#bubble stickers near by

[p1astr81]

(in)formalities

In which: Oscar informally meets your father, and formally meets the rest of your family.

pairing: Spider-Man!Oscar Piastri x reader

warnings: descriptions of violence, pain, painfully awkward encounters, large time skips, a bit mature near the end, use of y/n.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

‧‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅

“Mr Stark? You there?” Oscar called softly over the coms.

He was currently crouched down in a tree, having followed Ryder West all the way to a remote warehouse. It’s been over a month since his last appearance, and Stark was sure he was conjuring some up that would be rather dangerous.

“I’m here, kid. Trying to get some look inside but the drones are unable to X-ray the building for whatever reason.” Oscar searched the skies for the silent drones, but was unable to locate them. Cloaking mechanisms.

“So I’ll have to sneak inside after all.” Oscar sighed. “Why can’t I be cloaked? Like the suit has a heater in it but can’t make me invisible? And y/n mentioned that I should really get a voice changing device so could we look into-“

“Kid, these are great questions. But should not be asked while you’re hiding out in a tree.”

Oscar blinked, quickly remembering his surroundings. A turn of his head to the left, and he was met with a squirrel peaking its head out of a hole in the tree. “Right, yeah. Mission.” Oscar lowered his voice.

“Okay. Since the drones aren’t working, I have no external vision to help you out. So if you want to back out—“

“No.” Oscar rejected Tony’s proposal quickly. “If he’s harboring weapons, we need to know.” Oscar turned his comms down. If Tony tried to stop him, his words would go unheard.

Silently, he swung himself over to land on top of the warehouse. One thing about Oscar was he could make the perfect inconspicuous landing, as not so much as a tiny tap was made upon his body making contact with the rooftop.

Much like one would do if they were on ice, Oscar dropped to all fours, spreading his body weight out to continue being as stealthy as humanly possible.

Oscar decided his best choice would be to slide through the cracked window on the top of the warehouse. Any other way would be too loud.

Rather robotically, West paced along the width of the warehouse, his back turned to Oscar while he faced the rear entrance as if expecting someone or something.

Tuning back into his comms, Oscar kept his voice low and informed Tony, “it seems like he’s expecting company.”

A frustrated sigh. “Piastri, get-“ Oscar didn’t bother listening, quickly turning his comms back down as soon as he heard Tony’s scolding tone.

Despite the obvious objection from Tony, Oscar slipped himself into the dimly lit warehouse, crawling along the ceiling before finding a stack of large crates to drop down behind. He searched the wooden crates for any kind of label, but only came across “fragile” or “this side up” stickers.

Frustrated, Oscar blindly took a step backward, and his foot landed on a piece of bubble wrap. The loud pop echoed through the building. Oscar silently winced, but his heart rate spiked when he heard Ryder call out harshly, “who’s in here?”

Heavy boots prodded in his direction. Oscar swallowed the harsh lump in his throat, now watching where he was walking as he tried to not get caught.

The crates Oscar relied on for shelter quickly slid away from him as a sheet of ice coated the floor. “Ah, Spider-Man. I was wondering when you and I would finally meet.” While his voice showed delight, Oscar could see in his face that his intentions where wholly sinister. “Though I was hoping Stark would send someone less, well, puny.” A frown adorned West’s expression, feigning remorse.

Tired of his super-villian esque speech, Oscar shot a web toward his hands, hoping to limit his capabilities to manipulate the ice. But it seemed he’d predicted the move as he dodged out of the way.

Sharp icicles darted at high speeds toward Oscar. He jumped high and flipped over each of the pointy ice blades in one go.

Realizing this wasn’t going to be such an easy fight, Ryder advanced. He threw a punch. Oscar caught his fist and flipped him onto his back. A freezing cold sensation zipped through Oscar’s arm, soon realizing Ryder had been freezing his hand. He jumped back, which allowed Ryder time to get to his feet.

He threw another punch. Oscar dodged it with ease. In return, Oscar landed one to his stomach. His fist made contact with a rock-hard surface. He tried to shake off the ache in his fist, opting to kick a blow to his chest instead.

Stupid move.

Ryder caught his foot, twisting him around and throwing him to the ground. The wind was knocked out of his lungs, producing a comical “oof” sound. Oscar took the opportunity to swipe his foot at Ryder’s. Caught off guard, he fell to the ground with a dull thud.

They both recovered quickly. As Oscar went to deliver another blow to his girlfriend’s father, the ground beneath him turned to ice. It threw him off balance, and he had to put all of his energy in trying to stay upright.

Ryder took advantage of the distraction. Before Oscar could react, a block of ice the side of his torso collided with his body. The force was so strong, it threw him through the front entrance of the warehouse. The doors were torn off their hinges.

Oscar’s back collided with a tree, the contact so vicious that he was struggling for breath and consciousness. As he focused on his state of mind, he hardly heard the crude voice of Ryder telling him, “next time, just stay home.” and a laugh that mocked his pathetic, limp, form.

He was unsure how much time had passed when he finally stood and found it in himself to shamefully return to the compound.

Of course, Tony was waiting right at the entrance. He begun to scold the child as soon as he set foot in the room. “You listen to me kid! You don’t get to decide how a mission goes. You. Listen. To. Me.”

Oscar rubbed his head, trying to take in what Tony was saying but his body ached far too much to even begin to comprehend the words being thrown at him. He caught bits and pieces. Something about compromising the mission, losing valuable evidence, and getting killed.

Oscar just aimlessly nodded along until he heard the words, ��now get home, Nicole is probably worried sick.”

As he always did, he crawled through his bedroom window. He didn’t even notice another presence in the room until a voice called out, “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

Reacting on instinct, his hand shot out, webbing your wrist to the post of his bed. He sighed when he saw you, tearing his mask from his face, dropping down to apologize profusely and free your hand.

You faced him with a frown, ignoring his apologies and taking his face in your hands. “Oh, Oscar.” He winced when your thumb brushed near a cut on his eyebrow. Your features expressed a deep concern, maneuvering his body—surprisingly easily—to sit on his bed, telling him you’d be back.

Oscar observed his surroundings. Your math papers laid spread out on his sheets, your laptop propped open with videos on the topic open.

Right. You were supposed to study together tonight.

You came back, your arms full of supplies. Cotton pads, cotton balls, a towel, hydrogen peroxide, gauze, and more.

Guilt engulfed his every being when he saw just how concerned you were, and while he appreciated the care, he couldn’t help but feel bad for making this anyone else’s problem. He tried to do it himself but you stubbornly wouldn’t let him even lift a finger.

While he felt terrible, the concentration on your face as you cleaned off the bloody skin around the wound was admittedly very cute. And the way you looked at him with the softest eyes whenever his face scrunched up in pain had him forgetting about the body aches and got his heart fluttering.

“What did you get yourself into?” You asked softly, more of a passive question. You didn’t really expect an answer but he gave one anyway. “Just ran into some bad people.” He vaguely explained.

When you finished patching up the gouge on his eyebrow, you motioned to the rest of his body. “Strip.” You commanded, only catching your mistake when his eyes went wide. “So I could check the rest of you.” You continued, eyes to the floor and face suddenly warm.

After the bed dipped beside you, you decided it was safe to raise your eyes. You frowned at the multiple bruises scattering his chest, and hesitantly reached out. Pressing lightly along his ribs, you searched his expression for any kid of discomfort, but it remained neutral.

That’s when you noticed his pupils. One blown wide and one moderately dilated. “Oh no.” You sighed. He raised his brows at you. “I think you have a concussion.”

He gave a half-hearted chuckle. “That would explain the haziness and why everything sounds like it’s underwater.” He rested his head against your shoulder, accepting a couple scratches to his head with your nails.

While his brain was scrambled, he could still make out some thoughts. Like how he thought you were too good for him. You deserved better. One month into your relationship, and he’d already been worrying you.

“Go get a shirt, I’ll take you to the hospital.” But when he turned his back, a horrified gasp stopped him in his tracks. He peered at your over his shoulder, watching as you took a picture of him. His confusion was swept away with one look at the photo.

A pinkish ring radiated off of a deep purple bruised that spanned the length of his back, and half of its width. His brown eyes met yours. The sheen of tears coating your eyes had his heart breaking. You were truly terrified for him.

If he was sure it wouldn’t cause his body irreversible pain, he’d drop to his knees and apologize until he lost his mouth ran dry and his voice was deduced to nothing.

But Oscar did as you told him to, taking care to slip a hoodie over his head. You made sure to grab an ice pack from the freezer on your way out.

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

As it turned out, you were right. Oscar did have a concussion. A severe one. And he had been recovering for the past three weeks. Which meant sunglasses in brightly lit places, minimal screen time, and worst of all, no Spider-Man.

Two weeks ago, Oscar tried to convince Tony that going out as Spider-man would be fine. Just pop some tinted glasses behind his eyelets and boom, everything’s fine.

The action of you swinging around and running around will do more harm than good. And your mom would kill me. It’s a solid no, Oscar.

On the bright side, at least he got to spend more time with you.

Now surpassing two months, you thought it was time he’d finally met your family. Which led him to standing outside in the cold in his best dress shirt and pants, waiting to be let in.

Thankfully, you were the one who greeted him.

“Oscar,” you smile affectionately. “Come in, you must be freezing.” You stepped aside, allowing him to stand in the foyer with you. Closing the door, you took his hand, pecking his lips then bringing him through the house to the kitchen where both your parents stood.

“Mom, dad,” he could feel just how anxious you were as you squeezed his hand tighter. “This is Oscar.” You smiled shyly.

Your mom’s face lit up. “Oh, hi!” She briskly crossed the room to envelope Oscar in a short hug. “It’s so good to put a face to the name.” Oscar smiled politely. “You too, mrs, l/n.” She waved a hand through the air. “It’s West, actually,” she kindly corrected. “But you can just call me Cher.”

Ryder stood behind him, much taller than Oscar himself. His eyes narrowed at Oscar and Oscar’s body froze, praying he hadn’t been figured out by the man so quickly.

But he was surprised to be asked, “what are your intentions with my daughter?”

Your mother glared at him. “Ryder! A hello would be great to start!” She scolded.

Ryder cleared his throat, blue-grey eyes still boring into Oscar’s brown ones. “Hello. What are your intentions with my daughter.” He asked, same cold tone.

Cher rolled her eyes, taking hold of Oscar’s arm. “Ignore him.” She muttered, guiding Oscar through the house. “I’ll give you a little tour.”

Oscar had already seen a majority of the house from your party, but he let her drag him through room after room anyway.

When he made his way back to the dining room, his eyes landed on yours almost immediately, and took quick note of the apologetic nature of your expression. He was led to the seat beside yours. “You sit right here, hon. I’ll get you your food.” Oscar tried to offer to get his own food, but he wouldn’t hear any of it.

Another—slightly older—boy emerged from around the corner. Oscar received a passive wave from him. “I’m not sticking around for this. Gonna go get food with a few of the guys.” He explained shortly, plucking a pair of keys from a hook. “Okay, drive safe.” Cher smiled.

“That’s my brother. He’s always either not home or rotting away in the basement.” You chuckled quietly. Oscar nodded, still staring at him.

A tiny poke was inflicted on Oscar side. “I hope she didn’t freak you out too much.” You paused. “She’s been counting down the days to this.” Underneath the coverings of the table, Oscar took your hand in his. Oscar’s smile spread along with the warm feeling inside of him. It was a rare occurrence for him to feel so… welcome. Even in the presence of Ryder subzero west. “‘M honored.”

Speak of the devil and he shall come.

Ryder stepped into the room, scrutinizing gaze locked on Oscar. He dropped your hand quickly. “So, Piastri,” his tone was anything but pleasant, demeaning and almost mocking. “we never got to finish our conversation,” then noticing his wife’s glare he added, “I just want to know that you’re good for my daughter.”

Oscar forced himself to look Ryder in the eyes, trying his best to avoid looking weak. “Just like you, I only want the best for her.” Oscar tried to give his best reassuring smile. It came up strained and kind of flat.

“And you think that’s you?”

“I hope that it is me.”

“What if it isn’t? Will you break her heart?”

“I have no intentions of doing so, sir.”

Ryder cocked his head, leaning closer to oscar, his hands clasped in front of him on the table. “What about in the bedroom?”

Oscar’s eyes went wide, and you quickly gagged. “Ew dad! We haven’t even talked about that yet!” And you mom butted in saying, “this is not appropriate dinner table conversation.”

“I believe it is.” Ryder’s voice cut through the air, silencing everyone else. His eyes shifted to each person who sat around the table and left off on Cher. “What if this skinny kid gets her pregnant and ruins her life? Hm?”

Skinny?

“Ryder that is enough!” Cher’s gaze was fiery and threatened to burn right through Ryder across the table. “He is a guest, and frankly, I think he is a very sweet kid. I won’t tolerate this interrogation at my dinner table any longer.”

Her eyes shifted to Oscar and her gaze became soft. “I am so sorry, dear.” Oscar blinked. “It’s totally fine.” He shook his head smiling. But truthfully, he felt sick to his stomach and wanted to high tail it out of there before Ryder went into an ice-slinging manic.

Your hand found Oscar’s under the table and gave it a tight squeeze. A silent apology.

The remainder of the dinner was ate in near silence, only the occasional question from Cher. Ryder said nothing else, only sending lengthy glares in Oscar’s direction. He of course ignored them.

When dinner was finished, you led Oscar up the stairs to your room. “Door stays open!” Ryder shouted up the stairs. You rolled your eyes, to which Oscar held back a laugh.

“I’m really sorry about him.” You apologized once in the confines of your bedroom. Oscar dismissed your apology with a shake of his head. “It’s alright.” I’m not a fan of him either, he wanted to add but kept that part to himself. “Your mom is lovely though.” He added.

You gave a soft smile, fingers trailing down his arm to his hands. Your fingers laced with his. “I think she really likes you.” Your gaze found his through your eyelashes. Oscar hummed. “That’s great, ‘cause I really like you.” Oscar confided, tilting your chin with the tip of his finger and capturing your lips with his.

The moment was very short lived, because Cher stepped into the room. “Oh! Sorry.” At the interruption, you both jumped apart, hanging your heads in embarrassment. “I just needed to know when Oscar planned on leaving? Your father and I need to pick something up from a friends house.”

“Oh, mom we’re old enough for you to leave us alone.”

“I know, but your father is paranoid about… well,” she gestured to the bed.

“Mom,” you complained. “You’ve already put me on birth control, and dad stocked my bedside table with condoms.” She opened the drawer on her nightstand. Three boxes of condoms. All different sizes. “If anything were to happen—which it won’t!—we would be completely safe.” You sighed.

“I know! I trust you guys, he doesn’t.”

“Just go, it’s okay.”

Cher nodded, and headed back downstairs. When you heard the final stair creek you turned back to Oscar. “Oh my god they’re so embarrassing.” You shook your head.

“No funny business!” Ryder’s voice shouted up the stairs. Face now feeling hot, you gave him a look to say, see?

In response to your father, you yelled back, “Okay!”

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

There was, in fact, funny business.

What did he expect, really? Two teens in a house alone? Funny business is inevitable.

“Oscar,” you gasped out, holding tight to his flexed bicep while he kissed down your nearly-naked torso. The only thing inhibiting a fully nude upper half was your lacy bra.

The boy was nearly unrecognizable to you. A lust taking over his soft brown eyes, turning them dark. And he was so fucking cocky. Teasing kisses up and down your skin, getting so close to removing your jeans but his lips would recede as soon as they reached the waistband. Gripping your waist and your hips with a bruising amount of force.

It was like a brand new Oscar. But you couldn’t say that you weren’t enjoying it.

He kissed his way across your shoulder. “Were you expecting this? Is that why you wore this pretty thing?” He snapped your bra strap.

“Hoping,” you managed through shaky, desperate breaths.

Working his way back up to your lips, you shuttered a breathy call of his name into his mouth. He raised a brow in response. “I want you.”

Teasing, he cocked his head. “I’m right here?”

“Just, fuck…” your desperate pleading gaze had his cocky facade crumbling. “F-fuck me,” you gasped when his teeth scraped along your neck.

Lustful eyes met yours, his brows raised. “Is that what you want?”

You nodded eagerly, mhmm, you hummed.

Fingers tantalizingly slid down your body at an annoyingly slow rate. But the way his touch lit up your skin was impossible to ignore.

Landing at your waist band, fingers fiddling with the fabric, he looked up at you. “So I can take these off then?” He asked, already undoing the button. You nodded again, biting your lip to restrain yourself. “Please,” he smiled at your needy whining.

“Y/n we’re home! Is Oscar still here?” Cher yelled from the bottom of the steps.

Shit, you cursed under your breath as your father’s heavy boots began to ascend the stairs. “Yup!” You called back to your mother.

Oscar webbed your shirt from across the room, throwing it in your direction as threw a shirt over his head. He snatched your anatomy book from across the room, sitting next to you against the bed frame. The book was throne open to a random page as Ryder stepped into the room.

He glared at Oscar. “Just studying,” you smiled, hoping he didn’t realize how flushed Oscar’s face was. “About what?” He inquired, gaze locked on Oscar’s.

You took a glance at the page “Hypothalamus.”

Ryder hummed, still eyeing Oscar suspiciously. “Hm. What’s it do?”

“It-“ you began to answer, but Ryder held up a hand, stopping you.

He nodded to Oscar. “I want him to answer.”

Thankfully, this was something Oscar knew well. “Regulates body temp, mood, hunger, blood pressure.” He listed only a few.

Ryder sized him up and hummed, unconvinced. “It’s late. I want him out.”

“But dad-!”

“No buts. He has ten minutes before I call the cops on him.” He whipped around to exit the room, but something caught his eye. He reached up, swirling a silk web around his fingers.

Oscar’s web from new years. His heart dropped to his ass.

“Seems like you’ve got a spider in here.” The comment was passive, but the look he gave Oscar was dangerous. “If you find it, let me know. I’ll squash it.” His words were for you, but his eyes were hard-locked on Oscar.

He left without another word.

“Okay, that was odd.” You laughed, but Oscar felt like he could be sick. Something inside him was telling him that Ryder knew exactly who he was.

[tinylilacbun]

Scary Admirer

Pairing: dark!daddy!rafe x kook!little!reader

Warnings: age regression, dark themes, murder, stalking, reader is naive

A/N: not sure if I like this 😭 but omg thank you sm for 4,3k followers 🥹🫶🏻

Rafe laid eyes on you two months ago when he spotted you at a party, admiring you dance and twirl in your pastel colored dress, two small bows decorating your simple hairstyle.

You seemed so soft, such a contrast to his appearance and personality which is the reason he felt so drawn to you in the first place.

In that very night he introduces himself to you, putting on his charming smile as he holds out his hand. "Rafe Cameron, nice to meet you..." He trails off and you tell him your name with an adorable smile, shaking his hand.

He repeats your name in a murmer, testing it on his tongue.

Since then he made it his mission to get to know you more, not that you already share practically everything with him because you feel like you can trust him.

Your friends keep warning you to stay away from him, saying that the kook prince is bad news and that you should be wary of him.

Despite your better judgement you think that they just don't really know him, I mean he's so nice to you since the beginning and there must be a reason he shows that certain side of him to you only.

You like Rafe and you both start getting closer, spending time with each other but you're just friends doing things they normally do, right?

Oh if only you knew his true intentions.

Rafe studies everything you do, your routines, appointments, the people you surround yourself with and he goes furious anytime he sees you talking to a pogue, especially if it's a man, you being your usual bubbly self while that prick keeps staring at your chest shamelessly.

He often has to protect you as he claims, scolding you for being too trusting with everyone and suggest that you should stay near him for your own safety.

When the news of recent killings in Kildare goes around about witnesses who saw a person completely dressed in black and wearing a ghostface mask leaving the crime scenes, you started to not leave your house as much as before, avoiding going out after it gets dark.

The thing that scares you the most is that you have some kind of connection to every person that has been killed.

Since those deaths you've been regressing a lot more due to the fear and stress that comes with anytime you turn on your tv or scroll on your phone because no one can stop talking about it.

It took Rafe three weeks to find out about your age regression, only able to confirm his suspicion after you started inviting him over more often and he got the possibility to go through your room whenever you left to either go to the bathroom or get something.

He went through everything.

Your drawers where he found a certain one that only held more childish clothes with different prints and all in pastel colors.

Under your bed where he found a box decorated with stickers and took a peek of its contents, a smirk forming on his face when he sees a set of pacifiers, coloring books and crayons, stickers, and a bottle.

"Interesting..." He mutters, quickly pushing the box back under your bed when he hears your footsteps approaching the room again.

One evening you lay on your stomach on your plush bed and coloring contently in your hello kitty books with some crayons sprawled around, not knowing about the dark figure looming in your yard and watching you through your window.

Rafe smiles as he sees you reaching under your bed to retrieve a pacifier from your secret box, slipping it into your mouth.

He pulls out his phone, his mask and knife held in his other hand as he snaps a few pictures of you.

You're blissfully unaware of your supposed friend being literally outside, too engrossed in your littlespace.

Outside Rafe sees you getting up from your bed and over to your attached bathroom, closing the door behind you. That was his chance.

Rounding the house to the front door he crouches down for the spare key that he knows is hidden under the mat.

After finishing your night routine in the bathroom you open the door again, yawning as you approach your bed, stopping in your tracks at the printed out pictures laying on your bed.

Taking a better glance at them your heart beats faster when you realize they're all pictures of you...some where you're in your room, others from when you were walking around Kildare or at parties, and what made your stomach drop was the ones where you obviously were in littlespace.

"Nice shots, don't you think?" A sudden low distorted voice from behind you has you freezing and before you could react, a hand clamped over your mouth, a broad chest pressing against your back. "Shh, shh, none of that."

You whimper in fear, instinctively reaching up to grasp onto the arm that was holding you against the stranger.

"I've been watching you for a while now, y'know. Tell me, isn't it tiring to take care of yourself? To know that no one will be good enough to be your daddy?" He asks and you feel tears pricking in your eyes. "All those idiots I got rid of just because they didn't know how to treat someone as special as you..."

Your muffled pleading makes him chuckle, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

"Imma let go of you now, but don't try and think of anything stupid, got it?" He warns you, his hold on you a little firmer and you nod shakily. "Good girl."

He takes off his mask, throwing it on the bed before he pulls his hand away, taking a step back. Even if you wanted you wouldn't get out a single sound, too afraid to even move.

The you so thought stranger places a hand on your shoulder, slowly turning you to face him and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach at who's standing in front of you. "R-Rafe?"

You take a hesitant step back, the back of your knees hitting your bed. "I- I don't understand...wha-"

"I know, but you don't need to worry." He speaks softly, stepping closer and reaching a hand up to trace the side of your face with his fingers, grabbing your chin to tilt your head up slightly to meet his gaze, a smile creeping on his face.

He gently wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb, leaning down to kiss your forehead, the action meant to be comforting but the words that leave him do the opposite.

"Daddy's here now..."

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @erikasurfer

[kayhi808]

First Crush - 5

You arrive at the Tower, Abby woken up early, excited about surprising Bucky. She holds your hand and does her version of skipping as you make your way to Bucky's office. You run into Captain Rogers in the hallway, "Abigail Rose! Good morning! Hey, Y/N. What are you guys doing here?"

"Hi Cap. Do you remember Captain Rogers, Abby? He's Sergeant Barnes' friend."

"Morning, Mr. Captain." Abby moves closer to you & wraps an arm around your leg.

"Abby wanted to leave Sergeant Barnes a surprise."

Kneeling down, "You brought Bucky a surprise?"

Abby nods cupping her hands around her mouth, "It's secret."

"Oooh, ok." He smiles at her, "I better let you guys get to it. Have fun."

*****

Bucky dropped by his office on his way to the gym to get in a workout. His phone bings with a text.

Steve: Incoming. Surprise headed your way.

Then he hears Abby's chattering approach his office. You lightly knock on his open door & Abby squeals & jumps up & down.

"Abby! How are you?"

She looks up at you and you smile, giving a small nod before she runs over to Bucky's side. "Mr. S'gent, you're home!" He notices, she places her hands on his Vibranium arm while hopping up & down & it makes him laugh.

"You can call me Bucky."

"Mr. Bucky."

"No, just Bucky."

Nodding, "ok." Her smile is from ear to ear.

You step just inside the doorway, "Sorry to interrupt, but Abby wanted to drop something off for you." Abby runs over to you holding out her hands as you pull her letter out of your backpack.

"Tank you, Mama!" She hurries back to Bucky's side & he lifts her onto his lap. "I mades it."

"Did you? Wow!" He puts the drawing on his desk. "Is this...you?"

"Uh huh! The banoons is 'cos you did a good work."

"This is beautiful, Abby. Thank you so much."

Leaning back against his chest, "You melcome."

"It's welcome."

"It's what i says, you melcome." You smirk & shake your head.

Bucky shrugs, "I understood it perfectly."

Your heart is about to explode. Abby is thrilled to see Bucky again and you've never seen Bucky this animated before. He's really not as intimidating as you once thought.

"Baby, we better go and let Bucky get back to his busy day."

"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Cans Bucky comes with us?" You meet Bucky's blue eyes over Abby's head. He cocks an eyebrow at you.

"He might have plans, honey."

"I wasn't doing much today. I was just headed to the gym," he smiles at you.

"Wants to picnic? I gots bread for the ducks. I can share wit yous."

"You know what? I love to picnic!" He looks down at Abby's surprised face & laughs.

"See Mama! He loves it!" Clapping her hands, "Comes, let's go!" She hops off Bucky's lap & tries to pull him up.

Bucky takes his new drawing & closing the door he tacks it up on a corkboard he has behind his door. It joins the first drawing Abby gave him. You see that & you smile at him.

Again, Abby almost loses her mind. "Mama lookit!" Bucky picks her up so she can view it better. "My mama said you can't forget me because you has my drawing and sticker."

"Forget you?? I could never forget you." Abby hugs him around the neck & kicks her legs in joy. You grab her legs before she kicks him in the groin.

"Careful Abby." You look at Bucky & laugh.

"Do you mind if we stop off in the residence? I'll grab my stuff & we can go."

"No, that's fine."

There are a few floors restricted for agents that reside in the building. He brings you upstairs & you wait in the common area while Bucky grabbed his own back pack for the picnic.

*****

Stopping at a deli to get sandwiches for lunch, Bucky ended up picking up the tab and adding a bunch of cookies and brownies for dessert. Abby gets a special ride on the shoulders of the Winter Soldier. She's never been so high up & couldn't stop giggling.

You were able to snag a small spot near the pond, spreading out a blanket under a shaded tree. It was such nice day. You brought some bubbles so Abby ran around trying to pop them. Bucky would blow and you and Abby would compete to pop the most. The 3 of you played tag. You wore Abby out. Soon as she ate her lunch she was out like a light for her nap.

Carding your fingers through her hair as she sleeps, "Thank you so much for joining us and for lunch. She's never had so much fun."

"Thanks for letting me come along. I don't think I've picnicked like this since 1935."

He talks about his life before the war. His friendship with Steve. A little bit of how he's still trying to assimilate to being an Avenger. He's enjoyed the day because he never gets the chance to...play.

"I think you've got an open invitation from this one here."

Bucky laughs. "How old is she?"

"She's 3."

"She's very... articulate."

"You can say it. She's a chatterbox. She doesn't stop talking. Even when it was just jibberish, she didn't stop. It used to drive her father nuts. He didn't have a lot of patience."

"He's still in the picture?"

You shake your head, "He passed away last year."

Bucky frowns, "I'm sorry for you loss."

Everytime you hear those words you feel guilty. You feel like you should feel a loss, yet you don't. Not really. You were dating Abby's father for about 6 months when you found out you were pregnant. It wasn't planned. You and Jason weren't even talking about marriage. And yet you decided to get married because of the baby and that was a mistake. Jason wasn't ready to be a father. You're not even sure he enjoyed fatherhood while he was alive. He was on deployment or missions and away from home a lot. His life didn't change much. You were already thinking of asking for a divorce. He didn't take an active part in raising Abby. He would never have gone on picnics with you and Abby, let alone run around and play tag with you both. Or blow bubbles.

"Thank you."

"So, its just you two now?" You smile and nod. He gives an off-key rendition of Bill Withers "Just the Two of Us," which makes you snort laugh. "C'mon, I wasn't that bad!"

Abby stirs awake from your laughter and Bucky's outrage. "Mama?"

"I'm sorry, Baby. Did we wake you up?" You lift her onto your lap and she snuggles in, sticking her thumb in her mouth. "Did you have a good sleep?" She nods. "It takes her a while to wake up." You rub her back.

"She woke up just in time for the ducks."

Abby pops her thumb out of her mouth, "Ducks?" She stands and wobbles like a drunk person so Bucky reached out for her. "Bucky, yous ready for ducks??"

"Whoa, take it easy." He laughs at Abby's excitement to feed the ducks. He scoops her up while you find your stash of stale bread. You make your way to the waters edge, and Abby instructs Bucky on the proper way to throw bread at the ducks. "Don't hit them in the head."

Bucky looks at you weirdly. "She used to try and aim for their mouths & would hit them in the head. I told her it's not nice and to aim for the water in front of them." Bucky laughs.

Once the bread is gone, you start packing up your things. "If you come back to the Tower, I can grab my car & take you guys home."

"It's ok, the Metro stop is close to our building."

Bucky insists, "It's no problem. Really."

"You don't have a carseat. Abby needs a carseat."

"Ooooh. Right," Bucky frowns.

"We're fine. I promise. We do this all the time," you give him a reassuring smile. "Baby, come say bye to Bucky."

Abby runs over & launches herself at Bucky, who quickly catches her. She gives him a loud kiss on his cheek. "Tank you for my samich & cookie."

"You're welcome. I had fun today."

"ME TOO!!!" Bucky picks her up & plops her on his shoulders.

Reaching for her, "I got her."

"I'll walk you guys to the station at least." He grabs your hand in his and you all head off to the Metro.

Next chapter

@waywardhunter95 @ordelixx @rebeccapineapple @onceithough @crazyunsexycool @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitommmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winters1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @enchantedbarnes @purplecolordeer

[solidwater-arts]

[Day 76]

[ID: A ballpoint pen drawing of Zedaph. The paper is white, but there are three colored paper squares glued to it: purple and pink on Zed's face, and yellow on his legs. The corners of the paper are decorated with patterned tape, it's black with colorful spirals. The edges of it are occasionally jagged. There's a pink and a yellow heart sticker, both with polka dots, near the bottom right of the paper.

Zedaph is jumping in the air, holding up a conical flask with a purple liquid inside with one hand, and doing jazz hands with the other. He's winking with his tongue out to the side. He has wings that he's spreading, they're going out of frame.

Zed is covered in pink highlighter splashes. The flask is bubbling, represented with 7-pointed star stickers coming out of it. There's a bigger, five pointed star near Zed's face, emphasizing his wink. /End ID]

I'm the type of person who is scared to use art supplies if it's not the 'perfect occasion', so doing this was incredibly freeing. I had a lot of fun!

[ID: Closeups of the flask and Zed's face. /End ID]

[inkk-tv]

[ ꜰᴏᴏᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴘᴜʙ ɢᴏʟꜰ : ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ]

Admittedly, it's only when she's standing in the park across from the first pub that she realises exactly what she's gotten herself into. "This feels unfair." "Aw, come on Luce," Arthur says with half a smile, swapping his t-shirt for their team kit. "Have a bit of faith."

in which: Lucy is reluctantly recruited into Chris' pub golf video at the last minute, but it turns out to be very worth it.

4.7k words [ masterlist ] [ part two ]

[oc x arthurtv x chrismd] [warnings: excessive drinking, sexual inudendos]

There’s a certain risk that comes with renting an office in a building full of youtubers. Mainly being ambushed in the kitchen by a camera for a reaction or her two cents on whatever challenge video was underway is not an uncommon occurrence. Although, being fully roped into a video is never too far out of the realm of possibility. 

Luckily, there’s only one person with the gaul to break into her office, and that’s Chris. 

It’s been affectionately nicknamed, ‘the fishbowl’.

Sitting right on the hallway's bend, with two walls and a giant door of nothing but glass that means anyone who steps out the lift can see right into her office. Hence the name. Once she showed up to find someone had stuck fish and bubble stickers all over the windows- she’s pretty sure it was Sam, who does all her captioning, but she’s never gotten him to confess it.

It’s a pretty decent workspace despite the lack of privacy. Lucy’s desk is off to one side, and the three desks for her London-based employees are in a little cluster to the right of it. Only Shelly, the head editor and Lucy had been in today, but it’s nearing five pm and Shelly had headed off about twenty minutes prior, so it’s just Lucy hauled up alone working on a script as she hides from the rest of the building.

Chris invites himself in. As always. For some reason, the wall of glass just doesn’t present the same barrier to him as it does to everyone else. 

She glances up as the door hinges open, the soundproofing scraps against the carpet before closing with a soft click. There’s something a little frantic in his expression- not exactly panic, but stress maybe- and he’s got a white monster energy can that's dripping condensation in one hand and a takeaway bag from the fish and chip shop two blocks over that uses the perfect amount of salt, in the other.

Lucy is no fool. She knows a bribe when she sees one. "No."

All the tension leaks from his shoulders as Chris heaves a defeated sigh, falling back onto the two seater couch just inside the door. "But I haven't even asked yet."

"But you brought me an incentive." She points out and Chris leans over to thunk the can down on the corner of her desk he could reach. Lucy scrunches her nose up at the ring of water that settles underneath it. "You didn't even do that last time and that involved having footballs booted at me for three hours."

Objectively, Lucy has fun on the ChrisMD channel. She’d always been an active person and while the dreams of being a professional athlete did not work out for her like many others, she does still like sports, especially if they’re team based. Chris’s videos are perhaps the most fun variant of them she’s experienced since quitting her Sunday league team back in uni. 

But Lucy drew a hard line in the sand after the break up.

The problem with having fun on Chris’ videos, is that somewhere along the line, wires got a bit crossed. Lucy isn’t really all too sure when it happened, but she remembers realising. Looking at Chris, and realising she fancied him. It was four months before, and she spent all of it agonising over every conversation they had, kicking herself for liking a taken man, beating herself up over every word or glance as the guilt of it all ate away at her. 

Then he was single and the biggest motivator for Lucy to shut her fucking mouth and stomp down her feelings, she got a little worried things would run away from her. She wasn’t keen to make a mess of things, in private or on the internet, so she took a step back. 

It does help that in her last appearance on the ChrisMD channel, she took a particularly solid shot from Simon Minter to the stomach during the World Cup Ball video. A few days later, Lucy's flatmate had bullied her into going to A and E where they found out she’d managed to acquire a cracked rib. 

Simon- bless him- still apologises every time she runs into him. 

Lucy doesn’t know how to thank him for giving her a reasonable excuse to avoid Chris for an extended period of time.

"You had fun." Chris points out with a roll of his eyes, unpacking the takeaway bag to set two boxes on the coffee table in front of him, opening one and digging into a calamari meal.

"And a broken bone."

Another sigh. "This isn't goal keeping."

Lucy's hands still over her keyboard, little cursor blinking on page is of what was going to be a 12 page script. She huffs a breath, telling herself that she will at least hear the man out. 

It was a stupid thing really, fancying him. It’s probably one of those prolonged exposure things, she spent so much time with him that things got blurry in her mind. But the controlled exposure has been working. No more nights out if he was going and no one on one hang outs for the past few months have really helped her get a handle on things. Make the lines of platonic and romantic a little clearer in her head. 

Even if he’s grown a beard that looks annoyingly good on him. She’s allowed to appreciate it without fancying him. Or at least, that’s how she tries to tell her flatmate. 

Lucy had put measures in place, a little bit of distance to get over her puppy crush and they had been working. 

The little bubbliness she used to get has been smothered in the past few months. They’d done Chip’s karting race together just fine and she’s been significantly more invested in the occasional hinge date she secures. Lucy’s building her way up towards nights out again, knowing that he’ll be there and trusting her mouth to not run away from her. Maybe filming with him would be good- keeping her contained to the version of herself that the internet is allowed to see, the version that never fancied one of her coworkers. 

When she pushes her chair out from the desk and turns to level Chris with a look, considering it for a few long moments before sighing and looking up to the ceiling, already regretting what she hasn't agreed to yet. There's a smile on Chris' face - he knows he's won. Apparently, Ciaran Carlin managed to snag himself a case of food poisoning the day of Chris' 'pub golf' shoot ("thought you did football content" - "Its football themed.") so they were down one whole player. Hence why Chris was there, a few moments from dropping to his knees to beg. 

Lucy is, admittedly an outlier amongst the office. At least in terms of content creation. It's actually the Fellas Studio building, but those who invested in the business to help the boys get it up and running, like Chris and Lucy, have their own office space inside. She makes video essays with the occasional social commentary video mixed in - a far cry from Chris' football challenges or the min-maxing style of videos that seems to have taken over the platform in the last few years.

So their friendship has stayed mostly off camera, as she doesn’t often have people on her main channel, posting occasional vlogs on her second channel but he’s only ever made the cut once or twice. The most the internet knows of Lucy Bell and Chris Dixon is that he’s roped her into a few football challenges over the years. 

When it comes to Chris’s channel, Lucy does make for a good feature. She’s just tipped over four million subscribers in the last few months, with almost a completely different audience, so it brings in a lot of new viewers. She’s not half bad at football either, a few years playing football in uni meant she could keep up with most of the UK YouTube scene if Chris begged nicely enough. 

"Alright, but it’s an extra twenty quid for each time you bite me." 

The biting gets her every time. She’s always had a bit of a thing for it, teeth marks and hickeys. It’s a condition that Lucy adds to save her own sanity more than anything.

See, there’s something about Chris when he’s drunk that just makes the man want to bite. Sink his teeth into whichever friend is closest after a pint or two. Doesn’t matter where, hand arm or neck- he’s even gone for her ear once. He’s not handsy per-say, because none of it was sexual really, but it couldn’t be called clingy either because he got way too mean.  

Cuteness aggression seems to fit the bill. But no matter what someone was to call it, the fact is, Chris gets his teeth out when he’s drinking.

Maybe charging him for it will be enough to remind him not to.

Chris grins. "Done." 

Turns out, the pub golf ‘night-out’ she had been lured into starts at one pm. 

Admittedly, it's only when she's standing in the park across from the first pub that she realises exactly what she's gotten herself into. "This feels unfair."

The line up was clearly in no way designed for fairness. With the 'English team' consisting of Lucy, Chris and Arthur-TV, going against the 'German Team' of Stephen Tries, Bambino Becky and Harry Wroetoshaw.

Now Lucy isn’t a lightweight- at least not proportionally. For a woman of five five, she could hold her drink. But Chris Dixon on the other hand, who was the same height, most definitely was a lightweight. There was not a whole lot of faith to be put in their alcohol tolerance.

"Aw, come on Luce," Arthur says, swapping his t-shirt for their team kit. "Have a bit of faith."

She ducks her head to hide the quick frown that flashes over her face. There’s only two people who call her ‘Luce’ and that’s Chris and her flatmate, Spencer. It’s obvious where he’s picked it up from and the thought of Chris chatting about her to one of his friends with such familiarity is enough to make her stomach flutter. Today was not going to be good. 

Lucy's met Arthur before, in passing. At parties or events, seen him at the office once or twice when he'd presumedly come to film with someone. He’s good friends with George and Arthur Hill too. She knows him and Chris have been mates since school, and that he's one of the most frequent victims of the ChrisMD channel. Miraculously, she's never ended up on a set with him before.

She hopes he holds his drink well.

"A little hard to have faith when Becky and Harry are gonna drink us under the table." She says, thumbing at the team jersey she’s been given.

It’s soft, more so than she expected. 

Football has never much been Lucy’s thing. She was on a team during her uni years, but that was more social than competitive. She owns a couple of kits, her old uni jersey that was mainly a work shirt and the Brighton Jersey her brother bought her for Christmas one year- Lucy makes sure to wear it whenever she watches a game. But that’s about the extent of it, she’s never had much reason to go buy an official kit. 

But apparently for the football-ification of pub golf, team jerseys were a must. 

The tag says it’s their away kit from the 1990 world cup and the fabric is so abrasively red, Lucy feels like a stop sign when she pulls it on. It doesn’t help that it was originally bought for Ciaran, so it’s two sizes too large. Sadly it completely tanks her outfit, the black skater skirt and platform mary-janes with lacy white socks had gone so much better with the cosy white knit sweater she’d started the day in, but it does sort of work. Even if it makes her look like a pick-me girl. 

The collar slips about on her shoulders and Lucy pulls the collar about a little, trying to make it sit properly, which apparently, Chris takes as an invitation. 

He comes up from behind and drapes his arms over her shoulders- not exactly unusual behaviour from him, but it does typically take a few more drinks. There’s not even a moment of hesitation before Chris sinks his teeth into the meat of her shoulder, biting down. Not hard enough to hurt exactly, more like a pinch. 

She doesn’t yelp but grunts a little, swatting at his hair to duck out of his grip. When he backs off, there’s a dark semi-circle on the jersey, highlighting where he’d bitten at the material. “Right. That’s twenty quid then.”

Chris blinks, then rolls his eyes. “What? No, come one. We haven’t even started filming yet.”

He’s smiling though, watching as Lucy digs a black marker out of her purse and bites the lid off to draw a thick line on the inside of her right forearm. “A deal is a deal, Chris.”

“We’ll if we’re keeping track like that, someone else has to be in charge of the pen.” He plucks it from her fingers and Lucy goes to swipe it back but he pulls it up high above both their heads. 

She could snatch it back. They’re about the same height; every time someone whips out a tape measure they end up with a different answer to who is taller, so it always depends on the shoes. Today, she’s even wearing platforms with more than enough heel to beat out Chris' white air forces but Lucy’s not sacrificing a single sliver of her dignity to jump for the marker. 

Perhaps realising that she’s not taking the bait, he holds it out to Arthur instead, who has been watching them with a raised eyebrow. “What’s this then?”

“Lucy agreed to be in the video, if I paid her twenty pounds each time I bit her.” Chris says, looking a little proud of himself for some reason, as if wrangling her into a video was some sort of impressive feat. “But I don’t trust her to not just draw a bunch of lines.”

“Damn. That’s smart, you’ll make a couple hundred quid today, easy.” Arthur plucks the marker out of Chris’ fingers and looks at it a little funny. “Will you give me twenty every time you bite me?”

The marker is tucked away into the pocket of his shorts with a grin. 

“You were coming no matter what.”

“With you looking like that, damn right I was.” Arthur holds his hand up for a high-five, probably more of a reflex than anything. Chris doesn't go for it, but Lucy does, swinging up to her tiptoes, to clap her palm against his.

“Come on,” He grins at Lucy, keeping their hands clasped for a few seconds with the momentum and it has her feeling a little better about the afternoon ahead.

One of the film crew, Sam she thinks his name is, waves Lucy over to mic her up. They make their way through the ‘before game interviews’, with the warning they will be spliced with the aftermath that was to be recorded at the last pub.

"Are you going to enjoy today?" Chris pokes the mic against the tip of her nose and Lucy scrunches it up a little at the feeling of scratchy foam.

"Considering I was bribed to be here, no." She plays the reluctant friend well, but they both know she’d been happy to help Chris out in his time of crisis and that she probably wouldn’t end up chasing him up about the money she was supposedly charging him per bite.

The first two holes (“It’s Goal, Luce. Use the right terminology.”) left their team with a rather bleak outlook.

Lucy’s played enough drinking games in her life to be able to down a pint in one go, so that isn’t a problem. She chugs the IPA, so while it’s down in one, Lucy is left with a bitter taste in her mouth, complaining to the table that if she was forced to drink beer, it should at least be lager. Arthur and Chris both down theirs in one, but are cautioned for shit jokes and chose to do a shot each instead of taking the additional points. 

The second pub is no hands, white sambuca shots, but they get a bench so it’s not much hassle to lean down and get her lips around the glass rim and knock it back.

But when they’re done, and Arthur’s wandered off, her, Chris and Harry pounce on his backpack to turn it inside out. It makes her feel like she’s back in secondary playing silly pranks when someone leaves their bag unattended. Tragically he comes back with the news that he’s thrown up. Twice. There’s an attempt to blame the McDonalds wrap he’d scranned a bit too quickly but Calfreezey is not a forgiving referee and they are penalised three points, leaving them at seven as Chris has failed to down his shot in one. 

“We are not winning that dominos pizza.” Arthur whines, frowning down at his inside out bag.

Lucy holds her hands out, an unspoken gesture that he accepts with a smile and starts piling his belongings into her hands. “Cheer up Mr.Television. I’ll Deliveroo one to the last pub.”

“And ruin Chris’ incentive? Where’s your competitive spirit Miss Bell?” He quips back, grabbing a fist full of his bag’s canvas and turning it back out the right way, shoving his pencil case and jacket back into it. 

There’s an instinct to roll her eyes at the last name but fair is fair. She did sort of do it to him first. “I think winning for us is already a lost cause. Becky and Harry can outdrink us all.”

Arthur zips his bag up and swings it over his shoulders, heading for the door but glancing back at her as he speaks. “Not Stephen?”

“He’s more of a mascot I think.” Lucy muses, skipping up to his side and out the door as he holds it with one hand. “Like Chris.”

“Fair enough, they are the two lightweights.” He says, jutting his chin out to where Chris and Stephen were squabbling a good hundred metres up the footpath. “You seem a bit better at handling the beers than Chris to be honest.”

She can’t quite stop the way her nose scrunches at the memories of parties and chundering in bushes out the front of train stations. Lucy hisses through her teeth. “Yeah, I had a few too many nights out in Uni. Spiked my tolerance.”

There’s this little quirk of Arthur’s head, like he’s a curious cat that’s been offered a toy mouse to play with. “I didn’t know you went to uni, what did you study?”

“Journalism. Hence the video essays- if you know what kind of videos I do.”

“Not to brag, but I'm kind of subscribed.” He puts on a little bit of a voice, an impression of the typical ‘nice guy’ when he says it with an exaggerated roll of the eyes that earns a smile.

“Really?” This time it’s Lucy who’s tilting her head, peering up at him a little from under the few loose strands of hair that hang over her forehead and it makes Arthur sort of sheepish. 

“Oh yeah,” He pulls out his phone and opens the youtube app. She’s in his subscriptions tab, along the top bar even. “I really like the rage bait one. And the one about the barbie movies.” 

“You actually watch my videos?” He must do. The rage bait one was recent but Lucy’s deep-dive into the animated barbie movies of the early two-thousands was from her uni days, buried under six years of more recent uploads. 

“Yeah, they’re good. Informative, funny.”

Lucy blushes. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Arthur. I’ll check out your channel after today, promise.”

“It’s not much, a lot of reality TV content- hence the name. I started with Airline freakouts and ended up with ninety-day fiancé.” He holds out his phone for her to take with his own channel pulled up. 

She flicks though, and it is admittedly a lot of ninety-day fiancé, but when she flicks the ‘popular’ filter on, some of the thumbnails look kind of familiar. “Wait, like the old ‘Airline UK’ show? I used to watch some of those.”

Arthur grins. “Really?”

“Yeah, just compilations of the passengers screaming at the easy jet desk.” 

There’s a mental note to watch them when she gets home (pr depending on how drunk she ends up, tomorrow) and see if they’re familiar. 

It happens every now and then, watching a video then realising years later you’ve just met the person who made it. A couple of months after meeting George Clarkey at the gym she realised she’d watched him chase a beep around his garage on tiktok a year earlier.

“Maybe you saw some of mine.” Arthur offers a little shyly, as if he’s nervous about suggesting it. “They did decent numbers. It’s how I got started with youtube.”

“Yeah?”

He hums in agreement. “Needed something to pay the bills in Uni and youtube ended up being way more fun than Law.”

Lucy can’t help the judgemental tone that sneaks into her voice. “You studied Law?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” He scoffs with a smile.

“No you’re just nicer than all the other law students I met while in Uni. Most of them were right pricks.”

Especially the one she’d dated in second year. He’d been good at first, but after a couple of pints he was anyone's. The guy played up on her all the time and it wasn’t until he tried hitting on the first year who’d just moved into Lucy’s student Accommodation that she finally called it off. 

After that, all the law students who tried to chat her up at the Uni bars left a bitter taste in her mouth. 

Not Arthur though. He isn’t quite a law student, she supposes, he’s a youtuber and Lucy does get on well with most of the UK scene. They were a good bunch and any of the dickheads were pretty easy to weed out- there is a couple she fully avoids, simply because she couldn’t be arsed putting up with them. Lucy scribbles Arthur’s name on the mental list of people she wouldn’t mind chatting to at the next party. 

He’s got decent chat, certainly better than some of the dull people she’s put up with out of politeness and when he smiles, it’s a flash of pearly white. Teeth that all line up perfect- save for his pointed canines. She could stand to see it a bit more often, carve out some space for it in her chest amongst the fluttering of butterflies. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Luce.”

“Hurry up you two, stop dawdling!” Chris shouts from out the front of pub number three. 

They wave him off with a few jeered ‘yeah, yeah’s but do pick up the pace a little. 

“I meant to ask earlier,” Arthur says. “Want to put your purse in my bag? it looks like it’s bothering you.”

Her purse has been bothering her. It was the one she’d taken into the office and was more for fashion than function, a little black leather crossbody bag that she’s had over one shoulder so it doesn't make her boobs look weird on camera. It’s only really got her phone, earbuds and keys in it. She’s been keeping it at her hip with one hand but it’s getting tiring. “Yeah, thanks Arthur.” 

He tucks it away gently, with much more care than he’d had with his own portable charger and pencil case a few minutes earlier. Arthur’s sweeter than she expected. 

Not many of the youtube boys were sweet. Nice, friendly even, but part of being amongst them meant she could take the banter and hard hitting. Catch hurled comments that strangers would say border on cruel with her bleeding hands and hurl them back. There’s an added layer, being a woman online appearing on channels with a male dominated audience. A thick oily sheen that taints the comments of collab videos. 

But Lucy has managed to find the youtubers she could stomach, some of which she spends more time with than others. George is her gym buddy, even if he’s been slacking lately. Will lacks enough of a social life that he tends to rot in the office just as late as she does so they always end up ordering Deliveroo and shit talking for an extra hour or two. She doesn’t mind the occasional pint with Harry or Tobi either. They’re all sweet, but sweet enough that it's threatening to make her blush? Well, only Chris made that far. 

Lucy tucks that thought away and settles into the seat at the end of the table, tapping the toes of her shoes together idly as the production team set up go-pros and camera angles.

Pub number three was goalie rules. Six seconds to down a pint and it had to be done with keeper gloves. 

All six sets set on the table are Large and it looks utterly ridiculous when they all don the gloves. Black and green leathery material that’s oddly padded on the inside, it feels weird enough that it sort of captivates her for a few moments, the new sensation against her hands. Lucy keeps balling her fists up then splaying her fingers again, listening to the scrunch of them before pressing her hands flat against the table to feel the padding compress and spring back up slightly when she released the pressure. 

Arthur has a similar reaction, although he just starts running his hands over everything. From the wooden table to his own legs. Down Lucy’s right forearm where it rests on the table, over Chris’s head. The latter of which, he does so much that it actually gets a reaction, which Lucy is starting to think most of Arthur’s oddities don’t.

“Stop rubbing my head!” Chris squeaks, ducking away from Arthur’s widespread palms that are messing up his quiff. “Rub the head I want to be rubbed!”

Lucy snorts into her keeper glove when Chris gestures rudely to his crotch and Stephen goes to kick it from under the table. 

Thankfully, before things can devolve into more dick jokes, a member of Chris’s team brings over a tray of pints. 

Lucy and Arthur both get it down in one, but Chris fails- laughing after about an inch and having to set the drink down. Easy to say, no one is impressed and he earns them a yellow card for time wasting.

“How have you done worse than the females?” Arthur jokes, setting Chris’ still half full glass between Lucy and Becky’s empty ones. 

“We’ll take ourselves back to the kitchen.” Becky declares, raising a hand for a high five that Arthur meets- an assurance that it’s all jokes- before leaning in to stage whisper to Lucy. “There might be pints in there.”

Despite England's mostly good performance, Calfreezy once again proves that he’s out to get them as he issues two yellows and a red card. Lucy and Chris take the penalty shots- tequila upon request- and there’s three points added to their tally as well. 

It burns the back of her mouth and stings against her tongue. Whichever production member had fetched their shots did not return with the curiosity of a chaser. Still, it’s easier to down than a pint so Lucy takes what she can get. 

Although, everyone seems to be under the impression that it’s going to finish her. Probably because she keels over coughing after getting it down. It’s the closest Lucy’s come to spitting out a drink all afternoon, which is saying something considering the IPA at the first pub was utter shit. 

Her reaction has Steven so confident in his team’s performance that he starts demanding forfeits, anything from shots of the winners choice to public spankings in ‘piccadilly square’.

While Lucy focuses on not tripping over the drag of her platform shoes, the taste of tequila lingers on her tongue and haunts her all the way to the next pub. 

[ masterlist ] [ part two ]

ink note: and we are underway! thanks so much for reading! feel free to send asks about the fic or check out the notes at the bottom of Lucy's masterlist to see how this fic is going to develop.

[ if you would like to be added to the fic's tag list, let me know in an ask and you'll be tagged when each chapter goes up :) ]

[stellar-constellations]

Star Patient: Chapter 1 (FINISHED SERIES)

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), and possibly more.

Inaccurate canon-timeline (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 8,390 words (I am so sorry for how long the first chapter is).

Chapters: Current chapter, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

         “Can you say ‘aaaaaah?’” (Y/N) drawled out.

        Her patient, little eight-year-old Lou, opened his mouth widely like a lion and ‘aaaaaah’ed for her as she shined her mediscope light down into his throat, checking his tonsils, uvula, throat's lining, gums, and tongue.

        “Mmm, I see. You can close your mouth now. Good job, Lou!” she cheered as the kid beamed. “He has enlarged tonsils. Do you hear him snore at night?” she questioned, turning her attention to the concerned mother.

        “He snores so loud he’s woken us up from across the house.” His mother sighed. “Is that bad?”

        “Does he have problems focusing in school because he’s tired. Taking naps that are over an hour multiple times a week?” (Y/N) asked.

        “Yes. His teacher complained just last week about him sleeping in class during a spelling test.” Lou's mother confirmed.

        “I see. Lou, do you have any problems sleeping? Like do you wake up multiple times a night?” (Y/N) questioned, looking over towards the small boy.

        “Maybe once or twice a night…” Lou muttered as he thought to himself.

        “And does your throat hurt when you wake up?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “Sometimes.” He responded.

        “How often do you get sick?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “Honestly, we’ve lost count. This past year he’s been sick at least three times.” His mother admitted.

        “And it’s June. I see.” (Y/N) nodded, grabbing her clipboard of papers and a pen. “Lou is experiencing obstructive sleep apnea due to his enlarged tonsils affecting his sleep, which is affecting his daytime behavior and is the cause of why he gets sick so often. I do recommend surgery to remove them. I’ll write down some children hospitals near your area that specialize in pediatric surgery, that way we can get the right surgeon for the job.” She explained, writing down hospitals, where they’re located, and doctor names specializing in tonsil-study.

        “Does this all sound about right, Doctor Ryan?” she questioned, turning her attention to the corner of the room where the doctor and her instructor stood, observing her performance. 

        “Absolutely phenomenal. You got everything right.” He praised, giving her a teethy smile that belonged on a Colgate commercial while a bubble of pride formed in her chest at his praise.

        “Oh thank you, Ms (L/N)!” Lou’s mother smiled as she clutched her hands together.

        “No worries. Here you go.” (Y/N) spoke, handing Lou's mother the papers. “Check out will be on your right when you walk out. There will be some ring pops too, go get yourself a reward for behaving so good today, Lou.” (Y/N) smiled as she rummaged through her cabinet for a sticker.

        She found one and handed it to Lou's open hand. 

        “You were my star patient today, bud! I’ll see you in a few weeks for your next check-up.” (Y/N) smiled.

        “Thank you again.” Lou’s mother smiled as she held Lou’s hand. "What do we say, Lou?"

        “Thank you! Bye bye!” Lou cheered.

        “Fantastic work today. We have one more patient before you can head out, okay?” Doctor Ryan spoke.

        “Yes, sir!” (Y/N) smiled, excited of who she'd be working with next.

        She loved kids and she loved helping them. It made her happy to be able to care for them and help them on their recovery to healthiness and happiness, hence why she's studying to become a pediatrician.

        “They’re a bit on the older side, but we’re really short-staffed at the moment so I need you to take care of them.” Doctor Ryan explained.

        “How old?” she questioned, noticing they were leaving the hospital’s pediatric branch and going to the elevators.

        They both entered the elevator and Doctor Ryan pressed the 4th floor button. The doors closed as (Y/N) held the handle, feeling a little nauseous at being in a closed space with a man. She doesn't mind Doctor Ryan, but she doesn't like being trapped in uncomfortable proximity with a male—just a fear that was installed into her when she was young. Th elevator moved up two floors before the ride finally ended.

        “Well… they’re twenty-two.” The doctor sheepishly smiled.

        “Sir, I’m training to be a pediatrician, not a regular nurse.” (Y/N) stated firmly as the elevator doors opened, allowing them to walk out into the psychiatric branch of the hospital (must to her relief). 

        “Yes, but like I said, we’re short staffed. We just need to you re-evaluate his wounds and do a check-up on his physical health. He’s on suicide watch.” Doctor Ryan explained.

        She opened her mouth to complain before hearing his last words.

        Damn it, suicide watch? I don’t want them dying on my watch. Not only that, but I have experience in that field so I’m decent help for it. She thought. 

        “I… Yes, sir. I’ll get him checked out.” (Y/N) sighed, caving in.

        "Thank you! You know it's been with the shortages of nurses and all, especially for the psychiatric branch." Doctor Ryan sighed out, in relief rather than reluctant-acceptance that (Y/N) did.

        "I understand..." She sighed again.

        Yes, I understand that the psychiatric branch is full of unstable patients with crazy-strength if set off. How do they expect me to hold up on my own against a fight with these guys? (Y/N) thought to herself.

        They walked to the branch's help desk, scurrying through papers before Doctor Ryan made a noise of acknowledgment.

        "Ah-ha! Here you go." He smiled, giving the paper packet to (Y/N).

        (Y/N) grabbed a chair with wheels and moved it behind her, sitting down and reading the information. 

        "Like I said, just quickly re-evaluate his wounds and do a check up on his physical health. If he has any information on why he tried to commit suicide, write it down. It can help us with finding a therapist or at least a hotline for him. I'll go and write a report for Lou's visit, get that off your plate." Doctor Ryan explained, turning and walking away. "It's sad how young these kids are when they think all hope is lost..." he sighed.

        Twenty-two? That's a pretty normal age for suicide. Try eleven, Doc. (Y/N) thought sarcastically. Well, no time to mope about. Let's get this over with and hope for the best. (Y/N) thought, dreading the interaction.

        She wanted to be a pediatrician not only because she liked kids, but because they were much easier than adults. Adults live in a world where they're made to believe their pain is insignificant because elders and children are much more vulnerable to pain and suffering, so adults constantly fight their pain and hide it from others. Adults hide their pain to avoid pity, to avoid the expensive medical bill they don't want to pay. (Y/N)'s morals may be questionable, but if there's anything she believes as a nurse and upcoming-pediatrician, it's that you can't put a price on life. Kids have no shame telling someone if they're in pain, adults act as if they're dishonoring their family's reputation and pride if they tell someone they have a cough.

        Not only that, but she doesn't want to work with adult men. It's been proven that some perverted adult men cause injuries to themselves so they can be in the care of gentle women, who they take overpower and advantage of. Of course, women can do the exact same thing too, but it's more prevalent with males. (Y/N) hates working with adults because she doesn't want to be apart of their sexual fetishes or apart of the statistics.

        (Y/N) read through her patient's information, gathering the details she needs to access the situation:

Patient: Andrew Graves, 22. Room 402. Reason for admission: Jumped from a third-story building and ended up landing on his legs. By miracle, no injury to spine other than minor bruises. Both legs and ankles are shattered, needs multiple surgeries. Stitches on ankles, change bandages every 4-8 hours. Minor concussion and possible amnesia.  Precautions: Patient isn't very cooperative. Use restraints if necessary. Has a sister that is extremely uncooperative and violent, has threatened other nurses. Use extreme caution with patient and sister to prevent any pain or stress that would worsen patient's condition. 

        (Y/N) put the paper packet down on the desk and sighed, shoving her hands into her face and groaning.

        Of course! Not only an unruly patient, but an unruly visitor too? God, if you're real, is this your way of telling me it was a mistake being a pediatrician? (Y/N) thought to herself. Let's just get this damn thing over with, after this, I can go home and rest.

        She walked to a medical supply closet in the staff room and took some bandages and anti-septic cream, along with checking to make sure her stethoscope and mediscope was all there. She grabbed two water bottles from the mini fridge and shoved it into her bag along with two mini-bags of pretzels from the snack cabinet. 

        She shut the staff room's door and locked it, shoving her key and lanyard under her lilac purple nursing scrubs in case some pocket-picker (or someone stupid enough) tries to steal her key. She made sure her bag's strap was secure against her firmly and walked towards room 402.

        (Y/N) stopped at the patient's door to collect her breath. She heard voices inside, only dreading the next few minutes once she realized how angry the voices sounded.

        "Damn it, Andrew! You just had to fuck shit up like you do with everything else, huh?" a girl's voice rang through the room.

        "Isn't this what you wanted? You make no sense..." a boy's voice, Andrew perhaps, sighed.

        "I didn't expect you to take me seriously, dumbass! What if you actually died? You'd leave me all alone to deal with the shit you caused!" the girl shouted.

        "Keep your voice down! And the shit I caused? You're the one that started it all! If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be on the run!" Andrew hissed.

        "Oh, so eating the neighbor was my decision? Is that what you're saying! No, you're the one that fucking said it!" the girl exclaimed.

        "You implied it!" Andrew retorted.

        "I did nothing! But even then, we would've starved in that damn apartment! Is that what you wanted? And you're the one that killed the warden, then the damn lady!" the girl claimed.

        "Hey, the lady was self-defense and you're the one that made me kill the hitman! I killed the warden because you got caught! We would've both been fucked at that point!" Andrew reasoned.

        "WE ARE FUCKED!" the girl screamed.

        "Ashley! Calm down!" Andrew spoke, raising his tone.

        "ME CALM DOWN? HOW CAN I BE CALM AT A TIME LIKE THIS?!" the girl, Ashley screamed, sounding crazy enough to potentially be pulling her hair out.

        "Well you're going to have to! Someone might discover we're on the run!" Andrew hissed through his teeth.        

        "Don't you realize, stupid?! If you died, you would've left me all alone in this shitty world. I can't live without you, Andy..." Ashley muttered.

        "My name isn't Andy, Andy is dead. It's Andrew." Andrew stated firmly.

        "Fuck you, Andrew! I hate Andrew! I want Andy back! At least Andy still liked me!" Ashley shouted, her tone sounded like she was close to breaking down in tears.

        "Ashley, come on... We've gone over this. I like you." Andrew sighed.

        "Yeah right! You tried sleeping with that lady at the apartment complex!" Ashley accused.

        "Damn it, Ashley! I already told you, she tried to kill me so I killed her! What part of that involves sex?" Andrew hissed.

        "I don't want to hear it, you bastard! The second you get a girlfriend, I become invisible to you!" Ashley complained.

        "As if! I was always ditching Julia for you! Even then, you fucking convinced her into breaking up with me!" Andrew huffed.

        "I was weeding out the whores that sprout their legs open! She doesn't deserve someone like you, Andy!" Ashley shouted, then took a deep breath. "I'm your sister, Andy. I know what's best for you! I know who's best for you! She wasn't shit!"

         "You're stressing me out, Ashley..." Andrew groaned, his voice muffled (presumably shoving his face into his hands). "I don't want to talk about this... I don't even know how we got on this topic but just shut up about it... We'll leave as soon as I heal up some." 

        "That'll take too long. We can leave now!" Ashley whined.

        "And what? You want me to run on two broken legs? Are you going to carry me?" Andrew spoke, verbally knocking some sense into her. 

        "I-I'll find a damn wheelchair! We'll put you on a wheelchair and run." Ashley spoke, suddenly not sounding as confident and aggressive as she was previously. 

        "Run where? There's no where we can go! Mom doesn't want us and we can't just live on the streets forever. This is a good opportunity for us to rest here and think about our next move." Andrew explained.

        "Says you. You get a nice bed and food provided to you while I'll be stuck outside, cold and alone while I rot away outside." Ashley snapped, exaggerating her voice on the last bit.

        "I'm sure you'll figure something out. You have a way with getting what you want." Andrew huffed.

        "Not all the time..." Ashley muttered. "I still think we should take a wheelchair and-"

        "Leave, Ashley. Visiting time is over." Andrew spoke firmly.

        "But-" Ashley started, but was cut off.

        "No buts, Ashley. Leave... You're just making me feel worse..." Andrew sighed in frustration.

        Good, stand your ground against her. I don't know their full story, but Ashley sounds really manipulative to me, but Andrew definitely doesn't sound like a victim either... (Y/N) thought to herself. 

        "Fine, I'll leave and I'll never come back! You can't live without me, Andy!" Ashley shouted before walking towards the door.

        Sounds like a threat... (Y/N) thought. 

        Damn it, she's infuriating. As expected of her though... Andrew thought to himself.

        (Y/N) realized that Ashley was coming her way. She didn't want to seem nosey so she quickly ran to an open hospital room, making sure to redirect her weight to her legs so her footsteps wouldn't make noise in case it alerted Ashley. She heard Andrew's door open before slamming close, then footsteps walking past the room (Y/N) was in.

        (Y/N) held close to the wall where the door was, hiding herself in case Ashley peeked into the room on her way out. (Y/N) waited a minute after the footsteps vanished, just to be sure that Ashley wasn't on her way back. She walked back to the door before stopping, realizing what the siblings revealed to her.

        They're murderers. Not only that, but cannibals too. They both confessed. I have to be careful about this guy, two broken legs or none, he's dangerous. (Y/N) thought to herself, then held her fist up to the door.

        She gently knocked three times, then opened the door, not caring for a response back. She saw Andrew staring out of the hospital's window (one without bars, (Y/N) believes that's a stupid decision since this is a known suicidal branch on the fourth floor). His reflection showed his eyes closed, his eyebrows pinched in frustration.

        "I said leave, Ash—" Andrew's head turned to look at the nurse and his eyes only hardened, as if seeming more mad at the nurse than at Ashley who ran off.

        Watch it, buddy. I can make your death look like an accident... (Y/N) thought inside of her head, only proving her dislike of caring for adults.

        "Expecting someone else?" (Y/N) spoke, forcing a polite smile on her face. 

        I'd rather not have to try and fight him into restraining him against the bed. She thought. 

        Andrew stayed quiet as he glared at her.

        The previous nurses that entered his room weren't very kind to him, they were old and seemed annoyed to care for their patients. They got an earful from Ashley. Not only that, but they sure were rough with re-doing his bandages, sloppy too. He didn't want to deal with anyone else today, he just wants to go to sleep.

        Maybe a permanent sleep like jumping out of this window... At least I wouldn't hear Ashley complain so much. Andrew thought to himself.

        To be honest, Andrew doesn't exactly remember much. For some reason, he only has memory of the past three months and that's it. All of his memories consisted of being locked in an apartment with little food, to no food, for three months with Ashley, rotting away. Then Ashley had the bright idea to eat the neighbor after breaking into his apartment and seeing him fail a seance to a... demon? As crazy as that sounds.

        Well, she didn't exactly say it, but she placed the thought into Andrew's head then forced Andrew to say it to make it seem like it was his idea. Then she started chopping the neighbor up to eat him, then the warden came and Ashley got caught, which resorted in Andrew having to kill the warden so the warden wouldn't contact any other wardens with his walkie-talkie. Ashley had the bright idea to escape the apartment complex by completing the seance and offering live human. Andrew eventually agreed to it.

        Then they ran from the place and ended up in a lady's apartment. Turns out she whored herself to get food from the wardens, so they used her to escape. While Ashley left to do the seance, Andrew had to hold her hostage so she wouldn't try to call for help from the wardens. He made the mistake of taking his clever away from her neck and letting go of her, but she got ballsy and tried to kill him with a nail gun, resulting in Andrew killing her. Then Ashley came back and started to freak out, saying that Andrew was trying to get in the girls pants (however she came up with that conclusion, Andrew is unsure). 

        They completed the seance by sacrificing a warden and escaped the apartment complex, finding themselves on the run as wanted felons. It was then when Ashley and Andrew got in a fight and Ashley told Andrew to kill himself, to make it easy for her and the police. Andrew was fed up of running and listening to his sister's idiotic (and borderline psychotic) ideas that he actually did jump (to which Ashley brought him here instead of just letting him bleed out, much to his dismay). 

        But before all of those events, everything else is blurry. He has no recollection of himself or his family after all the horrid memories trapped in his head.

        (Y/N) felt a little unsettled under his very judgmental gaze, remembering that he confessed to killing at least two people (possibly even more).

        Is he sizing me up to be his next victim? (Y/N) briefly thought before pushing that thought away. No, he said that they would've starved in their... apartment? What did they mean by that? 

        As much as she wanted to find out, she didn't really feel like wanting to die either. Her college debt would go to her family, and it'd be too bothersome to die. Too much time wasting on dying (she'd be too impatient to die slowly). 

        “I’m a student studying nursing, please call me (Y/N) despite the name tag.” (Y/N) smiled. 

        I'd rather not tell him I'm studying pediatric nursing. I don't want him freaking out or anything since I'm technically out of my field. She thought.

        “They couldn’t bring a real nurse or doctor?” Andrew huffed.

        Great, if she makes any mistakes, he might have to stay here longer than necessary, and Andrew does not want that.

        “Unfortunately, we’re short-staffed at the moment. No one here likes working the night shift.” (Y/N) sighed. “But, luckily for you, I happen to be a very good student. I even dare to say better than some of the other nurses here.” (Y/N) joked, a smile on her face to try and brighten up the murderous aura surrounding Andrew.

        Andrew stared at her in silence, unamused.

        “Tough crowd…” She muttered. “Alright, let’s get this over with first.” (Y/N) spoke, walking closer to Andrew (whose guard only raised even more at this). “How many fingers am I holding up?” she questioned, holding up two fingers.

        “Four.” Andrew huffed, crossing his arms.

        “And now?” she questioned, holding up one.

        “Two.” Andrew answered.

        “Last time.” She commented, holding up two fingers again.

        “Four.” Andrew spoke.

        “Okay, are you thirsty right now?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “I guess…” Andrew muttered.

        “Here.” (Y/N) spoke, digging into her medical bag and grabbing the bottle of water she shoved in there from earlier. “Hungry too?”

        “No.” Andrew answered, resulting in her placing a bag of pretzels and water on his nightstand.

        “They're for later. It’s important not to have them now even though you’re thirsty. Just trust me.” She spoke before continuing her little survey. “Feel any pain anywhere?”

        “My legs.” Andrew spoke, pointing out the obvious in a ‘duh’ tone.

        “Other than there?” (Y/N) added. “Such as a headache? Behind the eyes?” 

        “Both.” Andrew answered.

        “Have you vomited? Do you feel nauseous at the moment?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “Haven’t thrown up, but I feel sick” Andrew admitted.        

        “Have you or your sister noticed any gaps in your memory? From today to a few months or even more?” (Y/N) asked.

        “Yeah, actually…” Andrew muttered.

        (Y/N) took a few steps towards him, basically hovering over him.

        “What the hell are you doing?” he snapped, but didn’t pull away or shrink from her.

        “Calm down. Are your hands clammy?” she questioned.

        “A little...” Andrew muttered, not breaking eye contact from her.

        She broke the eye contact as her eyes swept through his face, looking at his disheveled black hair and electric green eyes, a beautiful combination, she noted. She also noted how pale his skin was along with the sweat running down it.

        “Andrew, open your eyes wide for me, please.” She spoke, reaching into her bag and pulling out a mediscope.

        Andrew complied with a little bit of hesitancy, allowing her to watch as his pupils shrunk from the light. She looked closely at his retinas to make sure there was no tear along with the hydration in his eyes. They did seem a little blurry, she noted.

        “Open your mouth, please.” She requested.

        Andrew sighed but listened as she did. She checked his tonsils, throat lining, tongue coloring, gums, and uvula. 

        He felt awkward having her do all these procedures and asking all these questions, whether it was her job or not. He wouldn’t deny it, she was pretty, prettier the woman at the apartment complex he murdered.

        Wow, nice thinking… Andrew internally scolded himself as he looked away from the girl. Comparing your nurse to a dead girl you killed really isn't a sign of insanity or detachment.

        At least he was self-aware?

        “And real quick, let me look inside your ears, please.” She requested.

        Andrew stood still as she shined the light in his ear, checking through the tiny camera to see if there was any ear infection or something out of the ordinary. Nothing.

        “Last thing.” She spoke, placing her mediscope in her bag and switching it for her stethoscope. 

        “Can I ask why you’re doing this? All these questions and procedures?” Andrew questioned, adverting his eyes from her as she started listening to his heart.

        There was a moment of silence as she focused, looking at her watch as she listened to his pulse.

        It's 102 beats per minute, a bit quick for his age, but it's not too worrying and it can be easily caused by the stress and trauma of his situation, she noted. 

        “Are you telling me the other nurses didn’t do all of this to you?” (Y/N) asked as she responded his question from earlier surprised and a little concerned.

        “Nope.” Andrew replied lazily. 

        “Ugh… elders.” (Y/N) muttered quietly, earning a small smile from Andrew (one he quickly hid with a cough as he adverted her gaze). “They’re supposed to check you for any possible illnesses or worsen conditions. I know you came in here because you jumped a three-story building, but it can be linked to serious health concerns. You can develop future problems we can identify and fix right now if we take the time to look.” She explained.

        “So what did you discover, doc?” Andrew questioned in a monochrome tone (she wasn’t exactly sure if he was making a joke or being serious or even sarcastic).

        “Well, you have internal bleeding.” (Y/N) spoke, not bothering to even try to sugarcoat it or break it to him lightly.

        “What? How bad?” Andrew grimaced, afraid of the reaction Ashley would give when she hears this. 

        “How much blood did you lose when you fell? Were you conscious when you hit the ground?” (Y/N) questioned. 

        “I mean, I was conscious till I hit the ground. After a couple of minutes I woke up and was in pain, understandably so, until my sister dragged me to a hospital. So I was probably out for five maybe ten minutes.” Andrew explained. 

        That’s not good, along with all the other symptoms he’s experiencing. She thought to herself.

        “How about this. On a scale of 1-10, how much blood did you think you lost?” (Y/N) rephrased.

        “Seven, maybe eight.” Andrew huffed. “I don’t really know.” 

        “No worries. It’s not a big deal. They said you shattered the bones in your legs so you’re going to need surgery for it. Luckily they were able to reposition and place back your ankles.” I explained. “You’ll be bedridden in the hospital for a couple days, then you're going home and being bedridden for six months, minimum.” (Y/N) emphasized the last word to show the most importance to it. 

        “Fuck... What about the internal bleeding?” Andrew sighed, dreading the lecture Ashley would give him.

        "For your severity, you'd need surgery. It'd take a couple weeks for you to heal, but your internal bleeding should be healed by the time you're discharged." (Y/N) explained. “Now, bear with me for a second. I’m going to level your legs and it’s going to hurt.” She spoke as she walked to the tall hospital cabinets, taking three soft and limbless pillows from it.

        “Ugh…” Andrew groaned, already dreading that part as she walked back to him.

        “Take a deep breath.” She instructed.

        She waited for Andrew to audibly breathe in. He did what she requested, his chest and shoulders rising (he ignored the shock of pain that came with it, but she noticed and figured it was due to the internal bleeding).

        “Hold it in.” She spoke, then lifted his heavily bandaged legs with one hand (with a bit of struggle) and placed the pillows under him.

        She gently rested his legs onto the pillows and looked at Andrew face, seeing his eyebrows furrowed and his fists clenches tightly.

        “Breathe, darling. You’re all done.” (Y/N) instructed, letting out a deep breath for him to mimic too in case the pain was too much.

        Andrew let go of his breath, regaining control of his lungs after a few manual breaths. 

        “You did so well, my star! Do you want a sticker?” (Y/N) questioned.

        Andrew adverted his eyes from her smile, his face red from what he wants to be because of holding his breath, but it was instead caused by her praise and pet names (or maybe both).

        “No…?” Andrew muttered.

        “Mm. What color do you want? Gold, pink, blue, red, purple, or gray?” she questioned.

        “Why do you have a gray star?” he questioned.

        “Good choice!” (Y/N) spoke, rummaging through her bag for her stickers. 

        She found them and searched for a gray star, finding one and undoing the paper back. She sticked it on Andrew’s chest, clothed with the blue hospital gown. 

        “Tah-dah! You were my star patient today!” (Y/N) beamed. 

        “Are you done?” Andrew sighed dully, adverting his eyes to hide his blush.

        “Nope! I have to redo your bandages. This’ll also hurt, but I’ll be gentle with you.” (Y/N) explained.

        “Hurry up.” Andrew huffed. 

        “So soon to have me leave, huh?” she sighed jokingly. “Hurts my heart.” 

        She reached into her bag and grabbed bandages, gauze, and anti-septic cream. 

        “So, Andrew. Kinda curious, what made you jump?” (Y/N) questioned, remembering her superior's words as she started undoing Andrew’s bandages on his legs.

        “Why would you need to know that?” Andrew growled, becoming defensive.

        Ah, I pissed him off. But this is important information for his health, murderer or not. (Y/N) thought to herself.

        “You know, I tried killing myself too. I was eleven. Failed multiple times. But you had the courage to jump. I didn’t do that.” She explained.

        “How’d you try?” Andrew questioned, a spark of curiosity in him.

        “I’m not giving you any ideas, mister.” (Y/N) laughed, giving him a playful yet stern expression before switching her gaze to study the stitching on his ankles. “But, I gave up and made an oath to never harm myself in that way again because it really affects the people you care about. Your sister was probably very sad when you jumped.” 

        At least the surgeons did that good, so no worries there. Luckily the swelling is just from the breakage and replacement of bones, so his stitches aren’t infected. She thought to herself. But let’s add anti-septic cream just to be safe.

        "How long ago was that?" Andrew questioned, ignoring her comment about his sister.

        "Ten years ago." She hummed.

        She must be around the same age as me. Andrew thought.

        “Did it get better?” Andrew questioned as (Y/N) applied the cold cream onto his wounds.

        The temperature of the medicine barely even got a reaction from Andrew since he was so focused on the conversation they were having. 

        “At the beginning? Of course not, in fact it spiraled downhill from there. Overtime I started picking myself up and it helped. It helps to surround yourself with people who cared about you. And if you have no one who cares, then learn to care for yourself. Your confidence in yourself will attract others to you.” (Y/N) explained. "We humans need to be there for each other, you know? We're social creatures after all."

        “Hm.” Andrew hummed in acknowledgement, not really paying attention to her optimistic speech.        

        It's not like he had anyone to turn to. He remembers his girlfriend breaking up with him on the phone while he was rotting away in his apartment. Ashley had verbally abused her enough that she didn't want to see him or Ashley anymore. He doesn't have any other family than his parents who rejected him because "he and Ashley were too close and had to learn independence" his mother said on the phone during their last phone calls in quarantine. He's not exactly sure what she meant by it (especially with his memory gone), but so far all Ashley's done is pissed him off these past months he's remembered, so he really doesn't want to see her again anytime soon. He doesn't remember if he has friends or not either.

        “Andrew, what do you like to do? What do you do in your free time?” (Y/N) questioned.

        Andrew thought about her question. The three months that he remembers, all he did was sleep, starve, and watch TV (all with Ashley). He read books from his parents room out of boredom before losing the energy to even try and keep acting like he was actually remembering the plot—it took too much energy remembering the events that happened in the book. 

        When Ashley and Andrew did talk to each other during the time, it was to bicker and complain to each other about food and the other’s company (Ashley always started it).

        “I don’t have any… None that I remember at least.” Andrew admitted.

        “Don’t stress it. Your concussion could be affecting your ability to remember. We’ll find some new hobbies for you.” (Y/N) reassured. “Maybe books, card games, video games? I’ll find something.” She spoke as she redid the bandages on his ankles.

        “Why are you even bothering?” Andrew sighed. “After some months I’ll be gone.” He pointed out.

        “Yeah, but I wouldn’t want you to be bored the entire time. Personally, I would hate being bedridden with nothing to do.” (Y/N) admitted.

        What a sympathetic girl... Andrew thought.

        “Whatever…” Andrew muttered, crossing his arms. 

        “Voilà! Whaddya think?” she questioned.

        “It’s tight…” Andrew admitted, it didn't hurt much, but it did feel a bit annoying.

        “That’s to keep your ankles in place. Your bandages aren’t bleeding much, so you should be ready for casting. I’ll leave a note for that.” She explained. “Any requests before I go?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “You’re leaving?” Andrew questioned, sitting up and straightening his back before cringing at the pain shooting up his legs (and the pathetic tone in his voice).

        “Yeah, my shifts almost over...” She paused and checked her watch. “It’s actually been over for 20 minutes now.” 

        Andrew muttered something under his breath, adverting his eyes as he looked away from her.

        “You’re coming back tomorrow, right?” Andrew questioned.

        “Ah… I don’t know. I don’t work in this branch, I work with kids in the pediatric branch.” (Y/N) smiled nervously.

        I hope I’m not upsetting him. She thought to herself.

        She tolerated Andrew’s company, for a man of course. It was surprisingly refreshing and the atmosphere is much more comfortable than it was when she first entered.

        Andrew huffed, looking back at her.

        “I like you better than the other nurses.” He admitted, crossing his arms and looking away again so she wouldn’t notice his red face.

        “Aw. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Penelope tomorrow, she’s a wonderful nurse!” (Y/N) smiled. “I’ll make sure to visit you tomorrow before I leave work and check in on you, make sure you’re still intact and dandy, okay?” she smiled.

        It’s like I’m making a promise to a child. She thought to herself. 

        Her thoughts were backed up by the spark in his eyes as he looked back at the nurse.

        “Okay…” he muttered, pushing down the urge to smile.

        “I’ll see you later, star!” she smiled, referring to his sticker on his chest. “Door open or closed?” she questioned.

        “Closed.” Andrew answered.

        “Alrighty! Click the button on the side of your bed if you need a nurse or need to ask something. In an hour you can drink a little bit of the water, but hold off on the pretzels until tomorrow. Make sure you get good sleep! Body’s natural way of healing.” She explained, flashing him a smile. “Goodnight, Andrew.” 

        She closed the door and took a silent breath in.

        That went surprisingly well… She thought to herself.

        She walked back to the staff room and unlocked the door, opening it to find Ruby, an old and stern nurse who worked day shift.

        “You’re clocking out late.” Ruby gruffed. “Heard they were understaffed tonight.”

        “Ah, yes. I had to go to patient 402’s room.” She smiled politely despite it being very draining to.

        It's hard acting so happy all the time with her patients and coworkers. She liked work, but her face wasn't friendly, so she had to resort to smiling a lot (as annoying as it was for her).

        “The moody patient with the psycho sister? How’d that go?” Ruby questioned.

        “How did you know?” (Y/N) questioned, sparing her a glance.

        Ruby’s day shift, so she comes in at 7 am and leaves at 7 PM. How would she knows about Andrew? she thought to herself.

        “Penelope was in near tears when she clocked out. Told me how closed off the boy was and the sister was screaming and yelling at Penelope, talking about how she’s trying to steal her brother away from her—something like that…” Ruby muttered the last part to herself.

        Psycho sister indeed. (Y/N) thought to herself.

        “The girl wasn’t in there when I entered. The boy is reserved at first, but if you keep talking to him he’ll respond. Just be patient.” She spoke, shoving her leftover medical supplies into the supply closet.

        “I swear, Penelope gets too butt-hurt about these patients. And I don’t understand how you can deal with those kids, snotty and crying all the time.” Ruby complained as (Y/N) snagged a computer seat and sat down, typing up her report on Andrew Graves condition.

        “The kids are just scared. Give them a lollipop and it’s like Christmas.” She laughed, straining a smile. “Good talk rubes, but I’m going to head out.”

        “See you tomorrow.” Ruby responded lazily.

        “See ya. Good luck on your shift.” (Y/N) spoke.

        She walked out of the staff room and locked the door behind her, taking the elevator to the first floor. She exited the elevator and walked out of the hospital lobby, walking to the staff parking lot to her car. She grabbed her keys from her scrubs pockets and unlocked her car, opening the door and buckling her seatbelt before driving off.

        The drive is longer than she likes from her apartment but at least her thoughts plagued her so she didn’t have to be bored.

        A murderer and a cannibal? Not one but two! Should I call the police? I mean, they must have reasons. They were locked in an apartment and resorted to eating their neighbor? Why would they be locked in an apartment? I’m sure if they went to the police they would’ve been understanding, I mean it was life or death and one dead is better than two. What am I thinking? I shouldn’t be thinking that at all, I’m a nurse. (Y/N) thought. 

        “Ugh…” She groaned. 

        She made it to her apartment and unlocked her door, opening it and closing it behind her, making sure it was locked before she walked into the kitchen.

        I don’t feel like cooking, I don’t have the time for it anyways. She thought, opening her freezer. 

        She grabbed a quick microwaveable meal and put it in the microwave, setting it at the box’s desired time before walking away and grabbing her computer.

        She checked her emails then started her medical essay for pneumonia and bronchitis. The microwave ringed and she grabbed her food and some drink, walking back her to computer and continuing her work while eating.

        She finished her dinner and the final touches of her essay before sending it her college professors at her university. She stood up and stretched, walking to the kitchen and cleaning her dirty dishes before going to her room and picking out a nightgown. She walked to her shower and undressed, washing her hair and allowing the water to relax her nerves and sore legs from standing all day.

        Check-ups tomorrow should be Rachael Gardener and Joseph Stall. I'll meet a new patient, Lily Wells, since she's switching healthcare. After that, it's walk-in's from there. I'll pay a visit to Andrew thirty minutes before my shift ends and check up on Hailey. (Y/N) thought in her head. 

        Andrew. He's sure a special case at the moment. Nurses are going to have to keep a watchful eye on him to ensure his condition doesn't worsen or cause any harm to himself or others. (Y/N) thought. Two broken open-fracture ankles and complete fractures in his legs. Just thinking of that pain makes me squirm. She cringed, stopping herself from washing her hair to shake the imaginary chills she created.

        Not to mention his internal bleeding from his brain, his concussion from his fall must've caused that. Luckily he doesn't have any other injuries otherwise I'm pretty sure he would've been dead. She thought as she stepped out of the shower, drying her hair and body.

        I should find some video games and books to keep him from being bored. I need to get some new books for Hailey to read too, my bookshelf is going dry for her. She thought as she started getting dressed. I'll also do a quick google search of Andrew and Ashley, get some information out of their situation (or at least the most of it).

        .

        .

        Andrew woke up and stared out of his window blankly, watching as people walked in and out of the hospital, some in wheelchairs and some in casts. In a while, that'll be him leaving this place.

        Or with the pace Ashley wants, tomorrow. Andrew thought, a frustrated huff escaping his mouth. 

        Who could blame him? He tries to kill himself and all of a sudden he lost basically all of his memory from when he was born to three months ago, that's almost twenty-two years of his life lost in just a flash!

        Ashley told me to jump too. I shouldn't have listened to her and her damn rants, it would've caused so much less trouble, but I was going insane listening to her. Andrew thought. 

        Andrew's been wishing a lot of things lately. He's been wishing he could remember everything about himself, wished he never drank that supposed contaminated water that got him locked in the apartment which got him here in the first place, and wished he could get up and walk out of here.

        Ashley visited him earlier. Something in him was happy to see his sister, but dread filled his stomach at seeing her walk into the room.

        "Thought you said you weren't ever coming back?" Andrew spoke, recalling what Ashley said yesterday.

        "I might've been a bit hasty... and inconsiderate" Ashley huffed, crossing her arms and glaring at Andrew. "I found a hotel nearby. I'm staying there until you get better."

        "How will you pay for it?" Andrew questioned.

        "Easy! I'll just kill people and take their wallets!" Ashley beamed, getting an glare sent her way.

        "Don't do that, idiot. You'll get caught easily without me." Andrew sighed, already finding himself frustrated at their conversation so early in.

        "Well, I could stay here! I'll stay in the bathroom when the nurses are in the room. I can keep you company and sleep in the same bed as you as we used to." Ashley teased.

        "I have two broken legs, remember?" Andrew pointed out.

        "I'll be extra careful." Ashley smiled, as he looked at her unamused. "Hmph! Be that way!" Ashley huffed, giving attitude as she crossed her arms. "Was it lonely without me last night? Did you have any nightmares?" Ashley questioned, her tone teasing with a hint of suggestion.

        Nightmares? About what? Andrew thought. And what's with her damn tone?

        He paused as he thought about anything the past three months.

        "No. Why would I have any nightmares?" Andrew questioned

        "Did you hit your head when you fell?" Ashley teased harshly, poking his cheek roughly. "Your nightmares! About that girl we killed back then? What was her name?" 

        "I don't remember." Andrew admitted. "Wait, we killed someone else?!"

        "Wow, you must've actually hit your head hard." Ashley spoke, a little surprised.

        "A nurse said I had a concussion and internal bleeding, so my memory isn't sharp at the moment." Andrew explained, still worrying about who else he's killed in his past.

        "Ugh. That'll only slow us down..." Ashley sighed. "Would you like to know?"

        "Might as well." Andrew sighed.

        "You killed that girl when we were young! She had an asthma attack in a box and it was hilarious!" she cackled.        

        "That doesn't sound funny. She was a kid, wasn't she...?" Andrew murmured.

        That nurse, (Y/N), she works in the pediatric branch. I don't think she'd be happy if she heard that. Andrew thought to himself. Why am I caring about her all of a sudden? I think I really need my brain checked out... hopefully by her... 

        "She had it coming though! She liked you and she was trying to separate the two of us!" Ashley tried to justify, noticing his reaction.

        "Whatever you say, Ashley." Andrew sighed.

        "I don't like this... I miss you, Andy! We were really close! You didn't need a girlfriend because you had me by your side!" Ashley whined. "It's because of one of these slutty nurses, huh? They're just holes for you to stick your dick into! You don't need them like you need me! I'm all you need!" Ashley started shouting.

        Andrew's really starting to think their sibling-ship is bordering to relationship the way Ashley's been acting and saying. 

        Gross... Andrew thought.

        He remembers the downright suggestive comments Ashley spoke in the apartment (and just a few minutes ago), along with the overprotectiveness he's experienced at times with her. Even if, just a bit, if their relationship was that (incest-like), it hasn't gotten physical since he places money that they would've done something while trapped in that apartment for three months. Andrew let out a sigh of relief, glad their relationship hasn't escalated to that point. 

        So there's still a turning point to get out of that. Andrew thought to himself.

        It's simple really, separate from Ashley. 

        That's all he has to do, but with her co-dependency, it won't make it easy. Unless, all he does is reject Ashley's advances towards stepping-up their relationship and trying to escape the hospital.

        "Andy, fucking listen to me!" Ashley shouted into his ear.

        Andrew was snapped out of his thoughts as the world around him spun. Ashley was holding his hair and shaking his head back and forth, creating a headache behind his head and eyes.

        "Ashley, let go! What part of concussion and internal bleeding didn't you understand?!" Andrew shouted, grabbing her hands as he fought them away from his hair.

        He succeeded in pulling her hands away, but she didn't want to let go without locks of hair in her fists.

        "I hate you, Andrew! I hate you! You and this stupid hospital and those stupid damn nurses! I hate it I hate it I HATE IT!" she screamed loudly.

        The hospital door opened and three nurses came in, their hair disheveled and bun's messy from racing down the hallway.

        "Ma'am, calm down. Otherwise I'm going to have to ask you to leave." One of the nurses spoke, their name tag reading Penelope.        

        "DON'T YOU TELL ME TO CALM DOWN, BITCH!" Ashley screamed at the poor woman, her finger jabbed into the nurse's chest. "I bet it's you! Yeah, you! You're the bitch manipulating my brother! I'll fucking kill you!"

        "Ashley!" Andrew sternly shouted, catching her attention long enough for the three nurses to tackle the girl.

        Ashley kicked and screamed as they got her, two nurses dragging her by her legs out of the room as the other nurse ran to go call security to escort her out (and keep her out).

        Andrew watched as all the women crowded out of his room, a little surprised.

        Well, she won't be coming back soon... that was surprisingly easy... Andrew thought to himself. Step one, separate Ashley from me. Complete.

        Ten minutes went by and someone stepped into his open-doored hospital room. It was Penelope, the nurse from earlier (and yesterday). 

        "M-Mr. Graves. Would you allow me to check--?" she was harshly cut off.

        "Get the hell out." Andrew growled, glaring at her with his vibrant green eyes.

        She nodded and quickly turned around, about to leave before he spoke up.

        "Wait." he spoke, effectively stopping the nervous girl as she turned around, fiddling with her hands. "When's that nurse coming back? (Y/N) (L/N)?" Andrew questioned.

        "(Y-Y/N)...? I don't know... She's not in our branch." Penelope muttered sheepishly.

        "Well, find out!" Andrew snarled. "I refuse to accept treatment from anyone else but her!"

        "Okay!" Penelope exclaimed all too quickly (glad to no longer be taking care of Andrew) and ran out of the room.

        He really meant it too. Any time a nurse tried to come into his room, he'd shout and throw anything nearby at them. It was a drastic change from yesterday's silence. Some nurses assumed he was scared as potential memories reappeared in his head, or perhaps he needed a higher dose of pain killers. They regretted entering the room after getting hit by pens and notebooks from the nightstands, he even threw his pillow.

        "I hate working in this damn branch! Where the hell is (Y/N)?" Ruby shouted in the employee's only room, the elder asking for her help from her inferior. 

The first chapter for this is done! This series will also be posted on AO3 and Wattpad! This series won the poll after a close tie, and I'm so glad it did because I was internally rooting for this to win! Don't worry, the other series' will be posted too after this one is completely posted for what I have so far.

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for request!

Chapters: Current chapter, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— i’ve been thinking about jumping ; things can go rough and harsh when your emotions overwhelmed you

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

You sit on the edge of your bed, hugging your knees to your chest as the events of the day play on repeat in your mind like a broken record. The weight of everything—your academic struggles, the unspoken tension with your parents, and now the appointment result—presses down on you, your chest heavy with a nameless frustration. You want to scream, hit something, or just curl up and disappear, but all you can do is bury your face in the soft fabric of Tsukishima's hoodie, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne lingering on it.

The oversized sleeves feel like a small shield against the turmoil swirling inside you, but they can't stop the barrage of thoughts. What did the doctor say again? You try to recall every word, focusing on the moment instead of the whirlwind in your head. But even then, the tension in your body remains.

Your phone buzzes in your bag, snapping you out of your thoughts. You reach for it, flipping it open with half-hearted curiosity. It's a photo. From Tsukishima. Your heart skips, then thuds in your chest as you open the image—Tsukishima and his teammates, standing proudly with the volleyball championship trophy, their faces glowing with accomplishment.

Your lips twitch upward, an involuntary smile breaking through your melancholy. His message from this morning about the game resurfaces in your mind, and you wish you could’ve been there. Seeing him in that moment, surrounded by his teammates, makes you feel proud, even if a small pang of guilt tugs at your chest for missing it. You were supposed to attend his game but unfortunately you have an appointment scheduled by your mom today.

You stare at the photo for a while, unsure of what to say. He looks happy, genuinely happy in a way you don’t often see. He’s always so serious, so focused, but here, in this photo, he’s smiling with his eyes, that small smirk playing on his lips.

Finally, you type a response:

Congratulations, champ 🎉🎊

You add an extra line of happy stickers, trying to convey the joy you assume he must be feeling.

It doesn't take long before his reply pops up.

Are you done with your appointment? How was it?

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers hovering over the screen. How do you even explain? You’re not really sure what you feel anymore.

Yeah, it went fine

His next message comes almost immediately.

At your dorm now?

Yes, just got back.

Do you want to join us? We’re celebrating with Korean barbecue.

Your initial instinct is to say yes. It sounds nice—fun, even. A distraction from your racing mind, a chance to be near him again. But you stop yourself before you type. You know how you are right now. You’re not in the mood for loud celebrations, for crowded places, for the inevitable small talk that you’ll have to force with his teammates. They don’t know you, and frankly, you don’t feel like pretending everything’s fine. Not tonight. So instead, you respond,

I think I’ll skip this one. Feeling a bit tired 🥹

You watch the chat bubble indicating that he’s read the message, but no immediate reply comes. Your fingers grip the phone a little tighter, heart beating in your throat. You wonder if he’s annoyed or disappointed.

Finally, a message pops up.

Okay. Rest well 🤍

The simplicity of his words eases some of the tension, but only just. You reply with a quick, Have fun with the team! 😊 before tossing the phone aside. You fall back on your bed, staring at the ceiling. The quiet of your room feels suffocating, but you’re too drained to move.

Suddenly, your phone buzzes again, breaking the silence. You sigh, reaching for it with a sluggish arm. It's your mom this time.

Doctor Adi just sent me a prescription for your medication. Can you go to the drugstore and pick it up before dinner?

You groan, kicking your feet in the air in childish defiance, but you know you have no choice. Dragging yourself up, you grab your wallet and throw on the hoodie—Tsukishima’s hoodie, the one he gave you that night after your movie marathon at his place.

As you step outside, the evening air feels cool against your skin. The walk to the pharmacy is quiet, almost eerily so, but you appreciate the solitude. It gives you time to think, though you’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Your mind is still racing, stuck somewhere between anger, sadness, and confusion.

You reach the drugstore and head inside, your thoughts still buzzing like white noise. The bright lights and sterile smell are grounding, in a way, pulling you out of your head as you approach the counter. You hand over your prescription and wait, shifting from foot to foot.

Just as you’re zoning out, you catch a familiar figure out of the corner of your eye. Tall, lanky, with those distinctive glasses perched on his nose—Tsukishima. Your heart skips, your body tensing. He’s standing at the cashier, his back to you as he pays for something. You freeze, instinctively pulling the hood up over your head, hoping he won’t notice you. Maybe—

His eyes meet yours.

Damn it.

His brows furrowing in that familiar, questioning way. He starts walking toward you, and for a moment, you consider bolting out of the store. But your feet are rooted to the spot “What are you doing here?” he asks, stopping just a few steps away, his voice low and calm.

You shrug, trying to play it off casually. “Picking up my prescription.”

He looks at you, his gaze sharp, like he’s assessing whether or not to believe you. “Are you sick?”

Your voice comes out higher than intended. “No! It’s just vitamins.”

He doesn’t seem convinced but doesn’t press further. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer, and you feel like you’re under a microscope.

“What about you?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation away from yourself. “What are you doing here?”

“One of my teammates burned his hand,” he replies, holding up a small bag from the pharmacy. “Had to pick up a first aid kit.”

You nod, unsure of what else to say. Silence stretches between you, heavy and uncomfortable. You can’t tell if it’s just your own nerves, or if something has shifted between you two.

“You’re still invited to dinner,” he says, breaking the silence. “We’re eating across the street.”

You hesitate again, your heart tugging in two different directions. Part of you wants to go, to be with him, to see him smile again like in that photo. But the other part—the heavier, louder part—wants to retreat, to hide away from the world and the strange, gnawing feelings inside of you.

“I’ll pass,” you finally say, your voice soft. “I’m really not up for it tonight.”

Tsukishima’s face remains unreadable, his calm demeanor unchanged. He nods slightly, giving a small shrug. “Alright,” he says, his tone neutral. “See you later then.”

You watch him walk out the door—crossing the street then entering the restaurant, leaving you standing there, the awkward tension hanging in the air even after he’s gone. You let out a deep breath, rubbing your temples as the dull ache in your chest refuses to go away. For a second, you wonder if you made the right decision. Should you have gone with him? Would it have been better to push through your exhaustion and just enjoy the dinner? Something’s off. Normally, he’d at least touch your cheek or pat your head, a small gesture he picked up after you started dating. But today, nothing. It’s like he’s keeping his distance.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear your name being called at the counter. As you approach, the cashier greets you with a curious question.

“Do you know the tall guy who was just here?”

“Yeah, I do,” you answer, wondering where this is going.

“Well, excuse me if this is inconvenient, but he left his credit card. Would you be able to give it to him?”

You blink, surprised, before you nod. “Oh, yeah, sure.” After paying, you take the card, glancing over at the restaurant where Tsukishima disappeared. You inhale deeply, debating for a second before finally deciding to go after him.

Crossing the street, you enter the restaurant, scanning the room for him and his teammates. You spot them instantly—a group huddled around a table, Tsukishima grilling meat while they talk animatedly. As you slowly walk towards the table, you hear fragments of their conversation.

“Hey, Tsukishima, where’s your girlfriend? Why doesn’t she come to your games?”

“Yeah, I thought she’d be here since it’s your last game—”

Your steps falter as you take in their words, heart racing. His last game? Why didn’t he tell you? A whirlwind of emotions swirls inside you—confusion, hurt, frustration. You hadn’t even realized how important tonight was for him. And why didn’t he say anything?

Just then, Yamaguchi spots you. “Oh, hey Tsukki, look!” He gestures toward you with a bright smile, nudging Tsukishima.

Tsukishima’s eyes lock with yours from across the room, and for a moment, the air between you two is thick with unsaid words. He stands, walking towards you with a steady calmness. You stammer slightly under his gaze, your grip tightening around his forgotten credit card. As he approaches, his familiar presence washes over you, but there’s still a gnawing tension beneath the surface.

When he reaches you, he takes the card from your hand without a word, but his fingers graze yours lightly. “Thanks,” he mutters, his voice softer than usual, before placing his hand on the small of your back, guiding you toward the table. The touch that you’d missed earlier is back, but it feels different now—charged, like there’s more that neither of you is willing to admit.

“This is her,” Tsukishima introduces you to the table with a smile that feels almost out of character, as though he’s both proud and slightly awkward about it. You give a small bow, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as the group eyes you with friendly curiosity. Tsukishima pulls a chair for you beside him, the gesture simple but grounding.

As you sit, he immediately starts preparing a plate for you, placing slices of grilled beef and arranging the sauce with his usual precision. Your eyes catch on the care in his actions—silent, but thoughtful. You want to say something, to ask him why he didn’t mention it was his last game, but you hold back, not wanting to cause a scene in front of his friends.

One of his teammates smirks, breaking the silence with a teasing tone. “So, Tsukki, when did you start dating freshmen? I thought older women were more your type.”

The comment catches you off guard, your surprise reflected in your eyes. You glance at Tsukishima, hoping for some kind of reaction, but he remains calm, focused on the grill as he flips another slice of beef. He doesn’t even acknowledge the jab, continuing to serve you without missing a beat.

Yamaguchi quickly jumps in, nudging the guy with a disapproving look. “That’s rude, man. Besides, she’s sweet, kind, and polite once you get to know her.” He said with a playful wink at you.

The guy mumbles an apology, and you force a polite smile, feeling an odd mixture of relief and awkwardness settle over you. The tension from earlier hasn’t left, but now it’s mixed with the pressure of being under the spotlight, surrounded by Tsukishima’s friends.

“I thought you wouldn’t make it,” Yamaguchi adds with a friendly grin. “But I’m glad you could join us after all.”

You chuckle softly, though your mind is still buzzing. “Yeah, I’m sorry I missed the game. I bet it was amazing. Congratulations on the win, you guys are really impressive.”

Tsukishima continues to silently serve you, placing food on your plate as the conversation around the table flows. His friends share stories about the game, and you do your best to laugh at their jokes, but it’s hard to concentrate. Your mind keeps drifting back to the earlier comment—his last game—and the fact that he never told you.

The night passes in a blur of laughter, shared food, and introductions to the other girls at the table. You try to engage, to be present, but your gaze keeps flickering back to Tsukishima, watching the way he interacts with his friends, wondering why he’s been holding back with you lately. The evening is warm and pleasant on the surface, but underneath, there’s a lingering feeling that something important is still unsaid.

You walked in silence next to Tsukishima, the cool evening air brushing against your skin as the two of you made your way back to the dorm. The streetlights cast long shadows on the ground, but all you could focus on was the heavy tension in the air. His silence gnawed at you. It wasn’t the usual comfortable quiet; tonight, it was laden with unsaid words, and you could feel the frustration bubbling inside you, making your chest tighten.

You sighed softly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. His face was calm, his gaze forward, but there was something off. After everything today—from rushing to your appointment, the sudden dinner with his teammates, to this strange silence—you felt drained. The more you thought about it, the more your frustration grew. Why hadn’t he told you? Why did you have to hear about his retirement from someone else?

After a long moment of brooding silence, you couldn't hold it in anymore. The words spilled out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your last game?” Your voice cut through the quiet night, the annoyance clear in your tone. “You never mentioned that you’d be retiring from the team so soon.”

Tsukishima came to a halt, turning to face you with a look that made your heart sink. His lips twitched into a faint smirk, though there was no humor behind it. “I’m in my last year of uni, if you haven’t realized yet,”

His words were laced with that typical sass you were used to, but tonight, instead of rolling your eyes or laughing it off, they felt like a slap to the face. Normally, you could handle his biting comments, even find them amusing, but after the emotional exhaustion of the day, this hit a little too close to home.

“And what about it?” You couldn’t hide the irritation bubbling to the surface. “Like it’s that hard to tell me personally?”

Tsukishima's expression shifted, the faint smirk disappearing as he met your gaze with a frown. “Did you even interested about this part of my life?” His voice was casual, almost like he was throwing a joke into the mix, but it felt like an accusation.

Your chest tightened at his words. “What do you mean?” You took a small step toward him, your hand almost reaching for his, but you stopped, unsure. The gap between you felt more noticeable than ever. “I’m your girlfriend. Of course I am. I care about every part of your life.”

Tsukishima’s gaze flickered away from you, avoiding your eyes as his brow furrowed slightly. “Then maybe you should’ve asked about it whenever we had conversations.”

The calmness of his voice hurt more than if he had raised it. Your heart sank further into your chest, and you could feel the guilt settling in. He was right. You hadn’t asked—not about volleyball, not about his team, not about his games. You’d been so caught up in trying to navigate this new relationship, in figuring out how to be his girlfriend, that you never stopped to think about the parts of his life that mattered to him.

But still, his words stung. You felt like you were being blamed for something you didn’t even realize you were supposed to do. “Why are you blaming me for something I didn’t know?” Your voice came out quieter now, laced with hurt. “I’m sorry—”

“When was the last time you came to one of my games?” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing as he stared at you. “Do you even remember?”

You opened your mouth to answer but quickly realized you couldn’t. You haven’t been to one of his games in months. Not since Yamaguchi dragged you along during your winter class Since then, you had been too wrapped up in your own academic struggles and the whirlwind of emotions that came with your new relationship to even think about attending.

Tsukishima scoffed at your silence, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you, then. Volleyball has been a huge part of my life for years. Retiring today wasn’t an easy decision, and you didn’t care enough to find out.”

The weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t just frustration in his voice now—it was hurt, too. Your breath hitched as you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, his disappointment in you sinking deeper than you could bear.

“I’m sorry, Kei,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The tears you had been holding back were now threatening to spill, and you hated yourself for it. You never wanted to make him feel this way, and the realization that you had hurt him was more painful than anything he could’ve said.

Tsukishima inhales deeply, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself down. He steps closer to you, his expression softening just a fraction as he places his hand on your waist, pulling you into a gentle embrace. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, though his voice still holds a touch of tension. “I’m sorry I lashed out. Let’s just get back to your dorm.”

But there was still a tension in his body, and you could feel it. His embrace was warm, but it wasn’t the comforting kind of warmth you were used to from him. It was almost like he was holding back—keeping some of his emotions buried, away from you. And that hurt even more.

The two of you continued walking, hand in hand, but the silence that stretched between you felt heavier than before. His grip was firm, as if he didn’t want to let you go, but the air was thick with things left unsaid. You kept stealing glances at him, wondering what he was thinking, if he was still upset, if things would ever feel normal again.

When you finally reached the entrance to your dorm, you swiped your access card, the beeping sound cutting through the tension. You were about to step inside when you heard him call your name softly.

You turned back, your heart in your throat as you met his gaze.

“Next time,” he began, his voice quieter than usual, “just… tell me what’s going on in your life. And ask me what’s going on in mine. We need to update each other. That’s how this is supposed to work.”

His words were gentle, but they carried a weight of importance, and you nodded, guilt gnawing at you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “It’s my first relationship… I should’ve—”

“I know,” Tsukishima interrupted, his lips curving into the smallest of smiles. “And it’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

His smile was small, but it was enough to make your heart warm again, if only for a moment. You nodded, biting your lip as you took a step toward the door. But just before you could leave, his voice stopped you once more.

“Hey.” He gestured toward the plastic bag you’d been holding from the drugstore. “Are you going to tell me about your sleeping medication?”

Your freeze, heat rushing to your face as you fumbled for a response, completely caught off guard. You hadn’t been prepared for that question, and once again, you found yourself at a loss for words.

decided to post it tonight since i can’t study—my brain doesn’t want to cooperate with me—for my test tomorrow 😖🤧 so wish me luck guys

tagslist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything @snowthatareblack @ilovemymomscooking @nayiiryun @knightofmidnight @kozumesphone @scxrcherr @thechaosoflonging @monya-febrjack

[sleepyangelkami]

RESTLESS NIGHTS d.dixon

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 2.2K

DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - for as long as you can remember, you've always suffered with insomnia. sometimes it was manageable, sometimes it wasn't. the only difference was then you didn't have daryl dixon to help you, now you did.

 ☆ WARNINGS - sleep deprivation, insomnia, mention of sleeping (lack of), crying, reference to bad childhood, mentions of eating/food, having no appetite, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

sleep never came easy to you.

you remembered being young, standing outside your mothers bedroom door and crying. fat tears would roll down your cheeks as you explained how your eyes simply couldn't will themselves closed anymore and that it was damn near impossible for you to sleep.

she'd always shone you back right to that little bedroom of yours. the walls would enclose on you and yet your eyes would shut, tiredness seeping over you.

yet sleep would never come.

a lot of time has passed since you were a child crying at your mothers door, begging for some kind of an out to this awful insomnia.

before the fall hit, you were a polite young lady that wore summer dresses and skirts all year 'round. you'd walk in through the white door, bell ringing as you entered your doctor's. he'd give you the capsuled tablets that helped you sleep. now, you couldn't even remember what they'd been called.

after the fall, you'd been stocked up, a reasonable amount. though not after long, the name had scratched off, sticker almost gone from the bottle completely. along the way, you met your group, your people, your family. they were more your family than your mother ever had been.

when you and your group found the prison, you deemed that you liked it there.

it had walls, safety, food, anything you ever could have asked for. but soon enough, your medication ran out and the sleepless nights haunted you again.

like today.

carol had made this sort of soup for lunch. you were sat at one of the tables, a spoon in your hand as you stirred it inside the bowl, zoning out. you wondered if it had gone cold by how long you'd been stirring it for. all you knew was that you were too tired to so much as move your arm.

unbeknownst to you, you'd been being watched. daryl dixon had taken a liking to you the moment he'd laid eyes on you. you pranced around with big smiles and happy rosey cheeks with your little dresses and skirts. you were so bubbly and happy, even when the entire world ended. most would think that a person like daryl would find it annoying, rather irritating. but in fact, he was attracted to it the moment he'd seen it. you were like a ray of sunshine, a beaming rainbow. whenever he was around you, he was smiling or laughing. rick almost fell off his horse when he heard daryl laugh for the first time, it was next to you, of course.

but lately, things hadn't been right.

he'd noticed the very first day you woke up with messier than usual hair, a hand running through it with an almost permanent pout etched to your lips, under eyes looking a little dark.

you'd only gotten worse since then.

the sound of a bowl hitting against the table brought you back to life. your doe eyes widened a little as you sat up a little straighter, big eyes gleaming at the man who took a seat at the table you were sitting at, right across from you. "hi, daryl." almost swooning at the mere sight of him.

"hey, pretty girl." yeah, definitely swooning. "wh's up with you? you've been stirrin' the damn soup cold."

you glanced down to your bowl of soup that you'd barely touched. "not hungry." you stated, pushing the bowl out in front of you. you sighed with pouty lips as you laid your chin on your hand.

lack of sleep tended to do that to you. one of two things would happen. one, you'd be craving something like crazy, whatever food it would be from cheese to fruit. or two, the lesser kind one, you'd lose your appetite almost completely. now was the lesser kind one. this one tended to happen when you didn't sleep for longer periods of time.

daryl's eyes were so full of concern and worry. "somethin' wrong?" not waiting to begin having his own soup, carol made a mean soup.

"nope." popping the 'p' sound because really, there wasn't anything wrong, at least nothing serious enough to tell anyone else, you thought. "just tired." tired was an understatement, your whole body was exhausted.

"yeah, i get that." nodding along and pursing his lips. though this behaviour had been going on quite a while. he never wanted to push you, but there were times where he felt like he had to do something. "you'd tell me if there was something wrong though, right?"

you hummed, eyes tracing his own. you were awfully tired and with electric blue eyes like his own, it was sort of hard not to get caught staring into them, whether you were tired or not. "'m just tired." you assured.

though the man didn't look as though he believed you. his eyes traced your own, as though they were trying to figure out what else was wrong.

finally, he sighed, knowing that you weren't going to tell him anything, not now. "alright, sweet girl." watching your cheeks go flush. "you know where to find me if you need me."

you nodded your head, rosy cheeks and pink lips in a smile. "thanks, daryl."

days passed awful slow when you were tired.

thankfully, you'd taken no naps throughout the day so you assumed that by the time night fell, you'd be tired enough to sleep your soul away.

but when the dark sky loomed over the prison, you ready in your cell for sleep to envelope you... you were met with sheer nothingness.

you huffed, closing your eyes and twisting your body.

you thought that if you kept trying, sleep would eventually come to you. you'd tried all the home remedies you could, you tried medication, though that was no longer an option. now, you had hardly any options. the only one that you could think of was shutting your eyes and praying for sleep.

but you knew a long time ago that there was no god in a world like your own.

you turned around for what felt like the hundredth time. even with your eyes strewn closed, a pout still rested on your lips and your brows were knit together closely.

you wondered if anyone else in the prison was awake.

then your mind travelled back to daryl dixon. he looked at you so full of concern and when he'd offered help, he meant it. you knew daryl the best out of anyone and you knew that daryl doesn't say things he doesn't mean. he was the type of man to stay quiet and if he did speak, it was only truth. that was what many people admired about him.

you hardly registered your sock covered feet on the cold concrete ground of the prison. sleepiness was holding so close to you that you hardly registered anything. you didn’t remember your feet guiding your body, turning the corner to reveal the next hallway. and you definitely didn’t recall stepping into daryl dixon’s cell, eyes slightly widening in the dark as you peered around, looking for him.

alas, his cell was empty.

you almost cursed yourself, thinking it was beyond stupid for you to come here in the first place. perhaps you should have just stayed in your cell and waited the night out. you could do one more night without sleep, right? 

but before you could turn around, you heard the creak of the cell door. you whipped around to see daryl standing there, looking dishevelled as ever. “what’re you doin’ here, angel?” when you didn’t respond, he found his body moving closer to yours. “shouldn’t you be sleepin’?” 

and maybe that was what set you off.

“i can’t.” but you didn’t speak the words with your usual joyish speech, where every word was elongated and practically cheered from your mouth. your voice was all croaky as it broke, like a child, waiting for your mother to open her bedroom door and let you in.

“hey, hey.” his hands were already stretching out, finding your face in the darkness. his fingers brushed against your cheeks, softening the reddened skin. “‘s okay, what’re you cryin’ for?” though his voice was filled with nothing but comfort, the way it softened to fit your own. 

daryl dixon truly was one in a million.

you shrugged your shoulders, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes, breaking the dam and sliding down your cheeks embarrassingly so. “i can’t sleep.” voice cracking again, but you didn’t stop there. “i’ve tried everything ‘n i can’t do it.” your head shaking, nose becoming red.

daryl wasn’t exactly new to insomnia. he’d felt it times on his own, usually after something drastic had happened or if something was yet to happen. like when carol’s daughter, sophia had been missing. he remembered not being able to sleep for weeks on end. he remembered glancing into the mirror, his eyes sunken and under eyes practically purple. come to think of it, that was exactly how you’d looked earlier.

he cursed himself for not realising sooner. 

“‘s okay, baby, everything’s okay.” he heard your pathetic little sobs, practically whimpering as he took you into his arms. his large hand found the back of your head, steadying it by his chest as you cried, tears running down your cheeks as your own chest practically heaved. 

you’d been so desperate for sleep that you hadn’t realised you’d been on the brink of tears. now that you were sobbing into the man’s chest, you found it in yourself to be a little embarrassed. but daryl wasn’t the type of person to let you feel that embarrassment. he merely cooed and shushed you, hand gently massaging the crown of your head. 

“‘m sorry.” voice like fragile glass as you pulled away from him. “‘n now ‘m keeping you awake ‘n i―”

“hey,” catching your attention. even in the dead of night, with darkness consuming the room whole, you were still able to make out his rough features, and he could still trace your delicate ones. “you ain’ ever gotta say sorry to me, alright?” you nodded your head, eyes still full of watery liquid and lips puffy and red. “now c’mon, we’re gonna figure this out together.” 

you could vaguely make out his hand on the small of your back, leading you towards his bed that was draped in many more blankets than your own. 

you’d never realised just how comfortable daryl’s bed was, even through the many times you’d practically hopped into his cell, jumping on the bed excitedly to tell him some form of news that you’d heard, whether it was a piece of gossip from carol or something serious from rick, daryl had always been all ears.

it was very different to the state you were in now.

you still found yourself sniffling as daryl tucked the sheets over your body. the sheets were different than yours. usually, you hated feeling too many sheets on you, finding yourself feeling awfully trapped but when he was tucking you in so delicately, you couldn’t find it in yourself to mind.

then you felt his arm gently plop over your middle, holding your back against his front.

gently, your two hands pushed themselves forward, grasping his much larger one. you fumbled with his fingers, pulling one in, sticking one out. even in the dark when you couldn’t so much as make out the shapes, you still found it sort of lulling.

the feeling of his breath hitting the back of your neck, the warmth of his body flowing into your own. you found your eyes gently shutting.

you wondered had it been this easy all along. If all you’d ever needed as just someone else. you didn’t know but deep down you knew. perhaps that was why you’d waited at your mothers door as a child, crying and begging for her to just open it and let you in while she’d shone you away, annoyed with your antics, wondering why she couldn’t get a normal child. and maybe that was why your feet unconsciously began walking towards daryl’s cell, because even your body knew that all you needed as someone to help you, someone to guide the way.

and daryl was more than happy to give you that.

for the first time in a long time, you found yourself almost succumbing to sleep. 

it was almost scary. you wondered if your eyes would force themselves open or your mind would force yourself awake. your entire body feared that you’d blink and wake up in your own cell, had this all just been in your imagination due to your lack of sleep.

the mere thought made a shaky breath fall from your pretty lips.

and daryl was more than prepared to pull you closer towards him, his face practically in your hair. his lips pressed a chaste kiss to your shoulder blade, hand finding your fingers and interlocking them before his arm stretched out around your body, pulling you as close as humanly possible. “not goin’ anywhere.” he mumbled, as though he were able to read your mind.

he spoke again but the words faded out as your tired mind finally put itself to rest.

perhaps you didn’t just need someone else. perhaps you just needed him.

main masterlist/daryl's masterlist

[nicothedingus]

spud headcanons because i'm bored

a lot of ya'll liked my wallmark headcanons so here's some spud headcanons <3 there might be some Sarah ones in here too. idk

gentle giant who cares about wildlife. has helped a chick that has fallen out of its nest at least once

lives in the woods near the camp, usually sleeping in a cave or in trees. sometimes visits Sarah and sleeps outside her cabin/on the floor inside

viewed as a cryptid of sorts by people who don't know of the gnarpian attack. there's probably ominous photos of him circulating online at this point

Sarah has set up wind chimes around the camp because 1. Spud likes the sound 2. it helps him remember where the camp is

probably purrs. loudly. if he can make bubble noises i think he can purr and chirp and make other noises okay

learned methods of nonverbal communication so he can still communicate with Sarah when he's overwhelmed :)

tries to socialise but regrets it afterwards

eats out of the trash near the camps mess hall i think. that or he steals the marshmallows. fiend

certified silly straw enjoyer. Sarah has a few because he probably can't drink from cups otherwise. they will have hot chocolate together

has a kandi bracelet with Sarah's name on it. so he doesn't forget it. yeah i know canonically he doesn't remember her very well but i'll always see them as besties still <:)

whenever he gets hurt Sarah gives him cute bandages i think. she covers him in stickers in general

sometimes when he explodes he just. disassembles. he doesn't die his arms just fall off. Sarah has to stitch him them back on afterwards (inspired by this adorable post)

scars. lots of them. has a big vertical one on his torso

went bald after ripping all of his hair out due to the stress of what happened to him, but it's been regrowing well!

wobbles a bit whenever he moves

HOLY SHIT THAT'S A LOT if you guys want more headcanons ummm please do say so my brain is rotting!!!

[tallerthantale]

I think it's time to stop fixating on arguments with the active Good Omens fandom.

Yes, the efforts to keep Good Omens 3 that don't mention the allegations are immensely frustrating. But I don't think it's coming from people who disbelieve the allegations or don't care about them. I think it's coming from people who are taking it for granted that Good Omens 3 won't happen with Gaiman attached beyond IP holder. They think the only two possibilities are Gaiman removed as far as possible or outright cancellation. From their perspective it doesn't seem necessary to mention the allegations, they think Gaiman is already a full blown pariah who's career is in shambles.

That is not how these things work. The allegations still don't have widespread media attention, and he still has countless ongoing publishing deals. The bubbles we are in are very aware of the allegations, but those bubbles are largely made up of people who are terminally online. The wider world is still broadly unaware.

While I would prefer it if efforts to salvage Good Omens 3 consistently made their support explicitly contingent on Neil Gaiman's public sacking, I think there are more productive uses of time and energy then getting into flame wars about it. Overwhelmingly the Good Omens fandom is onboard with efforts to metaphorically launch Neil Gaiman into the sun. They are more allies than adversaries. Let them have spaces to keep talking about their blorbos, don't go into those spaces to accuse them of not believing the allegations or not caring about SA survivors.

Gaiman's ability to maintain wealth, power, and influence is far more connected to his public appearances and publishing deals than it is to a show's fandom that already wants him axed (but forgets that they still have to say that because they think it's obvious.) I don't like the organized 'stream the show more' efforts, but the IP residuals off of additional streamed views are typically very small compared to book sales.

If the goal is to take down Neil Gaiman's ability to use his career to access victims, the primary objective is shutting down public appearances. No convention appearances, no teaching workshops, no book signing events, no speaking engagements. I don't think those sorts of things are likely in the near future, as the current PR strategy looks like an attempt to lay low and avoid the Streisand effect. However, if things do start blowing over in the future, public appearances might start creeping back, and they can be met with in person protest.

The next objective IMO is no new TV / movie deals, no new publishing deals. The general public scandal will suppress new deals for a while, but it won't hold up if the story is only circulated in the fringes and then forgotten about. The methods of raising awareness need to focus on bringing the message to people who haven't heard about the allegations yet, and that's going to mean going real world about it. Leave stickers on power line poles, on bus stop shelters, on bookshop shelves, on shopping carts / trollies. Ask your local news media to cover the story.

The challenge target if those main objectives hold is cancelling current publishing deals. That won't just be about calling on publishers to drop Neil Gaiman, it will also be about calling on people to stop buying his work, so that the publishers have a capitalist justification for dropping him. Always remember, you are not appealing to their better nature, you are appealing to a spread sheet.

The target audience for the 'stop buying NG books and comic books' message is people who haven't heard about the allegations yet. It is not the terminally online wing of the Good Omens fandom, which is already in favor of not purchasing from him.

Current publishing deals are not an easy target. Boycotting efforts are notoriously difficult to organize effectively, and there are plenty of objectively terrible people widely known as such who still get published. Some thoughts I have on it are starting with foreign language publishers in regions where Gaiman isn't as commercially successful, or seeing if local book stores are open to not purchasing more of his books. Keep in mind though, as with any boycotting push, you are asking the most vulnerable people to make the biggest sacrifice. A locally owned small bookshop has the most to lose by not stocking a popular author. Stay kind and respectful.

Edit Note: A previous version of this mentioned a specific user. They have asked to be removed from the post.

[2e2ezine]

👁️ LEFTOVERS OPEN 👁️ 

Leftover sales for 2 Everything 2 Everywhere: An EEAAO Zine are NOW OPEN! This is your last chance to buy a bundle, and physical supplies are extremely limited so get them while you can!

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More information about our available bundles below!

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Filled with good luck from our family to yours. This near-full bundle includes: - 1 acrylic charm - 1 magnet - 1 wooden charm - 2 die-cut stickers - 2 sticker sheets - 4 postcards - 3 prints - 1 A-Grade physical zine - All digital merch

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Guaranteed to taste fresh and delicious. This B-Grade near-full bundle includes: - 1 magnet - 1 wooden charm - 2 die-cut stickers - 4 postcards - 2 sticker sheets - 3 prints - 1 B-Grade physical zine - All digital merch

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We promise our mystery goodies won't be as stressful as filing taxes. This B-Grade grab bag bundle includes: - 1 wooden charm - 4 postcards - 1 random die-cut sticker - 1 random sticker sheet - 1 random print - 1 B-Grade physical zine - All digital merch

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Simple, but efficient and bubbling to life! This B-Grade zine bundle includes: - 1 random print OR wooden charm - 4 postcards - 1 B-Grade physical zine - All digital merch

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This is sure to prove that things do matter. This digital bundle includes: - 1 PDF copy of the zine - 1 "Making of 2E2E" bonus PDF - 18 digital stickers

*This is a non-profit, charity zine! All profits raised after production and shipping costs will be equally split and donated to Red Canary Song and Asian Mental Health Collective.

[bloodmoonmuses]

stereo 127 | johnny suh

(for @lovesuhng !!! I hope you like it!!!)

genre: johnny suh x reader, college au, teacher's assistant! johnny, friends to lovers

warnings: none!

summary: johnny is your campus crush. he also happens to be the teaching assistant in your music history class. when you (innocently) ask for help on a project, you end up learning about more than just music.

You’re a bit obsessed with this guy who skates around campus- or the concept of him, more accurately. You don’t even know his name. All you know is that last semester, you (accidentally) memorized his schedule, resulting in you walking to certain classes a few minutes earlier than necessary to catch a glimpse of him. These glimpses were merely a blur, whipping past you like an apparition. He was a ghost to you, and you enjoyed being haunted by him. 

Your friends made fun of you for having a campus crush, arguing that it’s not real since you don’t actually know him. However, you honestly preferred the distance. Then, you could fill in the gaps in your knowledge with your own imagination. Admiring him from afar worked for a while- that is, until the start of Spring semester. 

When you saunter into your music history class, a random elective you took for fun, you’re met with the elusive Skater Boy. You knew he was tall, but he’s even taller than you’d imagined in your daydreams. You glance at him briefly, before going to take a seat at a desk near the back. 

Skater Boy chats with a few of his friends at the front of the classroom, then sits next to the teacher’s desk when the professor enters. You infer that he must be the teacher’s assistant. 

This was a big problem. Surely, you’ll fail this class now. There’s simply no way you’ll be able to focus. The breathy laughs that escape him are already distracting you to the point of being almost unbearable. His smile is so breezy, like a wave catching the wind. He looks just as cool here in the classroom as he does on his skateboard.

The underlying crush that lay dormant in you begins to boil, and you know it will soon bubble over, scalding everything in its wake. You couldn’t wait for the burn. In fact, you aimed to spur it on sooner. 

You make a concerted effort to pay attention to the professor’s spiel, pulling out your notebook to take notes. It's syllabus day, sure, but you want to look studious. The first assignment of the semester is to research the history of your favorite music genre. 

Despite your efforts to focus, your eyes drift to the stickers that adorn Skater Boy’s laptop: Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, an Arctic Monkeys logo and a cartoon surfboard. You want to know everything he likes and commit the list to memory. You want to sew his idiosyncrasies into a quilt and blanket him with your loving knowledge of them.

The professor introduces him as Johnny Suh- a third year music composition major. Now the ghost has a name.

—

You look at the office hours on the bottom of your syllabus. Johnny would be in office in lieu of your professor for the majority of the semester. Would it be so bad to pop in and ask him for help on the first assignment? 

While you admittedly feel silly, walking to the Arts and Humanities building looking a bit too gussied up, you swallow the nervousness. You stand in front of the room, reading the placard:

Professor: Dr. Moon

TA: Johnny Suh 

You knock on the office door. On the third knock Johnny says, “Come on in!”

Meekly, you enter. He’s too real, too tangible, in this small space. You’ve never been within touching distance of him. The prospect makes your fingers tingle. Professor Moon has an insane book collection, two bookcases spanning the walls opposite one another. The rest of the office is cluttered with a slew of instruments.

Johnny is wearing a backwards hat and quarter sleeve sweater. Your eyes graze the expanse of his forearms, then drift upwards. There’s a pen clipped to his collar and another in between his lips. It’s the most tantalizing pen you’ve ever seen. Finally, you make eye contact. 

Introducing yourself, you say, “Hi, my name is _____. I’m in the music history course.”

“Nice to meet you.!” He takes the pen out of his mouth, and your eyes follow it forlornly. That could’ve stayed. “How can I help?” 

Johnny gathers some papers, places them in a neat stack at the center of the desk, then sits on the edge of it.

“Um, I’m a non-major. So, I’m struggling a bit with the first assignment.”

Johnny nods understandingly. “Ah, the dreaded favorite genre assignment. What’d you pick?”

“Pop punk,” you say.

“Fascinating. You don’t strike me as a punk person.”

You shrug. “Grew up on it.”

“Have you been to the record store near campus?”  

You shake your head.

“It’s called Stereo 127. I think it would be cool to listen to some records and base your research on specific albums. Then you’ll have a clearer framework for when it’s time to write the paper.”

“Thanks. Um,” you clear your throat, “Would you mind… showing me?”

“The record store? Yeah, sure. No problem. Does this weekend work for you?” Johnny asks.

“Sounds good!”

—

Stereo 127 is densely packed with all sorts of records, mimicking the state of Dr. Moon’s office. There’s a classmate of yours named Jaehyun who’s keeping watch of the store. He walks around the shop, reorganizing things as he sees fit. As you peruse the albums, you’re peeking at Johnny over the records, trying to catch his eye. Unlike you, Johnny is actually scanning the selection, genuinely trying to help you.

“Let’s get the obvious ones out the way,” he says, holding a Blink-182 record. He’s somehow managed to track down a copy of their debut album, Cheshire Cat.  

“If Cheshire Cat is an ‘obvious’ pick to you, then I’m way out of my depth,” you confess.

“A little pretentiousness never hurt anyone,” Johnny replies. 

So far, you have a copy of Green Day’s Nimrod (which you’re quite excited about) and Paramore’s newest album. As the minutes pass, you get gradually more enraptured by the thicket of albums. Before you know it, you’ve accumulated quite a few records. After a bit, you sidle up to Johnny, peering over his shoulder to check out his picks. You spot a Yellowcard compilation record.

“This is more fun than I thought it’d be,” you pipe, turning to face Johnny. His face floods with fondness when he sees the stack of albums in your arms, caramel eyes warming you from the inside out. 

“Yeah, you have a good eye,” he retorts. “I’ve been meaning to check out a few other shops around town. Y’know. To compare selections.” He’s sputtering now, having fallen into a cough fit.

“You okay buddy?” you say, chuckling. You gingerly pat his back, holding back a full blown laugh as Johnny continues to cough.

He waves you off, but you pat his back once more for good measure.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Johnny says. When he regains his composure, he continues. “I was just wondering… Are you busy on the 27th?”

—

You’re sprinting across campus, eager to meet Johnny outside of the boys’ dorm. It’s been two weeks since you’ve last seen him. He’s leaning against the building as he waits for you, clad in a page boy cap (which he’s wearing backwards again) and tank top. You allow yourself a quick glance at his arms, immediately regretting it as your face heats up. When he spots you, Johnny waves excitedly, the width of his smile making your own double in size.

After your first excursion, Johnny had asked for your number (“in case you have questions on the assignment!” he had said). Since then, the two of you have texted occasionally, mostly about school.

The record store he takes you to this time is called The Boot. It’s less trendy than Stereo 127 and less organized as well. Most of the vinyls are in bins, withering at the edges and clearly sundamaged. Johnny says he comes here to find obscure records to spin during his DJ sets, not to necessarily hunt for additions to his collection. 

“So, you’re a music composition major?” you ask as you crouch down to sift through a box.

Johnny nods. “With a minor in photography.”

“Favorite camera brand?”

“Nikon for sure, but I mostly shoot 33mm film.”

“How pretentious,” you say.

“Oh, you love it.” This is true, you do love it. 

Johnny continues. “I found another record store for us to try out after this one.”

“Yeah, just text me whenever.”

—

You had finished your paper days ago, so the subsequent record store outing was completely unnecessary to a certain extent. Johnny had no choice but to admit that he simply wanted to hang out with you- though, he’s not complaining. 

The final record store you visit with Johnny is called WAYVE. This time, he picks you up in his car to take you there- a dinky pick up truck with a shitty paint job.

“Before we head out- “ Johnny reaches over, opening the glove department in front of you. His hand brushes your leg briefly.. He pulls out a CD case and places it in your lap.

“I made a playlist for you.” He can’t look you in the eyes properly. You’ve never seen him look this sheepish.

Johnny continues. “Not vinyl, I know, but I wanted to decorate the cover.” Taped to the front of the jewel case is a polaroid of you perusing records. In the photo, your brows are furrowed in concentration.

“When did you even take this, you weirdo?”

“A few weeks ago at The Boot. The lighting was nice.”

You’re practically buzzing with excitement when you get home, racing to put the CD in your busted boombox. The first song on the playlist is Going Away to College by Blink-182.

“I haven't been this scared in a long time

And I'm so unprepared, so here's your valentine

Bouquet of clumsy words, a simple melody

This world's an ugly place, but you're so beautiful to me.”

—

You got a B minus on the paper, which is better than you would've done without Johnny’s help. However, the project is the furthest thing from your mind. 

All you can think about is the lyrics of Going Away to College. You’re trying not to read into things, but Johnny wasn’t the most subtle. 

Maybe you should make a playlist for him. Or buy him a record. According to him, Johnny’s not a true collector- that was reserved for cameras. Maybe he’d appreciate it.

Johnny spots you walking to class (though he’s sure your next one isn’t for another half hour). He skates over to you, stopping right at your feet. You shriek, almost stumbling backwards.

“What the hell, Johnny?”

He dismounts his skateboard, holding it under his arm nonchalantly.  “Do you wanna hang out somewhere other than a record store?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

—

The skatepark is overstimulating in the best way. After trying (and failing) to teach you how to do an ollie for an hour, the two of you set up a picnic off to the side of the halfpipe. You eat kimbap off Johnny’s skateboard, using it as a little table.

“Sorry you got a B on your paper, by the way. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t grade it.” 

“It’s okay. I’d rather earn a B from Professor Moon than have your biased ass give me a higher grade than I deserve.”

Johnny places a hand on his chest, gasping dramatically.

“Um, what about academic integrity? I would do nothing of the sort!” he insists.

“Oh come on, you’re obsessed with me,” you say, half-joking. To your surprise, Johnny nods to himself, agreeing with you.

“Only a healthy amount though.”

When you and Johnny finish the kimbap, he scooches next to you. The sun is setting, oranges slowly darkening into a wash of deep indigo. You shiver as the sun dips beneath the horizon. Johnny places his jacket across your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say.

“No problem.”

You place your head on Johnny’s shoulder.

“Um, and thanks for the playlist too. It’s really good.”

“Yeah?”

“It sorta had… a theme to it.”

Johnny suddenly pulls out from under you, leaving you to stumble around for a bit as you catch yourself. When he turns to you, he stares, caramel eyes pouring into your own. You feel warm in spite of the chilly breeze.

“I’ve never really been good with words,” Johnny confesses. “I figured I’d let the music do the talking.”

With that, he takes your face into his hands. He traces your features with the pads of his fingers- running them over your eyebrows, the lids of your closed eyes, your nose and, finally, your mouth. When he’s satisfied, he places a faint kiss upon your lips. 

He pulls back, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m so glad my pretentious bullshit doesn’t give you the ick,” Johnny says.

“Only a healthy amount,” you say through a smile. 

Suddenly, you initiate another kiss, your lips crashing into his fervently. When Johnny recovers from the initial shock, you deepen the kiss further. He’s a patient kisser, never demanding too much or taking more than he’s given. This only heightens your hunger for him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. When the two of you come up for air, you linger with Johnny still in your embrace, his eyes crinkling at the edges with pure joy.

a/n: currently unedited + feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading!

[jwanniie]

Possibility for sfw Hong eunchae x reader going out for a midnight convinient store date? :D

Simple love!

Genre: fluff

Pairings: Eunchae x reader!

Warnings: just cute lovey dovey things, skinship!

The stars shining brightly above you, and the tree leaves falling every once in a while on top of you. Her hand hesitantly found yours, it’s been a month since you and her started dating and it’s been the most adorable and sweetest experience you’ve ever had.

Both of you still shy to do anything really intimate, holding hands and little kisses on the cheeks are the only and the best things you do.

It was a little past midnight and the weather was warm but there was a hint of cold wind hitting your faces.

A little smile plastered all over your faces, and looking at your feet while walking.

Soon you felt an uncomfortable sensation in your tummy, hungry! You held your stomach and Eunchae looks at you worried.

“Are you okay?” She asked care visible in her voice.

“Yeah I’m fine just a little hungry.” You gave her a reassuring smile.

“There is a convenience store near, I’m a little bit hungry too!” She replied, walking towards the direction of the convenience store, leading the way.

You could see a little light from distance and it was probably the convenience store, she lead you to.

“Here we are!” She said in an excited grin, her bubbly and sunshine-like nature never failing to make your heart flutter and stomach makes backflips.

You both went inside the store hand in hand, picking everything you desired. Ramen, boiled eggs,drinks,snacks and sweets. The basket got filled.

You paid for everything and made your ramen in the store before heading out, walking to the park near. Sitting on the fancy bench, that was decorated with bunch of stickers,drawings and writings.

Eating in a comfortable silence, both slurping on their noodles. Sharing your snacks and at the end the drink was last. It was one and you had two straws, both of you drinking like in the movies. Drinking from the straws while staring at each other’s love filled and galaxy-like eyes. You discarded the trash and soon you walked back home.

Fingers intertwined while thumb rubbing comfortably against the silky skin. Such a loving girlfriend you had, this was one of the best days in your life, simple yet so meaningful.

[tokyo-1842]

BUBBLEBATH

Luffy x Reader Platonic

——————————————————————————

This is for the people who have OC’s like dragons, kistunes, foxes, etc because I know y’all don’t get much :)

Luffy x Reader

no warnings just fluff🤯

——————————————————————————-

Luffy

We all know Luffy is not the one for baths (given that your nose detects the fact that he smells like meat anytime he’s near you) But giving you one is a different story…There was water EVERYWHERE, bubbles overfilling the bath tub. Luffy’s shirt was drenched and his frustrated groans filled the room “Y/N stay still!” He said trying to scrub the fruity soap on your fur. “NO! TRAITOR YOU SAID THERE WAS CANDY IN IN HERE!” Luffy was holding you down as you tried to crawl out. “You wouldn’t get in so I had to figure something out ok! Sorry!” “THE SOAP TASTE HORRIBLE! HELP ME SOME ONE!”

“Really? It doesn’t taste that bad.” Luffy licked the shampoo off his fingers. “Wait that’s not the point!” He snapped back into focus.

“HOW COULD YOU!” You said dramatically “Nami said so!” “You’re the captain!” “Yeah but Nami’s scary…” he muttered in defeat then picked up the shower head and started to rinse you.

“We’re almost done ok!” A soaked hand reached for a towel then aggressively dried your face. “NOT TOO HARD!” “Im trying to hurry!” He grunted.

After somehow managing to dry you, Luffy picked up and exited the flooded bathroom, water coming before Luffy took a step. “so tired…” He muttered, his black locks sticker to his face from the dried soap and water. Then the man flopped to the floor when you too reached the deck of the Sunny then groaned. “The sun can dry you up ‘m going to bed” our sweat dropped, you stood unsure of what to do. “Sorry…”You said in defeat. He laughed, “It’s ok you just don’t like water!” You cuddled up to him and sighed. You both decided to rest your eyes for a bit, enjoying the afternoon sun.

“LUFFY,Y/N YOU TWO BETTER EXPLAIN WHY THERE IS A DAMN OCEAN IN THIS BATHROOM” Nami screamed. Both your eyes shot wide

“Uh oh.”

——————————————————————————

OK SO WHAT DO YOU GUYS THINKK??? I HAVE SO MANY OCS AND THESE FANFICS NEVER INCLUDE THEM AND IM SO TIRED SO I TOOK MATTERS INTO MY OWN HANDS🙄

PLEASE SEND REQUEST FOR THE LOVE OF GOD IM SO TIRED AND MY BRAIN CANT THINK OF ANYTHING🙏

some gifs :3

HAVE A GOOD DAY 🙏

[the-overgrown-states]

also asks for flor agere hc's

-🕸

bet

feat caretaker Loui

this child

oh my god

chaos incarnate

he’s a 50/50 impure/pure regression

but regardless he is chaos

has an agere room in his house

its FILLED with alligator plushies, items, stickers, etc

Regressed him got to help decorate it!

Loui helped though

has a race car bed

does NOT match his theme

but he wanted it so

a spoiled kid

rarely told no but understands when he is told no

loves going to the beach when regressed

will barge into anyone’s room and yell

“COME TO THE BEACH WITH ME”

doesn’t work 70% of the time

works on California a lot

California & Florida playdates

constantly

usually New York and Loui watch them

sometimes other northeastern states or Alaska will watch them

Florida has had at least one playdate with every state

he is banned from multiple places when he’s regressed

bad habit of biting the other regressed people and not letting go

constantly needs stim toys to distact him

will bite and chew and break anything

calls himself a furniture vampire

eats or bites anything near his face

Loui “Sha eats your vegetables”

Florida “NO”

Loui, bringing them to his face

Florida: oooo bite time- EW VEGETABLES

works every time

Loui doesn’t even hide it anymore

Florida will eat literally anything

Georgia tested it once and gave him soap

Florida was burping bubbles for ages

[shedontsmelltoogooddarious]

Asa's little bug: Growing pains.

I haven't wrote a bug fic in awhile, but I've been getting encouragement for it lately, and I missed these two. Also kinda angsty, and Asa is probably more stricter but lately my brain had been a mess of stuff due to irl stuff-

He watched from above, crouched in the high rising beams as his black eyes glinted- taking in the sight of his precious larva- the child having grown curious, pushing his boundaries as she explored the hotel, careful of the traps set out- but that didn't stop Asa's heart from racing. He sauntered carefully after, keeping a keen eye on every movement. One wrong step, wrong move, and the only light he had left would be snuffed out, forever.

Asa kept himself one step ahead of Cicada, ready to lunge in at the chance of danger. He suddenly growled, his shoulders tensing; “Cicada, stop!” 

His deep voice barked, prompting the young girl to freeze mid step. Her own heart pounded against her ribs as her father landed behind her, grabbing the back of her shirt as he yanked her towards himself, another low growl escaping his lips. He turned her to face, his grip firm on Cicada's shoulders. 

“What the hell did I say about leaving my sight when we're here? Answer me!” 

She was frozen, prompting Asa to frown as his grip loosened. Her eyes welling up in tears before tracing down her pale cheeks, over horrific scarring. His heart wretched at the sight, but his anger was still bubbling; “You almost walked into a trap! Then what am I going to do, Cicada?” 

Her eyes widened, she was scared now. Asa was now kicking himself, the angry dog within him was now replaced by the father he became over the years, and he was falling apart at his daughter’s fear, her tears, and the flinch she made when he reached to cup her cheek in his hand broke him. He sighed, looking away from her and up at the faint moonlight that spilled through one of the windows above.

“Box, now.” 

Was all he muttered, taking hold of his larva’s arm as he led her back to the upper levels, his own quarters where he kept the things precious to himself safe. Her own box was waiting- a faded crimson color with stickers she had collected over the years stuck to the outside, along with blankets and pillows. It was one of the few comforts Cicada had and wouldn’t let Asa change as she grew older. She immediately climbed into her box, shutting the lid without even looking at her father. 

He buried his face into his hands, taking a seat near the box as he could hear muffled soft sobs. Asa did his damndest to refrain from comforting her- she had to learn in order to survive as she grew older and more curious. But punishing her for being freshly 12 wasn’t on his quota either. The box before him slightly popped open, a pair of eyes looking at him through the crack.  Within minutes, Through the crack of the opening, a pair of reflective eyes stared down at Cicada, behind a black mask. The crack suddenly became wider yet as the lid opened, a pair of gloved hands reaching down for her before she was suddenly pulled into a pair of strong arms and against a bigger torso as Asa grabbed his own mask and tossed it to the side, revealing his stubbly face. 

This time, Ass remained silent- stroking her hair as she cried into his chest, warm tears soaking through the woolen fabric of his black sweater. He sat there, helpless, guilt over taking him as he lifted her chin up and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for yelling-” 

Cicada shook her head, hugging him around his chest. “I’m sorry dad…”

He would remain the night in his chair, hugging her close to himself while she slept within his arms.