trying to stop himself from getting emotional.

“Then what did you say to her?” You half-whisper the words, letting out a shaky breath alongside them.

He guides you around to face him, his hand only momentarily leaving yours, “I told her that I wished you spent more time with us. I kept telling her how everyone would love you and nobody got to see it because you never came out with us, never came to parties, nothing. And when she asked me why I cared about you so much I just told her it was because I’d known you the longest. And when she got jealous I told her I’d never seen you like that. Not that I never would. And, in fact, I think that’s one of the few things I lied to her about. I’m not sure when I’d first seen you like this (Y/n) but it sure as hell wasn’t just last weekend, I just needed that weekend to wake me up to it, that’s all.”

You smile just a little and then look down from him like you’re ashamed to admit to it.

Spencer moves his hand to tilt your chin up to his, smiling down at you until his expression reflects on your own features, “It’s you, (Y/n). Nobody comes close.”

With that, he cups your cheeks into his hands and kisses you with the most gentle, sincere touch that he can muster. It’s sweet and soft and yet reminds you in his contact that he really meant the words, like a seal of approval.

“Please don’t let Missy upset you like that, okay?” Spencer sighs as he pulls away from you, “She’s just…”

“I know,” You say, leaning forward to rest your forehead on his chest, “I know.”

The pounding in your head seems to settle then, slowing against the beat of his heart. And you do believe him, of course you do. But part of you wanted to forget that anything with him and Missy had ever happened. You wanted to forget that they’d ever been together, that she ever knew the parts of him that you knew. You wanted to forget it all.

———

Later that night, Spencer tells you that everyone’s meeting outside for a bonfire. The teachers weren’t going to be there and Ant and some of the other boys had managed to get enough beers for everyone. You still didn’t feel one hundred percent after what had happened with Missy but the worst thing you could do would be to sit in the room knowing that she and everyone else was out. You wouldn’t be able to get the thought of the two of them out of your head.

Spencer holds your hand as you walk through to the clearing in the forest, everyone already mingling around the space. Your friends are sat huddled together on one side of your view - evidently uninterested in making small talk with everyone else there. They look over at you and down to where Spencer’s hand is in yours as if it’s the strangest thing they’ve seen. As if it still didn’t make sense. On the far side of the fire is all of Spencer’s friends, all of them loud and shouting at each other as one of them is downing a drink from a can. And on the other side, Harper, Amerie, Darren, Cash and Quinn. They’re chatting amongst themselves, all laughing at something Cash had just said.

“Come on, let’s get a drink,” Spencer encourages, squeezing your hand gently.

“Um, can I catch up with you in a minute? You can go see the boys,” You smile up at him, squeezing his hand back.

“Yeah, sure,” Spencer nods, letting your hand go as he goes to walk over to the guys.

He glances back, expecting to see you walking towards your friends but frowning a little when he sees you instead walk over to Harper’s group.

“Hey!”

You don’t even have to speak before they all part ways to let you into the group, Amerie and Harper smiling at you brightly as Harper greets you.

“You all know (Y/n), right?” Amerie looks at the rest of them, “She’s in our dorm this week.”

“Yeah we’ve got chemistry together, I think,” Cash mentions, “You’re the one that knows all the answers.”

You laugh, crossing your arms in front of you as if trying to shrink away from the overwhelming attention.

“I love your jacket, (Y/n), how opposed are you to sharing clothes with people you’ve just spoken to?” Darren smiles, taking a sip of their drink.

“Only a little opposed, maybe get a few drinks in me and ask me again,” You joke, trying to relax into their company.

“Okay, I’m only going to ask once,” Amerie squeezes your arm, “Is everything okay with you and Spider?”

You let out a deep breath, “Yeah, yeah I think so.”

You glance over your shoulder, over to where Spencer is stood chatting with his friends. He glances over at you too and his face seems to light up in the flicker of the bonfire flame when he sees your eyes on his. He frowns a little at the sight of the group you were stood with but you shrug a little and he smiles. You’re the one that looks away first.

“(Y/n) they’re getting a drink, do you want one too?” Quinn speaks up to ask you, smiling brightly.

You turn back to the group and smile, feeling a little more yourself around them.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see your old friends. It was just that something felt a little restricted with them now that they knew you were with Spencer. They weren’t outwardly judging you but you could tell there were conversations going on behind your back. Like they saw you as someone new now. Like you weren’t the person they’d known. And it worried you that they weren’t just happy to see you happy. Instead, they were watching on as if waiting for it to go wrong. Like this would all be something that they could laugh at you for in a years time. Do you remember that weird time when you started dating Spider?

“Come on (Y/n), what’s your drink of choice?” Amerie links her arm with yours and you feel yourself relax even more into the company of the group.

———

A little while later, the groups seem to be combining more so and you end up blended with the boys’ group as Ant comes to find Harper. Everyone settles onto makeshift log seats around the bonfire and you watch Spencer walk over to seek you out amongst the group.

“Do you mind if I sit here, Darren?” Spider asks, smiling awkwardly in a way you rarely saw from him.

Darren looks up and scrunches their face in disgust, “Why are you being like … polite?”

The boys laugh and all yell incoherent mumblings about Spider being a changed man. You look up at him and try to fight back the smile on your face, laughing a little at his evident discomfort.

“Look, if (Y/n)’s going to be a good influence, please god make the most of it,” Darren rolls their eyes at you, “But just warning you she’s way too good for you.”

Spencer scoffs and sits down beside you on the log, “Yeah, I’m well aware.”

You nudge at his side just gently as if ensuring that he knew that wasn’t true and Spencer rests an arm over your thigh, drawing you close to him.

“How’s your night been?” He asks you quietly, like he wants to preserve the conversation for only your ears.

“Good,” You smile softly, “I’ve had maybe… one too many drinks.”

He chuckles, brushing a lock of hair away from your face, “Are you cold?”

You shake your head, “Beer blanket.”

“Ahh,” Spider nods knowingly, “Well tell me when that wears off.”

You tap your cup against his in a cheers and avert your attention back to the group, everyone bustling in separate conversations as the last few stragglers join the circle. Your friends had already left, you hadn’t seen them go.

“Alright, truth or dare?” Ant suggests, cracking open another beer can and pouring half of it into his cup and half into Harper’s, “Unless anyone has any other suggestions?”

“How about never have i ever?” Missy cocks a brow, her attention seemingly focused completely on you as she speaks, though her eyes scan over everyone as if seeking out a reaction.

“Yeah, why not?” Spencer clears his throat, his arm still on your thigh, his fingertips brushing the bare skin of your legs.

You glance at him and he smiles at you, so strangely innocent compared to the venom that he seemed to inject into those words. You lean into him just a little more and he relaxes into your touch.

“Okay, never have I ever…” Sasha begins slowly, eyes scanning the circle, “Done shrooms.”

At least half of the circle all drink, Spencer taking a sip from his cup too. He rolls his eyes at the question. You remember him mentioning after the last school trip here that they’d all taken something. He’d told you all about it the week after.

“Never have I ever…” Ant begins this time, “Got with two people in the same night.”

You watch as a few people around the circle drink. Spencer doesn’t, instead just swirling the liquid around his cup in his free hand.

“Really?” You speak quietly, looking up at him with raised brows.

He laughs as he looks at you, “Yeah, you surprised?”

“No, no,” You shake your head, “Well, a little.”

“Not for lack of trying, right Spider?” Missy speaks up from over the circle, tilting her head as if examining the two of you.

“Cut it out, Missy,” Spider returns, taking another swig of his drink.

“Hey, (Y/n), you haven’t drank yet,” Missy points out, frowning exaggeratedly as if wanting to remind you that she meant it mockingly, “Let’s give you an easy one - Never have I ever… lost my virginity.”

You could easily lie. Take a sip of your drink and roll your eyes at her like it was nothing. But you think about it for a second too long. And, before you know it, it feels like everyone’s eyes are on you - waiting for you to take a sip.

“No drink? You can’t-“ Missy stops her words to laugh outwardly, “You’re not a virgin are you?”

“She doesn’t have to play your shitty little game,” Spider speaks up, his voice raised in the way he knew would make people listen, “How about you cut the bullshit, yeah?”

“Is there something your precious little girlfriend needs to tell us, Spider?” Missy pouts, “Or am I still the only girl you can get it up for?”

The group seems to wince in chorus, all murmuring under their breath words that you couldn’t hear. You don’t look at any of them, not sure where to place your eyes that wouldn’t make you instantly embarrassed. More so than you already felt.

“Stop being such a bitch Missy, seriously,” Amerie speaks up to defend you, “(Y/n) doesn’t need to get caught in the crossfire of whatever unresolved shit you and Spider have.”

“I’ll leave it if he answers the question,” Missy shrugs, “What will it be, Spider?”

It’s like the conversation is happening to you, like you’re powerless to respond, just watching it unfold. This was all too much. How had it got to this already?

“Go fuck yourself Missy,” Spencer spits the words at her, his jaw clenching, his arm unmoving from your thighs, “How about you worry about yourself rather than trying to ruin my relations-“

You stand up from the log quickly, the blood rushing to your head as you do, your heart pounding to keep up with your instinctive thoughts. You couldn’t hear this any longer. You couldn’t do this another minute. You had to get away. And your feet are hurrying you away before your mind has a chance to catch up.

There are the sounds of feet chasing after you and part of you wishes it won’t be Spider. You couldn’t deal with him just yet. He’d be angry and annoyed and he’d be talking about Missy. And he’d be trying to make you feel better by making her sound worse.

“(Y/n)!”

It’s Amerie that calls out to you and you stop in your tracks to turn around. Her and Harper were the ones following after you, smiling reassuringly when your eyes meet theirs.

“Good shit walking away,” Amerie grins, linking her arm with one of yours as Harper does the same on the other side of you, “I’d have swung for her.”

“Yeah don’t listen to Missy, trust me, she’s just trying to find shit to mess up,” Harper encourages, “Like seriously, she should’ve stopped talking before she’d even started.”

You laugh a little and continue the walk with them towards your cabin. The tension in your body seems to have relaxed walking alongside them, feeling like you had at least two people that were on your side. Two people that were rooting for you.

They walk with you all the way back to the room and then the three of you flop down onto your mattress on the bottom bunk, all leaning back against the wall in the squashed space.

“God, I’m starting to wish I’d never gone tonight,” You groan, resting your head back against the wall, closing your eyes to try to ease the drilling headache that hadn’t subsided.

“No, you know what? It’s good you went,” Amerie encourages, “Missy was going to be saying shit whether you were there or not and at least her seeing you with Spider should prove to her that he’s not hers to claim anymore.”

You nod, “Yeah, maybe. I’d just rather not be there when she’s saying all that shit about me.”

Harper laughs, “She’d talk shit about anyone Spider liked, you’re just getting caught in the crossfire between those two.”

“Yeah, right? What the hell is that?” You groan, “I feel like a spare part or something.”

“Those two hate each other these days,” Harper explains, “Ever since they broke up, maybe even before they broke up. Trouble is, I think part of Missy just hoped that would change. You being with Spider has just made her realise that might not be so possible anymore.”

“I never meant to get in the middle of anything like that,” You shake your head, “As far as I was aware they were fully over. Spencer didn’t tell me he was seeing anyone, that he liked anyone, nothing.”

“They are over,” Amerie reminds you, “Missy’s just going to do whatever she can to make this hell for you.”

“I’m starting to wish Spencer was still just the boy that drove me to school every morning,” You mumble the words like you don’t want to admit that they’re true, “It was so much easier when we were just friends, when I was invisible.”

“You like him, right?” Harper nudges your side and waits for you to nod in agreement, “Then that’s all you need to know.”

You go back to resting your head against the wall and the two girls lean in to rest their heads on your shoulders, trying to inject some of their confidence and reassurance into your uncertain nerves.

“Speaking of which…” You can practically feel Amerie’s face curl into a smile, “We’ve been dying to know the story with you two! Because, no offence girl, but you seriously surprised us all with that one. Spencer White?! How did it happen?”

You laugh and it feels like the first time you’ve spoken all day without feeling like something was restricting your throat. It’s the first time you’ve been able to talk about Spider without feeling like you were being judged for everything you said. The girls made you feel welcome, made you feel heard and seen and like you weren’t just an accessory on Spencer’s arm. They gasp when you tell them how he kissed you, and they joke that you must be thinking of a different guy when you tell them how sweet he is. Your heart swells when you talk about Spencer and your headache eases, relaxing into the idea that you could be with him and he could be with you and nothing else needed to matter.

It was a nicer feeling.

———

Missy didn’t sleep in your dorm last night. You assumed she’d gone to stay in one of the other girls’ rooms. Maybe with Sasha. Although your stomach churned when the nightmare scenario entered your mind that she had instead stayed with Spencer. You ignore it. He would never.

There was a text on your phone from him when you woke up.

Morning x Hope you slept okay <3

You smile and stuff your phone into the pocket of your cargos, wearing one of Spencer’s baggy t-shirts over the top that seemed to drown out your figure. It still smelt like him.

The girls walk down to breakfast with you and the canteen is already full of everyone getting their food. Some eyes fall on you as you walk into the room but it’s less judging this time - more sympathetic. Some of them even smile at you, like they’re trying to tell you they didn’t agree with what had happened last night. But none of them had stood up for you - like only now were they realising they probably should have.

You join the queue to get your food and drag the tray across the countertop, stopping every so often to pick up something else.

“Hey, the others are over there,” Harper points out to you as her and Amerie walk over to the table where Darren, Cash and Quinn were sat.

“Be there now,” You smile, pouring yourself a cup of water from a heavy plastic jug.

“(Y/n),” Its Spencer that comes up behind you, not reaching out to touch you but close enough that it seemed he wanted to.

“Morning,” You smile, “Sleep well?”

“Uh-“ He scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah, I did, did you?”

“Not bad,” You shrug, “I’m going to sit with Harper and Amerie, catch you after breakfast?”

“Wh-“ Spencer half laughs like he’s not sure what to do with himself, “Don’t you want to talk about last night? I mean, you seemed pretty mad when you walked off and I think I should at least explain myself and we-“

You lean up onto your tiptoes and press a quick kiss to his lips, the tray of your food bumping against both of you in the restricted space, “I’m starving, and we can chat later, yeah?”

Spencer looks at you and then looks over at the group waiting for you to sit down, “(Y/n) are you sure you’re okay?”

“Of course,” You smile, “See you in a bit.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to speak to Spencer. Maybe part of you just hoped that all of this would be forgotten if you just moved on from it. You wouldn’t have to feel that sickness in your stomach that came when you spoke about Missy. You wouldn’t have to admit how embarrassed you were to be caught in the middle of all of that. You wouldn’t have to tell him that you were worried he wasn’t over her. You could just be his girlfriend again. You two could go back to how you were and Missy wouldn’t be so much as a mention in your conversations. That felt easier. Maybe it wasn’t the best way of dealing with things, but it’s what felt right for now.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Darren asks as you sit down with a bright smile as if reassuring you.

“I’m okay,” You nod, “Kind of ready for this trip to be over if I’m honest.”

“You and me both,” Cash laughs.

———

Today, you had to do some sort of orientation task through the forest. The group trudged through the beaten path through the trees as your teacher rattled on about the importance of staying together and listening to the instructions clearly. You were sure everyone had stopped listening a while back.

“(Y/n), you can come with us!” Harper encourages you, “Promise to not let you get lost.”

You laugh, “Yeah, I’ll do the same. Thanks girls.”

The two of them seemed to have taken you under their wing instantly. Like they saw you were swimming out of your depth and both threw you a life jacket.

“So, you’re smart at like everything else, how are you at reading a map?” Amerie asks.

“Hate to burst your bubble girls-“ It’s Spider speaking from beside you, his head lowering to your shoulder so that his words were spoken directly next to you, “But (Y/n)’s with me.”

“Yeah, she’ll never make it out here if that’s the case,” Amerie scoffs, folding her arms over her chest.

Spencer rests an arm over your shoulders and glances down at you before looking back to the other two, “No, I wouldn’t make it out of here. She’s my only hope.”

“Surprised Missy isn’t rushing after you to team up,” Harper cocks her head, “She can’t seem to get enough of you.”

You look up at Spencer and watch as he narrows his eyes at the girls, like he’s assessing how much he can say without annoying them further.

“I hope she does get lost out here,” He states clearly, “It would do us all a favour.”

“Hmm, he almost sounds like he means it (Y/n),” Amerie smiles at you, “Just shout if you need us, we’ll rescue you if he can’t.”

With that, they leave the both of you to it and Spencer tightens his arm around you, drawing you into his chest. You groan as your head collides with him, his other arm wraps around you too.

“Ready to get lost in the forest?” He asks you, his chin resting on top of your head.

You pull away just enough that you can look up to him, “Didn’t the boys want to go with you?”

“Yeah,” Spencer shrugs, “And I wanted to go with you.”

You take the map from his hands as the other pairs seem to scatter off amongst the trees, all eyeing up different directions.

“We don’t need that,” Spencer takes it back from you, stuffing it into his back pocket, “Come on.”

“Wh-“ You stumble to keep up with him as he laces his fingers with yours, leading you through the dense trees, “Spec where are we going? We’re meant to-“

“Oh they won’t miss us, I’ll make sure we’re back by the time they notice we’re gone,” He encourages, looping your interlocked hands over your head so that his arm now sat back around your shoulders too.

For a short while, the two of you walk together. His arm stays around you, your fingers still interlocked with his. The noise of the other students starts to drown out the further away you get and it seems somewhat poetic to the bigger picture - when you and Spencer were together it still felt like nothing else mattered. Like no other stories and no other gossip could get in the way. You fell back into the reasons your heart swelled the way it did when he first kissed you.

“So, are you going to talk to me now?” Spencer nudges your side just a little.

“Wh-“ You look up at him, “What are you talking about? I’m not not talking to you.”

“You’re talking to me, but not about what we should be talking about,” Spencer points out, directing the two of you towards a rock overlooking where the trees start to dip downhill.

The two of you sit down and both of your hands return to yourselves. Like you’re somewhat shy around each other.

“There really is nothing to talk about, Spence, I don’t know what there is to say.”

“There’s plenty to say!” He half-laughs, “You’re telling me from all of last night there’s nothing you want to say?”

“I don’t-“ You stop yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat, “It hasn’t even been a week Spencer, I don’t want us to argue, okay?���

“Hey,” His voice softens, shifting so that he is looking more directly at you, “We’re not arguing. I just need you to talk to me about how you felt last night.”

“You just… you have this thing with Missy. Like you two can’t be in the same room without it being obvious. Like, okay, imagine two magnets. And they’re both North magnets so they just repel each other. They’re not joined but they’re still magnetic. So they’re repelling but there’s still something in that - something connecting them, tying them to each other. That’s how it feels seeing you and Missy. I know you two aren’t together, I know you don’t want to be with her. But there’s just this thing between you two. And I saw you last night and just thought … I’m not her, and I can’t be her. I’m not confident like she is, I’m not going to yell at you or have a screaming match with you. I don’t want any of that.”

“And you think that’s what I want?” Spencer frowns sincerely like a realisation is dawning on him, “(Y/n), there’s a reason that Missy and I aren’t together, okay? There’s a reason that relationship ended, there’s a lot of reasons. I don’t want you to be a replacement for her. In fact, that’s the exact opposite of what I want. This thing between me and Missy it’s just… it’s exes. We hate each other, that’s never really going to change.”

“But I don’t…” You feel your voice crack, your bottom lip trembling, “I don’t have any of that. I don’t know what it’s like. And I just… I’m worried I can’t be enough for you.”

“Enough for me?” He says the words like they’re venom on his tongue, like it convulses his stomach to even think of questioning that, “(Y/n) how can I prove to you that you are?”

You shake your head as two tears spill from your eyes, trailing slowly down your cheeks.

“Okay,” Spencer takes a deep breath and reaches out to take your hand, “Yes, me and Missy dated, she’s my ex. It wasn’t the best breakup and ever since we’ve just argued any chance we got. In fact, we argued just as much when we were together. And when I dated her, I just thought that was normal. It was my first proper relationship - I just thought that’s how it went, that you had to argue to get all of the good parts too. But, I’d argue with Missy one night and then the next morning I’d be waiting in the car to drive you to school. And you’d ask me how my night was and I’d probably just dismiss it, and you’d play your songs and tell me about your weekend and you’d make me laugh and you’d listen to me. And so every time I fought with Missy I’d think, fuck, it’s so much easier to talk to you.”

You look up at him and he smiles when your eyes make contact with his, like it’s a breath of fresh air.

“I don’t need you to be her. Because… the reason I was glad that relationship ended was because I realised that she wasn’t you.”

You let out an exhale as if a thousand weights had been lifted from your shoulders, Spencer’s hand coming up to your cheek to brush the skin there as though stopping any more tears from falling.

“Thank you,” You half-whisper and he smiles, kissing you quickly as if to lock in the moment.

“Just talk to me, okay?” He whispers, kissing you again, more strong and certain this time.

You rest your head on his shoulder and he wraps an arm around you, holding onto you like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him.

———

“Well, you two look like you’ve had fun,” Harper grins when she sees you and Spencer break out into the clearing in the forest.

He’s walking alongside you, his hand in yours, laughing at something you’d said. You smile at her and she gives you a look as if double checking you’re okay, you nod quickly.

“Get lost in the forest, did ya?” Ant wiggles his brows at the two of you.

Spencer steps behind you and wraps his arms around you above your shoulders, your hands resting on his forearms underneath your chin as his chin settles on top of your hair.

“We just…” You run your fingers along the skin of his arms, “Went for a walk.”

“Yeah I bet you did,” Ant winks and it’s evident what he’s insinuating.

Maybe him thinking that was easier than you telling him about the conversation you’d just had. He could believe what he wanted to believe.

“Party in the boys cabin later?” Amerie rushes over, grinning at Spider like she’s hoping he’ll agree with her.

“No pissing, no vomit, no spilling drinks,” Spider reaches out one arm to point at her as if directing his concerns to only her.

“Deal.”

Ant goes on to talk about who would be coming and points out that there were certain people he’d rather not be there. He smiles at you as if trying to make you feel welcome, like he’s assuring you he too hated what happened last night. That he, just as much as you, didn’t want it to happen again.

———

That night, you go over to the boys room and the doors already open. The guys are all there, Quinn, Darren and Cash too, and a few others you still weren’t sure of the names of. You, Amerie and Harper walk in and Ant shuts the door behind you.

“There she is,” Spencer grins when he sees you, “I was just talking about you.”

“All good I hope,” You cock a brow at him as you walk over to where he’s speaking to Cash and Darren.

“These two were just asking me of my … intentions,” He comments, wrapping an arm around your waist, “I wasn’t aware they cared so much about your relationships.”

“Someone’s got to look out for her now she’s with you,” Darren jokes, “And we’re always watching.”

“Noted,” Spencer nods and then looks down at you and smiles again, “Want a drink?”

“Yes please.”

Everyone manages to squeeze into the condensed space as people occupy spaces on the floor, you and Spencer take a spot on his bed, sat close beside each other as three other people managed to squeeze into the space beside you. Missy wasn’t here - thankfully. And you overheard Quinn saying that she was staying in their room with Sasha tonight instead. Thankfully.

Everyone was passing round bottles of liquor and trying to think of games to play and talking over each other and you just sort of let it all happen around you. You liked this group, as much as you felt different to them. They were friendly and welcoming and they didn’t judge you like you thought they would. In fact, it seemed they were happy to see Spencer with you. Like they were looking forward to him having a good influence.

“Hey,” Spencer nudges your side, “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Wh-“ You look at him and frown, “We don’t have to, I don’t mind staying.”

“But you’d rather go,” Spencer points out and waits as if he’s making sure you don’t dispute it, “Come on.”

He takes your hand in his and both of you stand up from the bed, trying to step your way through the bodies of people sat on the floor. They start to protest about you leaving, complaining that you two were boring and that they were offended you didn’t enjoy their company. One of them makes a joke about Spider being wifed off. But Spencer opens the door, sticks a middle finger up to all of them and then closes it behind you.

“Come on, we can go to my cabin,” You say, your hand still interlocked with his as the two of you walk the short distance across the complex to get to your room.

It’s empty, of course. Missy was in Sasha’s room and Harper and Amerie were still with the boys. Spencer locks the door behind both of you and breathes a sigh of relief.

“Just us,” He smiles lightly, his hands reaching out for your waist.

You hum in agreement and lock your hands behind his neck, Spencer taking steps to walk you backwards towards the bed. It’s awkward and stumbling when you get there, however, as you duck down to avoid hitting your head on the bunk on top. He stumbles to stop himself from falling too, tightening his grip on your waist.

“Well that was meant to be more romantic than that,” Spencer grimaces, dropping down onto you on the mattress.

You laugh and run a hand through his hair as he pushes up onto his elbows.

“It’s better when it’s just us,” He mumbles, leaning down and kissing you again.

You hum against his lips and keep your hand in his hair as he deepens his connection against you, his body shifting to hover over you, friction increasing between you both. He moves a hand to snake around your back, pressing against the skin to draw more of you into him, lips parting yours for his tongue to dominate. You move a hand to his shoulder and grip at the material of his t-shirt and Spencer pulls away from you.

“We don’t have to-“ He swallows the lump in his throat, catching his breath, “We don’t have to do anything.”

“No,” You reply quickly, “I want to.”

“(Y/n), you don’t have to say that I-“

“I’m not just saying it,” You assure him, “I just… I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do.”

Spencer smiles softly, “Okay, we can take as long as we need. There’s no rush.”

He leans in to kiss you again, starting softly before getting to be more sure of himself, hand gripping your waist and kneading the skin there.

You weren’t anxious like you thought you would be. In fact, it was anticipation more than anything. And you felt safe knowing it was Spencer with you, in any lifetime you’d want it to be him.

———

The following morning, you wake up with Spencer’s arms still around you. The two of you are squashed in the cramped space of the single bed, his limbs folded to fit into the space, his breath hot on your neck as he wrapped around you, laying behind you. When you wake up and shift beneath him, he groans at the disruption, tightening his grip around you.

“Not yet,” He grumbles, drawing you into his chest.

“Spence,” You laugh, pushing yourself around to face him, “We need to get up and pack.”

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, sighing into the skin, “Not yet.”

Before you can speak again, there’s a knock at the door followed by a;

“Are you decent?!”

It’s Amerie’s voice.

“Come in,” You laugh, shifting underneath the covers as Spencer still buries his head into you, refusing to move.

The door opens and Harper and Amerie both walk in, still in last nights’ clothes, both of them looking like the hangover had hit.

They look down at the clothes discarded on the floor and then back up to the two of you in bed. You were wearing Spencer’s baggy t-shirt and he was in his boxers, bodies covered by the sheets over you.

“Well looks like you two had a party of your own last night,” Amerie grins, “Now I’m even more glad we stayed in the boys’ room.”

“Yeah good call,” Harper smirks, “We’ve got thirty minutes before we need to leave.”

“Oh, and Spider, I may have spilt vodka over your bag last night…” Amerie winces, “So have fun with that.”

He groans and turns into you even more, his arm draped over your stomach, “Thanks Am.”

The girls open the curtains in the room and he groans again.

“Is that necessary?” He mumbles, propping himself up onto his elbow beside you.

“You should probably go back and start getting your stuff packed,” You point out, “And get showered.”

He tilts his head down to sniff under his armpits, “Are you telling me I stink?”

You laugh and he jabs at your side to tickle you, making you squeal and writhe under his touch.

“God what did you do to this guy (Y/n)?” Amerie scoffs, “You’re a changed man these days Spider.”

He rolls his eyes and leans down to kiss you quickly, “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Spencer rolls over you on the mattress to get out of the bed, standing up and stretching his arms over him, his back muscles shifting and contorting as he does.

You lean up onto your elbows and watch him, “You’re not going out there in your pants are you?”

He turns around and grins, “Don’t worry darling, they can look but they can’t touch.”

You roll your eyes, “Goodbye.”

He grabs his other clothes from the floor and bundles them into his arms, walking out of your room with a yelled ‘goodbye darling’.

“Seriously, what did you do to that guy?” Harper laughs, “He’s like… nice now?”

You laugh, sitting up in the bed, a waft of his aftershave lingering on his top.

“Okay, leaving the party, clothes on the floor, room to yourselves,” Amerie wiggles her brows, sitting down on the mattress opposite you, “What did happen last night?”

“Oh and we want all of the boring details,” Harper grins, sitting beside her, both of them leaning forward in anticipation.

“Well… Ive never actually done that before,” You say, “But Spencer… well he seemed pretty good at it.”

They both squeal and laugh, bursting into a flurry of questions. You feel your heart swell when you talk about him.

———

Everything felt strangely in place now, for the past few weeks at least. You and Spencer had struck up a perfect balance in your relationship. To compromise not seeing each other at lunch, he would get to your house twenty minutes early and have breakfast - or stay there the night before and have breakfast in the morning. You’d go into school and stay with him and his friends until Harper and Amerie came in so you’d part ways and go with them instead. They’d welcomed you into their group without a thought. You’d go to your classes and Spencer went to his. At lunch, you sat with your old friends. They’d been a bit apprehensive about your relationship with Spencer but they could see how happy you were with him and, in fact, he’d even been making an effort to say hello to all of them at least. You’d go to your afternoon classes and then Spencer would meet you from the last one, driving you home or out to somewhere and it was rare the two of you had an evening without each other. It worked. You were happy.

You were in chemistry when the announcement sounded.

“Can the following students please make their way to the principal’s office,” The words came through the speakers, “(Y/n) (Y/l/n), Spencer White, Sasha So and Missy Beckett.”

Amerie frowns at you and you shrug, gathering your things as the teacher dismisses you from your class. Spencer walks out of his own class and meets up with you in the corridor, squeezing your shoulders as he walks behind you.

“Have I finally got you in trouble (y/l/n)?”

You roll your eyes and squeeze his hands over your shoulders, looking back at him, “It was inevitable.”

When you walk into Woodsy’s office she’s sat at her desk, Missy and Sasha stood opposite her already. They both look at you disapprovingly when you walk in.

“Good morning,” Woodsy begins, “Thank you for joining us, you two.”

You and Spencer fall into line beside the other two, everyone looking just as confused as each other.

“Well, I’ve brought you here today because I’ve got a very exciting proposition for you all,” She explains, “We’ve had interest from a local university about offering scholarship programmes to some of our students and you are the lucky four that have been shortlisted.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Sasha laughs, “What did Spider do?”

“Well, the school is considering sporting excellence as well as academic excellence,” Woodsy continues, “And Spencer is one of our talented sportsmen here.”

You look up at him and he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Didn’t realise you were dating the top jock.”

You laugh and nudge his side, turning your attention back to Woodsy as you ask, “What do we have to do for this scholarship?”

“Well, you’ll be meeting with the scholars from the university and in a few weeks you’ll be presenting to them your ideas for how we can improve an aspect of the school. That could be trips, facilities, classes, anything. You’ll all be working individually and maybe more than one of you will get the scholarship and the opportunity to add a really good trait to your CV,” She explains, “How does that sound?”

“Can we go now?” Missy says bitterly, arms folded as she eyes you and Spencer.

“Not yet, I want the four of you working together on your initial ideas! You guys will be spending a lot of time together over the next few weeks and I want all of you to be successful.”

“Brilliant,” Missy rolls her eyes, “Can’t wait.”

The sarcasm seeps into the air but Woodsy chooses to ignore it, turning back to you and Spencer, “I am aware that you two have recently entered into a… romantic relationship. Do you feel this is going to affect your ability to do this?”

Spencer looks at you and raises his brows, looking back to Woodsy, “Was unaware you followed our personal lives, Miss.”

“Nothing is ever a secret in this school, Spencer.”

“We’ll be fine,” You interject, “We can be professional.”

“Alright, then you’re all free to go. We’ll be meeting today after school for your first session,” Woodsy nods, “I look forward to it! Let me give you these brochures and then you can be off.”

Missy and Sasha walk out first, mumbling between themselves about how it was ridiculous that they had to do this. Missy looks back at you and gives you a glare enough to slice through you. You ignore it.

“So, I think being professional means you’ve got to keep your hands off me, do you think you can manage that?” Spencer grins down at you, walking backwards out of the room as you follow him.

“No, I’m just insatiable,” You roll your eyes sarcastically, “I tell you what, I bet you’ll fold before I do.”

“That sounds like a challenge, (y/l/n).”

“Okay, you have to keep your hands off me whilst we’re in school - as soon as we’re back in these walls you’re back in the friend zone - until this whole thing is over,” You cock a brow.

“Oh it is on, darling,” He narrows his eyes at you, “And what do I get when I win?”

“Anything you want.”

You watch him swallow the thick lump in his throat, clearing it as he taps the brochure onto your forehead, “Done deal.”

Avoiding Spencer, spending all this time with Missy, trying to get this scholarship for college? The next few weeks were surely going to be hell.

———

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