#blurry ones are fun tho

[pistachions]

Ik I posted this drawing yesterday but I added a background now

[liquidstar]

sleepovers save money on hotel rooms while on missions 👍

[troubadour-malin]

pov: you are my chapter's first draft

[comet-frog]

can’t sleep therefore. brainstorming

[pyrotation]

found a good one a these earlier, tons of options, very nice

[houl-eater]

i just got ffx, san andreas, and mgs 2 in the mail today

i never really got into the ps2, but i have one and im sure its the best selling console of all time for a reason! i havent played mgs yet but ffx seems cool so far. the leveling system is incredibly confusing but its whatever

san andreas just makes me giggle uncontrollably cause people are just shooting at me for no reason and the camera controls suck cock and balls so when i ride the bike across the street you cant look and see if theres oncoming traffic so you just get your legs broken constantly. looking forward to playing more tomorrow

[pika-blur]

i wanna fight the core adjacent ai so bad dude uwaaah

[sstargirln]

bunny

fratboy!rafe x fem!reader

TW: smut MDNI, p in v, oral (m recieving), finger(s) in v, alcohol, weed, kinda age gap, non-con/dubcon (at first!), not proof-read

word count: 1540 words

¡! ❞ a/n: bro this is long sorry and it's actually lowk really filthy .... have fun tho!

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

your white flip-flops click!ed against the marble floor as you made your way out of your room and down the stairs to the backyard of your sorority house.

as a freshman at the first party delta eta was hosting for the year, you had been instructed to dress up and look pretty for when the frat boys arrived.

"first impressions are really important," one of the sophomore girls had told you, "you need to look really good so you earn a reputation for being pretty."

you had taken the advice to heart, taking hours to perfect your look. your flawlessly curled hair lay neatly across your shoulders, complete with a little bow clipped onto the side. your pink bikini was one of the most revealing ones you owned, with a top that barely contained your tits. you wore a sheer white skirt over the thong bottom.

just as you made your way through the foyer, the doorbell rang. through the blurry panes of glass on either side of the door, you could see the outlines of a big group of guys standing outside. nervously, you looked around the foyer for someone else to open the door, but the room was empty - all of the girls were outside setting up the backyard. you totter over to the door, taking a deep breath as you swing it open.

at the front of this throng of people stood a tall brunette guy, black polo unbuttoned so the collar hung loosely around his neck. he looked exactly like every frat boy you had ever pictured - hat placed backwards on his head, crooked smirk plastered across his face, and a six-pack of beer dangling from his hands. "hey gorgeous," he said, eyes slowly raking over your figure as he stood in the doorway. "you gonna let us in?"

✮✮✮

the party was at full swing now, and the smell of weed, beer, and cologne filled the air as you stumbled through the backyard. you sat down at one of the tables. as you tried to compose yourself, a guy sat right next to you, hand immediately travelling to your bare thigh. "hey there," said a familiar voice. you looked up at the man and smiled. it was the one from the door, though his shirt was nowhere to be found. a joint swayed between his fingers, clearly the reason why his eyes were low and red. he saw you look down at it and smiled lazily. "want a hit?"

"i'm good," you responded. "thanks though." the guy nodded and brought the joint up to his lips, taking a long inhale and then a long exhale.

"i'm rafe," he said as his fingers began to rub circles on your thigh.

you hummed in response to the motion. "y/n."

"beautiful name. you a junior?" rafe asked, taking another long drag of his joint.

you shook your head slightly. " 'm a freshman."

rafe's eyebrows lifted in surprise and he let out a low whistle. "shittt. you're just a baby, huh?"

"i guess so."

rafe's low eyes bore into you, hand travelling higher and higher up your thigh. "well then y/n, lemme show you how we do things around here," he whispered, hiking your sheer skirt up and slipping his hand up your bikini bottoms. you let out a yelp of surprise and glanced around the yard. no one was really paying attention to the two of you, but that didn't seem to matter to rafe as he eased two fingers into you. you squealed again, hand reaching up to grab rafes wrist. "want me to stop, bunny?" he cooed, fingers beginning to pump in and out of you. you shook your head quickly, eyes closing as pleasure overtook you. rafes expert fingers continued to work inside of you, and you bit back a moan as he hit your sweet spot over and over again. just as you felt as if you were about to release all over his hand, he pulled his fingers out, making you buck your hips and shiver with need.

"rafe," you exhaled. "what the fuck."

"shhh," he said as you looked up at him with desperate eyes. "d'you have a room here?"

you nodded, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the door. you snaked your way through the people in the yard, guiding him into the foyer and up the stairs. when you finally reached your room, rafe grabbed you by the waist and kissed you hard. "fuck, rafe," you groaned as he planted kisses down your neck, biting and sucking as he got lower. he pushed your against one of the posts on your bed, mouth reaching your breasts. his hands roamed back down to your bottoms and he pulled them off with a crooked finger. you reciprocated the action, unbuckling his shorts and letting them drop to the floor. rafe looked up at you hungrily, lips still roaming over your chest.

"lay down, bunny," he rasped. as you dropped onto the bed, rafe came tumbling down with you, knee pressed in between your thighs. he ripped off your bikini top next, discarding it next to you. he locked his lips onto your nipple, tongue swirling and hand cupping your other breast. you shuddered as you began to get more and more stimulated, and you brought a hand down to your clit to satisfy yourself. "wait," rafe growled, using his free hand to grab your hands and pin them against the bed. he continued to nip and lick at your tits, dick straining against his boxers. finally, he was finished with your chest and he pulled off his boxers with one hand, letting his rock-hard cock spring up and out.

your eyes widened at the sight of it and you locked eyes with rafe's darkened ones, licking your lips. you wriggled out of his grip on your hands and pushed him against the bed. you immediately locked your lips around the head, making rafe grunt in surprise. you bobbed your head on his cock, swirling your tongue around the tip each time you made contact with it. rafe began to groan, panting heavily as you sucked him off sloppily. you looked up at him through your lashes and brought your hands up to grip the base, moving your palm at the same rhythm as your mouth. after a while of this slick movement on his cock, rafe threw his head back with a loud moan. "shit, y/n, 'm gonna cum. holy fucking shit, bunny, keep going," rafe panted, rocking his hips so his dick went farther and farther into your throat. "fuck. fuckkk, y/n." rafe moaned as he released himself into your beautiful mouth. you swallowed hard, taking every bit of his semen down your throat and gasping as you pulled your mouth off of him with a pop!

"bunny," he said, almost incoherently. "hop on top." your eyebrows furrowed as rafe's hands lifted you and sat you on his legs. he used his hand to jerk his now-soft dick a little, watching as it rose back up, all ready to go again. you gazed at him, a little confused, until you realised exactly what he wanted you to do. you spat on his dick, rubbing it all over in preparation for what you were about to do. you hoisted yourself over his cock, sinking onto it with a low moan. it was so big, so big that you didn't think it would go all the way in. you pushed down anyway and watched it disappear into you. you whimpered just from this feeling; how nicely his cock filled you up. rafe felt it too, and he groaned, grinding his hips into you. slowly, you began to lift your body to move on his dick.

up and down, up and down, until it felt so good it was mechanical, until you could barely think - your brain short-circuiting from his size inside you. your breasts bounced as you did, giving rafe a beautiful view. "ohmygod, rafe," you cried out, eyes closed, hands roaming over his abs, searching for a place to grip onto as you practically jumped on his dick.

"that's it, bunny," he husked. "keep on going, c'mon. almost there."

you felt your orgasm begin to unravel, and you announced it, loud. "fuckk rafe, i'm gonna cum! ohmygod," you screamed. it felt as if the earth had stopped spinning when you finally did, and your head exploded into pleasure, your body going limp on rafe's dick. you shuddered as rafe continued pounding into you, hands gripping your thighs to keep the warmth around his cock. finally, he came too, letting his cum erupt inside you (he silently prayed you were on the pill). you were so overwhelmed, so overstimulated, that when rafe pulled out you whimpered loudly, unable to take the fact that you were so empty in comparison to how full you had been minutes ago. rafe pressed a kiss on your hand as he moved you to lay down next to him. his hat still lay backwards on his head, and he adjusted it as he turned to face you. "good job, y/n," he purred, grabbing your face and kissing you. "you did so so good, bunny."

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

¡! ❞ © sstargirln 2024

[cheeseceli]

Dates with Ateez

Pairing: Ot8!Ateez × Gn!reader (individually)

Genre: fluff, reactions

Request: ateez and how/where they'd take you on a date

Warnings: mentions of food at Seonghwa, Hongjoong and Mingi's, Yeosang is an idol, some skinship at Mingi and Yunho's

A/n: idk why but for some reason I read the request as "first dates" instead of just "dates", so there are some mentions of first dates here and there lmao | daily click

Seonghwa - farmer's market

‌hear me out!!

‌this one would be very spontaneous

‌first of all he just wanted to cook something for you

‌but there are missing ingredients

‌and yes, he could go to the supermarket but that's boring

‌so!!

‌he calls you and you both go to your local farmer's market

‌one thing that you thought was gonna be quick and mundane just became a whole activity

‌mostly because of the cozy ambient and nice sellers, but especially because there was something so familiar and nice to have you by his side like that

‌it was so domestic

‌made him feel like a happily married man

‌so he makes a mental note to have more dates with you like this

‌and he also takes you home to make the most delicious dish ever known to mankind

‌(buys you fresh flowers from there)

Hongjoong - a walk around the city

‌i think this one would be totally unplanned

‌accidental even

‌like, you guys were supposed to only have lunch and go back to your jobs

‌but no one actually wants to do that right

‌so what starts with just a brunch turns into visiting every single store in the city very soon

‌and it's always so nice every single time

‌you guys constantly discover new spots on town because of this random walks you go to

‌and Hongjoong secretly loves it because even when he's alone, every single spot becomes a memory of you

‌soon enough the entire city is just something that is connected to you in every single way

‌and he obviously wouldn't complain about that

‌so it becomes a routine for him to just pick you up and adventure yourselves into new parts of the neighbourhood

Yunho - amusement park

‌you can't convince me that this isn't the most "yunho" thing ever

‌he would 100% take you on an amusement park

‌it provides you both a lot of time together and it's fun

‌and he's your laugh's biggest fan ever, so of course he needs you to smile

‌call it cliche but he would want to do the Ferris wheel kiss

‌not on your first date tho because he thought it'd be too much

‌but when you guys are already dating, he'd definitely do that

‌it almost becomes a tradition

‌at some point it's even funny because you'd look at a Ferris wheel and give each other knowing looks

‌and you know when there are those roller coasters and you can take a picture during the rides?

‌he always keeps those

‌not matter how blurry, how ugly or how weird it came out

‌he has a whole album with pictures like that

Yeosang - picnic

‌i feel like this would be more of a first date idea with him

‌that occasionally comes along every once in a while

‌but it's mostly about the first encounter

‌a low-key secluded part in the park, preferably close to a river

‌just something very calm and peaceful

‌where you could talk about everything and anything at once

‌maybe even play a game only the two of you

‌idk it feels so ideal

‌it's the peace he's been longing for and, considering his busy and hectic life as an idol, that's precisely what he needed

‌overall I think he would love dates that could provide him a bit of comfort

San - arcade

‌this would be so fun hear me out

‌it doesn't matter if it's your first or 639274th date, he will try to impress you

‌and he would probably succeed because he seems like the type of guy who can do everything

‌would win you plushies

‌or any other type of prize you can possibly win at arcades

‌and even though he's trying to impress you, there's still this playful competition between the two of you

‌even after years of dating it still feels like you both are just teenagers in love honestly

‌even a complete stranger would smile by seeing you both interacting in the arcade

‌after so many times going there, you guys must win some type of discount honestly

Mingi - movie night

‌here we're talking about a whole marathon of movies

‌with snacks and blankets for the two of you

‌in the dorms (he would kick the boys out of there)

‌and he would plan everything

‌he's actually quite proud of himself because he really thought of every single detail

‌and the atmosphere is just so cozy

‌besides the movies are your favourites with his favourites and some that you both planned on watching together

‌he realised that one could figure out a lot about somebody by just watching their favourite movies

‌anyways

‌the mood is super cool, you guys laughed a lot with your few comments in between scenes and you even cried together at some point

‌and if you do end up sleeping on each other's shoulders, it's not like he'd complain about that

Wooyoung - escape room

‌this right here is the perfect formula for chaos

‌just the two of you running, screaming and laughing uncontrollably

‌I can't think of something better than this

‌and considering you are in a relationship with Wooyoung, chaos is much needed

‌besides you never know how it works with him

‌sometimes he's working with you and then he's working against you

‌whatever the case is, you can bet it's gonna be fun

‌and you are always 1000% sure this will be a day you'll remember fondly after a while

‌even if all he remembers is how you fell when trying to escape from one of the actors

Jongho - karaoke

‌i'm almost sure I already wrote something like this

‌and I'm so right for that ngl

‌first, this is a fun date and not too cliche, but also not that odd

‌secondly, between songs you guys would be able to talk to each other and still have a nice activity to do afterwards

‌and lastly, he could showcase his vocals and hopefully woo you over with his abilities

‌so literally every single bit of it would be perfect

‌maybe just maybe, if he's feeling a bit too bold by the end of the session, he would serenade directly to you

‌with your favourite song perhaps

‌or maybe that would need to wait until your next date

‌because he is certainly hoping this will only be the first of many

Masterlist | you'll probably like: when they have a crush

Reminder that this is all fiction, this does not represent the members in real life!

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto | images 1, 2 and 3

[charnelhouse]

mausoleum (1)

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (there may be more, but i'm not spoiling) Wordcount: 6K Warnings: gore. ptsd. references to captivity. implied cannibalism (no one we know and like tho). this story will be very dark, but you know a bitch likes a happy ending so buckle up. implied sex. references to suicide. there are mentions of hair. surprise at the end yay. Summary: Put on leave due to PTSD, she goes home and finds the apocalypse a really opportune distraction. A/N: Many thanks to @yeyinde and @moondirti for helping me brainstorm on this. Why am i starting a series. fml. On another note, “Slim” is just a nickname that will be explained later.

COD Masterlist

She dreamed of Kursk last night. There were hands on her as she choked on her own blood. Her eyes were swollen from the beating, and she could count the places where they had buried their blades. She was sick, her ripe-smelling injuries pulsing with infectious heat.

When she’d refused to give them information, they had done the rest for fun.

She was sitting in that chair. The cold, metal seat that became slippery from her sweat and blood. Her ankles screaming from the zip ties around the chair’s legs. Her arms wrenched so far back that she was certain the joints would pop. 

Go far away in your head. Go somewhere else. Go be -

The room switched, and she was staring up at him. His features were riddled with shadows. Unclear.  His thick hair was dark in the damp light as it curled over his brow. He lowered his head, bare nose brushing her cheek as his full lips found purchase along her jaw. 

“You drive me insane,” he muttered into her ear as he braced his weight above her body. Behind his blurry face, the ceiling oozed. She was still in the cell. She was still there, but he was with her. She had wished for him then, and now, in the magic of her dream, he had come to hold her through the rest of it.

Save me.

Save me.

I want you to save me. I can’t do this. I can’t anymore.

She frowned, palming his chest where his heart beat furiously. Strange. His pulse never rose to such a frantic rhythm. He dropped his hips and pressed forward until he was buried inside her. It was a faraway sensation. Pressure. She felt the idea of their sex. She felt him like a memory, the ghost of his cock stretching her.

Was this the time it had happened? Was this when it took root? He gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. He opened his mouth. “I love -

The trip wire spouted an alert, ripping her from sleep and causing her to crack her temple against the windowpane where she’d been keeping watch. She'd passed out, apparently.

Thank God, she thought. Thank Fuck.

She couldn’t have another rancid, poisonous dream about Russia. 

She rubbed the aching side of her skull, where a goose egg was undoubtedly beginning to form. She’d have to forgo pain relievers due to her own stupidity.

When had she ever fallen asleep on watch? 

The alarm from her homemade tripwire jingled again. She snatched her binoculars and pointed them toward the front entrance, where the gravel drive disappeared into shadows. Nothing. It was still twilight - violet blue, but the night fog was lifting enough for her to see fairly clearly. She readjusted her spot on the second-floor ledge before scanning the rest of the gardens, including the hedge maze and fountain. A bush shivered, and there was a flash of pink. 

Bingo.

In rainboots and her mother’s nightgown, she fled the room, ran down the stairs, and burst through the front door. It would be a nice bit of action before breakfast.

***

It must have snuck through a hedge or squeezed itself through the iron bars of the fence that lined the property. The grounds went on forever, but she doubted it had traversed the acres of endless green to land near her front door. Most of them were from nearby villages having wandered up the road like they had remembered to follow the asphalt. As she walked closer, the scent of death lingered among the lavender and moss. The air was fertile and rich, and when the breeze fluttered through her hair, it brought with it the earthy scent of wet wool and cattle from the stables. 

Against the red-pink light of sunrise, she could see the mist clinging to the lake. She could see the tiny dark spots of houses in the surrounding hills. No lights. She hadn’t seen lights up there for several months. She wondered if it had come from one of those homes, ambling down from the peaks and into her garden. 

In the quiet, you wouldn’t know what had happened. No, you’d be too focused on the sheer beauty of Northwest England. You’d realize what had commandeered Wordsworth’s attraction.

It was funny how this was the most time she’d ever spent at Ashcroft Hall. She’d never been particularly attached to her parent’s summer estate. It was beautiful. It was majestic. It was old and full of ghosts, and when she was a child, she’d been terrified to sleep alone in one of its many wood-paneled bedrooms. 

Now, she was guarding Ashcroft. Now, Ashcroft had become her port in the proverbial storm. 

She didn’t know if she loved it or hated it. She didn’t know how she felt about anything anymore.

The world had cracked. That was the only way she could visualize it. It had splintered down the center, infection cobwebbing outward to raze cities, countries, and continents. 

She supposed that she had crumpled with it. The situation in Kursk had removed a vital piece of herself that she had been unable to replace. It was only a coincidence that news stations had begun to report on the infection a month after she’d been rescued.

By then, she’d been put on leave and carted back to her parent's home to recover. No one outside of her team could look her in the eye, and that stung more than the bullets and the knives. Pity. They pitied her, and there was the distinct undercurrent that they all believed she would have been better off dead. 

As if she didn’t know that already. 

She understood why they’d kicked her out. She was a liability. She was in desperate need of therapy. She wasn’t the same, and she never would be again.

Not after Kursk. 

She spent weeks curled up in one of the Ashcroft bedrooms she’d feared as a child. She was numb - practically brain-dead on a cocktail of pills to keep her head together. She watched television. A lot of it. She saw the writing on the wall when the news became fixated on the strange behavior of the recent dead.

A young boy in Fenghuang had woken up mid-burial. 

An old woman in Sydney had sat up off her gurney. 

A famous singer had been nearly cut in half from a car accident, and there was footage of him crawling across the road. 

That image had stayed at the forefront of her mind to this day. She’d thought she was numb to violence and gore, but seeing a corpse dragging his obliterated carcass behind him had shaken her. 

Those initial days had been dark. She stopped the pills and instead focused on preparation. She had an underground contact slip into her London apartment and drive her weapons up North. She restocked her father’s armory with AK-47s, submachine guns, and sniper rifles. 

She stockpiled candles and kerosene for oil lamps. Seeds. Small livestock in addition to the horses, cows, and chickens they already had at Ashcroft. Batteries. Radios. Medications. First Aid Kits. Flashlights.

She’d been so focused on her project that it didn’t register when the rest of the world realized this wasn’t just the media exaggerating. It was real.

She hadn’t looked at her phone in a week, and when she did, she saw two missed calls and two texts. Two from Price. Two from Soap. 

Call me. 

Call me ASAP. 

But by then, the cell towers and wifi had gone out. The Eastern Seaboard twitched black as the cities fell first. Paris was overrun. New York was decimated. When London burned, she’d been forced to shut the television off. She couldn’t bear the image of it scorched and empty. She did not want to think of the pubs she had frequented with her team blackened and silent. 

Had they made it home? They were probably safe and secure on a military base. They were probably in better shape than she was.

After the major cities, the smaller areas were next on the chopping block.

There was screaming. Insistent screaming she could hear from Ashcroft. It rang out like one high-pitched musical note. Fires started. There was smoke slithering from the little towns nestled in the hills. The weather had been crisp. The sky was a raw shade of blue, and she thought it mocked her.

Society was burning, and everything else was lovely.

To make matters worse, she could not stop thinking about Kursk. She could not push it away. It caused her to swell with guilt because everything else had gone to shit, and what was her grief compared to the apocalypse. 

There came the point when she chose to bury it. She did what every therapist had warned her against doing. She took Kursk and stuffed it beneath her ribs, behind her liver, where it could not distract her. 

She’d set up a radio but rarely listened to it. It was nothing but sticky shrieks for help and aid, and please, where is shelter, food, or a cure? Everything is gone, and we have children. 

Gradually, the radio became mostly static. There’d be the occasional clip of a song or a snarling preacher spouting about fire and brimstone as the last vestiges of humanity clung to the airwaves.

She had no room in her for kindness. She felt stripped to her bones, and that’s what she wanted. Bones. Dust. No emotions. No empathy. No love. She thought of the texts and phone calls from Soap and Price, and she assumed the worst. Either they were dead, saving babies, or something equally heroic. 

She knew Price. He wouldn’t have just run. Soap, Gaz, and Alejandro would have followed him. 

He would have stayed. He would have died fighting because that was just who he was. 

She, on the other hand, stayed in place. She bunkered down and made lists. 

She was very good at surviving. 

***

Its moans shuddered through the gardens as its feet scraped across gravel. She was surprised it could make such sounds. She’d seen several with their vocal cords split into ribbons; tongues chewed to mush. Those corpses so deteriorated from the sun or hard rain that they could only manage a thin whistle. It had to be muscle memory. Even in death, they remembered the inclination to speak and be heard.

She loosely spun the ax in her hand as she studied the intruder. 

“How’d you get in here, hmm?” The question slipped between them, echoing in the pleasant morning quiet. The garden was a riot of colors: magenta tulips, cream-white and orange daffodils, violets, and golden primroses. Amidst the fruity sweetness was the cloying scent of decay. Insects buzzed. The wind rustled the magnolia trees. 

The maze of hedges was beginning to lose its shape and would undoubtedly grow wild as time passed. The shrubs were distorted, and the grass was too long.

As she closed in, it jerked its head at her scent. For a moment, she felt that tantalizing bite of adrenaline. Every drop of her blood pulsed between her ears. Her heart throbbed as she lifted the ax just as it twisted around to look at her. 

Its foggy eyes were unseeing, the pupils unevenly dilated. Its flesh was a myriad of shades, not unlike the colorful garden around them. Purple. Green. Yellow. White. A few wet strands of hair were clinging to the crown of the skull. She could see inside its chest where the brown lungs had shriveled within a mottled rib cage.

When she brought the ax down, it grunted. The bone split. The blood was sluggish and the color of tar. It had been a person once. A woman. Her terry cloth bathroom was still attached to what was left of her arms.

 She swallowed thickly, wiping the blade of the ax on the ground. The blood and gristle smelled terrible, but it was impossible to escape it. It had almost become familiar. 

She was lucky. Ashcroft was located on hundreds of acres of land. She bet the cities were far worse. She bet that death stench hung over it like a fish bowl. 

She glanced back at the Jacobean estate. It was certainly a fortress with its turrets, towers and red sandstone facade. The place dated back to the sixteenth century and had been altered and renovated due to fire and two World Wars. It was far too big for her to care for herself. The staff had fled or were infected. Her parents had been dead before everything exploded, and they had left the damn thing to her. Fresh from the medical facility, she’d shown up to a home she hadn’t considered hers in years.

 It would fall apart; the grounds would turn back to nature. For now, she had opted to inhabit sections. The kitchen, the library, the billiard room, and the master bedroom with its bay windows that offered a perfect view of the main path to the front gate. 

With her foot, she nudged the dead woman onto her back. The shriveled corpse looked disturbing against the emerald green grass. She’d need a wheelbarrow and gloves to remove her.

She sighed, turning her face toward the sun and allowing it to warm her skin.

She’d handle the body in a minute.

***

“Nice form, Slim.”

She spun around to find Bambi staring at her from the veranda. Clad in ratty shorts, a sweat-stained tank, and knee socks, Bambi looked like a washed-down version of a pervy uncle. Gone were the strappy heels and Selkie baby doll dresses. No more black cards, Ibiza, or Annabel’s. 

“I think dad used to wear that same outfit,” Slim quipped, and Bambi narrowed her eyes, chin thrust out and nose tipped upward with her special kind of arrogance.

“Times are dire, G.I. Jane,” she huffed, gesturing to her outfit. “I’m too lazy to wash this shit by hand so it shall serve me another day.”

Slim laughed. Bambi was disarming and unpredictable. Gorgeous and sometimes mean as a snake though the apocalypse had humbled her a bit. 

“You look gross,” Bambi remarked as she folded her arms over her tits. “Think there’s some brain on you.”

A bit. Humbled a bit. 

Truth be told, Slim probably would have drowned herself in the lake if it hadn’t been for Bambi. Two months into the end of the world, her childhood best friend showed up at her door. She was dirty, her hair greasy, and her face gaunt, but her dark eyes still sparked with life. Everyone was dead, but Bambi, spoiled and regal, was burning with a vivacity that Slim no longer felt.

She’d run from London before they started shutting down the exits. 

“I knew you’d be here,” Bambi had whispered before throwing her arms around her neck. ‘I fucking knew it.”

Slim was so stunned that she didn’t even check her for bites. Bambi’s mouth brushed her ear, her fingers clenched in her t-shirt. “I knew that if anyone could survive this, it would be you.” She pulled away, dry, pale lips cracking around a smile. “You can protect me.”

She’d had a car for a good part of it, but things fell apart by Manchester. The traffic was unbreachable. Someone started shooting.

“I hid in the backseat with a blanket for maybe two days. I remember two dawns, at least. No one gave a shit about the cars because the roads were blocked. People shot at each other instead.” Bambi sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “A bullet went through my window, and I stayed frozen. There was this guy - this kid, maybe seventeen, who’d been shot in the head, and he fell across the hood of my car like crazy perfectly. It was so weird. I’d never seen someone dead, and I remember thinking about how you saw people die all the time - you’d killed people and survived so much, and maybe this was a sign, and so I realized I had to get to you.

“Assumed I’d still be in Cartmel?”

“Last we spoke, you were there, and I figured it’d be better than any of the cities. Plus…” She’d grinned, and it had lit up her perfect face. “You have weapons.” Bambi suddenly held Slim’s face between her hands and kissed her firmly on the mouth. It was sour and stale, but she allowed it. “Now, I’m fucking knackered, you beautiful bitch. Where’s the kitchen and the showers?”

Bambi never told her what she had to do after Manchester to reach Ashcroft, and she didn’t press. 

The very thought of Manchester had left her sick and shivering. It only brought recollections of him. Was he out there? Had he been on a mission on the opposite side of the world when everything burned? Did it even matter because surely she’d never see him or any of them again? 

“Slim!” Bambi snapped, violently wrenching her from her memories. “What are we doing with that?” She pointed to the dead woman in the grass. “It’s ruining the pleasant vibes of our home.”

“Do we have people coming over?”

Bambi smirks and lifts an eyebrow suggestively. “You never know, old girl. One of these days, some fit fucking gents may wander up the road.”

“Because every person who’s tried to trespass has been so attractive.”

“Well - you keep shooting them.”

Yes. In the beginning, she had been ruthless about it. In times like these, you had to do what was necessary, and she had no interest in taking a chance. It was the people you had to watch out for. Not the dead, but the human beings who’d kill them just for her armory alone.

She fired a warning, and if they continued, then they were fair game. It was always the mean-looking ones, too. Beady eyes and ponchos, waving shotguns like they were playing at war. They’d see Red with her marksman rifle in hand and immediately relax. palms up as they continued forward.

“S’alright, birdie. We’ll keep you safe, yeah? You can’t stay here alone. Girl like you won’t last-”

She’d blow their skulls after that.  She didn’t lose sleep over it.

What had Price told her? We get dirty, and the world stays clean.

Red would get dirty for both of them.

“Get the wheelbarrow,” she ordered, abruptly switching lanes. She turned away from Bambi’s scowling face, tucking her hair behind her ears. It had grown so long that even Bambi had offered to cut it.

Your hand-eye coordination is awful. Remember the last time you tried giving me a haircut?

That was twenty years ago, you daft cow. Who is going to see it, anyway?

I can still be vain about some things! 

“I’m only getting the wheelbarrow because I know you do all the dirty work,” Bambi declared, shoving her socked feet into too-big loafers that had belonged to Slim’s pa. She began to shuffle toward the ravine at the rear of the property.

“You’ll be bludgeoning the undead soon enough,” Slim yelled after her. Bambi threw up a middle finger.

It was strange. Everything. At times, their world at Ashcroft felt normal. They could spend days drinking to oblivion without ever going outside. They’d draw the curtains and light the fireplace in the study, sliding from the velvet couches to the carpet as they giggled about stupid things. Their mouths smeared berry-red from the wine they’d filched from the cellar. They’d play cards and smoke the cigarettes they’d found in her mother’s nightstand.

“So, how were the men? They probably were all over your ass.”

“They were nice.”

“That’s all you’re going to give me? I’ve told you about that Duke -

“They were good to me. There isn’t much I can share.”

“The world’s over, my love. Afraid there’s no regime to punish you.’

“I know.”

“Fine, then. How about this? Why did you leave?”

***

“I think I’m going to head into town,” Slim announced over their lunch of biscuits and peanut butter. There was a whole pantry full of canned vegetables, bread, and hard cheese. There was a greenhouse, a garden, and small animals, but neither of them knew what they were doing. She couldn’t exactly google how to plant crops or what flourished in what season. 

Bambi frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Slim leaned back in her chair as she tugged her hair into a knot. The sun was bright today, flooding through the windows and over the kitchen table. “There haven’t been many zombies lately…I want to see the status of the village and get a sense of things.”

“Sounds like a dumb idea.”

“We’re far enough away that we wouldn’t know if danger was coming until it was at the gates.”

Bambi leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “And you would shoot them before they got to the door.”

Slim shook her head. “Houses like these are more valuable now than ever before. They’ve functioned for centuries without electricity or heat. Lots of land. Private well for clean water. An army could decide to overtake us, and I can’t hold down the fortress by myself.”

‘I’ll help!”

“You can’t shoot.”

“Give me an automatic weapon, and all I have to do is aim in the general direction.”

“That’s not how it works, B,” Slim said as she massaged her temples. The headaches were becoming frequent. “I need to go regardless because I want to see if the pharmacies have any antibiotics left.”

They had several first aid kits, and when society was just beginning to rupture, Slim had collected what she could. Still, she was anxious that they would undoubtedly need more in the coming years. Anything could happen. 

The scar over her belly pulsed with phantom pain. It hadn’t stopped since Russia, and she doubted it ever would.

Bury it. Bury it. That time is far away. The chair. That empty room with the dingy cot and how the metal squeaked and screeched with every movement. 

She ran through a list in her head of what she needed: penicillin, electrolyte powders, moxifloxacin, oxycodone, and prednisolone.

Lists helped. The clinical beauty in the simple pattern of words kept her from spiraling into ugly thoughts.

“I could come with you,” Bambi offered. “Watch your six as they say?”

As they say. 

This was the time Slim felt an overwhelming tenderness for her friend. Bambi looked frightened for her, and while Slim was primarily responsible for keeping them both alive, she understood it went deeper than that. 

She placed her hand on Bambi’s wrist, fingering the Cartier bracelets that no longer mattered. She couldn’t sell them. All they’d be suitable for was to be melted down for useful things like bullets, but Slim was the last person to begrudge someone their little luxuries.

“I appreciate the help, but I can do it faster on my own.”

“Fine,” Bambi conceded. “But look for Xanax.”

“Of course.”

“Maybe, condoms.”

***

On the journey into town, it began to rain. She’d taken one of the horses, Biorn, and his damp black mane gave off a musky, animal stink. There were cars at the Ashcroft manor, but using them seemed risky. The engine would rumble and spit and no doubt draw attention to her. She also didn’t want to waste the gas. 

Clad in a simple t-shirt and jeans, she tipped her head back to stare up at the sky. The clouds were slate gray and swollen. She opened her mouth to taste the rain, feeling high off the perfume of petrichor and sodden leaves. She was cold, but the chill woke her up. Her fingers twitched around the reins.

Her hair stuck to the nape of her neck like a leech. 

She missed fighting. She missed the finality of a mission. You either died or you succeeded, and then it’d be over. Now - it was for always. Now, her mission was endless. 

She sighed, shaking her head. 

It was dangerous to crave violence. She feared what she would unleash in herself and what she’d have to face. Kursk. Him. The very debilitating emptiness he'd left inside her. It festered and spoke to her when her mind was most at rest. 

“Stay alive, duchess.”

His enormous palm cradled the back of her skull as he stared down at her. “You’re the best they’ve got. Can’t do it without you.”

Nearing the town, she noticed the first signs of the infection. There were water-logged notices with peeling paint, haphazardly hammered to wooden posts.

Stay Home.

Stay Calm. 

Wash Your Hands and Wear a Mask.

It hadn’t been that sort of infection, but no one knew it then.

She glanced at the woods on her right and noticed a pair of tiny rain boots. Focusing, she realized they were attached to a body nestled in the leaves. She knew there had been plenty of suicides. There’d been advertisements for special concoctions that promised no pain, and surely any place was better than the current one. 

She grimaced and pressed forward. The pretty village was still picturesque with its cobbled streets and quaint cottages and inns. The River Eaa flowed at a lazy pace. There were burned-out Christmas lights in the trees. Two miles ahead, near the shoreline, was a larger town with more facilities.

The silent, empty village made her skin crawl. There was a stink from the houses. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something staring back at her in the ivy by the church. She bit her lip as she guided Biorn toward the back entrance to the pharmacy. She tied him to the rear door before stroking his muzzle and kissing his snout. 

She wouldn’t go further than the pharmacy today. There was something wrong here. The rain was picking up and making it impossible for her to see or hear clearly. She was at a disadvantage, and anyone could be surveying her. 

She was prized goods. The guns strapped to her hip and back. The ax in her belt. Her horse, especially. 

Doing one last scan of the area, she slipped through the rear entrance.

***

It smelled here, too, but not as intense. She waited a moment, listening for a groan, grunt, or the scrape of feet on the linoleum. Nothing. 

Utilizing the half-dome mirrors in the room's corners, she silently maneuvered through the aisles, heading straight for the pharmacy counter. She was quick about it as she stuffed whatever bottles remained into her bag. 

It wasn’t a lot. The place had been somewhat looted. She’d hoped the pharmacist had locked it down during the worst of it. She’d hoped most of the village had gone North, toward the areas that promised “sanctuaries,” before realizing there were none.

After emptying the shelves, she raided the otc medication, leftover bandages, ointment, eye drops, and snacks. Jerky. Chips. Candy. Ramen. She walked toward the front of the store before freezing. There was someone on the ground. For a second, she had thought “mannequin,” forgetting how unlikely that would be. There was no one to clean away bodies. Mannequins didn’t belong in pharmacies.

Slowly she pulled her ax from the loop of her belt before readjusting her form. She crouched, creeping toward what appeared to be a dead man. She blinked down at him. The blood was bright and smelled like pennies as it puddled around his head. His throat was missing, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. She could distinguish the tendons and ripped flesh. Bits of the white spine. She cautiously reached for the man’s arm to touch his skin. It was still warm, and she lifted it easily. No rigor mortis.  

This man had just died. But a zombie wouldn’t leave him here. They’d eat and eat until there was nothing left. Her appearance wouldn’t have registered to it.

She straightened, confused and weary. It wasn’t fear that ran through her, but puzzlement. 

Thwack. 

She startled and whirled around, eyes scanning from the front window to the rear of the space. There was only the pharmacy’s flag ripping in the harsh wind just outside the door. She walked toward the window steadily, ax in one hand and her other hand poised over her gun. 

Perhaps it was the rain? It was coming down hard. Black sky and a heavy layer of fog. Her heart pulsed as she scanned the streets.

Thwack. 

She spun toward the aisles, but there was nothing amiss. Her teeth chattered in her mouth. She was soaked to the bone, and every step brought the audible squelch of her sneakers.

Why the fuck hadn’t she worn boots? 

Because you got complacent. With your sniper rifle and homemade alarms, you got arrogant in your posh castle in the hills. 

Now, she was in the savage, desolate reality of the after. After the infection. After the bombs, the Hail Marys, the useless quarantines, and the suicide juice. 

After Russia. After he’d run away from her and she’d gotten captured.

A deep growl sprang from the backroom. She shoved her ax back in her jeans and pulled out her gun. It felt like an appropriate time to use bullets when she couldn’t see her enemy.

Tiptoeing toward the door that led to a storage area, she quietly pushed it open with her shoulder. 

Once inside, she had to recalibrate. The sight in front of her didn’t compute. 

It was a man. Heavy-set. Pink skin like a pig. His short hair was matted, and he was hovering over a workbench. He raised his arm and brought something silver down. 

Thwack.

It was a cleaver. 

Thwack.

Each thwack was followed by a wet squelch. She heard something crack. 

The room was dark, but there were enough candles to illuminate what the man was chopping.

Flesh. Pink and red and purple. Gristle. Bone. 

She found herself unable to breathe. The room was thick with the scent of meat. Blood. Sweat. Innards. It reminded her of Kursk and how those cells were branded in that stench. All the dead before her. All the ones in neighboring prisons who sobbed and gurgled. 

She stumbled backward, falling against the door, which swung open and deposited her on the floor. She slipped on the rain-slick linoleum, and her gun skittered away. Without thinking, she scrambled toward it.

There’s one on your back. There’s the ax. Arm yourself with something before-

Something unbearably heavy and reeking fell on top of her. 

***

She was fucked. She was really fucked. 

It took her a second to realize that the man from the backroom had attacked her. It took her another second to recognize that he was human. He was human and eating - 

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered as she attempted to roll onto her back. Her mind was cluttered - swimming with memories of Kursk that she could not punch away. After years of training, she couldn’t come up with a single move that could force the man off of her back. 

Adrenaline was pulsing through her bones. Her nerves were fraying - sparking - close to exploding, and she thought if the man buried her further into the ground, her heart would be forced out of her mouth. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She tried to reach down for her ax, but he had her effectively pinned. He was grunting on top of her, spitting out obscenities, screeching like an animal, and maybe he’d become one. Maybe, the after had effectively twisted him into something feral and desperate.

Just as her vision began to dim, the man blessedly pulled away from her. She took a deep, bruising breath before flipping onto her back. She tried to kick out at him with her legs, but he was too strong. He was huge, blocking out the ceiling, drowning out the world. He lifted his arm high, a spark from outside catching on the cleaver blade. 

“Oh fuck,” she hissed before curling inward just as he brought it down.

She felt a burn. He’d gotten her, confirmed when a warm wash of blood sheeted down her shoulder into her shirt. She glanced at it, blinking sluggishly. She wasn’t entirely sure where he’d hit her because a dull throbbing began to pulse throughout her body. Everything went numb. Distant. 

She collapsed backward, raising her arms to defend herself from the second hit. The whites of the man’s eyes reminded her of eggshells as they expanded across the pricks of his pupils. He was covered in a fresh splatter of crimson, and she knew it was her blood. The man’s jaw was twitching, his teeth gnashing as she uselessly tried to cover her chest. It would be humiliating if she died like this. She couldn’t leave Bambi -

The man was staring at her, and then he wasn’t. There was an abrupt snap before his head was now turned back toward the storage room. The cleaver clattered beside her. She stared at it dumbly before the weight of him straddling her thighs was gone. He was being lifted clean off of her, picked up like a sack of potatoes before being tossed aside with a guttural snarl.

A snarl she recognized. 

Her gaze slid from the cleaver to the figure looming over her. Ghost. The white skull mask seemed pronounced in the gray-lit shop. She could make out the flicker of his eyes, though his expression was unreadable. He was tall and imposing, bigger than she remembered, as he regarded her silently. His bulky shoulders. His tac vest. His boots. His clothes were coated in a thick film of blood and grime. Even the white parts of his mask were smeared red.

She swallowed as she tried to sit up. Her head and torso felt so heavy, and she found herself trying to reach for him. He crouched, his gloved fist covering hers, their fingers threading together. He was so hot - so perfectly, beautifully alive, and he just threw that huge monster of a man like it was nothing. Ghost had broken his neck with his bare hand.

You saved me.

You came. 

“Simon,” she whispered, though she found it difficult to focus. His eyes drifted toward her shoulder, and he stiffened. 

“Price,” he barked. “She’s fuckin’ bleeding out.”

“Price?” she echoed, bewildered. Ghost tugged at the scarf around his neck before pressing it to her shoulder. It didn’t hurt, which she thought was probably a bad sign.

“They were out back,” he explained. “There were hostiles there, too.”

Hostiles. The word felt familiar. 

Suddenly, Ghost stepped away, allowing another to take his place. She grimaced, fingers clutching on air. She wanted to ask him to come back. She wanted to feel him.

“Hello, darlin’.”

Price’s voice melted into her skin, and she returned his smile, though it was difficult. Another appeared beside him. Soap. He frantically opened one of the bags, yanking out gauze and tape. 

She tried to say Johnny, but it wouldn’t come. Finally, he looked at her, his expression scrunched and unlike him. “Knew we’d find you trying to take someone down twice your size.” He was teasing her, but it lacked its familiar mischief. He looked truly frightened for her.

Admittedly, she found it comforting. His worry embraced her and made her want to curl into his arms because she had wished for Soap’s sweet face too many times to count in the last year.

Her shoulder twinged. 

She frowned before dragging her eyes toward Price. 

“Others?” she rasped.

“There are more of us out back. Most of the group.” He gestured to the dead man in the corner. “Couple other bastards like the one there.” 

Ghost had already told her that, but everything was swaddled in a haze.

She tilted her head in acknowledgment as she licked her lips, her tongue dry. It was a lot. She couldn’t believe what was in front of her. 

“Price,” she murmured. “John.”

His gaze crinkled, and he cradled her face in one palm while his other hand remained firm on her shoulder to staunch the bleeding. She could smell him. Sweat, dirt, and body odor. They’d probably been on the roads for months. She lifted her hand hesitantly before wiping at the oily black blood smeared across his cheek. He closed his eyes as he leaned into it.

“You look different,” she whispered as she grazed her thumb from his temple to his jaw. His beard was overgrown, and she focused on the tiny wrinkles around his eyes as he grinned down at her. Behind him, she thought she could spot Ghost’s massive form.

“It’s so fuckin’ good to see you, Red,” Price uttered, the words cracking within the syrupy wet of his throat.

Red.

Red Fox.

She hadn’t heard that name in over a year, and the implication of it both frightened and soothed her. She felt like it was her mask, her armor. It was who she had been before Russia and the end of the world.

Price’s smile faltered as his eyes darted to the scarf, sodden with her blood. Oh yes - she was injured.

“Really fuckin’ missed you,” Price said with such conviction as if he needed her to understand.

She wanted to tell him the same. She wanted to say how much she missed them.  

Instead, she sank back to the floor, Price’s arms still around her back as Soap began to cut through her shirt.

---

Please comment and let me know your thoughts!! It’s going to get very angsty and smutty.

Next

[bunniandhoney]

Angst | He doesn’t realize what he has until it’s gone, fast-forward he sees her back at the premiere

P.s Just for fun , Idk how he is Irl he is a sweetheart tho

Dear Anon,

How did you know I love angst? 😏

xoxo,

Bunni

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Life’s a Marathon

Jacob takes his best friend for granted.

Y/N found herself in the most awkward predicaments. Never by her own design but certainly by the construction of her best friend Jacob.

“I think i might’ve fucked up” Jacob says looking down at Y/N as she ties her shoes. “I think I’m going to have to agree, neither one of us should be running a marathon this early or really at all.” YN replies with a grim look on her face.

She definitely shouldn’t have agreed to this. She hates sweating and gets her daily exercise from the 25 minute walk from her apartment to her office job. But since she has a burning crush on her best friend she has such a hard time telling Jacob no, actually she’s never fully told Jacob no.

Like that time in Year 10 when he’d ask her to help with his final paper. Even though she was behind on hers and working extra shifts at the cafe she still did his, resulting in her earning a C+ on her paper and an A on his. Or when she told him she just wanted a relaxing night in for her 18th, but Jacob insisted on hitting up every pub in the city. She then spent the last moments of her 18th birthday rubbing Jacob’s back as he emptied his guts in the toilet. This is what best friends do though, they sacrifice, they care, and apparently they run marathons with zero training.

Finally on her feet Jacob pulls her in by her shoulders. “ Quick let’s take a selfie to remember this moment”, with wide grins facing his phone Jacob takes the picture.

“Will all runners please make their way to the starting line” the announcer says.

YN is starting to feel sick. “ You know I can always wait for you at the checkpoints and cheer”

“Yeah but where would the fun be in that? Besides you can’t leave me now, we’re at the starting line.” Dragging her feet YN follows an excited Jacob to the starting line with the rest of the runners.

The sound of the gun signals the runners to start, and they’re off…well Jacob is. YN is already at the back of the pack within 60 seconds of the race starting and her best friend is nowhere to be found.

When she finally finishes the first mile, she’s slightly winded but not awful, the second clearly wears her down though because she’s practically walking. Huffing and puffing she tries to pick her pace back up as she sees the finish line. She sees Jacob at the end cheering for her, or at least that’s what she thinks because her vision seems a little blurry and black dots are spotting her vision. Yn is almost there, almost at the end when everything goes dark.

People are laughing at her. YN can hear it as she comes to; wait is that Jacob laughing at her? Blinking her eyes open she does see him laughing but it’s joined by a woman’s laugh, a very pretty woman now that her vision is clearing up.

“Jac—“ the rasp coming from her voice is unrecognizable, but does the trick because Jacob looks down at her.

“You’re awake!” says the pretty lady on her other side.

“I’m Dr. Sams, I was the medic on the scene when you passed out. Can you tell me your name?”

—

Sitting under a cooling tent with ice packs on most of her body and being forced to chug down gatorade is probably top 5 most embarrassing moments especially since the only other person under there is a 65 year old man who threw out his knee, and said he felt too hot under the medic tent. “It’s alright doll, my first race wasn’t sunshine and rainbows either, " he says with a grin.

“Dr. Sams said you’re clear if you’re ready to go. Should probably take you home to rest.” Jacob says helping YN up. The car ride back to her apartment is dead silent besides the loud tension between Jacob’s guilt and YN's embarrassment. When he pulls into her garage Jacob decides to break the ice. “Look i’m really sorry love, you were right the marathon was not a good idea. I’m sure dehydration was not in your weekend plans.”

A sympathetic smile, the same one she always gives when Jacob screws up, graces her face. “It’s not your fault I’m an adult, and should’ve known that I was feeling way too bad to continue.”

Walking up to YN’s apartment Jacob can’t help but to be apologetic still. Laying YN on the couch and getting her a bottle of water from the fridge Jacob, trying to ease any leftover tension yells, "Well at least something good came from today?”

And honestly nothing is coming to YN’s mind, in fact, today was about as horrible as it could get for her.

She was spontaneously woken up at the crack of dawn.

The “Big Suprise” her best friend/crush for her was a damn marathon

She had to run a marathon

And lastly, she passed out in front of hundreds of people including Jacob. Yeah, there couldn’t possibly be anything good.

“The cute medic that was helping you, well we were chatting so I’m taking her out tonight!”

Mentally adding this to the list of horrible things happening today YN groans, “My head is pounding, what did you say?”

“I’ve got a date with a hot doctor babe!” he yells back gleefully.

YM closes her eyes silently hoping that what’s happening is that she’s in a dream and when she wakes up it’ll be noon, she will just now be getting up, and planning to spend the whole day in a big Tshirt (no pants of course). But when she peeks open one of her eyes she sees her best friend walking back with a glass of orange juice and some painkillers. “ Here you go, Dr. Sams said this might help with any aches or fatigue.”

Nope, not a dream, but a terrible nightmare.

Jacob finally heads out, claiming he needs to prepare for his date, leaving YN alone and feeling incredibly achey. In the 15 years she’s known Jacob he has only had a girlfriend twice.

Once in Year 9, Elizabeth Brown, ended up being on the receiving end of Jacob’s turn of a horrid “Spin the Bottle” game. Elizabeth claimed Jacob was the best kisser in the world and deemed him her boyfriend. Which to her point was very true as YN and Jacob had been practicing for years at that point. Jacob beaming with pride accepted the title for approximately 17 days before he claimed she was way too clingy and broke it off.

The next was years later in university when he dated Sasha Davies for TWO whole years. YN just knew she’d lost him. But Sasha was quite rude and incredibly judgey, so when she found out that Jacob passed up a regular job for acting, she dumped him, leaving YN to pick up the pieces. Since then Jacob had sworn off dating until he was settled in his career as a full time actor, claiming that YN and his mum were the only women he needed in his life.

So why on earth are things changing now! She thought she was all he needed, even if nothing went further than friendship. YN is not near spiteful enough to ruin a relationship, so for now she’ll just sit back and see if anything comes of this one date.

—

Unfortunately, everything comes from one date, because it turns into two and three. Then eventually Yvanne (Dr. Sams) and Jacob are practicing living together in a matter of months. It’s not that Jacob ignores YN, no, he tries to include her in almost everything the couple does. He even tries to do a weekly coffee date with YN just to check in on her, but YN can’t do it. She can’t watch him kiss and hug another woman, buy her odd but sentimental gifts, or even open the bloody car door for someone else. She can’t watch him be in love with anyone else while her heart still craves him.

So she pulls away, just slightly so he doesn’t notice. Her plan is working beautifully since Jacob is enamored with Yvanne. It simply looks as if she wants him to spend more time with his girlfriend. Well, it was working beautifully until Jacob drops an absolute bomb on her during one of their coffee dates.

“You’re going to do what!?!?! “ she screeches in the corner booth, causing too many eyes to look their way.

“Woah calm down. Look I’m going off to shoot the movie and want Yvanne to know I’m serious; that I’m in this for the long haul, for forever.”

“I think there are other ways to show you’re serious than marrying her. For fucks sake J you all haven’t been together a whole year yet!” YN fumes.

“It’ll be a longish engagement, and honestly I thought you’d be happier for me. You’re my best friend in the whole world, I haven’t even told my mum this yet.” He replies diffendently.

Now YN sees it, she sees him slipping away. It’s clear that as always, Jacob has made up his mind and in turn has decided both of their fates for them.

“You’re right, it just caught me by suprise. I’m so happy for you”

“Really”

“Of course, J, you know I just want you to be happy, you’re my best friend.” YN rewards him with a suffering smile.

For three weeks after the news YN goes completely ghost. Every call and text Jacob attempts to make goes unanswered, but she can’t do it. She can’t watch this happen or pretend to be okay, even when she thought she could. Jacob stops by her apartment at the end of week three to check on her since she’d clearly been avoiding him. But when he reaches under the ficus pot outside her apartment door he realizes it’s gone. YN had taken the key and moved it. This officially sends Jacob into a rage because that key was reserved for him, now he’s banging on her door yelling for her to “Let me in because I know you’re in there!”

A puffy-eyed YN opens the door just as Jacob raises his fist again. She’s been crying, she can’t stop, not since the day she left that cafe. “Hey J, what’s going on?”

“You’ve been ignoring me!” he says stepping into her apartment, which is shockingly a mess. She’s always been a bit of a neat freak, cleaning up everyone’s mess all the time. “You’ve been ignoring me, and you’ve been crying.”

“Oh. I’m fin—“

“Please don’t do that shit with me. The pretending, because I know you better than anyone in this world so come off it!”

For some reason this pisses YN off to a degree she’s never known before.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me, Jacob Scipio! How dare you come banging on MY door expecting anything from me, you, you selfish bastard!”

Eyebrows raised in shock Jacob uses his silence as a reply.

With tears starting to roll down her face YN cries, “ I have spent years following behind you, trying to make sure nothing ever inconveniences you. Making sure that Jacob is happy, that he’s in perfect health, that he’s got his lines down packed, and not because I wanted something in return but because I cared for you. Hell, I loved you Jacob. Then you expect me to jump for joy when you want to propose to a girl you’ve known for 9 months! So, no Jacob, you don’t know me!”

“YN, I’m so—“

“Please don’t apologize, just leave, I want to be alone.”

His head hung low Jacob turns to walk back out of her apartment. “Umm, I wanted to give you this. I hope you can make it.” he says sitting an envelope on her coffee table. When Jacob walks out that door YN expects to never see her best friend again and she crumbles to the floor letting the tears wrack through her body.

1 ½ year later —

Jacob would like to say that he couldn’t be happier. At the premier of one of the biggest movies of his life, he should be overjoyed. And don’t get him wrong, he's extremely happy and grateful. He’s a trending topic, he has his amazing cast mates, and his extremely supportive family here with him. But the one person he’s hoped to see is nowhere to be found.

When he’d left that save the date on her coffee table a year and a half ago he knew that wouldn’t solve whatever issues they had, so he had his mother send her an official invitation through the mail three months ago. Even though YN wanted nothing to do with Jacob, their lives couldn’t help but to be intertwined, they’d known each other for over half their lives.

This separation had been hell for him, as he knew it would be as soon as he left her apartment that day. He cut things off with Yvanne two days later, unable to proceed with the engagement. He spent the rest of the time thinking about how right YN was, he was a selfish bastard. Almost her whole life has been spent accommodating him and so he vowed that if he ever got the chance he would do right by his best friend.

But he couldn’t do that because for the past 550 days he hasn’t so much as heard her voice let alone seen her, and while he hopes she would show up tonight for his premiere, he also knows that it’s a long shot; a consequence of hurting the people who love you.

Jacob takes one last look as he walks into the already packed theater. Sitting next to his mom Jacob relaxes into his seat and just before the lights go down he hears a breathless “Sorry I’m late, this LA traffic is awful!”

There she is, on day 551, the only person he cared to see, his very reason for being and she sits next to him filling his lungs with fresh air and her jasmine scented perfume. “You came.”

“Well of course, I couldn’t miss you on the big screen. Plus both of our mothers threatened me.” YN says with a bright smile.

She’s different, they both are, and they can only hope that fate hasn’t given up on them yet.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

thanks again for letting me write this for you, i had so much fun!

IDK, I’m kinda feeling a part 2 in my spirit, so lmk if that something y’all would be interested in!

also thanks for all the love on my other posts, i’m still taking requests so let them free!!!

[celestie0]

kickoff! reader who is stalking gojos page and accidentally likes one of his oldest posts. she panics and turns off her phone, without unliking it.

kickoff!gojo who is re reading your guys instagram messages and you text him while he’s doing this. he scrambles to come up with a reason as to why he read your message instantly

kickoff! reader who tries to watch soccer games to understand what’s happening. she probably yells offsides at everything. gojo can only smile at her and offer to help her out

kickoff! gojo who takes a picture of your silhouette in front of those statues you meet up at during the sunset (without your knowledge) and makes it his lock screen. you ask him about it but he just pretends that it’s a soccer goal and the sunset behind it.

kickoff! reader who finds herself thinking of satoru way too much. will see basically anything and be reminded of him. “oh a pair of sunglasses? gojo would like those” “hm, they started selling a strawberry tea? gojo would drink that”

kickoff! gojo who loves the sims. unironically makes a sim version of him and reader. tbh he probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, he just starts thinking about reader and starts adding her features. thinks it’s funny to make them have “fun time”

kickoff! reader who is looking through the game pictures she takes and finds herself staring at gojo. doesn’t even realize she’s doing it until mina walks in on her. think peter parker and gwen stacy

kickoff!gojo who has a full “project m’bappe” for your future kids. starts the kids off with a soccer plush and it leads to them being absolute powerhouses in toddler leagues

kickoff! reader who used to play soccer as a kid. threw a tantrum in the middle of a game because she decided she hated it. only started to like it again because of gojo

kickoff! gojo who keeps a printed out picture of the two of you in his wallet. Suguru took it at the frat party when gojo kissed you. around you is blurry and flashing lights, in the middle of the chaos is gojos lips pressed against yours. His hand is holding your waist, you’re slightly on your tippy toes to reach him. He sometimes zones off when paying because the picture catches his eye

BABE……..WHEN I TELL YOU IM BLUSHING N SQUEALING N KICKING MY FEET SM RN…..UHHH I THINK U MIGHT HAVE TO JUST TAKE OVER WRITING THE SERIES FOR ME??? bc i went thru sm emotions reading these pls 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

ok first of all tysm for thinking of these and sending them to me???? i genuinely cannot believe youve made headcanons for my fic that’s so surreal n i will forever remember this 😭😭

BUT ALSO THESE ARE SO ACCURATE PLS and all the little details omg it means sm that youve noticed all these lil thinfs throughout the fic n their relationship n i cld cry rn 😭😭

pls excuse me for addressing each n every one of these bc im so excited by them i fear this ask will be long so i’m adding a keep reading loool

sobsosbsosbsbsossbb the headcanons ab their digital fuckups LMAOO omg reader is 100% the type to be stalking him at 3am even tho she swears shes not even THAT down bad for him n then she loses all feeling in her face when she realizes she liked a post from when he was like in high school or sumn🧍🏻‍♀️there’s no coming back from that LMFAOO but i feel like gojo wldnt even notice it bc he probs gets a lot of notifs so she’s safe this time around 😭😭 BUT YOURE ALSO SO RIGHT AB HIM REREADING MESSAGES N THEN GETTING SPOOKED WHEN HE REALIZES SHE SAW THAT HE READ IT RIGHT AWAY LMAO i feel like he’d pull something like “uhhhh i was just about to trxt you, that’s why” and she’s like “🤨 this is the fifth time that’s allegedly happened”

aww reader trying to understand soccer for him 😭 thats so cute bahah also i made another headcanon recently from another anon who mentioned gojo streaming the world cup hehe it’d be so cute if reader shows up to the frat game nights in the jersey of the team that gojo’s rooting for bc she’s just trying to be a supportive girlfriend n she gets excited watching the game but she’s actually got no clue what tf is going on 💀 but gojo adores her for it so thats ok

the lockscreeennn that’s so cute 😭 also i love the idea of reader being his muse too :”) like he doesn’t know much about photography but bc of her he’s like kinda curious about it now so he’s always taking pictures of her w his phone while she’s not looking :”) i imagine his camera roll is just a bunch of candids of her while she’s dissociating off into the distance or something 🤣 n he’s like “wow so pretty im so good at this”

OK BUT READER IS ME THINKING AB GOJO EVERYWHERE I GO LMAOO no but srs that one made heart skip a beat bc how sweeettt is that 😭 i think that is a true mark of love where u think of someone everywhere you go :”) for gojo, i imagine that anytime he sees anything scenic or colorful or something like blooms of flowers or a nice sky he thinks of how she wld probably really love to take pics of it n he gets sad she’s not there to do so

okk im down for sims boyfriend gojo 🤣 and wdym by fun time omg 😭 pls dont tell me it’s possible to make people BONK on sims. ive seen a lot of tiktoks recently about how they added gojo to stardew valley n ppl have been marrying him lmfaoo i wonder if gojo wld try to marry her in sims 💀 cant tell if thats cute or creepy PLS tbh i’d probs be like “aww babe”🧍🏻‍♀️

and YES AB THE ONE WHERE SHE STARES AT GOJO’s PICS THATS PRACTICALLY CANON, also, there was supposed to be a scene exactly like that in ch8 where mina walks in on her staring at the pics she was editing for her professor 😭😭 so ur 100% right on. i just bet he looks so handsome in those photos cuz he’s concentrated n sweaty n probs looks really determined n in his element tbf i’d be starinf at those pics too LOL

YOURE SO RIGHT HAHA he’d make sure their kids are soccer prodigies 😭😭 startin them YOUNG. reader’s like “dont u think they’ve practiced enough today…they’re supposed to go to that birthday party at noon” and he’s like “THE GRIND NEVER STOPS😤🔥” 💀💀 unironically the type of dad that wakes his kids up at 5am on summer break to take em to soccer bootcamp or sumn 😭😭 ok but he knows theyre just kids n lets them have fun haha obviously but he just has high expectations for them lmaoo

im so tender to the idea of reader having played soccer in her youuuuthh how cute wld it be if she unknowingly also had a crush on gojo back when they were kids (maybe there was some sort of co-ed game they played ONCE when their elementary schools organized it n she was like omg who’s that boy over theree n it’s just 8 y/o gojo who’s got all the 2nd grade girlies swooning even back then 🤣) but in adulthood she probably doesnt rememebr that at all haha OMGGGG I NEED TO MAKE THIS CANON BC HOW ADORABLE WOULD IT BE IF GOJO’s MOM HAD TAKEN A PICTURE OF THE GAME BACK THEN N U CAN SEE LITTLE GOJO N LITTLE READER ARE IN THE SAME PHOTO im gonna sob???? im so inspired by these rn??? anon??? can i fr hug u through the screen???

omggg ok im deceased im dead ab the PICTURE IN HIS WALLET. THAT IS SO HUSBAND CODED and adorabke asf i just might melt rn 😭 him getting distarcted while paying kakskddjhd also i can imagine him having a picture in his wallet of her in her cap n gown on n stoles n everything during graduation or something bc it reminds him of their college days :”) n when he’s playing away games during national league he’s always looking at it when he’s away from home bc he misses her

also i feel like suguru might’ve taken the photo as a polaroid 🤔 now i headcanon that kickoff reader also has a polaroid camera bc why wouldnt she lmfaoo 🤣 but just imagine the polaroid relationship wall LOL its so corny but i wld want them to make one together 😩💕

screaming. crying. feeling so inspired rn. cheesing. cheeks r hurting. love u sm anon srs if you have more i will gobble them up like a turkey. LOVE YOU <333

[comet-frog]

Duckboycool is out for fucking BLOOD

[bbonnenuit]

The Smiths.

notes: chrollo is yandere, although the fic is lighthearted. the biggest warning is the fact that chrollo looks like he'd listen to the smiths /j, another bigger warning is that reader is an avid the smiths hater. im not tho, all for fun. female reader.

 “Daydreaming again, I see?”

   It would be a lie to say that Chrollo’s voice isn’t at the slightest bit pleasant to hear. It’s soft and smooth, but accompanied with a confident low timbre that you think might be the source of it’s charm. 

   You often wish you both don’t share a language to speak over, so whatever he speaks would be foreign yet pleasant gibberish in your ears. And maybe you’d be able to close your eyes and sleep. You’d be able to treat him as the background noise of some radio host talking about something as mundane as today’s newest dramas. 

  You don’t find the need to chase the impossible ideal this time. One doesn’t need to be a linguist expert in order to know no malice or warning is present in his voice, though one might need a bachelor’s degree and over four decades of experience in psychology to know he truly means nothing behind his calm demeanor. 

   You sign yourself to a fate you’re unsure of, and though it’s foolish, there’s nothing you can do anyway. You’re stuck with him, in a moving four-wheeled compartment, that’s also stuck in traffic. 

   “The music’s good.” Is all you say, and he hums in understanding. 

     Silence falls over the two of you again.

   You almost brought back the colorful reverie you were in before he decided to interject, until he reached for his phone to change the music. Oh, bluetooth, the convenient technology you are. His phone is located on the right of his steering wheel, far away from your reach. If he had reached for the audio system you would’ve been (maybe) able to slap his hand away. 

   “Hm, I’d rather you pay attention to me.” The lilt in his voice is unmistakable. And you almost gag, was that an attempt in flirting? Blegh.  

   “I’ll just stare at the cars,” Headlights and astigmatism can make a good duo, you remind yourself. 

   Chrollo hums again, You can almost laugh, so being stuck in your own daydreams and practically doing nothing is unacceptable, but staring at cars is alright? 

  You stare at a car, observing the way the light that emits from it’s headlights become blurry in your sights, they almost take shape of stars in your opinion. 

   So you set your sights on a particularly small black car in front of you, must be a Toyota or Avanza or something. You can’t tell, it’s got four wheels and headlights, so it’s a car. You could care less about what it is. That is why you weren’t all so interested when Chrollo took you a look into his….Rolls… Rolls what? Oh, right, Rolls Royce. It’s a fancy one, you can tell. He was exuding quite an air of importance when he was leading you towards the high-end vehicle located in the restaurant’s parking lot, there were some on-lookers around that spot that expressed interest at the car. It means something when even people of the middle-upper class are showing interest.

   Whatever ego that had probably swelled within Chrollo must’ve popped like a balloon, or so you hope, because you did nothing more than give him a thumbs up before letting yourself in the passenger’s seat. You also didn’t miss the way he was preparing to tell you about the car’s compartments and specialties that made it cost years of labor. Ah, you’re certain he didn’t gain this vehicle from labor, though. 

   Fancy car or not, everyone’s equally stuck in this traffic. 

   Fancy car or not, doesn’t determine that the song played inside the compartment is free from your judgment or not.

   “What song is this? You ask, although you know the answer. You somehow need an assurance that he is lucid. 

   “Please, please, please, by The Smiths.” He says, pleasant with his song of choice. 

   What an ironic song and artist of choice. 

    It’s harder to hide in a cackle than a scowl, you’d almost forgotten. Any voice you let out threatens to come out as sharp laughter and any breathe you intake threatens to become a wheeze. You could hardly contain yourself. 

   “Oh…” Is all you say before pausing, afraid anything else you will say will turn into a rowdy session of laughter. Unsure if you should speak further or not. But the inquisitive look he offers you somehow serves as a push rather than something that usually wants you to further seal your lips shut in fear you would say the wrong thing and earn his silent ire. It’s far, far harder to hide a cackle than a scowl, but months of training yourself to hide certain expressions whenever Chrollo is around has paid off. “What about Frank Sinatra?” 

 Chrollo smiles. Is he delighted that you find interest in one of his favorite artists? Though he’s never said it outloud, every long night drive has its silence filled with at least one Frank Sinatra song. 

   “Would you rather I change the song, dear?” He offers. And you would say yes, but this is one of the rare, rare moments where you are given the opportunity to take a jab at him. Although it’s nothing as deadly as anything a leader of the Phantom Troupe has faced, you won’t kill him or even hurt him for very long. But you are willing to do anything, at this point. 

   You feign the most pleasant voice you can muster, “Hm… That’s not really what I meant. I just didn’t think you’d listen to The Smiths.” 

   He lets out a small laugh, “Really? I have always listened to older songs around you, I suppose. I wouldn't say I like it… Hm, but it’s an interesting band.”

   So he does like it! 

   “Why do you think so?” You inquire further before adding, “Do you like this song a lot?”

   “Are you intending to interview me, (Name)?” Chrollo cocks his eyebrow, but it is only meant to tease you. 

  “Must’ve picked it up from someone.” A relentless pursuit, you press on further, “Okay though, but answer my question.” 

   Silence falls over him, as if he were in his own state of thinking so deeply, but you know it’s mainly a pretense. Whatever he wishes to say after, you know it must’ve been something he had thought of before. In any other situation, this silence often serves as to let a dreadful situation simmer in your mind.  But this time… Ah, you’re quite unsure. 

  Chrollo finally speaks,  “I’ll answer you of course.” The smile he gives you is anything but nice when you are very much aware of the condemnation those same lips bring you, “On the condition you’d kiss me after.”

  “Okay.” To his surprise, you agreed rather quickly. If that’s the sacrifice you need to make, then so be it. A kiss to soothe his soon-to-be sour, scorned face!

  He is satisfied, you can tell. He puts his elbow against the steering wheel, resting his face against his palm. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly interested, whatever designs you have in your head… Hm, I’ll know of it soon.” 

   No one fucking asked damn. You internally deadpanned, impatience is gnawing at your throat. He reminds you of how you’d write your essays when you have to reach a certain minimum word count by relentlessly dragging around a topic and beating around a bush so much that you end up writing a novel rather than an assignment. Ah… To make him anything alike to you doesn’t sound very right. Whatever, you digress. 

   Chrollo finally, finally starts. And you’re excited, elated, jovial- ah every synonym of the word happiness comes into mind. You can put any thesaurus at shame by now. “I remember the first time we met, you called me something of a hopeless romantic. At that time, I had only laughed because I found the sentiment rather off. Such nonsense. Me? An idealist of love? Love has always been a tool for me. You could only dream.”

   You cut to the chase,“Mhm, although you’ve found a contradiction because you actually enjoy those sappy songs right? Okay, what’s next?” 

   “You know me very well (You smile, excited). But that's not all (you frown, deflated).” Sweet, saccharine drips off of his voice. “I’ve never paid attention to such things, not for myself at least. I don’t ‘relate’ to those kinds of songs. But ever since I met you, it felt as if the world had shifted for me.” 

  He doesn’t stop, and for once you are glad he isn't, “My world has shifted and taken a hole in itself, one that has been carved into the shape of you.” 

  It is interesting how he is able to muse so freely about you, in front of you. Where is the shame and decorum?

   “And I do quite like this song, in all honesty.” His gaze meets yours, and grey eyes bore into your soul. “It really does remind me of the one I love so dearly.” 

   Please, please, please, let me get what I want… Those lyrics loop in your head over and over again. You should be sick with the abundance of affection he has for you that makes you seethe. And you would claw at the leather seats, avert your gaze, and try to block him out as much as you can. But tonight, you feel fucking amazing. 

  You can barely handle it. 

   “Dude, come on,” Your voice is off by an octave and you swear you can burst. Chrollo on the other hand finds satisfaction melting off of his face over the term being used to refer to him, outright calling him a bastard or a monster might be better. You make it a mental note to call him ‘dude’ more. “The Smiths is for losers.” 

   …

   “Pardon?’ 

   “The Smiths is for losers.” You repeat yourself before adding, “It’s for guys who can’t get any, for guys who waddle in sadness for something they can’t get, guys who are always up their own ass. Condescending guys who are secretly insecure, manipulative guys, guys who play guitar and get sad then do weed…” You are kind enough to give a long-winded further explanation.  Chrollo does not share the same sentiment. 

  Chrollo’s countenance seems unchanging at first, but it is not a waste, for you saw a split second of confusion, then something of offense written on his face before it smoothes out into the uncannily still expression he always wears. His lips open, then close, as if he’s mulling over an answer.

   “Are you insinuating I am that type of person, dearest?’ 

   "I mean if the shoe fits...? Well, what do you think?"

    He sighs like it’s obvious,  “That you made the wrong accusation over baseless data.” 

    “I’m not accusing you of anything!” You hold your hands up in mock defense, “Just telling you something everyone kind of agrees on. Things don’t have to be written in numbers or books… Sometimes it’s just a consensus. Everyone and their mom agrees on it."

   You are relentless tonight, so you continue again though Chrollo prompts nothing from your newfound talkative nature tonight, something you’re sure he would actually love in a different situation. 

   “These are the kind of guys girls avoid you know? People call it something of a warning. Like, ‘avoid guys who listen to The Smiths’.  I don’t mean to generalize or anything, but guys who listen to songs like that don’t end up to be very well in the head. And I also don’t mean to believe rumors but… Well…” You cough awkwardly, but it’s meant to deliver an unspoken message you know will only further test his ire. But you think you have had enough fun for tonight, you don’t wish to turn the night sour for you after all.

   …Or so you thought. 

   “So I’m just trying to say that you should treat me a little better, you know what I mean? I’m putting up with a lot” Everything you say here are meant to be a 50% insult, 30% jab, and 20% jokes. But the last thing you said, you can’t lie and say that you hope he’d take further thought on that. You yearn to hopefully be able to get out of the hotel room that serves as your grandiose cage more, and when you do, you aren’t being watched by an unknown amount of eyes that you know trail on to you by the shadows. That is all you wish for, really. That is to say, you can only wonder what his standards are for ‘treating you better’. 

   Ah, the smile he has on his face is different from before. This one is a sign that your fun is coming to a quick halt. 

   “So that’s what you’re getting at? Resourceful little minx you are.” 

   Why is he sounding so delighted over your insults, is he a masochist? Is he stupid? It’s your turn to cock your eyebrow. 

  “Have you enticed me in this long-winded conversation simply because you wanted to be treated a little better? And the way you had agreed so quickly to that kiss… " He puts a hand to his chest, a mockery of an apology. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to be so blind to your need for affection. You've gone through lengths to communicate your need, I'm very grateful."

  You let out a humorless laugh, “Pardon?” He is just truly-! Argh, whatever! “Did you not hear anything else I said?” You make sure to enunciate your words properly, afraid he might have some sort of hearing problems, well he does and you’re certain it has a name. What was it again? Oh right, an unfortunate combination of delusion and selective hearing… 

  “I know you tend to turn a little childish when you can’t get what you want. That’s not a quality many men like either. So, be a little kinder to me, won’t you?” 

  “Women don’t usually like mass murderers either. Anyone in their right mind, actually.”

   He hums, “That orange container of pills by your nightstand says otherwise. Not the best defense, try again?” 

   “You'd have some too, you just don't have any because you don't go to therapy."

   “Hm, keeping up that attitude won’t make me kiss you any sooner.” 

   “Then I’ll gladly keep this attitude!” 

   Unfortunately you don’t. You’re angry enough to have the energy to spew a million insults at lightspeed against him, but too angry to form a coherent thought that you’re certain would give him a decent jab. And to be frank, you’re rather spent. When you (reluctantly) asked Chrollo what time it was, thankfully he gave you a proper response. A quick tap of his phone showed that it was two and a half hours above your usual bedtime. The clothes you have aren’t the most comfortable either, while it’s not short they certainly expose areas where the wind would have too much fun dancing over. 

   Traffic is clearing as you can see the hotel you are both staying in come into view. You relax at the sight. You can almost feel the warm bath you will be soaking yourself in, what scent will you choose tonight? Rosemary, lavender… Ah, you can smell them already. You prompt to close your eyes for a moment of rest, but you find yourself sleeping on the rest of the way back.

   You feel fingers combing your locks stirring you awake, they’re Chrollo’s, obviously. Although you are half conscious, you recognize that scent of sandalwood and amber anywhere, as much as you’re ashamed to admit it. 

  “Do you want me to carry you?” Chrollo asks, and you murmur something in between a noise of annoyance and a ‘no’. He chuckles at this sight. “Alright then.” 

   He gives a soft peck on your lips, it’s warm. You almost lean in when the warmth of his lips leave yours, this half-conscious state gives him a moment of your vulnerability he has set his eyes on,  the one he relentlessly pursues after so much. But you know that even when he has a grasp at your vulnerability, it won’t stop him from digging for more. Greedy, ruthless man that he is, he will never stop. 

  “You are absolutely precious, you know that? Even if your mouth tends to run without care” Is that condescension or admiration in his voice? Pity, you can’t tell in the state you are in. You’re drunk from the lack of sleep and the future victory you have in mind. 

  “Before I answer that…” Your voice is barely above a whisper, Chrollo merrily leans in closer to hear you. Your lips ghost by the shell of his ear… 

  …

  “Name five songs from The Smiths. Are you like an actual fan or is it just FOMO?” 

   He just sighs. 

header from https://id.pinterest.com/pin/334040497376021340/

[zirconika]

I would love if you could write a fluffy negan x fem!reader one shot, there is genuinely not enough!!! I can’t think of any prompts tho I’m sorry 😭 but if you’re not able to write it then it’s all good🫶🏻

déjà vu

⇚ NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Negan Smith x Fem!Grimes!Reader WORDS: 3.6k SUMMARY: Being in charge of guarding Negan’s cell has given you plenty of opportunities to spend time with him against your will, but you unexpectedly end up bonding with him. Which is why nothing could have prepared you for finding out that you’ve met before and how. (Reader is Rick’s sister) WARNINGS: fluff, blood … idk what to say just read it!!!  SETTING: post-negan alexandria A/N: oh my god nonnie u r absolutely correct i just checked there’s a concerning shortage in negan fluff so ask and you shall receive!!! ps im nawt sure what u had in mind so i hope this works 

You hated Negan. End of story.

“Why do I have to be the one to do all this?” you’d complain to yourself every time you were handed the food you’d have to deliver to his cell. But you knew why. Your grief and your injury made you a liability than an asset out in the field, thus you found yourself assigned to something worse than desk duty—Negan duty.

The day your brother presumably died, you were so close to reaching him. Just a couple more steps ahead of you and you could have saved him…

But upon the explosion of the bridge had you skidding away, having you hit your head down on the harsh surface of the ground, blood spilling from under the back of your head as well as your broken leg… It had gotten blurry, but it happened nonetheless.

You were bedridden for a week, and you hated it—being left all alone to bear the weight of your grief. The communities were in shambles, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to lead just like your brother did.

When you got better, the ‘council’ refused to let you out, assigning you instead to managing the damned prisoner you had never once bothered to visit for any reason ever since he got locked up.

Now, there you were everyday, feeding the sick bastard canned tuna for breakfast. 

“Where’s the other guy?” he had asked you on the first day you stopped by. Without a word, you gave him his plate, only to sit down across from him, your arms crossed. 

“Doesn’t matter, I’m just doing my job.”

“Goddamn,” he said, that grin of his spirited as ever. Fuck this guy. You started to think of ways you could poison his meals without anyone knowing. “They gave you the fun work from home job? Not cool!”

The first time you met Negan was when he came by Alexandria. You weren’t there when the line-up happened, but it changed Rick. You’d never seen your brother so lost, disconnected from himself and everyone.

He didn’t eat the first meal you brought him, or the second, not even the third.

For a while, it was just like that—you glaring at him while he talked all about… Well, Negan talked about everything. He never seemed to shut up. At least when you were around. When you got better, you began going out again to go on supply runs and when you returned to fulfill your tasks of distributing his food, you also began to notice the change in him.

“Took you long enough,” he said. This time, he really took the time to dig in. “How was the outside? Fun?”

“It was alright,” you said. You’d been against holding a conversation with him, having carried the anger you thought your brother deserved to harness against him. But you’d been feeling so alone the entire time, you decided talking wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. “Found a box of canned goods, so that’s that. Good thing I don’t have any assholes taking half of whatever I got.”

“Ha ha,” Negan deadpanned as he continued eating. “I was worried you’d never show up. Been meaning to finally talk to someone.”

“What, you don’t blabber your ass off to any of the guys who’ve visited you?”

“Hell no,” he responded, looking at you as if what you just suggested was the worst thing in the world. 

Racking your mind on why on Earth would this dipshit find you entertaining to talk to despite you not holding any form of conversation throughout your entire time together last time, you decided there was only one possible reason. “You think I’m easy to crack.”

“No, are you crazy?” He looked up at you with a grin on his face as he ate his meal from his seat. “You just seem like the listener type. A lot of you Grimes do.”

You wanted to ask what he meant by that, but you kept your mouth shut. You let him talk his ass off until he finished his food before you wordlessly took his plate. 

As you were about to leave the room, he called out to you. “This gonna be a regular thing?”

“I hope not,” you said as you stepped out and closed the door behind you, with no intention of making this your daily routine. 

Except it eventually did. You don’t know how it happened, but it just did, and you let it. At one point, you started bringing him the food you cooked for yourself, asking him if it was good.

“Are you kidding me?” Negan said in between chews of the spaghetti you made. “I’d go as damn far as saying you might’ve beaten me in my own game.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpanned, parallel to what he’d replied to you on the first day of your routine. “You’re just trying to get me to open your gate for you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s the thing that just tickles ma balls.”

“Fucker,” you laughed.

You brought him all sorts of dishes you tried to cook. You would’ve asked Carol for help, but years after Rick’s death, everyone maintained a sort of distance from each other. It didn’t help that the Kingdom was hours away, and if you brought any of the food you made, it would’ve been rotten by the time you got there thanks to the heat.

It surprised you how easy it was to talk to him. Some days, you’d forget he was even a prisoner, but more of your friend. Then you’d remember everything he’s done and you’d become distant at times. Negan never commented on it, but he noticed it.

Michonne wanted to ask about why you were making food suitable for two people, but even she felt the gap between the two of you. You loved Michonne, but there was definitely a rift there somewhere.

The only time you’d hang out was when you were at the dinner table with her and the kids, and even then the two of you would only talk about whatever it was the kids wanted to talk about.

You were more close to Judith. For one, she was also fun to talk to. 

You and Negan had that preference in common—talking to Judith Grimes.

It was thanks to Judith you found out about something. After reading to her in bed, you noticed she seemed to still be wide awake. “What, you’re not sleepy yet?”

“I’m not allowed to tell you,” she said, seemingly scared of something. You wondered if Negan had threatened her, that maybe his kindness towards you was in preparation for something sinister.

“Tell me what?”

Judith beckoned you to come closer. You oblige. To your surprise, your niece leaned into your ear to whisper, “Someone has a crush on you!”

You had a feeling who she was referring to. “Who?”

Judith backed away, sinking into her blanket. “I can’t say!”

“Well, what did this someone say?”

“I can’t tell you! Goodnight, Auntie!” And then Judith covered her blanket over her head, guilty about what she’d said. Could it be?

“You’re really not gonna tell me?” you teased your niece. But you knew that once Judith’s made up her mind, that was it. You watched as the blanket shifted left and right out of Judith shaking her head. “Alright, then. Good night, baby.”

Alas, you weren’t able to have your questions answered when you found out about Negan escaping. 

You couldn’t find the words to describe how you were feeling, because it felt wrong to admit you even did feel anything. Maybe he was just using me so I wouldn’t notice his plans to escape… Did he always have plans to escape? Did he get out because of me?

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When he returned, he looked forward to seeing you again. While waiting, he fidgeted with his fingers. Negan Smith was a man of boastful performances; he always knew how to exude confidence in any situation. Coming back into his cell, he was so sure he’d have a fun time slipping back to your old routine together.

His heart almost leapt out of his throat when the door opened for the second time. The first time, he thought it was you, but he just got a whole lecture about everything. 

It bored him to death. He’d returned. There was nothing for him out there, and even if there was… It didn’t matter anymore.

You had to ignore the familiarity in what he called you…

“Hey, gorgeous. Missed me?” He excitedly watched as you came in, his friendly grin faltering when he realized you came in with the food he was originally given during his first few years of imprisonment.

Canned tuna.

“What, no new meal you want me to test today?” he asked, albeit nervously. To Negan’s dismay, his confidence was wavering. “Hellooo?”

Instead of sitting or standing right next to his cell, you sat at the spot you’d taken on the first day. You crossed your arms. 

“Oh, you’re pissed.”

You stared at him coldly. It bothered him, really. He’d gotten so used to seeing you with a warm, friendly smile on your face. He thought he’d have the luxury of seeing it again as soon as he returned.

Instead, he was met by your cold script, “Finish your meal.”

Negan began to strategize, thinking of how he wanted his play to be. In an attempt to reclaim his confidence, he decided to play the stubborn card, saying, “Nope.”

But you weren’t in the mood to play. “Alright, then don’t eat.”

“Fine,” he challenged.

But you weren’t the kind to back down either. “Fine.”

You were curious to know the story behind that subtle flash of recognition in his face that disappeared as soon as it came. It piqued your interest, as you recall having this conversation a long time ago… 

Deja vu, you thought to yourself.

To your surprise, Negan shook his head. “Jeez, just got goosebumps. Got deja vu there for a minute, it’s insane.”

Though you were intent on maintaining distance from the prisoner, you couldn’t help but ask. It surely was easy to talk to the guy, you had to give him that. “You felt that, too?”

“Felt what?”

“Deja vu,” you clarified. Negan watched as you stood up to approach his cell. “Like it happened before.”

“Is it just me, or are we literally doing some batshit telepathy right now?” Negan jokes. “Makes me think it’s a soulmate thing.”

“It’s not a soulmate thing.” You wrap your fingers around a bar of his cell, contemplating where you might have had that conversation. The first time you met Negan, you felt as if his voice was familiar. 

You searched the deepest crevices of your mind, trying to recall a time in your life when you might have possibly met the prisoner. One look at him and you knew he was doing the same.

Nothing came to mind. 

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Except for one. Holy shit. He wasn’t sure, but a part of him felt like it was yanking something out from a library in his mind.

He set it aside for now. He wanted to talk to you first, properly. “[Y/N], this is gonna be a strange request but… Could you come in?”

“What?” you ask, snapping out from your focus. “Why would I do that?”

“Just get in the damn cell.”

“How do I know you won’t trick me just so you could slip out?”

His face screwed up into a frown. “Because I’m not even gonna try. I came back; I chose to. Because of you.”

“What?” you ask again, lost more than ever. It felt wrong that you were expecting something. This was Negan.

The same Negan who…

You shook your head. And you don’t know what force of nature propelled you to be stupid, but you oblige with his request. You sat down next to him on his cot in his cell.

Your backs were to the wall. It felt comfortable somehow. You eyed the stack of books he’d sped through reading whenever he was alone.

Negan set the plate of canned tuna aside, putting his hands on his lap. “You know why I came back?”

“Because you’re an idiot?”

The prisoner laughed, and an unsaid guilt clawed at you from the back of your mind, saying whatever this was… It was wrong. But with Negan, you never felt like you were alone. Which is why it sucked when he left.

“No, stupid. Because there was nothing for me out there.”

“What makes you think there’s something for you here?”

He looked at you this time, his eyes free of the malice you were used to seeing constantly present. “You.”

You had to scoff. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” He thought back to all the times you’d sat right next to him with bars separating the two of you. How he’d never felt so welcomed except for in your presence. 

How he waited for you to visit him. How he was constantly excited for the next time you’d come. How he’d get frustrated whenever it was someone else who’d open the door.

“Thought I was done for,” he confessed. “Until you came and I… I told myself I’d make amends with you out of respect for your brother and your nephew, bless their souls. Then you started visiting me by routine. I knew it was your job, but I never felt like I was behind bars whenever I was with you.”

You didn’t know what to say. 

“It means I like you, if you didn’t get that.” He nudged your elbow, looking at you as if he were already expecting you to turn him down. “I just wanted to tell you so you’d understand.”

“I like you, too,” you blurted out.

This time, Negan was the one who couldn’t seem to find the right words to say, much less at least even any words at all. 

“Rick dying like that… It changed me. Changed everyone, really. Nothing was ever the same and I couldn’t do anything about it. I felt alone, and I’m grateful you were there when I grieved. It just… Feels wrong to feel this way about you.”

Negan nodded. “I get it.”

You felt his hand on top of yours, rubbing it. He didn’t even realize he’d done it, but he left your hand alone when he noticed he did. You wish he didn’t. 

But you had to be brave. Shamelessly, you grabbed his hand in yours, lacing your fingers with his. Negan let you. “You suck at this game, asshole.”

And the two of you froze. He knew where he knew you from, and so did you.

“Ho-ly shit,” Negan started. “Are you GorgeousArsenal777?”

It all made sense now. Holy shit, indeed. “You’re SaviorNutsack69?”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Way before the apocalypse, Negan had made it his personal mission to destroy every single child XBOX Games. First was Gears of War. 

But he decided he wanted more than just a game with a co-op campaign mode. He needed to obliterate opponents in a ranked multiplayer combat game. It wasn’t that he hated them, he just needed a win…

He found a guaranteed win when he matched with MrPuddingCyborg. It was an easy win, really. It was very clear that whoever was behind that avatar was a newbie, thus it was easy for Negan to rank up.

“Fuckin’ loser,” he said, turning on his mic. “I bet you picked that username ‘cause you thought it was cool, didn’t you! It isn’t!” 

“Your technique sucks!” a little boy on the other end said, furious.

“Pants pisser,” Negan said one last time before beginning the game. “Are you shittin’ your pants now? What’re you gonna do, tell your mom?”

The growling on the other end stopped, meaning the kid turned off his mic. Negan scoffed, sensing victory from miles away. “What a fucking crybaby.”

Looking for the same benefits of winning, he requested a rematch. MrPuddingCyborg accepted. Negan leaned back, knowing it was gonna be a cake walk when—

You were killed by MrPuddingCyborg.

What?

Negan’s avatar respawned, but his tactic was used against him.

You were killed by MrPuddingCyborg.

You were killed by MrPuddingCyborg.

You were killed by MrPuddingCyborg.

It went on like that for a while until the two words he most dreaded to find on the screen flashed before him: GAME OVER.

Game over? No way. 

Negan ended their match, frustrated to find that his failure jeopardized his progress in getting up to a higher rank. 

Affected by his loss, Negan kept playing with two different players before finally getting to the third player.

Negan grinned to himself, gripping his controller with the drive to defeat everyone, but for now, GorgeousArsenal777 would be the one to get the heat.

To his delight, he got the first win. He exclaimed with a mischievous laugh. “Haha! One for Virginia!”

But that was just it.

Negan watched in horror as the player obliterated him in every round. He could already imagine his rank getting lower and lower…

He turned on his microphone. “The fuck’s that about? Are you trolling me right now?”

“Troll you for what? Coins you don’t have?,” taunted a girl on the other end as they waited for the intermission time to finish so they could leave the lobby and play another round. “Checked your account, saw you’ve been here for half a year and you’re still in a mid-tier rank. News flash, you suck at this game, asshole.”

“Game on, Gorgeous.”

“Suck my nutsack,” said the voice on the other end. Somewhere almost ten hours away south of Virginia, you clutched your nephew’s controller with a burning desire to destroy the gaming career of this fucker who pissed off your nephew. 

Negan watched in poorly disguised horror as the words notified him of his losses on the screen.

You were killed by GorgeousArsenal777.

You were killed by GorgeousArsenal777.

You were killed by GorgeousArsenal777.

“Listen here, Gorgeous,” he started. Whatever relaxation Negan had was gone. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, concentrating more than ever. “I am gonna make you regret that you ever got a console.”

You snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”

Negan was dead serious. “Fine.”

“Fine,” you fired back. And just in time, you sent a bomb his way, killing him for another time.

You killed SaviorNutsack69.

While you waited for the next round in the lobby, you and your nephew watched as SaviorNutsack69 approached your avatar. The two of you couldn’t help but snicker as he did.

His mic turned on again. “You’re a cheat.”

You resisted calling him a virgin seeing that he came from Virginia, acknowledging the presence of your eleven year old nephew sitting right behind you with his legs crossed, giggling.

“I could’ve beaten this guy,” Carl said with a laugh.

“I know, pumpkin.” You gave the kid a warm smile before turning back to the screen, eager to destroy this man further. “But guys like SaviorNutsack69 deserve to be obliterated.”

You turned your mic back on. “Not my fault you suck. Look at your avatar, dipshit.”

You and Carl snickered on your end, giggling.

The guy on the other end laughed mirthlessly. “I do not appreciate you talking ass about my Limited Edition skin.”

“Sorry you’re not more appreciative,” you quipped, resisting the urge to laugh out loud. “And sorry you can’t rock a leather jacket like I can.”

Negan hated leather jackets, thought it was too hot. He preferred those loose zip-up hoodies. But was not gonna tell GorgeousArsenal777 on the off chance that she uses it as substance to say he just couldn’t pull it off.

“I can so rock a leather jacket, shitface.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.” And then he left the lobby before the game could start. You and your nephew burst out laughing at the thought of the dude getting a leather jacket.

He was nothing to the two of you three minutes later, because you let Carl play with his account after that. But SaviorNutsack69? He was not the type to back down from a fight even long after it had ended.

700 miles from Georgia, SaviorNutsack69 got up from his chair and drove to the mall. He ran into the edgiest store he could find with purpose and unapologetically purchased the coolest leather jacket he could find.

And the rest is history.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The two of you sat there in silence, the thought of having met before all of this…

It was refreshing—the prospect of destiny. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. Either way, it made you an ounce closer to him. 

He grinned. Negan thought back to the leather jacket he abandoned before returning. “Hey, you’re the genius behind my look.”

“Guess I am,” you mused.

Your shoulder brushed against his, and you could have sworn there was electricity there somewhere.

“Feels like a rocky start to a love story, huh?” he asked, looking at you expectantly.

“You think this is a love story?” you asked him nervously.

Negan thought about it for a second, grinning. “I don’t know, do you?”

“Well,” you started. You paused before standing up and leaving his cell. Before leaving, you looked back at him with a smile. “We’ll see.”

“See what?” Negan stood up, holding the bars of his cell only to realize that it wasn’t locked.

“If you’re as bad on garden duty as you are on Call of Duty,” you taunted him with the same spirit you had from all those years ago. “Maybe then I’ll consider if it’s a love story.”

And that was it. You liked Negan, but that was just the beginning of a whole new story. You just knew you were lucky enough to have gotten the chance to meet again.

i'm still building my blog. so for now, just send me an ask to be added to my general taglist :)

TAGLIST: @vaniniweenie @avabh12 @stinkygirl009 @whatchareadingnow @remuslittlesister @romanoffmaximoff0096

[pika-blur]

i thought kay pulled out a fuckin switchblade goddamn asjklaksdj