#drag racing germ

[anniebeemine]

Spencer In The Bathroom- s.r. x fem!reader

warnings: descriptions of panic attacks, germs, cheating, underage Spencer, alcohol mention/consumption

It's the biggest party of the fall and Spencer, the somehow campus-renowned genius is still invisible in the middle of the room. He's not sure how he let himself be talked into it. His heart is racing, a tiny bit of sweat accumulating on his brow. He's never been to a party before, but the president of the frat, Carl, owed him one.

Spencer didn't care much about balancing the scales, but there was something about the insistence, the way the guy practically dragged him along, that made Spencer relent. Maybe it was curiosity or the nagging thought that, for once, he should try something out of his comfort zone.

But now, standing awkwardly in the crowded living room with the bass thumping through the walls and red Solo cups clutched in the hands of everyone around him, he feels completely out of place. His mind races with the amount of germs. He'd paused, instantly feeling absolutely disgusting.

His mind races, calculating the number of germs that must be on every surface he’s touched—the doorknob, the cup he was handed, even the air he's breathing. A wave of nausea sweeps over him as he realizes just how many hands have likely touched the same things.

His breath quickens, and he feels the beginnings of panic set in. His skin tingles with the creeping sensation of grime, and he’s suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of his body. The sweat on his brow isn’t just from the heat of the room—it feels like a film of bacteria clinging to his skin. He pauses, frozen in place, his thoughts spiraling out of control. He can practically feel the germs crawling on him, multiplying with every second that passes.

He spots the bathroom on the first floor and quickly makes his way over, hoping for some relief. But when he opens the door, the sight inside sends him reeling. The floor is sticky beneath his shoes, each step making a squelching sound that makes his stomach churn. A dark, suspicious puddle near the toilet—vomit, he’s certain—sends a wave of nausea crashing over him. The sink is littered with crumpled paper towels, and the roll of toilet paper hangs pathetically empty. An overturned bottle of hand soap lies abandoned, the last drops smeared across the counter like a mockery.

Spencer’s vision blurs as he feels the color drain from his face. He’s never seen anything so filthy, so contaminated. His chest tightens, and he can’t catch his breath. Panic grips him fully, and he practically bolts from the bathroom, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from his chest.

Spencer stumbles up the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. His heart is hammering in his chest, a wild, frantic beat that echoes in his ears and drowns out the music below. The hallway is dimly lit, and the walls seem to close in on him as he searches for some semblance of peace. Every door he passes is either locked or opens to the sound of more voices, more chaos, and he feels his panic rising with each failed attempt to find a quiet space.

Finally, at the end of the hall, he finds a bathroom that isn’t occupied. He practically lunges at the door, slamming it shut behind him and locking it with trembling fingers. The sound of the lock clicking into place is the only thing that brings him a small measure of relief. His breaths come in shallow, rapid gasps as he leans against the door, eyes squeezed shut.

The bass still reverberates through the floorboards, but it’s muted here, distant enough that he can almost pretend it’s not there. He turns to the sink and fumbles for the faucet, his hands shaking so violently that it takes him three tries to get the water running. When it does, he scrubs at his hands with a fervor bordering on desperation, the scalding water doing nothing to quell the deep-seated feeling of contamination that’s taken root in his mind.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror, his face pale, his eyes wide with fear. His fingers are raw and red from scrubbing, but the need to clean himself, to rid himself of the filth, is overwhelming. He only stops when his skin stings so sharply that it forces him to pull his hands away. He turns off the faucet and stumbles back, his legs giving out as he sinks to the floor beside the bathtub.

He draws his knees up to his chest, his body trembling uncontrollably. His nails dig into the grout between the tiles, picking at it mindlessly, needing to focus on something, anything, to keep himself grounded. But his thoughts are spiraling, a whirlwind of doubt and self-recrimination that he can’t seem to escape.

What am I doing here? The question echoes in his mind, relentless and unforgiving. I don’t belong here. I never should have come to college. This was a mistake—a huge, terrible mistake.

His heart pounds so hard he can feel it in his throat, and he’s certain he’s going to be sick. His mind races through every poor decision that led him to this moment: agreeing to tutor Carl, letting himself be dragged to this party, thinking he could somehow fit in with these people. It’s all wrong. He’s all wrong.

I should have aimed lower, he thinks bitterly. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not like them—I can’t be like them. Why did I think I could handle this?

He feels the tears sting at the corners of his eyes, but he blinks them back, refusing to let them fall. His body trembles harder as the weight of his choices presses down on him, suffocating him. The bass thuds through the floor, a steady reminder that the chaos is still there, just outside this small, suffocating room.

He picks at the grout with renewed intensity, his fingernails digging into the cracks until they ache. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts as he tries to calm himself, but nothing helps. The panic is too strong, too overwhelming.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the thoughts, but they just keep coming, a relentless tide of fear and self-doubt that threatens to pull him under.

He feels like he’s drowning, suffocating in his own skin, and there’s no way out. All he can do is sit there, trembling on the cold, dirty bathroom floor, and wait for the panic to release its grip on him. But it doesn’t. It just tightens, suffocating him as the world spins out of control around him.

He had come to the party with his only real friend on campus, another young genius named Jeremy. They were both sixteen, prodigies who had somehow ended up in the middle of a college campus filled with students much older than them. It wasn’t easy being the youngest, but having Jeremy around made it bearable. They stuck together, navigating the complexities of college life as a pair, and for the most part, it worked.

But tonight, everything changed.

Jeremy had ditched him within ten minutes of arriving, lured away by the promise of beer pong in the basement. Spencer had watched him disappear down the stairs with a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable without his friend by his side. Everything had felt fine when he was half of a pair—he could manage the awkward stares and the occasional condescending comment because Jeremy was there with him. They were a team. But now, standing alone in the middle of a loud, chaotic party, Spencer felt completely lost.

He tried to blend in, to stay inconspicuous as he moved through the crowded rooms, but every second felt like an eternity. People brushed past him without a second glance, engrossed in their own conversations, and he could feel the panic creeping up on him with every step. His heart pounded in his chest, and his hands trembled as he clutched the red Solo cup that Jeremy had handed him before disappearing.

Spencer’s throat tightened, and he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. He hated this feeling—the overwhelming sense of not belonging, of being so utterly out of place. His mind raced with thoughts of Jeremy, who had always been the more social of the two. Why did he leave me? Spencer wondered, feeling the hurt mix with the panic. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I can’t do this alone.

Before he knew it, tears were spilling down his cheeks, and he quickly wiped them away with the sleeve of his shirt, hoping no one would comment on the little bit of snot smeared on the fabric. The tears kept coming, and soon he was full-on crying, his chest heaving with quiet sobs. He used his sleeve to wipe his nose, the fabric already damp from his tears, and tried to stifle the sound of his crying, but it was no use. It's not like anyone would be able to hear him over the bass.

Spencer wasn’t sure how long he sat there on the bathroom floor, crying into his sleeve and trying to get a grip on his emotions. Time seemed to stretch on forever, each second feeling like an hour. The world outside the bathroom door continued to thump along to the heavy bass, but inside, Spencer was trapped in his own private hell, completely disconnected from the party raging on just a few feet away.

His mind had begun to slow down a little, the initial wave of panic starting to subside, when suddenly, three loud knocks echoed through the bathroom door. The sound startled him, each knock sending a jolt of fear through his already frazzled nerves. He jumped with each one, his heart rate skyrocketing again as he scrambled to pull himself together.

The knocks continued, insistent and demanding, as if the person on the other side was about to break down the door if he didn’t open it soon. Spencer’s body moved on autopilot as he forced himself to stand, his legs shaking beneath him. He stumbled over to the sink, desperately trying to regain some composure. He splashed cold water onto his face, hoping to wash away the evidence of his tears and the overwhelming fear that had gripped him.

The knocks pounded again, louder this time, making his heart leap into his throat. He glanced at the mirror, his reflection still pale and shaken, but there was no time to dwell on it. He had to open the door. What if it’s Jeremy? he thought, clinging to the hope that his friend had come back for him, that he wasn’t completely alone in this nightmare.

With a deep breath, Spencer’s hand hovered over the doorknob, his fingers trembling as they made contact with the cool metal. But just as he was about to turn it, the knocking stopped.

The sudden silence was deafening. Spencer stood frozen, his hand still on the knob, unsure of what to do. His mind raced with possibilities—had they given up? Were they waiting for him to open the door? He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or more afraid now that the knocking had ceased. He leaned in closer, trying to hear anything on the other side, but all he could make out was a female voice drunkenly slurring along to the song playing downstairs.

He regretted the half a beer he’d forced down earlier, hoping it might help him relax and fit in. Instead, it only made him feel queasier, his nerves amplifying the effects of the alcohol. He took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but the discomfort only worsened. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears as he tried to decide what to do.

Before he could make a choice, the door suddenly swung open. Spencer’s breath hitched as he took a step back, his eyes widening in surprise. Standing in the doorway was one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen. She had a calm, confident presence that immediately put him on edge, but in a different way than the rest of the party. He felt an overwhelming wave of self-consciousness wash over him as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror beside her.

Is there a sadder sight than this? he thought, his tear-stained cheeks and red, puffy eyes a stark contrast to the polished appearance of the girl in front of him. He looked like a mess, completely out of place in this scenario.

The girl stepped into the bathroom, keys jingling around her neck, and without hesitation, she turned back to whoever was behind her, shoving them out of the room with a firm hand. Spencer watched, dumbfounded, as she closed the door behind her, shutting out the noise of the party. The quiet that followed felt almost surreal, like they were in a different world altogether.

She turned back to him, her expression softening as she looked at him. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly, her voice gentle and soothing. There was genuine concern in her eyes, and something about it made Spencer’s resolve crumble.

He shook his head, unable to find his voice. His arms wrapped around himself in a self-soothing gesture, trying to stop the shaking that had taken over his body. He felt so small, so out of place, like he was back in high school again, surrounded by older kids who didn’t understand him.

The girl, undeterred by his silence, gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Why don’t you sit on the edge of the tub?" she suggested, her tone kind but firm. Spencer hesitated for a moment, but something in her voice made him trust her. He nodded, moving to sit on the edge of the bathtub, his body still trembling slightly.

She walked over to the toilet, calmly shutting the lid before wrapping a generous amount of toilet paper around her hand. Spencer watched her movements, his mind still reeling from everything that had happened, but he found a strange sense of comfort in her calm demeanor. She sat down next to him, gently dabbing at his tear-streaked cheeks with the toilet paper. The touch was light and careful, and he found himself relaxing ever so slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit.

"Feeling a little better?" she asked softly, her eyes meeting his.

Spencer nodded, his voice still caught in his throat. He watched as she soaked another wad of toilet paper with cool water from the sink, then returned to his side, dabbing his cheeks with the damp paper. The coolness of the water was soothing against his flushed skin, and he felt a small wave of relief wash over him.

As she continued to help him, she introduced herself. “I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice warm and inviting, as if they were old friends instead of strangers meeting in a bathroom during a chaotic party.

“Spencer,” he finally managed to whisper, feeling a little more grounded with each passing moment.

Y/N smiled again, her kindness unwavering. “It’s nice to meet you, Spencer,” she said, her tone sincere. "I take it you're the kid Carl invited?"

Spencer nodded, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief wash over him. "Yeah, I guess that’s me," he replied softly, his voice still shaky. He felt a little silly being referred to as "the kid," but it wasn’t far from the truth. At sixteen, he was younger than everyone here, and it was painfully obvious.

Y/N’s expression softened further, her eyes filled with understanding. "Don’t worry," she said gently. "Carl has a habit of dragging people into things they’re not ready for." She tilted her head slightly, studying him with a look that was more empathetic than pitying. "It’s a lot to take in, especially when you’re not used to it."

Spencer blinked, caught off guard by her observation. He hadn’t expected her to notice—he’d been so wrapped up in his own anxiety that he hadn’t even considered the possibility that she might be going through something as well. He studied her face more closely, noticing the faint redness around her eyes and the slight puffiness that suggested she’d been crying too, though she’d done a good job of hiding it.

"You’ve been crying too," he said softly, his voice tinged with concern. It felt strange to point it out, but there was a part of him that wanted to understand, to know what had caused her to feel the same kind of sadness he was experiencing.

Y/N’s smile faltered for a brief moment, her gaze dropping to the floor before she looked back at him. "Yeah," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "It’s been a rough night." She hesitated, as if unsure how much to share, but then she seemed to make a decision. "Carl's my boyfriend- well was." She thought for a second, a light huff falling from her lips. "Well, I don't really know."

Spencer’s heart ached at her admission, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of empathy for her. "Do you… want to talk about it?" he asked, his voice gentle but sincere.

Y/N let out a short, almost surprised laugh, her eyes widening slightly. "You’re serious?" she asked, searching his face as if trying to determine if he was really offering to listen.

Spencer nodded, his expression earnest. "Yeah, I am. Sometimes it helps to talk."

Her smile wavered, and she let out a deep sigh, as if she had been holding it in for too long. "I watched him go into a room with… her," she began, her voice trembling slightly as she recalled the painful memory. "When I tried the doorknob, it was locked." She paused, her voice cracking a little as she tried to keep her composure. She sighed again, this time more shakily, using it to mask the emotion threatening to spill over. "I didn’t need to see anything else to know what was happening."

Spencer felt a wave of anger on her behalf, his hands clenching slightly at the thought of what she’d gone through. "You shouldn’t put up with that," he said firmly, his voice steady despite the turmoil he felt inside.

Y/N looked at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and then a small, bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "You really are smart," she teased gently, her voice wavering between humor and sadness.

Spencer blushed slightly, but he didn’t back down. "I mean it," he said, his tone softening but still resolute. "You deserve better than that. No one should treat you that way."

Her smile faded, replaced by a look of deep contemplation as she absorbed his words. For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of their shared vulnerability hanging in the air. Finally, she nodded, as if coming to a decision. "You’re right," she said quietly, almost to herself. "I do deserve better."

Spencer felt a small sense of relief at her words, glad that she was beginning to see her own worth. "And you’ll find better," he added, his voice filled with quiet conviction. "It might take time, but you will."

Y/N looked at him, her eyes softening with a mix of gratitude and something else—something more profound. "Thank you, Spencer," she whispered, her voice full of emotion. "For listening… and for caring."

He gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Anytime," he replied, meaning it more than she could know.

They sat there for a few more moments, the silence between them no longer awkward but comforting. It was as if they had both found a brief respite from their own struggles in the presence of someone who understood. Finally, Y/N stood up, extending her hand to him.

"Come on," she said, her tone a little lighter now. "I'll give you a ride home."

They walked out of the bathroom together, leaving behind the noise and chaos of the party. The cool night air hit them as they stepped outside, and Spencer felt a sense of relief wash over him. Y/N led the way to her car, a simple but well-kept sedan parked a little ways down the street. They got in, the quiet hum of the engine a welcome contrast to the thumping bass they’d left behind.

As they drove through the darkened streets, the tension that had hung over them all night seemed to dissipate. Spencer felt more at ease than he had in a long time, the quiet companionship between them calming his racing thoughts.

At one point, Spencer glanced over at Y/N, catching her in a moment of peaceful reflection. "You know," he said, his voice soft but clear, "tonight didn’t turn out how I expected, but… I’m really glad I met you."

Y/N turned to look at him, a playful glint in her eyes. "Is that your way of flirting, Spencer?" she teased, her tone light and amused as she pulled up to the curb outside his dorm.

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, his face going pink as he realized how his words might have sounded. "N-no, I didn’t mean it like that," he stammered, his heart racing again but for a completely different reason. "I just meant… you were really kind, and I didn’t expect to meet someone like you tonight."

Y/N laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine, as she shifted the car into park. "Relax, I’m just teasing," she said with a smile, waving off his embarrassment. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, the brief contact sending a jolt of warmth through him. "You have a good night, Spencer."

Spencer froze for a moment, his hand instinctively moving to where her lips had brushed his skin. "Y-yeah, you too," he managed to say, still flustered but feeling a strange sense of happiness bubble up inside him.

He got out of the car, closing the door gently behind him. As he walked toward his dorm, he glanced back over his shoulder, watching as Y/N gave him a little wave before driving off into the night.

For the first time in a long while, Spencer found himself smiling as he walked up the steps to his building. Despite everything, the night hadn’t turned out so bad after all.

[momodita]

tidbits જ⁀➴ suo hayato.

TAGS / WARNINGS: little shit suo, male reader, aged up to third years WC: 500 NOTE: set in the same universe/timeline as this fic. i gotta eat bricks fr

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

“Here.”

You cast a critical eye at the bottle: half-empty, wet with condensation. Promising to relieve the tackiness in your throat.

Suo has a little smile: the one he wears when idling—letting Nirei and Sakura bicker amongst themselves. You don’t trust it. He looks too angelic and passive for how barbaric you’ve seen him be.

“That’s yours.”

“You’re thirsty, aren’t you?” he asks without missing a beat. “It would be terrible if you let yourself get dehydrated.”

Arguing with him is a Sisyphean task that only the stupid attempt: it’s endlessly entertaining when Sakura’s involved, but when you’re on the other end, all it’s good for is putting you on edge.

“Aren’t you worried about”—you choose the word carefully—“germs, or whatever?”

His smile widens. “Not at all. Are you?” He’s waiting for some stupid comment about indirect kissing. And he knows you know he’s waiting; the years have allowed you to adapt to his way of thinking—as unfortunate as it is—and if there’s anything you’re wont to do, it’s avoid playing into his hands.

You glare at the label, wishing it would burst into flames. It doesn’t, of course, despite the heavy crease between your eyebrows. You bite back snark in favor of accepting the bottle, instantly wetting your palm.

The conscious effort to avoid his gaze does not outweigh the misfortune for being in this situation to begin with. You just need one sip.

So you put your mouth on it. There’s nothing to be remotely embarrassed about, except that he’s watching in your periphery. And maybe that’s enough to be unsettling, because the bottle tips a touch too far—too fast—and dribbles down your chin.

Air catches in your esophagus in a choking cough as you rip it away, raising a hand to catch the spilling liquid.

“My, my, if I’d known you’d be so clumsy, I would’ve helped,” Suo muses brightly, reaching into his pockets.

“Shut up,” you snap wetly, nose stinging. He holds out a handkerchief, but doesn’t let go. His eyes are tracing over your mouth, where the tea is drying cold and sticky. There’s a droplet clinging to the dip of your bottom lip. “It’s ‘cause you were staring.”

“Is that so?” You flinch when Suo’s hand rises at face level. But all he does is drag a thumb along your chin. “Better not waste it,” he says quietly, pushing the flat of it up the curve of your lips to press against your teeth.

Dazed, you don’t register the slackening of your jaw—allowing the bare pressure on the jut of your canine—until his own mouth parts, sharing a quiet hiss of breath. A visible shudder—so violent you tremble—carves down your spine.

He lets you slap away his hand, watches with a careful, all-too predatory stillness as you stumble back, blood racing to your cheeks and throat.

“Bastard,” you bite out, slamming the bottle on the nearest desk and stalking out of the classroom.

[moonspirit]

I’m at a mud run so…

Aot ambassadors at a mud run!

Sjshsknsuwks anooooon that sounds like so much of fun omg!

You have Armin who's the only one serious about doing things by the book - and therefore the only one doing the mud run the way it should be done - and therefore ALSO barely getting through it 🥲

You have Jean expending buckets of sweat and hard work and doing REALLY well, he's doing GREAT, he's leading, he's fast, he's sprinting- but- oh wait no, hold on- what the FUCK, seriously?!?!

*insert suspense cliffhanger: what did Jean just see?!*

You have Connie who took this seriously for about 0.5 seconds before he decided: hey the mud's nice and cool... It's a nice sunny and breezy day... Why not just... lie down in the mud and watch the clouds... :3 Connie Boy knows how to have a good time, okay?

Annie's gone. Annie's gone. She's building a tunnel through the mud underground and taking that as a shortcut to escape the obstacles and also win the race.

(the prize is a bakery discount coupon, now it makes sense huh?)

Pieck... Works smart, not hard. She identified the fastest team taking part and latched onto them like a leech and now refuses to get off unless they win the race. (She's dangerous in the most unassuming way, so they don't dare shake her off)

Levi's a safe distance away because mud is dirty and full of germs and his wheels will get stuck and no fucking thank you.

Reiner's stuck. He's stuck in the mud. He's STUCK IN THE MUD, HEAD IN ASS OUT AND GABI AND FALCO ARE TRYING TO DRAG HIM OUT WITH A ROPE.

Cue: Jean, who was DOING REALLY GREAT BY HIMSELF, ditches his efforts and comes running: "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU GET YOURSELF STUCK IN THE MUD, WHY AREN'T YOU ANY FUCKING GOOD, DEAR YMIR AND MARIA FOR SOMEONE BUILT FOR ENDURANCE AND STRENGTH YOU'RE SO FUCKING USELESS, REMEMBER HOW I ALMOST KILLED YOU? YEAH? YOU REMEMBER YOU WERE BLOWN TO BITS? ARMOURED TITAN MY ASS-"

(spoiler: he gets rescued by Jean bridal-style)

(spoiler: half an hour later, Armin is only a quarter of the way across)

(spoiler: Annie pops up from the ground like Diglett and drags Armin into her tunnel)

(spoiler: 😏)

(spoiler: Connie lay in the mud too long now he's gone. Swallowed. One with the mud. We'll never see him again. Good bye...)

(spoiler: Pieck's winning

[somber-sapphic]

Stupid Lungs

Pneu-mo-nia; noun: lung inflammation caused by bacterial or viral infection, in which the air sacs fill with pus and may become solid. Inflammation may affect both lungs ( double pneumonia ), one lung ( single pneumonia ), or only certain lobes ( lobar pneumonia ). (wandanat x reader)

Word Count: 3513

(part two)

-----

“Y/n, you’re clearly too sick to be out of bed. I can hear your lungs crackling from here!” Tony exclaimed after what must’ve been your third coughing fit interrupted the meeting. He was standing in the corner opposite you, glaring. Unfortunately, the glare was undercut by the clear worry in his voice. 

Tony was right about your breathing, it wasn’t great. Every inhale felt like glass cutting your throat which eventually moved to sit heavily on top of your lungs. Each coughing fit was wet, but refused to do anything to help with the mucus which had made a home in your bronchi. 

“I’m fine.” You choked out, fighting to stifle a sneeze building in your sinuses. Sneezing would just make everything hurt worse. Naturally you lost, and aimed two unfortunately wet sneezes into your elbow. Instantly your cheeks flushed from embarrassment and you stared at the table as you wiped your drippy nose on your sleeve, wishing for a box of tissues. 

“Get out, germ face.” Tony’s voice cut through the thick fog of congestion that had settled in your ears and you shot him what you wanted to be a devastating look. It wasn’t very good though, because your eyes burned and you couldn’t stop sniffling. 

“Tony’s right, let’s go.” Natasha murmured, pulling you up by your arm. 

“No, I’m staying. We-we have to–” You sneezed aggressively into your hand, tears pricking your dull eyes. You hated having so little control over your stupid, useless body. 

“No, you’re not. FRIDAY, disinfect the whole room. Nothing that will kill us, just murder the germs. Y/n, I’m serious, I will drag you out of here by your hair if you don’t leave right the fuck now.” You knew that Tony wouldn’t go anywhere near you right now, but you wouldn't be surprised if Nat just threw you over her shoulder. Natasha’s hand had stayed glued to your back the entire time and she kept flashing you nervous looks. 

“On it boss,” A vent opened and the smell of disinfectant filled the room, just in time for you to start coughing again. 

“You need me to take you to bed?” Natasha asked, reaching out to take your hand. You pulled away, embarrassment flushing hot on your cheeks. You hated that Natasha had to see you like this. 

You’d fallen in love with the woman from the moment you laid eyes on her. Everything she did was breathtaking. The way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, that little crinkle in her forehead she got every time she worried, how her hair seemed to glow in the sunset. But she was with Wanda. Wanda was a whole different problem. Oh, gods, Wanda. 

You’d nearly died when you’d first seen her. Her auburn curls bounced when she walked, her brilliant smile that could light up a room, the way she was always so kind to you, especially when you’d first joined the team. You’d arrived five months ago riddled with uncontrollable social anxiety. These heroes saved you from yourself. You owed them everything, but your feelings for Wanda and Natasha were beyond anything you’d ever felt. And they were dating. So you got to watch their joy from the outside, wishing you could melt into their arms. 

“I’m fine Natasha, I’ll go myself. Just,” You stood and a wave of black spots danced in your vision. The hand that had brushed your fingers returned and you pulled away tearfully.

“Please don’t touch.” You muttered, racing out of the room. 

You made it to the elevator without collapsing, but as soon as you reached it you fell against the wall, a sneezing fit overcoming your body. A quiet sob escaped from your painfully clenched lungs, but it turned into a bout of miserable sounding coughs. 

“Ms. Y/n, I believe that I should alert one of the Avengers. Ms. Maximoff is in the kitchen making something to eat, I will have her come to your aid.” FRIDAY informed, not really looking to give you a choice in the matter. You whimpered quietly, trying to get her to stop. 

“N-no, please…FRIDAY, I’m fine. Don-don’t tell Wanda. Don’t tell Wanda. Just unlock my room and set up a zoom call. I’m still going to the meeting, even if they kick me out of the meeting.” The last sentence was said with a lot more confidence than you felt, primarily because you were hoping to trick yourself into feeling more normal. 

“Ms., I do not believe that this is a wise decision. Ms. Maximoff would be happy to assist you

“I don’t care. As soon as I get off, sanitize the elevator.” You demanded, forcing yourself to regain your composure. You had a witch to fool. 

Getting past Wanda was easier than you’d expected. The woman was caught up in her cooking, humming along to a song playing softly in the background. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her work, sniffling quietly so as not to disturb her. 

“Hey Y/n/n, meeting go well?” She asked, not really bothering to look at you, she was too busy cooking. Whatever it was, it probably smelled amazing. 

“Hey Wanda,” You managed not to sound too congested, but it was notable enough that you sort of ran past her, not allowing the conversation to continue. You could feel her eyes on you as you left, the concern starting to build in her stomach. You always stopped to talk to her even if you were busy. Hell, you let her read your thoughts when you were on missions so that you could have a fucking conversation. 

She shook her head slightly, vowing to keep her mind open to your thoughts. She wouldn’t pry unless you allowed her too but this way she could hear you if you were in significant distress.

—

“FRI, connect me to the conference room.” You mumbled, sort of collapsing onto your bed. If you were in bed you might as well get comfortable. You’d just managed to wrap a blanket around your shoulders when the team appeared on the TV screen, in the middle of a heated discussion. 

“Hi guys,” You croaked, sniffling against the fabric of your well loved blanket. It was worn with years of love and had helped you through near countless nightmares. It was your most prized possession. 

“No! FRIDAY, get her off. Now.” Tony ordered, practically leaping out of his skin at your voice. You’d scared him, and he was a little embarrassed. 

“I-if you do that I’ll just come downstairs!” You burst out, wiping your nose on your blanket. There was a sneeze building in your sinuses and you were trying to keep it at bay. The Avengers were all staring at you from the other side of the screen, Natasha in open mouthed disbelief.

She couldn’t understand how you were still functioning. She’d half expected to hear FRI alerting everyone that you’d passed out in the elevator. You didn’t acknowledge her in fear that you’d just start crying. You wanted her to hold you. Well, you really just wanted to be held. But it would’ve been nice if she held you. 

“Look, she’s not going to listen to reason. Just let her listen until she falls asleep.” Clint reasoned, shrugging. He was obviously concerned but he was also right. You shrugged, acknowledging it. 

Deciding that all they could do was let you stay, they went back to the debrief, discussing how best to go about stealth tactics next time. A lot of it was centered around hiding better. For some reason Tony was really concerned with hiding. 

“Heh…hetchiw!” You stifled a sneeze into your shirt, trying your best not to interrupt. Natasha’s eyes flicked towards you and you forced a small smile, sniffling wetly. You wished that you had tissues, not grabbing them was probably a bit of an oversight. Natasha just shook her head, one eyebrow raised. She looked down quickly, and then back up at you.

Your phone buzzed by your side and you picked it up, blinking a couple of times as you tried to focus on the screen. The words were swimming in front of your eyes and it hurt to…well it hurt to see. Your eyes felt like they were on fire and you recognized that you probably should’ve checked your temperature earlier. 

My Assassin- You’re better than this x.

You- I’m fine, Tash, focus on the debrief or Tony will get mad. 

You saw Natasha smirk from the video feed and she rolled her brilliant green eyes. She almost looked happy for a second, but then a particularly harsh coughing fit tore from your lungs. A glob of mucus filled your mouth and you spat it out into the trash can, trying to ignore the greenish tint. That probably wasn’t a good thing, but you’d deal with it later. 

My Assassin- bullshit. your breathing is terrible, we might need to take you to see bruce. please go to sleep, i’ll record the whole damn meeting if it’ll get you to sleep.

“You’re done, Fri kick her off and lock her door. Sleep well Y/n/n.” Tony said, waving a hand at you. Before you could put in a legitimate protest the TV screen was off and your door clicked. Tears instantly filled your eyes, fear jamming its way down your throat. You couldn’t be locked in like this. You couldn’t do it again. No more. You needed to go.

“FRIDAY let me out! Let me out, please Fri let me out!” You ran to the door and pounded on it, jiggling the knob, desperation filling your actions. “Let. Me. Out! I need to get out, please, please out! Please!” You slid to the floor, banging your head against the hardwood. It was the only thing you could think of. There was nothing else left, this was the end. This was how you died. 

A soft click brought you out of your panic and the door opened, spilling you out of your room and into a warm body.

Tears flowed down your cheeks as you clung to the person, chest heaving. You didn’t care who it was. 

“Hey, hey I’ve got you,” Wanda's arms wrapped around your middle and you found yourself burying your head in her neck. The action was almost involuntary, as your touch starved brain melted into her, trying desperately to hold back sobs. 

You shook against her with unheard cries, clutching fistfulls of her shirt as if she would disappear if you loosened your grip.

“Okay honey, just breathe. I’m right here. Can you tell me what happened?” She crooned, very gently running her fingers over your scalp. The pet name wasn’t lost on you, although you were too miserable to acknowledge the fluttery feeling in your chest. 

“I don’t feel good…” You bawled, well aware that you sounded like a child. You were too tired to care anymore. This was the worst that you’d felt in a long time and your body craved the comfort that she brought. 

“Shh, shh, that’s alright, we can fix that. It’s all going to be okay Y/n/n.” You sobbed again, her kind words sounding like a lie to your fever muddled mind. 

“Why aren’t you in bed, baby girl?” She murmured, shifting so that she could stare into your dull, glass eyes. You looked away, biting your lip hard. Your face was streaked with tears and snot. You dragged your sleeve over your nose and sniffled wetly, trying to regain some dignity. The attempt failed epically, as it only served to make you look more pitiful. 

“I…” You hesitated, and shook your head. You couldn’t believe yourself. You were clinging to one of the women you were in love with, ready to tell her whatever she asked. Ready to tell her that you were scared to be vulnerable and alone. That you were scared to be trapped again.

Wanda gave you a sad little smile and leaned forward to kiss your forehead. You froze automatically, your heart racing in your chest. Her lips were soft and warm, the kiss more tender than anything you’d ever felt. No one had ever cared for you like this and you didn’t know what to do. 

You could still feel the pressure of the kiss on your heated skin when she pulled away and reached up to caress your cheek. 

“You’ve got a pretty high fever, hun. Can we get you into bed?” She asked, voice impossibly gentle. You shook your head, not quite ready to explain that you didn’t want her to go and fearing that she’d leave as soon as you were situated in your bedroom. 

“Hey, no, don’t cry, I’m not leaving. How about the couch? Would that be better? I’ll bring out your favorite blanket and get you some juice, or gatorade or whatever you want. Come on, I’m not going anywhere. It’s alright.” She soothed, swiping the tears away with her knuckles. 

“Please don’t go away,” You begged, pressing yourself back against her. “T-tony locked my door…’scared me…” You admitted, worried that she wouldn’t understand. Instead of the confusion you expected, you saw rage. Pure, untethered rage. Her eyes glowed slightly red and you almost flinched away, afraid that she was mad at you. 

“No, no. Not you, never you.” She pushed your hair away from your forehead, doing everything she could to fix her mistake. “Come on Y/n, let's get you settled on the couch.” She wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you against her side. 

You dropped your head onto her shoulder and leaned heavily on her as the two of you walked to the couch. You were out of energy and you were now satisfied that she was safe. She’d never hurt you. 

“Alright sweetheart, Natasha’s going to be done soon and she’s going to sit with you while I make some soup. Sit down for me, you’re swaying.” She took your shoulders and eased you onto the couch, stopping to stroke your hair. 

“I’m going to get you some medicine. Just sit tight.” The brunette started to walk away but you snagged her hand, clinging to it tightly. 

“Stay with me, please…please,” Your desperate pleas absolutely broke Wanda's heart. She knew that she should get medicine for you, but you were just so miserable she couldn’t bear to leave you alone. 

“Hey, hey don’t cry, I’m here. I’m right here.” The mesmerizing woman sat beside you and without a second (or really a first) thought you curled up in her lap, sniffling and whimpering your misery. “Fri, can you get me Y/n’s temp?” She murmured, brushing a thumb across your heated check. 

“Ms. Y/n is currently running a temperature of 102.7, I recommend hydration and medication. I am also detecting a buildup of fluid in her lungs, causing difficulty breathing. I believe that she has contracted pneumonia, seemingly from ignoring a previous illness. She will require antibiotics.” FRIDAY said, eliciting a curse from Wanda. She wasn’t thrilled that you’d ignored your health. 

“My god, Y/n you’re an idiot. FRIDAY, get Natty up here. Tell her to bring Bruce.” You shook your head weakly, sniffling exhaustedly. A chesty cough wracked your body Wanda rubbed your back, trying to soothe the spasms. Breaths rattled though your lungs, harsh wheezes kept you from getting a deep gulp of air. 

“Hey, hey I need you to calm down,” She soothed, pulling you up in an effort to help you breathe. 

“C-can’t…Wanda!” You sobbed, terror blooming in your eyes.

“Okay, alright, change of plans. FRIDAY we’re meeting them in the Medbay. Baby girl, I know it's hard for you to breathe, but I promise that it’s all going to be okay. Sit up for me, sweetheart.” She pulled you up against your will, the petnames streaming out of her lips. You imagined this is what asthma felt like. Your chest was so tight and your body was fighting to cough up everything in your lungs. 

“That’s it, that’s it, come on lean on me.” Wanda had pulled you against her hip, using magic to keep from dropping you. It wasn’t that she was weak or you were heavy, but dragging dead weight is a difficult feat no matter the circumstance. 

“...’m sorry…” You forced out, dropping your head against Wanda’s shoulder. She rubbed your back as you climbed onto the elevator. Said elevator basically dropped the few floors to get you to the Medbay, although you didn’t feel the change of altitude. You loved the AI. 

“You’re doing amazing. You’re doing so, so well. Just keep breathing for me. We’re going to get those lungs opened up in just a few more minutes.” Wanda murmured, scooping you up into her arms. You curled yourself against her, leaning into her warmth. 

Only moments later the warmth left you. The body that had kept you safe was gone. You reached out for her, but your vision was starting to fade. There wasn’t enough oxygen getting to your brain. You couldn’t stay awake. 

“Hey, hey no keep your eyes open. Keep your damn eyes open!” A harsh voice ordered, helping you focus on the real world. “That’s it, eyes open. Look at me, okay? Focus here. Bruce is going to put something over your nose, okay? It’s going to feel claustrophobic but I need you to keep it on.” Natasha, it was Natasha. When’d she get here? Did you fall asleep?

“Only for a second love, but now you’re going to take a breath okay?” Bruce's face swam into your eyeline and you didn’t fight it as the mask was slipped over your face. You knew logically that you were safe but the claustrophobia took over and you tried to pull it off, panic growing. 

Your arms were pressed to your side forcing you to give in to the medicated air. You sobbed terrified, but your lungs were opening up, breathing was becoming easier. 

“There you go baby, there you go. Deep breaths for me. It's all okay.” Natasha soothed, releasing her hold on your arm. As it became easier to breathe you calmed down, your body forcing your mind to relax. 

“You’re doing so good, beautiful. This is going to help so much. We’ll get you feeling better in no time.” Wanda was stroking your hair, running long fingers through your matted locks. Now that you could breathe, you were struggling to stay awake. You were so tired. 

“Bruce, can you fix her?” The brunette inquired, shifting to stroke your fever hot cheek. You reached out and grabbed her hand, wanting her to hold you. 

“Yes,” Bruce sighed, sounding relieved. “She’ll need IV antibiotics and after this breathing treatment I’ll switch her to pure oxygen. Her lungs don’t sound great, but that’s to be expected. Pneumonia is a little tricky, but she should be okay.” He smiled gently at you and you returned it, grateful. 

“Tired…” You mumbled through the mask, basically asking if you could finally take a nap. Natasha leaned down to kiss your forehead, and you nearly melted. Two pretty women had kissed you today. If you’d been feeling even half decent, you might’ve been able to enjoy it better.

“Go to sleep, we’ll be right here.” She promised, reaching out to grab Wanda’s hand. The other woman nodded, looking a little tired herself. You’d sort of stressed her out. 

“Sorry…” 

“Shush, no apologies from you. Just rest, okay? We’ll make sure that everythings okay. Bruce is going to put an IV in which will help with that fever and you should be feeling better in no time.”  She reassured, allowing you to slip off into a dreamless sleep.

—

After about an hour Bruce decided that you were well enough to be moved back to your room, provided that the IV stayed in, as well as the oxygen mask. You were still virtually unconscious, but the women were beyond happy to bring you to your room. 

Natasha scooped you up in her arms while Wanda rolled your IV poll along with you. 

The gorgeous redhead placed you gently in your bed, smiling at the way you attempted to curl around her as she let you go. The moment she pulled away completely you let out a pitiful whine, reaching out at the loss of warmth. You wanted her back. 

“Tasha!” You mumbled in your sleep, threatening to wake up in your effort to get to her. 

“Aw, little baby.” She slipped her shoes off and crawled into the bed beside you, wrapping her arms around your shaking body. “Get in her Wands, she needs hugs.” Nat said, waving her over. The brunette grinned and laid down on your other side, grabbing your hand. You smiled tiredly and nuzzled into her neck. 

“Think we can keep her?” Natasha murmured, sitting up slightly so that she could see her girlfriend. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” Wanda replied, leaning over to kiss the spy. They'd talk about it tomorrow if you felt well enough to do so.

[nexus-my-beloved]

This isn't my usual content but I recently (four days ago) decided to read the actual book for IT so here's a couple of headcanons (specifically centred around 1990 IT, but I'll specify which years just in case):

-1990 Eddie likely had severe anxiety around showers and baths after the time he saw Pennywise in the gym locker room showers. He probably always had a fear of the clown stretching open the drain again and reaching to grab him and drag him into the sewers. Eddie is afraid of disease and germs, though, conditioned to it, so he still took showers and baths- but he probably scrubbed hard enough to make his skin red and raw and he did it fast before rushing out, always racing against an invisible clock that when the timer was up Pennywise would grab him. This fear probably carried over to adulthood, even when he forgot about Derry, and he likely got better with it but probably still was afraid for some unknown reason- he probably took ten minute showers, fifteen at most.

-1990 Reddie headcanon: when they were kids, Richie probably had a small crush on Eddie, but he likely had more feelings for Stanley (1990 Stozier truther here but also universal Reddie enjoyer). When they were adults, though, Richie probably grew out of his feelings for Stanley and I like to think he had more feelings for Eddie that resurfaced the moment he saw him. Eddie probably liked Richie a lot when they were adults, but probably wasn't very big on him when they were kids.

-1990 Stenbrough headcanon: for years after Derry, Bill probably would say random bird species when he was anxious. He wouldn't remember who this was from or realize it was from one of his best friends until he got back to Derry, and that friend was dead. Bill likely held on hope that Stan would come, and probably felt his heart bleed a bit when he realized Stan had killed himself. He never got to fess up to the little crush he used to have.

-2019 Reddie headcanon: based on the fact that Eddie yelled "I knew it! I fucking knew it!" when they were leaving the restaurant after Richie admitted to not writing his own material, I like to think that Eddie probably watched this comedian he recognized but didn't know from where on TV and swore up and down the material was scripted from someone other than him. He didn't recognize the Tozier standup guy until he got the phone call from Mike and realized it was Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier from when he was a kid. Eddie probably kept tabs and watched Richie for years without ever realizing that used to be his best friend.

-2017 Bill Denbrough headcanon: I like to think that Bill particularly stuttered on s-words. Which means he probably stuttered like hell whenever he'd have to say Stan/Stanley sometimes. Imagine how he'd have to use nicknames instead, silly or not, and how much more important it'd be when he said just Stanley, even if it was hard.

-All Media Bill Denbrough: there's no way he could've looked at paper boats without feeling like crying. Even as an adult he probably couldn't explain it. He'd just cry.

I probably have more but I think this is a big enough post for tonight. Have these I found on Pinterest!

The sillies <3

Bowers Gang Slander but it gets progressively worse/better (depends how you see it)

Abso-fuckin-lutely it is them. I can imagine little 2017 Eddie running after Finn Wolfhard Richie with inhaler in hand and trying to keep up while Richie laughs his ass off and promptly smacks his face into an open locker and eats shit

Twink Eddie <3

In all fairness though I love adult 1990 Eddie. He looks like the embodiment of if kindness were a human being and he just makes me so happy I would hug this man and love him forever I want to keep him in my pocket

[aswallowssong]

Sicktember #3: Campus Crud

The HOO AU College AU is back at it again folks, ft. everyone's favorite Boy Toys. @starstwinkleplanetsshine let's name this AU lol

This is so stupid.

“This is so stupid!”

“You’re going to make your throat worse, stop it,” Cadence scolded, giving one Leo Valdez a look that said, if you don’t cut it out, I might kill you.

“But–”

“No, no buts, Leo. Seriously, can’t you just rest? Look at Jason and Percy? Are either one of them making me want to rip my hair out?”

In Leo’s defense, Jason and Percy had gone down before he had, and were in a pile of limbs on the floor, both listlessly watching what Cadence thought was a rerun of RuPaul’s Drag Race. As she looked, she realized that at one point she’d given both boys a damp washcloth for the fevers they were running, but now Jason didn’t have one, and Percy had two.

“Percy–”

“I already know what you’re gonna say, Cades, and he gave it to me. I didn’t steal it.”

She frowned. “I wasn’t–”

“You were. Shh, Ru is talking.”

Cadence rolled her eyes, turning back to Leo. Leo was looking at her like he’d been betrayed.

“Okay, one of them is making me want to rip my hair out.”

“Mhm.”

“Please lay down and stop talking.”

Leo looked like he wanted to revolt, but he played nice, laying back down on the couch and snuggling under the ugly orange blanket he loved so much.

Cadence took a breath. Most of their friends had been down with what Ros, a friend of theirs that was a Sophomore, called “Campus Crud.” Leo’s half-brother, Evan, had already had it, and so had she, so they’d said that it was basically inevitable.

Cadence would have preferred to call it “The Most Annoying Thing To Happen This Semester.” And that was saying a lot, considering they’d seemed to miss it first semester. They weren’t as lucky now, in mid-January, when everyone was bringing germs back from home, or holiday, or wherever they might have been for New Year’s.

She wished Angie was there. It would have been nice to have another set of hands, but it hadn’t taken too long to figure out that as soon as someone was sick, she might as well have been in the wind. Cadence didn’t understand it at all, but then again, her dad was a doctor, her two older brothers were in medical school, and she’d already been accepted into the nursing program, as soon as her Gen Eds were out of the way. For her, illness was a natural part of life.

A natural part of life that was currently driving her insane.

“Hey, Cady?”

She had no idea when the Jackson twins, Jason, and Leo had started calling her that, but it was still weird to hear it from someone that wasn’t at least partly related to her.

“Yeah, Perce?”

“I’m cold.”

“No,” she said simply, “you’re not. Your body is too warm, so it feels more cold around you.”

There was a pause, and she peered over the couch to see him looking at her with an absolutely pathetic pout. “But I’m cold.”

She closed her eyes for a second, knowing that if they were open, there’d be nothing to stop her from rolling them.

He’s sick. Be kind.

“I know,” she said, almost surprised by how calm her voice was. How even. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea to give you another blanket if we want your body temperature to cool down.”

“What happened to ‘sweat it out?’ I feel like my dad used to say that.”

“People did used to say that,” Cadence said simply, losing the fight, and rolling her eyes. “But it’s a myth.”

“I like myths.”

“Me too,” Jason croaked. He’d been hit first, and was still very much in the deep end of the nasty cold making its rounds.

“I like myths,” Leo agreed, poking out from his bright orange cocoon. “Especially if they let me be warm.”

“No one is feeling warm,” Cadence said, taking a deep breath to even herself back out. “You can’t sweat out the cold virus that’s making you sick. That’s not how it works. The fever is an effect of your immune system working properly to fight the virus. You’re going to feel cold. You’ll start feeling better when your white blood cells win and your fever breaks.”

“What about the fact that all my muscles feel like they’re made of pain?” Percy said, Jason and Leo humming in agreement, and Cadence pinched at her nose bridge.

“Haven’t any of you been sick before? Actually, don’t answer that. I’ve literally done this with all three of you already this year. Why are we even having this conversation?”

“Well, when Jason was really sick, he was basically incoherent,” Leo pointed out. Jason tried to throw a water bottle at him, but it missed wide.

“Good one, Jay,” she said dryly, and Percy gave a congested chuckle.

“Well, Percy showed up at their doorstep and threw up on Cady’s shoes,” Jason said, and Percy reached out and slapped his arm, betrayal on his face. 

“Hey!”

“Boys–”

“At least I didn’t give myself food poisoning!”

“Ay! The caf gave me food poisoning, sonso, don’t put that on me!”

“Boys!” Cadence yelled, and all three winced, Jason going as far as covering his ears a little. She knew all three of them had wicked headaches, and it was sort of a low blow to yell, but she didn’t need them riling each other up.

She lowered her voice again. “I was just trying to make a point that none of these things I’m saying should be surprising to you three. You’re going to be cold, and achy, and feel bad, because you’re sick. And I’m trying to make this as painless as possible, but I’m also trying to do what I think is best, based on everything I know. I’m also eighteen, and I’m very tired, so just…” she gestured to the screen of Leo’s computer, where they’d been streaming old shows, mostly legally. “Watch RuPaul.”

The boys were all staring at her with varying levels of embarrassment, directly based on how sick they were really feeling. Jason was mostly listless, while Leo looked truly embarrassed, and Percy at least had the gumption to look sheepish.

“Sorry Cady,” they chorused, and she rubbed her temples, exasperated, but she couldn’t stay mad for long. She loved the boys, even when they made her want to freak out.

She sighed. “I forgive you guys.” 

The three of them turned back to the screen, and just as RuPaul announced which queens would have to Lip-Sync for their Lives, her phone rang. The boys booed her, and she rolled her eyes, again, stepping into the hallway.

She let it vibrate another time, taking in the quiet of Leo and Percy’s dorm outside of their room. No boys whining. Noone coughing or sniffling. No RuPaul’s voice through Leo’s shitty speakers. Not, of course, that she had anything against RuPaul. She would have sat down to watch with them happily if she wasn’t about to rip her hair out.

When Cadence felt like she could breathe again, she answered Angie’s call.

“Hello?”

“Cady! How are– are you okay? You sound… defeated?”

Cadence sighed, slumping with her back against the wall. She tilted her head back so it could rest on the wall as well, and closed her eyes. 

“I’m… trying not to be. It’s not usually all three of them, you know? And it’s easier to take care of my own siblings when they’re sick, because I’m their big sister.”

And I’m not doing it alone.

“You’re basically their big sister, aren’t you the oldest?”

“Yeah, which is insane. I’m not nineteen until February. You guys are babies.”

Cadence heard Angie shifting on the other line, presumably laying in her bed, watching something insane or listening to music as loud as it could go. “Whatever. Back to the defeat, if they’re being assholes, tell them that.”

“No,” Cadence said quickly, sliding down to sit, her knees tucked to her chest. “No, they’re not. They’re being whiney, sick, eighteen year old boys. I’ve got one of those back home, too, it’s not like they’re being unreasonable or anything. It’s just easier with one. Or two. Or if they weren’t trying to razz one another.”

“Do I need to come over there?” Angie was obviously trying to keep hesitance and worry out of her voice, but it didn’t quite sell the way she’d obviously wanted it to. 

Cadence couldn’t ask her to come over and be freaked out the entire time, especially when there was a strong chance she’d get sick, too. She was worried about herself at this point, and even though she had a pretty rock-solid system, it wouldn’t have surprised her if she ended up sick by the end of the week, what with the “Campus Crud,” or whatever, running rampant.

“No, that’s okay. Would you mind making a run to the store for me, though? There’s a gold amex in my wallet, you can use that.”

“There’s a gold amex in your wallet?!”

“Mhm,” Cadence said simply, now distracted by trying to think through what she needed Angie to get. “Make sure you have your license on you, because if I have you get cold medicine, they card for that.”

“I– okay but we’re talking about that at some point!”

“Sure,” Cadence said. “I’ll text you a list in a few minutes. None of them have had much of an appetite, but they need to eat something, so maybe I’ll have you grab some soup I can put in the microwave.”

“Microwave soup,” Angie said sagely. “Good for the Campus Crud.”

Cadence laughed, surprising herself. The whole thing was ridiculous. The boys, her position of caretaker, Angie’s fear of illness, and the fact that she was hiding in the hallway. But, as Angie said that, Cadence knew that was exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to microwave soup, and give medicine, and damp cloths for fevers. 

She wanted to take care of her friends while they were sick, because she loved them, and that was showing them that love the best way she knew how. 

“Can you also maybe get me a sandwich or something? Cadence found herself saying, straightening and squaring her shoulders. “I’m starving.”

“Anything for our nurse. I’ll leave now.”

“Thanks, Angie.”

“Sure, Cady. Thank you. Love you.”

Cadence smiled, turning the knob of the door to let herself back into the fray. Ru told someone to sashay away, and all three boys erupted into raspy shouts, sniffles, and grumbles of protest.

“Love you too.”

[haggishlyhagging]

“In the eighteen seventies and eighties, when the ideas of the new biology began to circulate in the American middle class, they were greeted with a suspicion which often bordered on moral revulsion. Darwin's theory of evolution—the most brilliant synthetic breakthrough of nineteenth- and perhaps twentieth-century biological science—‘shattered the Christian cosmos.’ It was not only that the theory violated the letter of the Old Testament; Darwinism went further and asserted that the world of living creatures could have gotten the way it is without the intervention of God, in fact, without conscious effort on anybody's part. What was left, in the view of leading American Christians, was a godless universe, a moral desert—

Life without meaning; death without meaning; the universe without meaning. A race tortured to no purpose, and with no hope but annihilation. The dead only blessed; the living standing like beasts at bay, and shrieking half in defiance and half in fright.

The spiritual implications of the new biological truth were, as one minister put it, ‘brutalizing.’

In a lesser way, biology's second great contribution to popular culture—the Germ Theory of Disease—further undercut the religious foundations of morality. Traditional religion saw individual disease as the price of moral failings, epidemics as acts of a vengeful God. In the mid-nineteenth century, Albert Barnes, a leading Presbyterian minister, declared cholera to be a punishment for the ‘vanities of natural science,’ especially Darwinism. But, through the lenses of the new high power microscopes available in the mid-eighteen hundreds, disease began to look like a natural event which depended less on God than on the growth rates of what appeared to be fairly amoral species of microbes. If diseases were dispensed in some sort of microbial lottery, rather than by moral plan, then indeed this was a ‘race tortured to no purpose.’

In order to become a moral force in society, biological science had had to undergo a kind of moral transformation itself. For example, Darwin's popularizers managed to identify ‘evolution’ with ‘progress,’ as if natural history were a long uphill moral pilgrimage. This stratagem excused some of the more savage aspects of natural selection and—even more important—it left room for a divine Plan. The laws which science was uncovering would turn out to be the expression of the will of God—revelations of the divine Plan. Thus science could provide moral guidelines for living: for example, that one had an ‘evolutionary duty’ to ‘advance the race’ through proper selection of a mate, good health habits, etc. By the eighteen eighties it is difficult to find a popular tract or article on any subject—education, suffrage, immigration, foreign relations—which is not embellished with Darwinian metaphors. Charlotte Perkins Gilman's classic Women and Economics, the theoretical breakthrough for a whole generation of feminists, appealed not to right or morality but to evolutionary theory. Women's confinement to domestic activities had made them more ‘primitive’ and undeveloped than men. If women were not emancipated, the whole race would be dragged down, she argued (with the naïve racism which was typical of her time):

In keeping her on this primitive basis of economic life, we have kept half humanity tied to the starting-post, while the other half ran. We have trained and bred one kind of qualities into one-half the species, and another kind into the other half. And then we wonder at the contradictions of human nature! . . . We have bred a race of psychic hybrids, and the moral qualities of hybrids are well known.

Germ Theory went through a similar moral transformation. If it was germs and not sin that were the immediate cause of disease, then sin could be still retained as an ultimate cause. Germ Theory was transformed into a doctrine of individual guilt not at all out of tune with old-fashioned Protestantism. Anyone who transgressed ‘the laws of hygiene’ deserved to get sick, and anyone who got sick had probably broken those laws. The English physician Elizabeth Chesser, in her book Perfect Health for Women and Children, warned that ‘the time has nearly arrived when we shall not be permitted to be unhealthy.’”

-Barbara Ehrenreich and Deirdre English, For Her Own Good: 150 Years of the Experts’ Advice to Women

[mwebber]

41, 51, 2, 8, 34 for Martian :))

hiyaa thanks for sending this along! gonna try post-retirement martian..

41. Which one would take their jacket it off and drape over the other one because they were visibly shivering?

maybe when he was younger, seb was more absentminded regarding the care and keeping of Himself--the invincibility of youth, etc, you know how it is. but as he's gotten older, he's also gotten better about preparing for unexpected weather. it's mark, surprisingly, that'll get distracted by the outdoors, and in his hubris, think he can get beat the rain home. seb's lost count of the number of times he's dragged mark under an awning and shrugged off his coat, reaching up to pull it over mark's shoulders with a scowl. why don't you ever check the weather before we leave the house, he'll say. to his annoyance, mark will simply settle the coat more securely over himself, and beam at him. i've got you to handle it, don't i? and, well. seb can't argue with that.

51. What’s a non verbal way they say I love you?

it's like a dissonant, suspended chord from their red bull days, their unwillingness to be entirely vulnerable. that they care strongly for one another is never in doubt--it's impossible to go through what they did and not have an intimate understanding of the other--but sometimes, they finds themselves having to pay closer attention to their actions to understand the true extent. when mark walks close enough to seb that their hands bump, and his pinkie finger hooks around seb's; when seb isn't on dish duty, but he steps in to help anyway; when mark tucks seb's curls behind his ear, and his thumb lingers; when seb offers to help fix mark's bike; it's almost as though they're broadcasting their affection for each other. they only ever need to tune into the right frequency to listen.

2. What would they do if the other woke in a manic state after a nightmare?

seb gets stress dreams, sometimes. he's not one-track minded, per se, it's just that when something unresolved is on his mind, it'll stay there until he resolves it. he never remembers his dreams, once he opens his eyes; just the impression of fear, some phantom shadow curling at the edges of his vision. thus, in the early hours, it's not a manic state he wakes up in after a nightmare so much as an unsettled one. fortunately, mark can clock his mood like he's got a radar for seb's happiness installed in his brain, and he usually stirs awake too. it's helpful in moments like this, because he also knows exactly what to do: he'll pull seb closer, and hold seb's hand even if it's still clammy with sweat, and tangle their legs together, or do whatever's most convenient to remind seb that he's there, like a guard dog. or, seb thinks, as he breathes in the warmth and the lingering smell of detergent and something certifiably mark, more like a teddy bear that chases the darkness away from under the bed. when he closes his eyes again, he's on a rowboat under the stars, lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the ocean's swells beneath him, and anchored to shore with a rope tied carefully by mark's hand.

8. What happens if one of them gets sick?

naturally, they both get sick. mark's the one who's away from home more (and more, because the race seasons just keep getting longer), so when he gets that familiar feeling of dryness in his throat, it feels like an inevitability. at first, he tries to quarantine himself, because someone's gotta take care of the animals and keep the place running. but seb insists on taking care of him instead, uncaring of the germs. it works out, in the end: when seb gets too sick to crawl out of bed, mark's well enough to feed the chickens. they take it easy for a week, or at least until they can spend a day without hacking a lung out. life goes on.

34. Who's more likely to tell a dirty joke or story to make the other blush?

if seb is anything, he's a little shit-eating gremlin who knows precisely what he's doing at all times, or at least in the times that are most inconvenient to mark. case in point, right before he's about to go on tv. seb's innuendos and double entendres aren't even subtle, as though he's stopped trying to flirt entirely, and instead taken it for granted that he has mark wrapped around the cute little index finger he sticks up in victory sometimes. the problem is, he's not wrong. mark steps in front of the camera with his cheeks tinged pink--from the heat, obviously--and a smile that twitches at the corner of his lips, like he can't help himself. viewers everywhere wonder what's so funny, especially since neither dc nor steve jones are being particularly interesting. it remains a mystery to everyone but seb, who takes a quick, suggestive picture of himself, and sends it to mark. none of the microphones pick up the notifying buzz.

ask me about martian / nobody asks you questions!

[chicanoartmovement]

CHICANO ART MOVEMENT: End of Year Review 2022

For CHICANO ART MOVEMENT, the year of 2022 contained different cultural and artistic expeditions across Southern California. We traveled to various locations to partake in events that were safe and fun to do within the parameters of the on-going pandemic. 

(Detail of show poster for Robert Williams exhibition at the OCCCA.)

When it came across the CAM desk that artist & cultural icon Robert Williams was exhibiting in Southern California, our team agreed to attend due to the artist, his subject matter, and our previous positive experiences at Williams’ other exhibition shows in the Los Angeles area of past years. On a weekend in late January 2022 to see the exhibition “The Visual Adventures of Robert Williams: Arts, Prints, Skateboards, etc.” at the Orange County Center for Contemporary Art (OCCCA) in downtown Santa Ana. Robert Williams is an acclaimed lowbrow artist who has impacted lowbrow art, pop surrealism, hot rod car culture, and pop art with his juxtaposition of tangible items and original characters.

Through the main doors of OCCCA and in the front portion of the space, Williams’ pop surrealism artworks welcomed patrons to look closer at the subject matter and details. For example in his giclée print titled “Kachina,” Williams depicts in mid-air a devoted Hopi tribe member creating & filling kachina dolls with knowledge from the ancestors.

Following the flow, we then entered the largest space: the center room. Here arranged were the many pieces by the artist that displayed his relationship with the hot rod culture and lowbrow art. Within this community, Robert Williams is also known as Mr. Bitchin’ and is applauded for his work in the hot rod scene & for working alongside the greats such as: Ed “Big Daddy” Roth & Kenny “Von Dutch” Howard. This section contained a prime example entitled “Deuces Wild” in which Williams re-created & stylized the 1932 Ford Company original vehicle advertisements into vignette renditions of different hot rod culture activities, such as: jalopy racing, dry lakes (racing), early stock car racing, sports car racing, drags (racing), street rodding, shadetree mechanics, and auto shows. In conjunction as a centerpiece within the works of Robert Williams was the 1932 Ford Roadster nicknamed “Prickly Heat” that he customized and painted in a deep purple & lime green scheme with many creative details. Anita noticed the race number 397 in gold leaf embossing repeated three times on the vehicle, the hotrod’s nickname above the “Pickly Heat” logo, and the flashy lime green wheel rims. 

(Piece by Casey Weldon entitled “The Undermarker.”)

After taking a last look at the car, we proceed to the back space for a small group show filled with pop surrealist artists influenced by Robert Williams trajectory. He “puts in the ‘pop’ in pop surrealism, incorporating the aesthetics of hot rod and surf culture, graffiti, tattoos, cartoons, and comic books to produce artwork more in touch with the sensibilities of the masses. This assemblage highlights the influence his work has had on multiple generations of artists.” Looking through the captivating pieces in a clockwise fashion, Anita was intrigued by the artist Casey Weldon and her piece titled “The Undermaker” which vividly displayed a fierce woman with a unique pet creature that shoots fire from their eyes. Weldon’s use of purple and pink color variants as well as the creation of magical creatures is relatable to Williams and his style. Some of the other artists included in the presentation were: Jaime “GERMS” Zacarias, Isabel Samaras, and Greg “CRAOLA” Simkins.

(View of Chola Orange performance at 1st Annual Cito de Mayo Street Festival.)

In early May 2022, CAM ventured to Santa Ana’s Downtown District for their evening programming of music and art. We walked to the corner of 4th Street and Birch Street to attend the first edition of Cerveza Cito presents Cito de Mayo Street Festival. We took in all the vendors and community displays along the festival area before heading over to the stage for the entertainment. Via social media research, we learned that Chola Orange band was part of the line up. This was a superb opportunity to see a live, outdoor performance from this funk jazz ensemble who we had not seen in quite some time. After a brief sound and instrumental warm up, Chola Orange went into their set with full force. Within their song list, we heard new hits such as “Hot Cheeto Stains” & “Ugly like Pugsly” from their Tokyo Sunset album recently released. Another new element to us was the band’s addition of a fifth member as a second guitarist. The group and its combination of music, atmosphere, and funky vibes rang throughout Birch Street and had the people enjoying their sound. Post-performance we walked over to their merch booth to greet and chat with the bandmates plus stocked up on band t-shirts & a copy of their 2018 vinyl release of “Soul Blazer.”

(View of artist at his opening reception for “Estevan Oriol Photography at OCCCA.)

After the musical set, we walked a few blocks east to our second destination: the Orange County Center for Contemporary Art (OCCCA). This month’s art installation was entitled “Estevan Oriol Photography - An Exhibition by Estevan Oriol” that encompassed his portfolio as a talented photographer documenting his Los Angeles community through a unique photographic perspective and black & white photo productions. OCCCA states that Oriol “is known for capturing images of the dangerous gangsters, Lowriders, musicians, celebrities, L.A. lifestyle and the alluring beauty of women. All of these are shot in his uniquely provocative and raw style. He is the author of several books including LA Women, L.A. Protraits, and This is Los Angeles.” On the front wall sapce of OCCCA, Estevan Oriol displayed his large photoset that included: celebrity portraits of Danny Trejo and Ice Cube; witty subjects expressing their inner emotions, such as “Monkey taxidermy unmarked” and “Bones;” and a few editions of Oriol’s noted “LA Fingers'' photograph.

As the space opened up, we saw a classic Chevy dropped low to the ground with a multifaceted paint job in earth tones with flakes detailings covered with a glossy finish. The vehicle’s placement projected an outdoor escapism which led the patron to visually look through the open & very large doorway (on the left side) that broke down the artiscal fourth wall and challenged the audience to set into the exhibition’s outdoor extension into a collection of opulent classic lowrider cars in different polished paint jobs. In conjunction with Oriol’s photographic works, the opening reception festivities included this car show on the OCCCA parking grounds in which patrons walked around to take in all the fine details. Even the artist himself, Estevan Oriol, took photographs to document all his moments at OCCCA: from the car collection to exhibit attendees & their expressions.

(Artist GERMS at Muzeo’s Carnegie Galleries.)

In June 2022, our street team member la reportera Anita provided on-site coverage in downtown Anaheim of artist Jaime “GERMS” Zacarias at his art residency with Muzeo Museum and Cultural Center. Through online platforms, we learned about this type of initiative, how GERMS was the inaugural artist-in-resident at Muzeo, and the schedule of drop-in viewing hours throughout the month of June.  Through its Makers @ Muzeo literature, the museum states that this contemporary painter “is a Chicano artist and South L.A. native who has captured the essence of Los Angeles and Chicano history through a myriad of futuristic and three-dimensional characters.” Following the directional signage at Muzeo, Anita walked into the Carnegie Galleries’ lower level to see GERMS, the artist at work. After a brief introduction, he invited one to look around and ask questions. During her observations of the in-progress collection, GERMS explained his artistic process of maximizing his own potential and production via time blocking strategies that allowed him to focus on painting canvases until his momentum slowed down to then switch his attention & efforts to another canvas set to be filled with his own unique characters.

Laid throughout the Carnegie Galleries’ wide and large space were the in-progress pieces that GERMS was rotating between. One canvas set on the back wall displayed paintings in mid-stage which allowed one to see the details within the layering of colors and symbolism. From left to right, Zacarias’ images of his squid-like creatures in vibrant pigments with stylized, tinted tentacles were in distinct phases of production that gave insight to the artistic progression of his subject matter. In contrast, on the front wall was a set in the beginning stages of creation. It was clearly visible that GERMS’ application of background colors, overlapping stenciling, and drip paint techniques had dried completely and was ready for his iconic squid-creatures to be painted on the center as the main figure on each canvas. Afterwards, Anita stepped back to see the artist at work who with an acrylic paint palette in hand stated that he will repeat his process of painting in sets until completing 12 pieces in total by the end of the month for the conclusion of his time with Makers @ Muzeo artist in residence programming.

(Live performance by Very Be Careful at the Garden Amphitheater.) 

Taking advantage of open-air programming and in mid June 2022, we danced the time away at two concerts. On Friday the 17th, we traveled to the Garden Amp (a small outdoor amphitheater located in Garden Grove, California) for a night filled with pachanga music thanks to the concert produced by Acropolis Music Group with performances by Azul Quetzal, Raskahuele, and headliner Very Be Careful, one of our favorite vallenato cumbia groups hailing from nearby Los Angeles.  We checked in with our digital tickets at the entrance, got drinks at the bar, and toured the pop-up shops on location. At the Very Be Careful merchandise table, Anita purchased one of the 20th Anniversary t-shirt series that highlighted each band member in a sports action pose. She got the shirt featuring Peabody (Craig Martin) in full football attire with his percussion instrument el guiro in hand.

Next we took our seats in the amphitheater to enjoy the last of the musical performance by the ska reggae group Raskahuele. Afterwards, the cumbia sonidera sounds by the DJ collective of Ritmo Santanero got some couples on the dancefloor during this interlude. At a quarter after nine, the headliner Very Be Careful took the stage with the crowd cheering in anticipation. VBC’s own cowbell percussionist & hype man, Dante, welcomed fans to this Friday night performance and had the crowd participating in a humors call-back routine between him and the concert goers. Their performance was filled with energia alegre, rhythmic songs that got loyal and new fans to the dancefloor. From start to finish, Very Be Careful created a backyard party atmosphere that had couples & parents with their little ones in arms dancing untill the very last song.

(Posters at the Juneteenth Festival in Santa Ana, California.) 

The next day on a sunny Saturday afternoon, we readied ourselves for Santa Ana’s Juneteenth Festival at Centennial Regional Park hosted by the Orange County Heritage Council and the City of Santa Ana. This outdoor festival welcomed all to “learn about African-American Culture and the significance of Junetheen, enjoy musical performances, food and more.” The listed performers for the celebration were artists such as: Slum Village, Knoc-Turn’al, and headlining, The Delfonics.

On the festival's social media content, it stated: “Juneteenth is the oldest known annual observance commemorating the abolishment of slavery in the United States of America. The Juneteenth Independence celebration dates back to June 19, 1865. It was there in Galveston, Texas that Union soldiers delivered news that the Civil War had ended and enslaved African Americans within any state were free.”

Upon our arrival to Centennial Regional Park, event staff greeted community guests to this first edition of the annual Juneteenth Festival celebration. A large welcome arch of balloons and banners created a guided pathway filled with informational posters highlighting the African-American community, history, and contributions to the city of Santa Ana. First we learned that Miss Helen Shipp, founder of The OC Black History Parade, was immortalized in a community mural; and secondly, we were informed how the city’s little league baseball organization was named after MLB player Gary Templeton, who was a three time All Star Player & National Baseball League Hall of Famer.

(Music artist Knoc-Turn’al at the Juneteenth Festival.)

Past the welcome arch, we walked towards the entertainment area for the acts. The first artist to take the stage was L.A.’s own Knoc-Turn’al with his hits “Bang Bang” and “LA Confidential;” rapper Knoc-Turn’al has a career spanning twenty years and has worked alongside multi-platinum creators:  Snoop Dogg and Dr Dre.

(Musical act Slum Village rapping at the Juneteenth Festival.)

The performance by Slum Village had an enthusiastic introduction by Santa Ana Councilman Johnathan Hernandez which led one to infer that Hernandez indeed was a big fan of this early 2000s hip-hop rap duo from Detroit, Michigan. Slum Village members T3 and Young RJ rocked the mic with their underground hits and have collaborated with the likes of Kayne West, J. Dilla, and MC Breed.

(Juneteenth Festival headlining performance by The Delfonics.)

In between musical sets, we ventured to support the vendors and local communities initiatives while eating a tasty ice cream treat in anticipation for the Grammy Award-winning artists: The Delfonics. The mainstage was now filled with attendees and we decided to choose a key location for easy front-row access for documentation and enjoyment purposes. Once the famous Delfonic Theme song began, the crowd got excited. In matching blue sequin jackets & black captain hats, each member was individually introduced and welcomed by the cheers of new & old fans. We were mesmerized by their amazing musical talents and perfectly choreographed dance routines to their hits of “Didn’t I,” “Hey! Love,” and “Somebody Loves You,” all notable songs of their music catalogue. Unfortunately, their show was impacted by the earlier artists and resulted in The Delfonics not being able to perform their complete song list.  To close the still very enjoyable show, The Delfonics performed their soulful 1968 US Billboard love song hit “La-La (Means I Love You)” which ended with members singing the last lines a la a cappella that left the crowd cheering for an encore.

Less than a month after their performance in Santa Ana, we learned that we lost the lead singer & founding member of The Delfonics, mister William “Poogie” Hart passed away on July 17th at the age of 77. Rest In Power William Hart and thank you for all your music and memories.

Throughout the 2022 year, CHICANO ART MOVEMENT was a patron of the arts by buying fine art prints. Anita added two to her collection. First was the collaboration piece between Shephard Fairey & photographer Melanie Nissen titled “Alice Bag,” a portrait of L.A. based, punk rock artist Alicia Armendariz who was also the co-founder of 1970s punk band “Alice & The Bags” and a great Chicana musical trailblazer. The second artwork purchased by Anita was a Star Wars: The Mandalorian glow-in-the-dark, timed edition print titled “I will teach you to protect yourself” by Mark Englert and Bottleneck Art Gallery; this artwork is a companion piece to the 2021 print released by the same artist.

Our adventurous expeditions in 2022 ranged from various contemporary art exhibits and numerous musical concerts of diverse genres in which we learned more about the fine arts and its processes plus had great opportunities to reconnect with our musicians and artists compañeros y compañeras. For the upcoming year, CHICANO ART MOVEMENT looks forward to being part of the community that supports the arts in all its shapes, forms, and distinctive manifestations.

[xtrafluffyteddy]

Beach day with steddie!!!

Pairings: Eddie munson x reader x Steve Harrington

Mentions: fun beach vibes, mild sunburn, shenanigans,

We’re in a good mood today ladies theybies and germs Ill do a part two if y’all like it

When Steve suggested taking you and Eddie down to California for a much needed get away from Hawkins after everything happened you were jumping at the idea

Eddie not so much that man has never set foot out of Hawkins and doesn’t know what sand will do to that hair of his

You and Steve finally convince him after bribing him with taking him to any music stores he wanted to go to

So you all pack up Steve’s car for a week long trip you over packing, Steve packing just enough, and Eddie under packing

You all pile in the car you sitting up front while eddie sat in the back and Steve the every trusting driver behind the wheel

You grinned putting in a cassette tape into the radio a mix you asked Jonathan to make just for this trip it has everything from Motley Crue to Kate bush

You and Eddie were jamming out to the music playing over the speakers while Steve paid attention the road a soft goofy grin on his face seeing his two favorite people having the times of their lives

You stop at some stupid dinosaur statues on the way grinning as you all take Polaroids of each other standing next to the poorly painted Dino’s

When you get back in Eddie is in the front now and your sitting in the back wrapped in Steve’s favorite yellow sweater staring out at the passing scenery while Eddie and Steve talk about who knows what

When you finally make it to California you check into your safari themed hotel with cheesy cheetah print sheets and fake palm trees every and set everything in your room

You change into a comfortable black bikini and one of Eddie’s corroded coffin shirts, Eddie in some black swim trunks your pretty sure he bought just for this trip and Steve in his swim trunks covered in anchors

Once you grab your beach bag and make sure you have everything It’s a race down to the beach then into the water you and Steve beating Eddie by a long shot

You lay out a huge beach blanket keeping it from flying away by setting down the cooler of cold beers and sodas then setting yourself down in the center

You call out for Eddie to help you put on sunscreen knowing the California sun is brutal

You giggle as you watch Steve drag Eddie towards the ocean waving as Eddie calls you a traitor and how could youuuu

Eddie’s hair is so much longer than you thought your a little jealous honestly even if it does look like a wet mop now that Steve has thrown him in which resulted in playing fighting and dunking

You snap a picture of the two in the ways wondering what you did to deserve such great boyfriends

[m-jelly]

Request by @camilo-stuff <3 Sick reader and Levi

@carlos-stuffs Y'all asked for Sick reader and Levi <3 So, I got ya <3

I'm going to put this in a modern setting, hope you don't mind.

Only I can make you better.

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Genre and tags: romance, cute Levi, Levi trying to help, Levi looks after you, Levi is adorable, couple things, modern AU.

Concept: Levi always wakes up before you, so he lies there and waits for you to wake up. However, one morning he finds you not in bed making him panic. He finds you in the bathroom trying to cool down and feeling very unwell. Levi calls up work and declares he's not coming in because you are his priority. So, he spends the whole day looking after you, even though you protest against it.

Peace, warmth and happiness. Levi loved waking up next to you. You were the most beautiful thing to wake up to. When he'd wake, he'd gaze at you for a bit, then drag you into his arms and snuggle with you until he had to get up for the day. Most mornings Levi would cut it very close with getting into work because he was too busy cuddling you.

He inhaled deeply and smiled when he could smell you. He opened his eyes ready to see your sleeping face, only to be met with an empty bed. He stared, then blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes as if they were playing up. He looked over again, but you were still missing.

Levi sat up quickly, then looked around the room for you. He jumped out of bed and looked for a note, but there was nothing. He grabbed his phone and looked through messages, but there was nothing new from you. The last message he had from you was a selfie of you in lace underwear asking him to come home soon, so he raced home and ravaged you against the wall.

He paced as his mind raced. "Think Levi, think." He ruffled his hair and could only remember your sweet moans last night. He frowned a little when he remembered you were a little warm to the touch. He called out your name. "Where are you!?"

You coughed hard as you sat on the bathroom floor. "In here!"

Levi opened the door to see you were pale and looked tired. "What happened!? Was it something I did?"

You giggled and shook your head. "You've done nothing wrong, I'm just unwell. I have the flu, I think. I'm trying to stay cool by sitting on the bathroom tiled floor." You coughed a bit, then sighed. "It's not working well."

Levi knelt in front of you, then placed the back of his hand on your forehead. "Tch, damn it brat. You're red hot."

"It's nothing. I'll sleep it off and then go to work tomorrow."

Levi lifted you up into his arms making you gasp. "I'm the only one who can take care of you. Only I can make you better." He lay you in bed. "Sit tight."

You coughed into the back of your elbow. "Levi, I'm full of germs."

"It's okay. I'll be right back."

Levi left you in bed and checked the house. He made sure the house was fully kitted out with all things medical so he could take good care of you. He pulled on a mask, then cleaned his hands with antibacterial. He grabbed a nice drink for you, along with some food that you could manage to eat. He returned to you, then placed a cool pack on your head. He gave you meds and made sure you took everything.

You sighed and put your hand up. "No more, please." You coughed into the back of your elbow. "I can't take any more meds."

Levi wiped your tears away. "I'm sorry. I went a little overboard. I just want you to get better."

You smiled at him. "I'd kiss you if I weren't so ill."

"I miss kissing you."

You coughed a little. "You should call work."

"I will." He cleaned your face, then took his food and the tray away. "Go to sleep."

"But."

"Now."

You slipped down into the bed and sighed. "Fine."

He left you and cleaned up your things. He called Erwin and told him that you and he would not be at work due to you being sick and Levi wanted to look after you. Erwin was fine with it, in fact, he told Levi to not come back in until you were better. Levi told him that it was his plan.

He ended the call, then checked on you to see you'd passed out from exhaustion. He felt a little bad that he had filled you with so many meds. He was just worried about you. Levi had lost his mother to an illness, so you getting sick was terrifying to him. He couldn't lose the love of his life. You were his world, his love, his life and his soul.

He brought in more drinks for you and snacks, then lay on the bed next to you and just watched you sleep. He changed the cold packs on your head when the ones you had stopped being cold. He checked your temperature now and then to see the meds were working. He was so thankful that you were getting a bit better.

You inhaled and woke up, then looked over at Levi and smiled. "Hi."

Levi smiled as he gazed at you. He reached over and moved the hair from your face. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. You were right about the sleeping and meds." You rubbed your eyes. "Sorry I cried."

"Don't be sorry. You're really sick." He pulled you against you and held you against his chest. "I wish I could fix this."

You hummed a laugh. "I'll get better because you are an amazing boyfriend and you are taking great care of me. I know by tomorrow that I will be all better."

Levi whined, then pulled his mask down and kissed you. "Sorry, I had to."

You gasped as you stared at a masked covered Levi. "You removed the mask to kiss a sick person. Who are you and what have you done with my Levi?"

"Tch, shut up."

You giggled and hugged him. "You're so cute."

He kissed your forehead a few times. "You need a bath."

"I'm okay."

Levi jumped out of bed. "Bath for the brat."

You sighed. "I should just accept my fate."

Levi ran a perfect bath for you with loads of nice things and even put in a rubber duck. He came back for you, then picked you up like a bride and carried you into the bathroom. He took your clothes off, then sat you in the bath. "Okay, now it's time to clean the cute brat."

You smiled as Levi scrubbed your skin, then he wet your hair and started massaging shampoo into your hair. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Levi hummed a little song to himself. "Yes."

You leaned your head back when he rinsed your hair. "This won't be a regular thing." You coughed a little. "I know you like it, but I love sharing a bath with you."

Levi sighed. "I love tending to you like this, but sharing a bath is nicer."

You yawned, then coughed for a while. You gasped, then sighed. "Damn."

Levi rubbed your back. "I might have something for that cough. It does mean more medicine though."

You hummed. "That's okay. I won't cry this time."

Levi helped you out of the bath, then dried you off and helped you change. He picked you up, then put you back into bed. "I'll be right back."

You nodded, then relaxed in your bed and sighed. You were exhausted and so thankful for Levi. He was taking such wonderful care of you and it warmed your heart. You smiled when he returned to you with soup and cough medicine. "You have a lot of meds."

"I wanted to be prepared when you got sick." He sat on the bed and placed the tray on your lap. "Medicine first, then soup."

You did as he told you, then smiled at him. "The soup was perfect. Thank you."

He cleaned you up. "You're welcome."

You smiled, then frowned a little. "Levi, are you scared?"

He blushed a little. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because of your mum."

He gulped. "I am. You know me too well."

You cupped the side of his face and ran your thumb over his cheek. "I'll be okay. I swear to you."

Levi pulled his mask down and kissed you. "I love you so much brat."

"I love you too."

He pulled his mask back up. "Sleep."

You nodded and wiggled back down into your bed. "Levi? Are you coming back?"

"Yes!"

You hummed a laugh and rolled onto your side and stared at Levi's side of the bed. You smiled when Levi got into bed. "Hi."

Levi pulled his mask off and smiled. "Hi. No coughing on me, okay?"

You nodded. "I'm so tired anyway."

Levi kissed your forehead. "Get some sleep. I'll be right here for you."

You closed your eyes and hummed. "Night Levi. I love you."

He held your hand in his. "Love you so much brat."

You fell asleep and passed out right away. You went into a very deep sleep. You woke up feeling refreshed and much better with just a little cough. You looked over to Levi to see he was sweating and panting in his sleep. You touched his forehead and felt he was on fire. You ran around the house and got meds, tea and a cool patch. You placed the patch on his head and smiled at him.

Levi opened his eyes and groaned. "Holy shit I feel like a train has hit me."

You hummed a laugh. "My poor handsome boyfriend." You sat on your legs and rubbed his chest. "Looks like I'll have to take care of you."

Levi shifted over and used your lap as a pillow. "What a shame."

You laughed as you played with his hair. "You know, you probably got sick from kissing me."

He hummed and smiled. "Worth it."

[august-anon]

Fresh and New

Here is your ancient backlog fic! I don’t even remember writing this one lol, but before i just did the barest edit of it, the last time I had touched it had been August 18, 2021. I need to stop stuffing these fics in the backlog for so long sdkjfhdsf

----

Fandom: It (movies)

Ship(s): Reddie (pre-relationship)

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Eddie/Ler!Richie

Word Count: 1327 words

Summary: Eddie's cast is finally off. Richie is delighted to learn that the newly revealed skin is horribly ticklish.

[ao3 link]

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

Richie’s bike was in the bushes when they got back from the hospital. It wasn’t hidden for shit, but thankfully, his mom somehow missed it while ushering Eddie inside.

It took forever for him to escape her and head upstairs, her overbearing worries at all time high with the cast freshly off his arm. She was convinced he would break it again, that it wasn’t fully healed, that he was in pain. She shoved prescriptions in his direction, bottle after bottle, and he was shocked she didn’t insist on watching him take them. Instead, he gathered the medications up in his arms and raced up the stairs.

The moment he was inside, he dumped the bottles in the trashcan right inside his door. Then he whipped around and pushed the door shut, locking it with the multiple locks Mike, Ben, and Richie had come over to help him install a few weeks ago (well, Mike and Ben had helped, Richie stood around making jokes and “supervising,” whatever the hell that meant) when his mom was actually out of the house for once.

Then he turned around and scowled at Richie, who was sprawled across Eddie’s bed reading a comic, his shoes still on. Eddie kicked his own shoes off as he marched toward the bed, chopping with his hand as he whisper-shouted.

“What the fuck are you doing here? My mom could’ve seen, you dick! And get your fucking shoes off the bed, do you know how many germs are on them?! You’re getting those germs all over where I sleep!”

Richie grinned at him, carelessly tossing the comic onto the bedside table. He spread his arms, sprawling even further across the bed.

“Eds, come on! I had to make sure they didn’t have to chop your arm off!”

Eddie scowled at him, holding up his completely intact, finally uncasted arm. It had an odd-looking tan line, having been hidden from the sun the last half of the summer, but other than that it was nearly back to normal.

“My arm’s fine, fucknut,” Eddie said, making sure to keep his voice low so that his mom wouldn’t hear. “The doctor said it would take a little while to build my strength back up, but it’s fine.”

Richie opened his mouth and spewed some other stupid joke that Eddie didn’t wind up catching, but his eyes were filled with relief. He couldn’t hide that, not from Eddie, and something relaxed in him when he realized that Richie had actually been worried, despite all his obnoxious teasing. When his mom worried, it was suffocating and sickening, it made him want to run away and never see her again, never let her touch him again. But when Richie and the other Losers worried, Eddie felt nothing but warmth, even if tried to bury it down and pretend to be annoyed.

So, instead of rising to the bait of Richie’s teasing, Eddie climbed onto the bed with him. Richie kicked his shoes off and curled up facing Eddie, staring at his arm.

“Does it hurt?” He asked quietly.

Eddie shook his head. “No. Feels kinda weird, though, since it’s been covered for so long.”

Richie reached out for Eddie’s arm and Eddie let him, relaxing back into the pillows and headboard as Richie took his arm to examine it for himself. He dragged two gentle fingers down the underside of Eddie’s forearm, and Eddie couldn’t help squirming as goosebumps spread across his arms and legs.

“Careful,” he mumbled. “Tickles.”

Richie grinned. “Oh it does, does it?”

Eddie realized his mistake all too late, his eyes widening. He half-heartedly tugged at his arm, but Richie could probably tell he didn’t mean it. He always could, somehow, only tickling Eddie when his fighting back was clearly just for show.

His fingers skittered gently up and down the sensitive skin on the underside of Eddie’s forearm, being mindful of Eddie’s mom without even having to be asked. It kept Eddie in fits of giggles, but nothing loud enough for his mom to be able to hear from down the stairs, especially if she had the TV on. Eddie squirmed and bit his lip and buried his face in Richie’s shoulder, but he never told Richie to stop. If he was being honest, it felt kind of nice. And it helped remind him that he was okay.

“Aw, Spagheds!” Richie cooed quietly into his ear. “If this isn’t the most precious thing I’ve ever fucking seen. Still cute, cute cute as ever!”

Eddie muffled a squeal into Richie’s hideous shirt when Richie focused his fingernails on the thin skin of Eddie’s wrist.

“Shut the fuck up, dickwad!” He hissed through his giggling. “Don’t fucking call me that!”

Richie hummed. “Which one? Spagheds? Or cute?”

Eddie tugged on his arm, but Richie didn’t let it go. If anything, his skittering fingers just got more ticklish. Eddie could feel his face going red, both from Richie’s teasing and from his own laughter, and he was glad Richie wouldn’t be able to see it, with his face buried in Richie’s shoulder and neck.

“Both, you asshole!”

Richie let out a hum. “Hey, maybe don’t call the guy tickling you silly names.”

Eddie barely had time to gasp before one of Richie’s hands was tickling gently at his waist, the other still spidering away at the tingling skin of his uncasted arm. Much to his own disgust, he had to shove some of Richie’s shirt into his mouth and bite down to keep his laughter muffled enough that it wouldn’t carry down the stairs. He squirmed against Richie’s grip, finally pulling his arm away and trying to roll out of range of Richie’s touch.

Unfortunately, Richie’s arms were freakishly long, and Eddie started to slide off the bed before he even got close to escaping Richie’s torment. They were probably getting a bit too big to be tussling in a twin bed (well, Richie was. Eddie was still desperately awaiting his own growth spurt. He would be taller than Richie someday, he knew it, he had to be).

Before he could fully fall over the side of the bed, Richie’s arms wrapped around his waist and tugged him back up, protecting them both from the thump it would’ve caused to alert Eddie’s mom. Richie pulled Eddie across the rest of the bed so they were curled up together like they did in the hammock sometimes when no one else was in the clubhouse, pressed together instead of sitting at opposite ends.

“Wanna read my comic with me?” Richie asked quietly. “It's new, just got it.”

Eddie twisted around in Richie’s hold as Richie reached over to grab the comic, not waiting for an answer. He didn’t need to, though, he knew Eddie well enough that the answer would be yes.

“Only if you don’t do the Voices so loud that my mom hears, again,” Eddie said.

Richie chuckled under his breath. This seemed to be the only time Richie was able to keep quiet. The rest of the time he was brash and unhinged and as loud as he could possibly be, but when it was just the two of them, curled together in hiding from Sonia Kaspbrack’s wrath, Richie quieted, became softer, less jagged around the edges. It felt nice, that Eddie was the only one to see this.

“No promises,” Richie replied. Despite that, as they read and Richie assigned Voices to each character, his volume stayed respectfully quiet.

Eddie relaxed into Richie’s hold, reading along with him and turning the page when Richie reached the end of it. Richie’s free hand, the one that should have been turning the pages, was busy tracing nonsense shapes into Eddie’s newly freed, wildly sensitive forearm, leaving Eddie giggling quietly into Richie’s shoulder every few moments when it tickled just a little too much. Not that Eddie was complaining.

It was the safest he’d ever felt after a hospital visit.

[bbangsoonie]

teach me about love

member: kevin genre: fluff (preschool teacher!kevin au) word count: 2,120 synopsis: when your brother asks you to pick up your nieces from school, you find a teacher that you find to be cuter than the toddlers there.

a/n: happy birthday to our moonlight boy, kevin 🌙

You didn’t really like kids. They were adorable, of course, but they were snotty walking embodiments of germs and you had no idea how to entertain them. They were absolutely precious when sleeping but their tantrums terrified you.

Whenever they came up to you with those bright expectant eyes, you didn’t know what to do except pet their head. Everyone around you would scold you saying that they were children, not dogs. But in your defense, they didn’t seem to mind.

To be honest, you preferred dogs over kids. They were cute all the time.

Nonetheless, you still adored your nieces. The older one, Ahyoung, reminded you of your own past self. She was shy and reserved but sought out love and attention. She constantly needed assurance to fight early signs of anxiety. The younger one, Soyoung, was the complete opposite; she was loud and outgoing. She easily made friends with everyone and adjusted well to new environments.

So when your brother asked you for a last minute favor, you were more than happy to pick them up at their preschool. Unfortunately, however, you were terrible with directions and ended up 20 minutes late.

Apologizing profusely to the staff and teachers, you made your way throughout the building to find their classroom. That was another struggle of its own.

“Auntie Y/n!” you heard two familiar voices screech. You laughed as they ran up to you and hugged your legs.

“Sorry I’m late girls,” you pouted as you squished their cheeks.

“It’s okay, Auntie! Teacher Kevin was playing house with us,” Ahyoung beamed.

“Teacher Kevin was our dog!” Soyoung giggled.

You looked up to see a male teacher sheepishly escape from the tiny playhouse. You held back a laugh, pitying him for what the girls put him through.

“I’m sorry about that,” you chuckled.

“No worries,” he smiled. “It’s my job and I love kids. I had fun playing with them too.”

“I’m Y/n,” you introduced as you held out a hand. “I’m Ahyoung and Soyoung’s aunt. I came to pick them up since my brother got caught up in a work emergency.”

“It’s nice to meet you. My name is Kevin,” he said as he shook your hand. You knew it was unprofessional to think this but he was cute. Like, really cute.

Trying to leave before your smiling cheeks could reveal your thoughts, you quickly collected the girls’ bags and helped them put their jackets on. You bid their cute teacher goodbye and happily suggested an aunt-niece ice cream date. They cheered at the idea of sweets and raced to your car.

The next week, your brother asked if you could pick the girls up from school again. Apparently they had been bugging him to have their favorite aunt come every day.

You weren’t sure if it was his flattery or if it was their sneaky plan for ice cream but you didn’t mind. As a freelancer, you had a flexible schedule. You were glad to spend time with your nieces and catch another glimpse of their teacher.

This time, you made sure to leave your house early. You ended up arriving before dismissal and watched as the kids ran around in the playground. Something about seeing Kevin’s eyes sparkle in front of them made you soft. He seemed so genuinely happy and looked at each student with honey dripping from his eyes.

Soyoung squealed as she chased after a boy who tapped her free in a game of freeze tag. She was a little confused about the rules but the effort was there.

While still keeping an eye on the children, Kevin approached you and asked if you wanted a juice box. You kindly declined, thanking him for the offer.

“You’re really good with the little ones,” you complimented.

“Ah, no, they’re the ones who are good with me,” he shyly shook his head. “I’m thankful that they see me as a fun and respectable teacher.”

“I find young kids to be difficult,” you confessed. “I don’t know how to match their level.”

“I get you. It’s definitely not easy to figure out what they want and try to communicate with them with their still-developing language skills. I’m still not great at it. I just try to improve a little more every day,” he said humbly.

He was a lot better than you who was quick to give up and run away. His words made you reflect and feel slightly guilty.

The bell chimed, making the students rush to line up in front of the door. Kevin left your side to gather everyone together and take them back inside to gather their belongings.

By now, a handful of parents had arrived and were waiting for their children. One by one, the students walked out with their matching yellow chick backpacks, excitedly running up to their guardian.

Your nieces greeted you in that high pitched shriek you loved, body slamming into your open arms. With them in your embrace, you gave them a tight squeeze before getting up and holding their hands to take them to the car.

“Wait!” you heard Kevin call out. Turning around, you were surprised to see him running towards you. When he caught up to you, he held out a book. Taking it, you read the title.

“The Body Language of Toddlers”

“I thought you might find this book useful,” his hands fumbled awkwardly, not knowing where to go. His gesture brought you a warm feeling.

“Thank you, Kevin. I’ll be sure to give it a read,” you smiled.

“Ooooh,” Ahyoung wiggled her eyebrows, making both you and Kevin blush. You ruffled her hair and ushered her towards your vehicle.

Picking the girls up from school became a biweekly thing for you. Every Monday and Friday, you would arrive ten minutes early to chat with Kevin as he told you funny stories that happened throughout the day. And when you worked with a bunch of preschoolers, there were a lot of those types of stories.

You listened as he went on about how a little boy woke up from a nap thinking he had an argument with his friend because of a nightmare he had. Kevin had to convince him that it was all a dream and that his friend did not actually steal his gummy worms and lie about it.

The way he spoke about his students was endearing. He made them sound like lovely angels even when they were cranky and misbehaving.

“We’re looking for chaperones for the upcoming field trip if you’re interested,” he cautiously brought up. “We only had a few parents sign up so we’d really appreciate any extra helping hands.”

Panicking, you stuttered about how you didn’t have the confidence to keep rowdy kids in check at a public space. He assured you that your only responsibility would be to make sure no one ran off and to accompany kids to the bathroom if they had to separate from the group.

He was a smooth talker. He somehow persuaded you into agreeing and you couldn’t believe you left the school that day after signing the form.

“Auntie, do you like Teacher Kevin?” Ahyoung asked you in the car ride back home.

“Sure, Teacher Kevin is nice,” you hummed.

“No, she means do you like like him?” Soyoung pressed.

You feigned innocence and pretended not to understand what they were talking about. They grilled you about how often you talked with him and even pointed out that he didn’t talk to other parents like that. They sure were smart-witted for their age.

On the day of the field trip, you spent a long time deciding on what to wear. You had no idea how casual you were supposed to dress as a chaperone.

You ended up choosing a simple outfit and rushed out the door to avoid being late. You had to say you were excited. It had been ages since you last visited an aquarium. And maybe the extra butterflies in your stomach were because of a certain someone you were looking forward to seeing.

Meeting Kevin outside of the school felt different. He stood out in the crowd of tiny humans. Even more so once you entered the place and you noticed that most of the visitors were families, students, or couples.

You softly smiled as you watched the kids fawn over colorful fish and gawk at sharks. It felt like you were returning to your own childhood innocence. You followed Ahyoung, who was pulling at your sleeve, to the jellyfish section where she asked you to take a picture of her with the transparent creature.

The photos came out so incredibly that you had to immediately send them to your brother. He texted back almost instantly and you scoffed when you read his message.

“Heck yeah I made that. Those are my genes right there.”

Rolling your eyes, the corners of your lips twitched up as you put the device away. You guided Ahyoung back to the rest of the group and ran into Kevin who was coming back from the bathroom with another student.

“How are you enjoying the trip so far?” he asked.

“It’s nice. Honestly not as chaotic as I thought it’d be,” you admitted.

“Oh don’t jinx it. Lunch time will be hectic,” he warned.

He was right. Between picky kids and the kimbap packed by their parents, the unwanted vegetables were flown around the picnic table. You barely managed to avoid the carrot that was flung in your direction. Unluckily, you were unable to dodge the spinach that was now tangled in your hair.

Kevin laughed as he tried to help you take it out, cracking a joke about it looking like seaweed and you looking like a mermaid dragged out of the ocean.

“He means you’re pretty, Auntie!!” Soyoung eagerly translated on his behalf. “Mermaids are super super pretty. Like Ariel, the princess!”

This raised a teasing crowd of “ooh”s from the group of preschoolers.

“Teacher Kevin and Auntie Y/n sitting in a tree,” a boy began chanting, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

His friend made a face and screamed “ew,” making him laugh uncontrollably. Meanwhile, Kevin was trying his best to cover his burning ears. He pulled the beanie over his ears, not wanting to expose his embarrassment.

“My daddy said no boy is good enough for Auntie but I’ll tell him nice things about you, Teacher Kevin. Just specially for you,” Ahyoung proudly announced.

Awkwardly coughing, you stuffed her cheeks with another roll of kimbap. Her muffled cries of resistance were appeased with a juice box shoved into her mouth. The sweet drink diverted her attention away from you and back to her lunch.

You two were now officially shipped by all of Kevin’s students. Even the other teachers giggled as they passed by you.

By the end of the field trip, you were one of the last ones to leave. After all the other students and teachers departed from the aquarium, Kevin escorted you to the car with a sleeping Ahyoung in his arms and a sleeping Soyoung in yours.

You both carefully placed them in their car seats and closed the door after buckling their seat belts. Now that you were alone with him, you didn’t know what to say. Despite the silence, it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable.

“So have you warmed up to the idea of kids yet?” he finally asked after clearing his throat.

“The book you gave me definitely taught me a lot of things,” you nodded. “Now I’m not completely terrified of them. And seeing you handle kids comforts me.”

“Really? How so?”

“I don’t know. It’s just… you so effortlessly take care of them and I can see how much you cherish each and every one of your students. I envy that.”

“Trust me, it’s not as easy as you think it is,” he chuckled.

Silence fell between you again but you simply enjoyed his presence. You turned your head to see him already staring at you. With your eyes, you wordlessly asked if there was something he wanted to say.

“So uh tomorrow’s Saturday,” he suddenly mentioned. He was fiddling with a loose thread on his sweater and hesitated to speak up again.

“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” he blurted. You couldn’t stop the smile that crept up on your face.

“Nope.”

“Would you like to um grab dinner with me tomorrow then?”

He anxiously held his breath as he waited for your response. Biting his lips, he wondered if he had ruined things by going too fast.

“Sure. How’s 6?” you finally answered.

“6 is great. 6 is lovely. Wonderful. Perfect,” he replied with a huge grin.

a/n: calling all kevin enthusiasts aka @reverienostalgia

i also may or may not have kinda wrote my little cousins into this fic.. 👉🏻👈🏻

[wkemeup]

Honey and Chamomile

summary: Four cups of tea, four distinct moments in time, and each pulls you in closer beyond the walls surrounding Bucky’s heart pairing: bucky x reader word count: 5.8k warnings: lots of fluff, but also nightmares, and lots of tea because im a fanatic a/n: this was written for @coffee-with-bucky​​‘s 2k writing challenge and it’s a thousand years late, but I hope you enjoy it! My prompt was 🌟 tea 🌟

It starts late in the evening as the thunder rolls in, low breaks amongst the clouds in the distance, a flicker of lightening touching the night sky and illuminating the shadows cast by the city. Painted raindrops slide against on the windowsill, racing one another to the edge of the pane. It’s soothing as you close your eyes and lose yourself in the soft tap-tap-tap to the walls of the tower and the hums of thunder miles beyond the city. It’s better than the silence, anyway.

The whistle of a kettle sings by the stove and it pulls you gently from your stance at the window. Mug in hand, you grab a bag of peppermint tea from the small box to the right of the kettle; paintings of sunsets and starry nights along the wooden frame. You close the lid and tug the string of the bag so it lays over the lip of the mug. Hot water finds its home at the center and the air around you fills of candy canes and memories of nights wrapped in blankets by the fireplace.

You hear footsteps behind you as you set the kettle back on the stovetop, careful of the bright red rings of the burner, and slowly wrap your hands around the mug. There’s a shuffle at the edge of the kitchen as the warmth of the mug touches your palms, soothes right up into your arms, the liquid too hot to drink but the steam of it is comforting against your cheeks. Crisp and cool amongst burning heat.

“Didn’t think you were home,” you say quietly, back turned to the figure who takes in a sharp breath in response.

The team was out on a mission, one Cap insisted you stay clear of after your near fatal gunshot wound in Bratislava last month. You fought it tooth and nail, but what Cap says goes, and well, you didn’t.

“Steve says I need more time,” Bucky replies, voice barely a whisper and you can practically picture the way he digs his hands into the pockets of his plaid pajama pants, scrunching at the fabric from the inside as a way to ground himself.

“Steve’s a little overprotective, don’t you think?” you chuckle lightly, turning from the window where the raindrops cast down along the glass in full, sweeping lines to find Bucky standing just beyond the plane of the kitchen. Just close enough to make his presence known, far enough to escape. Always one foot in, one foot at the exit. Self-preservation is a hell of a drug to kick.

“He’s right, though. Hard to trust a teammate who doesn’t trust his own mind,” Bucky mumbles slowly, scratching at the nape of his neck.

The shine of silver catches your eye under the dim overhead lighting and he notices it almost instantly, the way your gaze draws to solid metal, how you study the lines and bolts in his joints, and he drops his arm. He holds it then behind his back, tries to play it off casually, but you see how he hides it from view, like he’s been caught with something he shouldn’t have. A weapon.

You sigh, setting the mug down on the counter, the whisper of peppermint on your lips. He sells himself short, gets locked up in the mindset of what Hydra conditioned him to be, struggles to come back to himself and trust that he can control his own mind again. You know how often he wonders when he’ll lose it again, when he’ll break to someone else’s will and be forced to commit terrible acts again. It’s never a matter of ‘if’, but ‘when.’

He wonders when he’ll hurt Steve, or Sam, or Nat, or you. He wonders when the final straw will break and the floor will be ripped out from under him, when he’ll take a life he can’t give back. He wonders when enough will be enough and you’ll decide he’s not worth the trouble.

“I trust you,” you say, and you do mean it, but Bucky only shrugs, eyes downcast.

He shuffles he feet again. It’s uncomfortable for him to hear, you realize. It's foreign in his body and he barely recognizes the kindness in it when he feels it, the certainty of it, because it has been so long since he knew anything but cruelty and manipulation.

So, you pull a second mug from the cabinet; the one behind the Captain America logo painted on the side and Tony’s Disney themed mug that reads ‘Greatest Place on Earth 2003’ down the handle. You grab onto the edge of the mug tucked far into the back; light blue in color, soft undertones along the bottom. It’s painted like the waves of the ocean. It reminds you of him.

Bucky doesn’t say anything as you grab a second teabag from your wooden box and drop it in the mug, or as you fill the cup with the steaming water. You set it at the edge of the counter, eyeing him carefully as he remains still in his stance. One foot in, one foot at the exit.

“There’s sugar and milk if you want some,” you offer but Bucky shakes his head.

“No, no, this is just fine,” he says, voice a little uneven, almost as if he’s surprised by the gesture.

He steps forward, out of the shadows of the hallway and lets the soft lights of the lamp at the couch’s end touch his skin. They illuminate over messy hair, a few strands out of place, creases in his cheeks from pillow cases, the way he sways side to side in his stance. Nervous energy for a man with precision behind a barrel unlike anyone you’d ever seen.

He takes the mug, testing the heat of the surface, before he pulls it between his hands. You busy yourself with your own tea, taking a sip as you watch him bring it the mug to his lips. He pauses, smelling the hot water and you’re almost certain you see his cheek twitch. Ever so slightly, gone in an instant, but a remnant of a smile remains.

“I’ll be at the gym by nine tomorrow morning if you want to join me,” you say as you head towards the hallway. “I’ve seen your left hook and I could use some help on my stance.”

Bucky swallows back scalding hot tea like it’s nothing, his shoulders pushing up by his ears, startled by your request and it makes you laugh a bit. He chokes out a short nod, flustered perhaps judging by the pink in his cheeks. 

You smile back at him, pausing at the doorframe to look at him one last time as he leans against the kitchen sink.

The smell of peppermint lingers in your wake.

***

You sit on the couch in the living room with your feet kicked up on the ottoman, book resting in your lap and a warm cup of tea nestled in your right hand. Its leans onto your chest as the steam of a sweet, woody scent of green tea filters through the air. 

Fresh off of a month-long surveillance mission in Chechnya, your body is sore from long nights in cramped cars and your mind a little disengaged from hours staring out at a single window through the short end of binoculars.

Natasha sits quietly at the kitchen table behind you, flipping through the files spread out amongst the surface in organized chaos. The soft hum of a playlist on the overhead speakers drown out the grunts of Steve and Sam sparring down the hall in the training room.

You smile as you hear the shuffle of footsteps at the edge of the room, feet dragging purposefully along the tile. You don’t have to look up to know who is it, but you do wonder when Bucky decided to start dragging his feet to alert you to his presence.

He used to be impossibly quiet in his steps, like he was hunting prey even with his defenses down as much as he would allow them. He's snuck up on you a few times before without meaning to, his voice in greeting startling you enough to drop a mug of scalding tea from your hands and onto your exposed thighs and the tile below. If you think hard enough about it, you’d realize it was that moment, as he scrambled to dry your skin of the hot water, frantic apologies under his breath, as he knelt into the broken shards of your mug, that his steps became louder when he approached.

He hasn’t been able to sneak up on you since.

“Hey,” he says quietly from the edge of the room.

You smile to yourself, eyes still on the lines of the novel though you haven’t looked up at him yet. “Hey.”

“Smells good.”

You nod, taking in a heavy whiff of the steeping tea. “Wanna try?”

Bucky sits down on the couch beside you, a full cushion as a barrier between, but you don’t mind. He’s slow to warm up, cautious with even the people he trusts most, and you have no interest in pushing him beyond his boundaries. He sits rigid on the couch, stiff, though you can tell he’s trying to relax. He's fighting with his muscles and arguing with his mind.

“Here,” you offer, extending the mug to him.

He stares at you, blue eyes flickering from the tea and back to your face suspiciously.

“I haven’t poisoned it, Bucky,” you tease, pulling it back to your lips and taking a sip in proof. You sigh as it passed down your chest, warming you from the inside. It doesn’t slip your notice that Bucky’s eyes linger on your lips long after you’ve extended the mug back to him.

“If it’s a germ thing, I can make you a fresh cup,” you offer, laughing a bit under your breath.

“No, uh, thank you,” Bucky musters out and slowly takes the mug from your hands.

You nod and quickly return to your book, though you keep an eye on him in the reflection of the television screen. He studies the mug for a moment, looking over the slightly uneven edges of the ceramic, the speckles of golden flakes mixed amongst the brush strokes.

“Did you make this?”

“Steeped it myself,” you chuckle. “Strenuous work.”

Bucky laughs at that, though it’s muffled a bit, restricted, but it’s still there, still light and airy and incredibly beautiful.

“The mug,” he clarifies as he holds it up. “Did you make the mug?”

“Hey, even an Avenger need a hobby, right?” you shrug, albeit a little embarrassed. The walls of the mug are uneven, the painting done under dim lighting after hours as the little ceramics shop would have been swarmed with fans if not for the kindness of the owner who let you stay late into the evening. “I know it’s not very good--”

“I like it.”

Bucky smiles softly as he nods at you, examining the mug further. He traces over the handle that’s slightly too small for his grip, the edges that sway up and down like waves, the dot of red paint at the bottom that accidentally made its way onto the surface.

He takes a sip and you watch as his whole body seems to sigh in response. Muscles easing, tension leaving him. It’s a respite.

When he hands the mug back to you, you expect him to leave. He doesn’t. Instead, he stays quietly with you, sitting contently as he picks up a newspaper from the end table and you resume your place in your book. Perfectly quiet. Comfortable.

***

“Will you just take the medicine... please?”

“I’m an Avenger, Bucky, I can fight off the common cold.”

“You can barely breathe on your own. I might call for an ambulance. It's starting to look dire. Life or death kind of situation.”

“Oh, shut up,” you laugh, swatting his hands away as you quickly move to cover your mouth as another coughing fit takes over. It burns deep into your lungs, aches hard in your chest, makes it quite hard to catch your breath again, but you feel a soft touch on your back; gentle, soothing circles of a flat hand pressed to your spine, and you manage to find air again.

You wipe your lips as he pulls back. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” he says with a soft smile, waving you off.

“I could get you sick. You should’ve had me quarantined like everyone else.”

“Aren’t you dramatic today?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I can't get sick with this serum running in my veins, you know that. Besides, no one’s quarantining you. They’re just--”

“--avoiding me like the plague?”

Bucky grimaces. “Yeah, maybe.”

You smile tiredly at him, heat a little fuzzy, vision a little tunneled, but you enjoy the way he smiles back at you. He has such a nice smile, pretty, to the point where it’s almost unfair. It curves up into his cheeks, creating lines around and under his eyes, bright and cheery and you almost forget he’s also a ghost story of an assassin with the sharpshooting range more precise than a drone.

Before you can realize what you’re doing, under the haze of a clouded mind, your hand reaches out and touches his cheek. He freezes under your touch, surprised more than anything else, and he watches with wide eyes as you dreamily trace the lines in his face, the curve of his jaw and the tip of his nose. Your head feels a little fuzzy and your eye lids flutter heavily, just as Bucky begins to smile again.

“Take the meds, doll,” Bucky asks again sweetly. He slowly pries your hand from his face and sets two red pills in your left hand, a glass of water in your right. He guides your hand with the medication up towards your mouth. “Please? I miss my training partner. Can’t spare with someone who’s half dead in the living room from a stuffy nose and I refuse to go back to Wilson.”

“Okay, okay,” you grumble playfully, quickly swallowing the medication and chasing it with the water.

The couch dips slightly as Bucky gets up, jogging over to the kitchen. The whistle of the kettle is muffled in your ears, like it’s distant and behind several walls and closed doors. You stretch your jaw, trying to pop away the barrier, but it’s of no use.

You watch silently as Bucky scrambles around the kitchen, a little flustered for his frame, and you can’t help the smile that pushes at your cheeks.

“Top right,” you tell him, pointing to the cabinet over his shoulder.

He sighs, shakes his head, and sure enough, the mugs are in the cabinet on his right. He pulls down two from the shelf. For you, the one with the tiny cartoon dinosaur on the front dressed in an Iron Man suit, and for himself, he grabs the one you made months prior, with the uneven edges and the red paint stain on the side.

Then, he starts in search of the wooden box and you give him a minute of pulling open every drawer he can find until you tell him, “behind the bread bin on the counter.”

"Oh, of course. Makes perfect sense,” Bucky teases and flips through the packets inside.

He purses his lips, narrowing his eyes, clearly in search of something specific. His whole face lights up as he grabs what he’s in search of and quickly rips open the packets and sets them inside the mugs. He pours the hot water and carefully blows on the surface of the mugs, the steam pushing out in front of him as he sighs.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he says as he makes his way back to you, setting the mug on the arm rest of the couch to give you enough leverage to grab the handle. You smile up at him appreciatively as he takes his seat next to you.

Bringing the mug to your lips, you take in a deep breath – or, as much as you able to give the swarm of congestion in your head.

Spiced and warm. Peppery sharp. Lemon and ginger.

“Bucky Barnes, did you use google for me?”

He chuckles nervously as his hand rakes through his hair, pushing it from his eyes only for it to fall back to place again. “It, uh, it said ginger tea is supposed to be good for you when you’re sick, so I thought, uh, it thought it would help.”

You struggle to contain your grin, hiding it behind the mug as you take a sip. You can already feel your sinuses beginning to clear.

“That’s very sweet of you. Thanks, Buck.”

He nods a little sheepishly, fluster burning warm in his cheeks, but he meets your eyes; the perfect wave of blues and greys, a gentle ocean amongst a sweeping current.

***

When you wake with a harsh gasp in your throat, a sharp yank of reality away from your dreams, the piercing sound of screams echoing down the hall, it’s not the first time.

You know the routine well by now, know that Steve will meet you in the hallway by Bucky's door where the screams only seem to get louder with every passing second and he’ll ask you gently to go back to your room, remind you that he’s got this and Bucky will be alright. He always is, Steve tells you, but it doesn’t lessen the heartbreak of hearing the cracks in Bucky’s voice, the sudden whimpers, the shattering silence that follows as he wakes.

The two of you will skirt around things in the morning as you always do. Bucky will stumble out of his room with dark circles under his eyes, a drag in his feet, shoulders slumped as he slides into a chair by the kitchen. He’ll sit silently as you pour him an herbal tea from your box, never something with caffeine because he’s got enough energy in his veins as they come out in tremors in his hand and bouncing in his knee. Sometimes you give him raspberry, sometimes apple caramel, sometimes peach, and he’ll nod without looking at you, pull the mug close to his face and hold the steam to his lips until it goes cold.

Those mornings frighten you because it takes him back to Bucky you knew in the beginning, before he’d learned to smile and laugh again, before he became a permanent fixture in your life, one you were unwilling to live without.

So as your feet carry you down the hall, skirting around the corner and chasing after the screams, you realize Steve won’t be there waiting. He’s out on a mission with Sam in Ukraine for the next few days. There’s no one else on this floor. It’s just you.

You, Bucky, and the monsters in his dreams.

You freeze at the edge of his door, hand gripped tight to the handle, but you can’t move. 

You’re made of marble and stone because even though you and Bucky had come miles since he first came to the tower, you’ve never seen him like this; scared, begging to invisible forces, voice breaking, crying. You haven’t seen him at his lowest and you don’t know if he’ll resent you opening this door, if he’ll be angry with you for breaking that wall of trust, for intruding on something so vulnerable he doesn’t share with anyone but Steve.

But when a scream leaves his lips again, one so broken and distorted it jars itself straight through to your heart like the serrated edge of a blade, you shove your way inside, pushing consequences to the morning.

Bucky lays amongst a mess of sheets, damp with sweat as his hands curl into the fabric, teeth gritted, chest heavy with labored breaths. His eyes are closed shut, painfully so, and you try to ignore the drip of sweat down his exposed chest, how it falls along the lines of his muscles, because he’s thrashing in his sleep like something is holding him down, chocking him, and there’s tears in your eyes as you rush forward.

“Bucky,” you call far too gently. “Bucky, wake up.”

You don’t know what to do. Steve is the one who usually wakes him and you don’t have the kind of strength he does. You don’t know what laying a hand to Bucky’s shoulder will do, if the touch will ground him or shock him to a dream like state, pull him from his nightmares or throw him back to the clutches of the soldier.

But you have to try.

You can’t listen to him beg through bated breaths, “stop, stop please-- don’t! Please, someone help--”

“I’ve got you,” you say a little louder. “You’re okay, Buck. You’re not alone. You’re safe, alright? But you’ve gotta wake up now. Please, Bucky. Wake up.”

You set a hand on his forearm and he jolts up in an instant. You stumble back a few paces in shock, heart beating like thunder in your chest as you hit the sharp edge of his dress to your spine. Hands clutched tight to your chest, afraid you might have to fight him to bring him back, but Bucky remains still. He’s panting, chest heaving as hair falls down into his eyes.

You decide to test the waters.

“Bucky?”

He flinches violently, a sharp intake of breath, though he doesn’t turn to look at you. His hands dig deeper into the sheets in search of a respite he will not find and it nearly breaks your heart in two.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice rough and used. He can’t bear to look at you. “I thought it was under control. I—I told Steve it was okay for him to go. You shouldn’t-- You shouldn’t have to--”

“Do you want some tea?”

The words tumble out faster than you can process them. It feels like the wrong thing to say, especially with that look on his face, the guilt and shame seeping through beautifully soft and kind features, but you know his heart is racing a hundred miles a minute. Judging by the tension in his back, he’s stiff as a board, too.

You step forward as he slowly turns to look at you. There's confusion mixed in with the undeserving shame, but it’s a start at least, you think. A couple cautious more steps closer to the bed and you’re standing right next to him, hovering above him as he bends his legs and wipes his brow of sweat with the edge of the sheet.

“It usually helps me calm down at night,” you offer slowly, as gently as you can manage. “I, uh, I get nightmares, too, sometimes. Not quite as loud as yours but...”

Bucky nods in understanding. He’s heard you pacing in your room in the dead of night when sleep evades him as it often does. He’s seen when you trudge out from your room in the early hours of the morning with the kind of look in your eye that reminds him too much of himself.

“It’ll only take a second,” you say, nodding to yourself as you try to calculate the time it would take to boil the water and ready the mugs. “I’ll be right back.”

You move to take a step back but there’s a tug on your wrist. You pause, glancing down to find Bucky’s hand circling at your arm, holding you steady, though his stare remains glued to the sheets.

“Don’t go.” 

It comes out in a whimper, a low break in his voice, and your heart plummets down to your stomach.

“I’ll come right back. I promise,” you ease him, stepping closer again, though you notice he doesn’t release your hand. It’s not painful, but it’s firm. He’s holding on for dear life.

“Please,” he whispers and this time, as he looks up with you, you’re met with tears in the blue of his eyes. It cracks your resolve in an instant.

“Okay. Will you come with me?”

Bucky swallows thickly, holding your gaze for a moment before he eventually nods. The sheets are thrown from his legs and you realize he sleeps only in his boxers. The realization seems to hit him just as quick.

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, “just, um, just let me--”

You step back as he releases your hand and slowly stands at the edge of the bed. He grabs his pajama pants from the floor and quickly step into them with a heated blush on his cheeks. It makes you painfully aware of the mess of an old, ratted t-shirt and shorts you sleep in, though you push it aside quickly because Bucky’s eyes have fallen to the ground and you don’t want him to retreat within himself. Not again.

“Come on.”

You extend your hand for him, waiting patiently as he stares at it for a moment. It’s an intimate gesture, more contact than you’ve had with him, but you know despite his aversion to touch, he craves it unlike anything else. He’s vulnerable right now and you hope he’ll take the anchor as you throw it to him.

When his hand does mold to yours, it fits perfectly, exactly where he’s supposed to be and you can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever let you do this again. You squeeze his hand softly as he finds an even pace at your side and you lead him to the kitchen.

He lets go of your hand to give you enough space to prepare the water, but he’s never far from reach. When you glance back at him, you find a strange mixture of fear and something you can't quite place in his eyes. It isn’t until you catch him surveying the room, the adjoining hallways, the flinches at the slightest settling of the tower, that you realize he’s on guard. It’s like he’s protecting you.

“Take a seat, Buck,” you ask of him gently, nodding to the chair at the kitchen table. “Try and relax for me. Deep breaths, okay?”

He follows your gaze, hesitantly glancing over the area, always on alert, before he turns back to you. There’s a resistance in his movement as he takes his first steps away from you, but he holds your gaze, holds the softness of your smile as long as he can, while he slumps down into the chair. It’s too far away from you, but he manages.

The kettle boils quickly and you slip two bags of tea into the mugs. Hot water in next, you drizzle an ounce of thick amber on top, swirling it around with the heal of a spoon. The smell of earthy apples and sweet nectar.

Honey and chamomile.

When you make your way over to the table to join him, Bucky is slouched down in his seat, dark circles heavy under his eyes, though he forces out a strained smile as you slide in next to him. You drag a chair up as close to his as you can, your shoulders bumping somewhat as you set the mug in front of him.

“Drink,” you tell him. “It will help you fall back asleep.”

“I can’t go back to sleep after that. I never do after... you know,” he mumbles, shaking his head, though he does take in a heavy inhale of the sweet aroma of steam.

“You’re telling me my teas won’t cure all of life’s problems?” you scoff playfully. “Blasphemy.”

It steals a smile from his lips, curving up ever so slightly into his cheeks though you can see his body fighting against it. You set a hand on his forearm, one that comes in comfort by stark contrast of the way he used to flinch out of your touch. With a slight squeeze, you draw his attention back to you, the blue of his eyes overcast into deep navy, lids falling heavy with sleep despite the race of his heart.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you say slowly. “You don’t have to say a thing. Just let me help you, alright? Drink the tea, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere until you do.”

He nods, a slight ghost of a laugh in his exhale. “Okay.”

You smile triumphantly as you pull your own mug to your hands, warmth spreading into your palms and you take a sip. It stings on your tongue a bit, too hot, but it feels nice as it travels down into your chest, warms you from the inside out.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, the only sounds between you coming from the muffled purr of the furnace and the contented sighs as the tea touches your lips. Bucky’s shoulders start to relax as he his mug nears empty, his body swaying in his seat and you can practically see the exhaustion nestled in his bones.

You swig back the last sip in your own mug and set it on the table, a task you’ll deal with in the morning as you slowly push Bucky’s mug out of his reach.

“Come on, Buck. Let’s get you back to bed.”

He comes easily as you offer your hand, guiding him away from the sanctuary of the kitchen and back to the room that holds his monsters. The grip on your hand tightens with every step and you rub your free hand down his forearm soothingly, trying to pull the tension away. You can feel the anxiety rushing through his veins, the panic reemerging back to the surface as you cross the threshold into his room.

You know he won’t ask. He won’t dare because he can so often get wrapped up in his own mind, the chamber of burden and isolation, of guilt and shame, and he often forgets how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him.

So, you don’t say a word as you lead him slowly to the bed, releasing his hand as he slides back under the covers. His body is rigid as ice and you can feel his eyes on you, trying to memorize your face for when the darkness takes over and he prepares for you to leave.

It surprises him when your hand slips over his forehead, brushes up into his hair, and you lean down to kiss his temple. The gasp that it pulls from him is muffled, impossibly sweet, and you linger there a moment longer before you pull away.

Bucky stays silent though you can see the question burning behind the blue of his eyes.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

There isn’t an ounce of hesitancy as you slowly make your way around to the other side of the bed and pull back the covers. The mattress is firmer on this side in its lack of use as your knee dips onto the surface. Bucky is watching you cautiously, stunned, but his muscles start to relax as you settle in next to him.

“This okay?” you ask, just to be sure.

He nods quickly. “Y-yes.”

“Try to get some sleep, alright? I’ll be right here.”

He doesn't say anything, but there’s relief slipping through the tension in his body, pushing out the stones with the gentle flow of a calming stream. You smile at him as you turn onto your side, one hand gently resting on his shoulder, grounding him to the earth, to you.

You close your eyes and hope that he will feel safe enough to follow.

***

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” Your voice is muffled by the pillow and you turn to find stars still littering the night sky. You don’t know how much time has passed, how long he’s been lying there in the prolonged silence, churning thoughts racing through his mind, so you turn onto your stomach, prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

“You wanna go to the tea shop in Brooklyn with me tomorrow?”

You narrow your eyes, confused why he’s asking you near – you check the clock by his bedside – three in the morning. His stare is trained up at the ceiling for a moment before he turns to look at you, ocean blue littered with nerves, a new kind of vulnerability you haven’t seen in him before.

“Of course, Buck. Whatever you--”

“As a date, I mean.”

It catches you off guard, wakes you quickly. Tongue tied and throat dry.

Bucky swallows nervously and you can tell that he’s been working himself up to asking you in the hour or so that he’s been lying here awake as you curled up next to him. There are dozens of excuses brewing in the back of his mind, ways to play this off as a joke or anything but what he wants it to be in a way to preserve the friendship between you, but before he can start the waterfall of backtracking, a smile curves up along your lips.

“That sounds really nice.”

He smiles back at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, good.” He nods to himself, settling back into the mattress with the widest grin you’d seen on him in ages. It wrinkles up into his eyes, brightens across his face bright and cheery, sits in startling contrast to the way you’d found him just hours before. You like seeing him this happy. You like being the cause of it even more.

“Will you go to sleep now?” you tease him, nudging at his shoulder enough to pull a laugh from his chest.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good. Don’t want you half asleep on our date.” It twists pleasantly in your stomach as you say it, butterflies and goosebumps and you bite back the smile pushing high up into your cheeks.

“Can’t have that,” he replies, chuckling to himself and it doesn’t slip your notice how his smile seems to widen as you say the word, too. Date.

You slide back down onto the mattress, trying to find your comfortable position again when Bucky extends his arm. There’s a short pause as he waits, staring up at the ceiling, and you realize what he’s offering. Without a second thought, like you’re coming home, you scoot your body closer to him, rest your head on his shoulder as his arm curls around your back, holding you securely against him.

The soft thumping of his heart beats gently under your ear, your hand resting against his ribs, tracing lines that leave shivers in their wake. He traces patterns onto your back, his eyes slowly fluttering shut until the movement stops and he falls into the warm embrace of sleep.

You sigh, content in his even breaths, the slow pace of his heart, the muffles snores. Hugging him close, holding him in your arms where he’s always belonged. You fall asleep wrapped in the scent of honey and chamomile.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[erensangel444]

just a humble bounty hunter

spike spiegel x reader

DNI if not 16+ thank you!

cowboy bebop fr fr is one of my favorite animes it’s just 😘

this fic is spike x fem!reader, if you guys would want to see some gender-neutral fics just let me know in my asks inbox! i’m open to any suggestions if you want a fic that’s specifically tailored to you whether that be race-wise, gender-wise, any disabilities, etc,. just let me know!

likes/reblogs/comments are always appreciated:D

this fic has been proofread but if i missed something just let me know!

a/n: i want this life plz. ALSO, I LOVE THIS TROPE: two unemotionally available people whose hearts are taken by another, but for some reason, they can’t have the person they want, so they seek out each other for comfort(aka sex), and eventually, it turns in to something more, and there’s a little bit of angst, but in the end, their hearts belong to one another now. IM GONNA CRY :,) i don’t know if that made any sense but ya feel me???

okay don’t beat me up....but this has a cliche confessing-our-love-in-the-rain scene. IM A SUCKER FOR THE CLICHES OKAY?!! also faye’s lowkey a cock-blocker in this?? I LOVE HER THO, i want her to stomp on me.

warnings: language(most of my fics do contain language), stealing, use of drugs(just weed), violence(no death), germs?? bc transfer of something from one person’s mouth to another(just a cherry stem), alcohol consumption, smut; dry humping, unprotected sex w/ creampie, cumplay, oral(male!receiving), mentions of public sex, degradation + praise, 

word count:

summary: attempting to forget the past with a cowboy, unknowingly creating a future.

you could hear the thrum of electricity throughout the bebop. you slid open your door, the lights near the bottom of the wall lighting the walkway. you walked into the kitchen, the room dark beside the moonlight shining in through the open gateway. you grabbed a soda from the fridge, walking towards the open entrance of the bebop.

you could make out spike’s figure in the distance, the slight flare from his cigarette making him easily distinguishable. you opened your soda, spike’s head turning at the sound. he noticed it was you, taking another puff from his cigarette before smiling at you and turning back around.

you had landed on cacri, a possible bounty in the area. the ship sat in the water for tonight, in a bay that was a docking area for ships. it overlooked the city, and if you turned to the other side, the sea stretched for miles fading into a distance of nothingness. 

you walked over to spike, who was standing at the edge of the ship. you sat down, your legs hanging off of the ship. you set your soda down, sitting back on your arms. “rough night?” you joked, the soft waves of the water brushing against the ship. 

you heard spike chuckle from above you, muttering as he held the cigarette in between his lips, “you could say that,”. you looked up at him, spike already looking down at you. he pulled the cigarette from his lips, holding it out to you, to which you shook your head left and right.

“i prefer more medicinal herbs,” you sighed jokingly, spike smiling down at you. “to each their own,” he mumbled with the cigarette in between his lips, looking back out to the water. you laid your back down on the ship, looking up at the stars. “god that’s what i need right now, some weed,” you declared, sitting back up.  “i’ll be back,” you said, standing up and grabbing your soda from the walkway of the ship. “i’ll come with you,” spike offered, rushing to catch up with you. you pouted mockingly, “think i can’t handle myself?”. you walked into the kitchen with spike, setting your soda down on the island. 

“you’ve shown full and well you can handle yourself,” spike praised, smirking at you, “maybe i’m just interested in partaking in some of those medicinal herbs,”.

you and spike crammed into your tight ship, the sound of the ship taking off causing ripples along the water. spike had found a 24-hour dispensary not too far away, and you set the ship down about a block away. you walked in, the bell on the door ringing.

a woman sat behind the cash register, smacking her gum loudly. she looked up at you and spike, giving the pair of you an uninterested stare before looking back down at her nail filer.

you looked at spike, raising one eyebrow with a soft smile, spike laughing softly. you walked through the store, grabbing rolling paper and a bag of weed, a strain called “strawnana”. spike couldn’t help but pick up gummy bear edibles, and so you headed to the cashier placing it all out on the countertop in front of you. 

“id,” the cashier grumbled. you realized that you hadn’t brought your id and turned towards spike, looking for a solution. “we forgot em’” spike said plainly. the cashier’s unimpressed look remained. “the legal age here is 18 though, right?” spike asked, though he already knew the answer. “we look over 18 right,” spike smiled, draping his arm over your shoulder and pulling you closer.

“no id, no weed,” the cashier said plainly, pointing to a sign behind her that read ‘we card!’. “you know,” spike started, leaning on the countertop, “i really hate to do this, but,” he grabbed the rolling paper and bud, running towards the door. 

you paused for a moment, before realizing what was going on. you grabbed the gummy bears from atop the counter, running towards spike who was holding the door open. you could hear a “hey! come back here!” from behind you, and you turned to see spike throw up a peace sign to the cashier. 

you ran down the block, running towards your ship. you slowed down, walking for a moment, laughter coming over you. “you’re fucking crazy,” you sighed airily, walking beside spike who let out a soft laugh. 

“we got it though didn’t we?” he said with a smile.

you and spike were back outside of the bebop, sitting on the take-off strip. the joint was in between your lips as you took a drag, inhaling the substance. you blew it out with a puff, coughing once with a light chuckle before handing it over to spike. 

spike took a hit before blowing out the smoke. the joint had become shorter, barely being held between spike’s fingers. spike deaded the joint, setting it in the ashtray. “yeah, this is what i needed,” you sighed, lying down.  it seemed like the stars were brighter than they were before as you looked up at the sky now.

the soft noise of the waves brushing against the ship lulled you further into a calm state. “do you do this often?” spike asked, turning towards you. “only after we get a bounty, shit’s expensive,” you said honestly, spike laughing softly.

spike laid down next to you, looking up at the stars. “s’pretty huh?” you said simply, turning towards spike. spike hummed out an affirmation, still looking at the sky. you smiled at his expression, turning back towards the sky. 

“it’s cold,” spike said, sitting back up, “let’s go inside,” you offered, standing up and walking back towards the entrance of the bebop. spike was trailing behind you, gummy bear package in hand. 

the loud noise of the gears turning as the gate to the take-off strip closed finally came to a cease. you plopped down on the couch, sighing softly before spike sat down next to you. “feel real good,” he drawled before lying his head down on your lap and smiling up at you. 

you just laughed softly,  your hand falling to spike’s hair out of instinct. “do you have someone you miss?” spike spoke softly, the conversation taking an abrupt turn. you sucked your bottom lip in before deciding to speak. spike was being vulnerable, the least you could do was reciprocate his vulnerability.

“yeah,” you said plainly, trying to control the shakiness of your voice, “don’t think i’ll ever be able to get em’ back, though. try to tell myself it’s no use to think about them, but i can’t help it,” your voice trailed off towards the end of the sentence.

spike squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to shake away a vision before he spoke quietly, “i miss her, fucked up bringing her into my life,” your hand paused in his hair for a moment, latching onto his every word, “don’t even know where she is, even if i did, i don’t know if i could face her,”. the room grew silent for a moment, your hand resuming its ministrations in spike’s hair.

“love sucks, huh?” you said simply, spike giving you a weak smile. “s’like,” you paused for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts, “no matter how hard you tried to forget, it’s still there, still in the back of your mind,”. spike’s eye lit up at your words. he pushed into your hand, and you hadn’t even realized your hand had stopped.

you continued playing with his hair as spike spoke, “i try so hard not be stuck in my past, but it’s always there, like you said, in the back of my mind,”. you looked down at spike nodding. the room grew silent once more, neither of you itching to say anything. 

“jus’ wanna forget,” spike said, his voice breaking slightly. he sat up abruptly, leaning beside you on the couch. he turned to face you, his face closer to you now. “don’t you wanna forget?” he said, his eyes crinkling. you could feel the heat flush to your cheeks, and you nodded, afraid your words would betray you.

next thing you knew spike’s lips were on yours. you hesitated for a moment before reveling in the feel of the kiss. your hands fell to spike’s hair, spike’s hands tracing down your body. his hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto his lap. you let out a slight gasp, pulling away for a moment and looking at spike.

you kissed him once more, mumbling into spike’s lips, “jus’ to forget,”. spike lifted a bit off of the couch, trying to lean into the kiss more, his hands drifting to your backside. spike hummed into your lips, agreeing. 

spike was peeling your shirt over your head as your fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. the kiss was quickly becoming more desperate, muffled moans and grunts falling from both of your lips. you couldn’t help but rock on spike’s laps, your arousal dampening your panties.

“sh-shit,” spike pulled away, leaning his head back on the couch. you continued to grind on his lap, your hands tracing over his chest, his shirt fully unbuttoned. “jus’ like that,” he groaned, before pulling you in for another kiss, your whimpers being muffled by his lips

your hands fell to the button of his pants, fumbling with the item before an abrupt clearing of the throat interrupted you. you pulled away from spike’s lips quickly, looking towards the doorway. 

faye was leaning along the wall, smirking at the pair of you. you quickly removed yourself from spike’s lap, grabbing your shirt from the floor. “and to think i only came for a glass of water and got a free show,” 

“s’not for free actually, pay up” spike grumbled, buttoning back up his shirt. you stood up from the couch, desperately wanting to cave in on yourself as you spoke softly, “goodnight, spike,”. 

you looked down at the man, an apologetic expression on your face. “goodnight,” he said, smiling up softly at you.“night, faye,” you said, passing by her. “night y/n!” she yelled down the hall, “cute bra by the way,”. 

“shut up faye!”

you hadn’t gotten much sleep that night, tossing and turning, throwing the covers off of your body before curling up in them once more. you knew faye was going to give you shit about it in the morning, and you could deal with that. 

but what did this mean for you and spike?

you awoke to ein licking at your face, ed chanting at the end of your bed, “bacon! bacon! bacon!” she grinned, ein barking at her excitement. “alright, fine,” you grumbled, “just get ein off of me!”.

edward grabbed the dog from the bed, ein licking her face, “yuck! your breath stinks ein,”. you laughed at edward, patting ein’s head. “come on, ed,” you said, walking down the halls of the bebop. you were silently praying that spike was still asleep.

you walked into the kitchen to find faye sitting at the countertop, drinking coffee. she smirked at you over her cup, “good morning, sunshine!” she said in a sweet tone, “morning faye,” you replied. you turned to look at her, grabbing the bacon from the fridge. 

she set her coffee cup down at the countertop, smiling at you. “faye,” you whined, drawing out the e. “we have a lot to discuss, very important things to discuss,” she whispered, ed sitting on the floor playing with ein.

“let me at least make some coffee first,” you grumbled, putting the first piece of bacon onto the pan. 

ed was happily chewing on her bacon, playing chess in the living room. you and faye sat at the countertop, coffee cups in hand. “first off,” faye started, and you prepared yourself for the slew of judgements to be thrown at you. “what the fuck?”.

“let me explain,” you assured her, faye just clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “no need for explanations, it was like i walked in on a porno,” “hey! it was not that bad,” you chastised, looking back down to your coffee.

“we were high, it didn’t mean anything, trust me,” you said, taking a sip of your coffee. your stomach turned at your words, but you ignored it. “it better not of, cause we’ve got a bounty to catch, and i can’t have you lovebugs getting in the way of cold, hard money,” faye said.

you laughed softly, “you’re just gonna gamble it away anyways,”. faye pushed your shoulder, “and who’s gonna be getting wasted at the bar while i invest my money wisely,” she teased. “oh yeah, you’re a prime example of a smart spender. at least my money is wasted on vodka,”. she took a sip from her coffee, “is that really that much better?”.

you both laughed softly, ed cheering from across the room at a smart chess move she had made. you and faye sat at the countertop for a while, conversing. faye had gone to shower, leaving you in the kitchen. you washed your two coffee cups, drying them off afterwards.

“morning, spike!” you heard ed say happily from across the room, your eyes shooting up. “g’morning kid,” he grumbled, walking over to the countertop while rubbing his eyes. “morning,” you said, trying to contain a sense of normalcy within your voice.

“hey,” he said, his voice softening. “i-i’m gonna go shower,” you said, spike nodding. you walked out of the kitchen, rushing towards your bathroom once you were out of spike’s line of sight.

“slow down, speed racer,” jet joked as you brushed past him. “sorry, jet,” you said, smiling sheepishly. you opened the door to your bathroom, closing it quickly after.

you leaned against the metal of the door, taking a deep breath. why couldn’t you just act normal? last night hadn’t meant anything, it was just to forget. you rationalized last night, realizing your actions were out of proportion. spike wouldn’t act differently, so you decided not to either.

a knock on the door broke you from your thoughts. you unlocked it, sliding open the door. “spike?” the man pushed inside of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “can’t just fuckin ignore it,” he said, shaking his head.

“wanted more last night,” he said, staring at you intently. “know you did too,”. “spike, w-we can’t,” you reasoned, spike backing you up against the wall. “why not? it’s harmless sex,” “harmless sex,” you repeated. spike nodded, “just to forget,” you whispered, “just to forget,” spike repeated.

you pulled him in for a kiss, moaning at contact. you had been itching for the feel of his lips on yours since last night. his hands quickly fell to the bottom of your shirt, lifting it over your head. he pulled away for a moment, unbuttoning his own shirt before his lips found yours once more.

your hand fell to his pants, tugging at them, hoping that spike would get the message. he read you loud and clear, pulling his sweats down and attempting to shimmy out of them. his pants pooled at his feet as he tugged at your sleep shorts pulling them down your body.

spike lifted you up, your legs latching around his waist. he stepped out of his sweats, walking you over to the countertop. his hand drifted to your lace-covered center, rubbing at your clit through the fabric. “can feel it through your panties, you’re dripping,” spike teased. “fuck,” you sighed, your head falling back into the mirror.

“can’t say i’m much better,” spike groaned, grabbing your hand and pulling it to his bulge. you gasped slightly, looking at him. he was big. spike just smirked up at you, grinding his bulge against your center. the fabric between the two of you created more friction, whimpers falling freely from your lips as spike groaned lowly into your shoulder.

he placed kisses onto your skin, pulling away for a moment, “want it?” he asked, grinding into you more. “gonna-fuck-gonna be too loud,” you whined, looking at spike. spike pulled away from you completely and you whimpered at the loss of contact. 

he turned on the shower, the water falling from the showerhead, creating noise as it hit the floor of the shower. “problem solved,” he said, smiling at you. he kissed you once more, his fingers pulling your panties to the side, rubbing at your slit. he moaned into your mouth pulling away, “won’t even need to prep you, so fuckin’ ready for me,” spike said, his eyes staring at his finger rubbing through your slit, the digit quickly becoming covered in your slick.

“n-need you inside!” you yelped as spike’s thumb rubbed at your clit. “fuck,” spike sighed, pulling his boxers down your legs. you shimmied out of your panties, lifting your hips from the countertop of the sink. you kicked them onto the floor, grabbing at the back of spike’s head, kissing him. he pulled away breathless, looking at you.

“you’re sure?” he asked. you couldn’t help the way your heart slightly palpitated as you nodded eagerly. “are you?” you asked, your hand rubbing at the back of his neck. he nodded the same as you had. “okay,” you said quietly, spike repeating the word as he pushed into you slowly.

you both let out a slight gasp at the push inside, smiling at one another after. as spike pushed further inside, the whimpers and mewls falling from your lips grew in volume. he bottomed out, pulling you in for a kiss, groaning into your mouth. 

“so fuckin’ tight, clenching on me,” spike groaned. you whined as spike pulled out slightly, thrusting back into you. you both let out airy moans at that. spike was breathing deeply as you adjusted to the feel of his cock inside of you. “m-move!” you mewled, desperate for more, “please, want it!”. spike obliged, his eyes lingering on his cock pushing in and out of you. 

his eyes raked over your body, looking up at your face contorted in pleasure. “so good, spike! s-so good!” you whimpered. his cock brushed against your walls, hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you. “oh fuck,” spike moaned airily. 

he nuzzled his face into your neck, his moans and groans muffled by your skin. “c-close!” you yelped. spike pulled away from your lips, his forehead pressing against yours. “come on,” he said, his voice shaky. “lemme feel it, wanna feel you cum on my cock, come on, angel,” he rambled, thrusting in and out of you at a rough pace now.

spike brought his thumb down to your clit, rubbing quick circles on the bundle of nerves. “s-spike!” you moaned as you came on his cock, your toes curling, a mantra of spike’s name falling from your lips. 

spike took in your expression, your eyebrows furrowed, your tongue lolling out of your mouth slightly. he looked down to the ring of white around his cock, moaning at the sight. he looked back up at you, your eyes open now. 

“cum inside, i’m on the pill,” you said, panting. “wanna feel it inside me,” you whimpered. spike moaned, throwing his head back. your hands traced over his abs, your nails scratching softly at the skin. “y/n, fuck, gonna, gonna-” spike groaned. his head fell into your shoulder, his moans muffled by your shoulder as his warm load filled you.

you sighed as spike’s thrust slowed, spike bottoming out once more. “fuck,” he sighed, the explicit turning into a soft laugh. you joined in, laughing softly. you pulled him in for another kiss, smiling into his lips. 

he pulled out of you, causing you to wince at the stretch. you closed your legs abruptly, not wanting his cum to leak out of you and onto the floor. “no keep em open,” he said, his hand falling to your thigh, “wanna see it pool out of you,”. you raised an eyebrow at him, “i’ll clean it up,” he promised. you obliged, opening your thighs.

“fuck,” spike groaned, watching his cum leak out of you. you laughed softly at his astonishment, spike looking up at you. “what’s so funny?” he asked, smirking. “didn’t take you as being interested in cum play, but now that i think about it though, it makes a lot of sense,” you teased, smiling at him. 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he said, raising his eyebrow. “oh, nothing,” you joked, grinning at him now. you pushed yourself off of the countertop, standing next to spike now. “get in the shower, bozo,” he joked. 

“only if you join,” you teased, leaning close to him, “ya kinda smell like shit, spike,” you joked. “smell didn’t bother you earlier, huh?” spike teased, smiling at you. you felt your cheeks flush with heat as you stepped into the shower, spike behind you.

the water cascaded over your bodies, your head pressed against spike’s chest as the smell of your tangerine soap flooded your senses.

the bounty was on a well-known gambler, who had a tendency to rob casinos where he had lost his money. he always had two pretty women on his arms, though it boggled your mind how he did, the man not being particularly attractive, his personality even worse.

that’s why you had an issue with the plan to catch this bounty. you and faye were sent in to be his arm-candy for the night. the plan was to approach him at the bar, he’d take one look at the two of you, and drag you to whatever table he and his entourage sat at that night.

faye had gone in a dark red, spaghetti strap gown, and you in a black strapless gown, the top of your breasts peeking out perfectly from the dress. your hair had been pinned up, a few strands falling to frame your face. 

you walked out from your room in the chosen attire for the night, a scowl on your face. faye whistled as you entered the room with a yell of “do a little spin,”. her commentary brought a smile to your face as you smiled softly with a holler of “you first,”.

you looked over to spike, his eyes raking over your figure. you couldn’t help the feeling in your stomach, spike’s eyes raising to your face and offering you a sheepish smile, knowing he’d been caught.

you laughed softly to yourself as jet began explaining the plan for tonight. 

you stood at the bar, sipping on a vodka cranberry as you waited for the bounty to approach the bar. faye and you had on undetectable earpieces as you leaned against the bar, scouting the area. spike sat at a blackjack table not too far from the bar, acting as a protective measure. 

you knew as soon the bounty entered, a large mass of people coming into the bar, everyone turning to them and murmuring. you and faye just had to wait patiently until they approached the bar. you figured that the group would secure a table before coming to the bar. 

you toyed with the ice in your cup, sighing softly. “he’s headed over,” you heard spike’s voice in your ear, shivering at the sound. you put on your best fake smile, sitting down on the bar stool. you pushed your arms together, accentuating your cleavage.

faye sat opposite of you, in a similar pose. “right behind you,” spike said, your body slightly tensing before you forced yourself to relax. “what are two beautiful ladies like you doing all alone?” the man groveled, an ugly grin on his face.

god, men were so predictable. 

you turned around on your stool, forcing a sultry smile onto your expression. “looking for someone to make us feel less alone,” you said in a seductive tone, the man laughing softly.  “you’re in luck then,” the man drawled, grabbing you by your waist and spinning you into him.

you had to physically stop the bile forming in your throat, letting out an airy giggle in response. spike’s voice was sounding through your earpiece, “never heard you laugh like that before,”. you tried your best ignored spike’s commentary, latching your arm around the man, faye on the opposite side of him.

you had been seated at a poker table for a good hour now, clapping your hands together enthusiastically to cheer on the man who was your bounty for the night. you had grown exhausted with your facade, but you just had to wait for the perfect opportunity. 

you leaned up against the man’s side, your hand falling to his thigh. “think i left something in my ship, would you mind walking me out?” you said, peering up at him your eyes wide.

he clicked his tongue to the side of his mouth, smirking, before grabbing your waist, and sliding out of the booth. he walked you out of the casino, his hand falling to your backside, full-on grabbing your ass. you held back from ripping his dirty hands off at you, silently praying for the moment where you could give this fucker what he deserved.

“where’s your ship?” he said as you got further into the parking lot. you just smirked at that, faye walking out from the casino. “about that,” you sighed before landing a roundhouse kick to the man’s face. he fell to the ground groaning, and you kicked him once in his stomach for good measure.

you knelt down next to him, pulling the gun from his pants as you hovered over his face, “just so you know, not every woman wants your grimy hands all over them, i’m not a piece of fuckin property,”. you stood back up fully, towering over the man. spike walked out from behind his ship, handcuffs in hand. 

“you, though,” he drawled, sitting the man up and handcuffing his hands behind his back, “are property of the bebop,”. you just smiled at spike, walking him back to spike’s ship. “hurry before his buddies come out here,” you said, basically shoving the man into spike’s ship

“sure you can handle em?” he asked, full and well knowing you were capable of defending yourself. “have i ever had a problem?” you smirked, spike just laughing softly. the pair of you walked away from spike’s ship and back to the entrance of the casino. just in time, you thought. 

“sorry, boys,” you smirked, walking over to the group. faye had positioned herself along the wall of the building, acting as backup for when the fight began. “seems like your friend left,” you shrugged.

“you bitch!” one of his friends shouted, charging at you. you dodged the punch he had thrown, grabbing his arm before flipping him onto his back on the ground. he laid there, squirming in pain. a second man charged at you, spike easily stopping him by swiping the man’s leg with his foot. the man tumbled over, spike landing a kick to his face for good measure.

“who’s next?”

you, faye and spike had cleared out the group, the men laying near the exit of the casino, moans of pain sounding out in the silence of the night. “see ya back on the bebop,” you waved to faye, then to spike with a smile, opening the door to your ship. 

you had decided that after all your hard work, you deserved a treat. you set your ship down near the closest 24 hour liquor store. you opened the door, a bell ringing. you gave a soft wave to the cashier before ducking down the isle, in search of a bottle of wine. 

you grabbed the cheapest one from the shelf, shuffling through the items in your clutch, pulling out your id and card. you set the wine down in front of the cashier, “this all?” he asked, to which you nodded simply. “5.50,” he totaled the amount, and you handed him your card. 

“have a good night,” you said simply, opening the door of the liquor store, the cold air brushing against your face as you walked back to your ship.

“rough night?” spike joked, walking into the living room of the bebop. you simply smiled at the parallel of his words with yours from the night before as you spoke, “guess you could say that,” you sighed, propping your feet up on the table.

the clock read 2:37 AM. the bounty you had collected tonight was on a man named hobi jones, wanted for numerous armed robberies. he now was in the holding cell of the bebop, the plan being to drop him off to the police station in the morning. 

“looks like you’ve turned to the drink,” spike commented, his hand motioning to the bottle you brought to your lips. “a little cheap wine never hurt anybody,” you smiled, handing the bottle over to him. “merlot? didn’t realize it was that bad of night,” spike joked, taking a sip from the bottle.

“hey!” you laughed, “i chose the cheapest shit, not my fault i’m a broke bounty hunter,” “kinda is your fault,”. you both sat in silence for a moment, passing the bottle amongst yourselves. “you’re plotting,” spike said, eyeing you. you turned to him with a raised eyebrow, “huh?” you said simply, smiling softly.

“well, i mean, you’re sitting on the couch, looking like this” his eyes raked over your figure, “and you seduced me into joining you for a bottle of wine,” “seduced you?” you asked, your smile growing now. “if anything,” you teased, setting the bottle down on the table before positioning yourself atop spike’s lap, “i think you coming in here shirtless, practically naked, is a bit slutty, don’t you agree?”. 

spike laughed softly at your words, his hands falling to your hips as he rutted you against his lap, “what are you gonna do about it?” he said simply. your lips were on his in an instance, soft hums falling from both of your lips. “looked so fuckin’ good in that dress tonight,” spike mumbled into your lips, his hands digging into your ass.

“w-wanna blow you,” you whimpered, pulling away from spike’s lips. “god, please,” he groaned, looking down at you as you kissed down his chest. your hands fell to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging them down his legs. you palmed him through his boxers, his cock already half-hard. 

you tapped at his left thigh, spike lifting his hips up slightly. you tugged the boxers down his body, the fabric pooling around spike’s feet. his cock sprung up, slapping softly against his stomach. “fuck,” you sighed airily, your thumb rubbing across his slit, spreading his precum against the tip of his cock.

“shit,” spike hissed, leaning into your touch. one hand hovered one spike’s thigh, softly scratching at the skin. you wrapped your mouth around the tip, sucking gently, spike letting out a loud sigh. your free hand wrapped around the base of spike’s cock, moving up and down his length along with your mouth.

you pulled away from his member, a string of saliva connected to your lips. you grinned up at spike, the man putting a hand over his eyes with a mutter of “you’re trying to fuckin’ kill me,”. you laughed softly, your eyes falling back down to his cock. 

you planted your hands on his thigh, mumbling against the tip of his cock,  “fuck my throat,”. spike’s breath hitched as he stared down at you, his jaw slack. “please,” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut in embarrassment. you opened your eyes at the feeling of spike’s thumb brushing across your cheek. 

“yeah? open wide then, tongue out,” spike smirked down at you. your tongue lolled out of your mouth, spike’s hands latching into your hair as he inched your mouth down his cock. “fuck,” he drew out the word, “so good,”. your nose brushed against the skin of his pelvis as you gagged around his cock, your nails digging into his thigh.

“fuck,” he groaned, pulling you off of his cock, “looked so pretty choking on my cock,”. tears were forming in your eyes, close to pooling over your lower lid. a string of spit was connected to your mouth as you panted, catching your breath. “want my cum down your throat?” spike asked, already knowing the answer.

you nodded eagerly, planting your hands back on his thighs. “just use me,” you whined, your hand falling into your panties and rubbing at your clit. spike’s hands were back on your hair, your mouth wrapping around his saliva covered member. “shit,” spike groaned, thrusting into your mouth slightly. “just want me to use you, huh?” his voice was shaky now, spike getting closer to his release.

you gagged on his cock, the sound of you choking sounding throughout the room. tears were falling down your cheeks now, your nose slightly runny, but you reveled in it. you loved the sound of spike losing his mind above you, his hands gripping your hair tighter.

“gonna flood your throat-shit-gonna take it all right?” spike moaned. you couldn’t answer, your mouth full of his cock. spike didn’t wait for an answer, his hip thrusting up once as he pushed you against the base of his cock, your nose pushed against the skin of his pelvis. spike’s load burst into your throat as you tried to swallow in time with the spurts.

he pulled you off his cock slightly, only the tip of his cock on your tongue as one of his hands fell to jerk his length. some of his cum dribbled down your chin as you breathed heavily. spike’s hands fell onto the couch next to him, spike throwing his head back. he looked back down at you, your hands in between your legs, your slick covering your fingers.

“i came,” you whimpered softly, bringing your finger to your lips and wrapping your mouth around the digit. spike laughed softly from above you, “so fuckin’ dirty,” he drawled, his fingers collecting the cum from your chin before being pushed into your mouth, your fingers sucking on his digit.

you smiled up at spike once he removed his finger from your mouth, sighing softly before standing up. “get to bed,” you said softly, “we’ve got some money to make tomorrow,”. spike smiled up at you, “drinks tomorrow?” he said, causing you to pause in walking to your bedroom.

you turned to look at him over your shoulder, grinning, “only if you’re paying,”

the crew had collected a decent amount of money from the bounty, the sum being spent between the four of you, and ed received spending money out of each of your amounts. 

your newfound--and most likely short-lived--wealth was being spent at the bar, spike sitting on the stool next to you. “another round please,” spike raised his hand slightly, the bartender nodding. your cheek was on your hand, your arm leaning on the countertop as you faced spike. 

“you wanna know why i’m such a good kisser,” spike leaned next to your ear, whispering. you laughed softly, raising one eyebrow, “who said you were a good kisser?” you teased. the bartender poured more vodka into your two shot glasses, spike asking for a small bowl of cherries.

“you know i’ll let that dig slide,” he smirked at you, “only cause you look so good,”. you blushed at spike’s words, regaining your composure, “not to bad yourself, spiegel,” you smiled softly. the bartender placed a small glass bowl of cherries next to spike, spike uttering out a short thanks.

“back to my amazing kissing skills,” he said confidently, causing your smile to grow. “watch this,” he said, staring you intently. he took one of the cherries, the stem held in between his thumb and pointer finger. he popped the fruit into his mouth, only the stem held in between his fingers.

“now for the main event,” he smiled, placing the cherry stem on his tongue. he closed his mouth, still staring at you, his eyes twinkling. you could see his cheeks moving, his tongue tying the cherry tongue into a knot. 

he stuck his tongue out, his words jumbled, “see? told you,”. spike stuck his tongue back in his mouth as you muttered, “oh shut up,” attaching your lips to his. the kiss took spike by surprise before he melted into it, his hand falling to your waist. you pulled away, smiling at spike before sticking out your tongue, the cherry stem on your tongue. “see?” you drawled, mimicking spike.

the night ended with spike hiking up your dress in one of the bathroom stalls, his cock pushing into your warm walls. 

you woke up with a blasting headache, the alcohol from last night coming back in full-swing. you groaned, sitting up in your bed, your head in your hands. begrudgingly, you made your way to the kitchen.

the bebop was unnaturally quiet, ed’s laughter wasn’t sounding throughout the living room, nor was faye’s ridiculing tone. you walked into the kitchen, spike sitting at one of the stools at the island. 

“where is everybody?” you asked, pouring yourself coffee from the pot. “jet is at the bank making an investment or some dumb shit like that, faye’s at the casino, and ed,” he paused for a moment, “i don’t know where ed is,”.

you laughed softly, “she always finds her way back here so i’m not too worried,”. you groaned quietly, rubbing at your forehead. “hangover?” spike questioned, to which you nodded. “mrs. cherry stem can’t hold her alcohol then?” spike teased. you just shook your head with a soft smile, “fuck off,” you joked, standing up and opening the kitchen cabinets in search for advil.

“if anything,” you started, finding the advil and popping open the container, “you’re mr. cherry stem, you started that bullshit,”. you put the advil container back away walking over to the stool you were sitting in. 

“i thought you’d be glad i started it, i mean from the way you were yelling my name in the bathroom last night,” he raised his voice an octave, taking on a more nasally tone, “spike! spike!”. you shoved him in his shoulder, spike mocking hurt as he clutched his shoulder with a pouted lip.

“you know you really shouldn’t take advil, doesn’t help much,” he said plainly, taking a sip from his coffee. “i have a much better hangover cure,” he proclaimed, standing up from his seat. you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him shuffle around the kitchen, pulling out a multitude of items.

when he had finally gathered everything, he pointed his finger at you, raising and eyebrow as he tried to contain a smile. “now watch very closely, i’ll only teach you this once,”. you laughed softly, raising your hand to your forehead in salute.

“raw egg yolk,” spike said, cracking the egg into a bowl, your upper lip curling in disgust. “bear with me,” he chuckled. he grabbed the yolk with a spoon, separating it from the egg whites. he placed it into the glass, smiling at you. 

“pepper,” he said, sprinkling the seasoning from the canister on top of the egg yolk in the glass. “now for my favorite part,” he celebrated, grabbing the bottle of gin, pouring some of the liquid into the glass.

“why do i feel like this is gonna make me more drunk if anything,” you sighed, laying your head on your arms as you watched spike. he smiled, “would that really be that bad?”. you chuckled in response, looking over at spike as he grabbed the hot sauce with a proclamation, “last ingredient!”.

“and there you have it, my speciality, a prairie oyster,” he cheered, pushing the glass over to you. “spike,” you began to complain, drawing out his name. “jus’ try it! it works wonders, promise you,” he reassured you. 

“if i die, i’m haunting you in the afterlife,” “i’d welcome it,”. you grabbed the glass, lifting it to your mouth, swallowing the entirety of its substance. “yuck,” you exclaimed after swallowing, sticking out your tongue. “they grow up so fast,” spike teased, causing you to smile over at him. 

“you want pancakes?” you asked, standing up from your stool as you moved throughout the kitchen, grabbing pancake mix from the pantry, blueberries from the fridge. “you know me so well,” spike said, standing up after you. he leaned on the wall, watching you mix the pancake batter.

“need some music,” he stated, grabbing his phone. dream by the pied pipers began playing through the speaker of his phone, spike’s arms wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled his face into your neck. “gonna make me burn myself,” you laughed, pouring the batter into the pan.

“dance with me then,” spike said, spinning you around. you gasped before smiling up at him. “may i have this dance?” he joked, curtsying. “you may,” the grin audible in your voice as you held out your hand.

spike grabbed your hand, pulling you close, his hands falling to your waist, your hands latching behind his neck. he hadn’t stopped looking at you, a soft smile still on his face. you shuffled around the kitchen, step-together-step, spike grinning now. 

“my pancake’s gonna burn,” you laughed softly, leaning up to give spike a chaste kiss before wiggling out of his hold. you walked over to the stove, grabbing the spatula and flipping the pancake over.

spike’s arms were around your waist once more, spike leaving soft kisses on your exposed shoulder, only a thin tank top strap covering the skin. “so clingy today, spike,” you teased. “jus’ wanna be close,” he mumbled into your skin. “s’alright,” you said softly, your cheeks flushing with heat.

you felt that familiar feeling clutch onto your heart, but you pushed it away, not wanting to recognize what it meant, not wanting to be reminded of its familiarity. 

faye’s voice broke you from the comfort of spike’s arms, “hello lovebirds,” she said, walking over to the kitchen island. “faye,” you reprimanded slightly, telling her not to go any further. she just laughed, raising an eyebrow at you as spike now stood further away from you. he paused the music on his phone, his eyes still lingering on your face.

“you can take the first one spike,” you said, placing the blueberry pancake on a plate and handing it to spike.  

you were sitting on your bed, your mini yamaha keyboard sitting in front of you. your fingers played different chords as you quietly sung along. a knock on your door broke you from your tranquility as you raised your voice, “come in,”.

the door slid open, spike standing behind it. “hey,” you said, smiling up at him. you hadn’t really talked since this morning, faye interrupting whatever moment was going on between the two of you. maybe it was a good thing that she had interrupted you. 

maybe you were getting to attached, maybe this was becoming more than just forgetting. was it more for spike? “y/n, hey,” spike waved his hand in front of your face breaking you from your thoughts. “sorry,” you muttered, “zoned out for a sec, what’d ya need,” you said, patting the bed for spike to sit down.

he sat, tracing his finger across your keyboard, “didn’t know you played,” he said, looking at you intently. “not very well,” you smiled, “plus it’s a mini keyboard, not much i can do with it,” “play something for me,” spike suggested.

“i’m really not very good spi-” “please?” he asked, and you couldn’t help but oblige. your fingers pressed on the simple chords, your voice adding onto the music.

“sweet creature,” you sung softly, “had another talk about where it’s going wrong,”. you continued singing, your fingers pressing the keys in accordance to the notes you were singing. you couldn’t look up at spike, embarrassment consuming you as your eyes remained glued to your keyboard.

unable to cope with the feeling brewing in your stomach, you lifted your hand away from the keyboard. you mustered up the courage to look up at spike, his cheeks flushed a light pink, “y-your voice,” his voice broke for a moment, and you could visibly see him swallow. his voice grew quieter, “it’s really pretty,”.

you both sat there in silence for a moment. you could see the slightest hint of hurt etched on spike’s face, but it wasn’t your room to question why. you just wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug and muttering a “thank you,” into his skin. 

you don’t know how long you remained that way, but eventually spike’s arms were clutching onto you, your body acting as his anchor. you were his anchor.

though the two of you had gotten distracted for a moment, spike had originally come into your room to ask if you wanted to go grab something to eat. you now sat in a booth at spike’s favorite ramen restaurant. “s’good huh?” spike smiled as he watched you slurp up noodles.

“why have i never been invited here before?” you chastised jokingly, “can’t believe you would hide something like this from me,” you said dramatically, grabbing more noodles with your chopsticks. “i’ll only come here with you from now on,” spike promised. you couldn’t help the way your heartbeat quickened at his words.

“they give free matcha ice cream after the meal too,” spike added. you dropped your chopsticks into your bowl, looking over at spike with a smile. “i think i’m in heaven,” you reasoned, spike laughing softly.

spike had asked for the ice cream to go, and the pair of you now walked around the city center, matcha ice creams in hand. you pointed out a boutique, you and spike walking inside. the store was full of jewelry, candles, and other random items. you scanned through the rings sitting in a jewelry case. 

your eye fell on a green aventurine ring, the jewel grabbing your attention.”the green one?” spike asked, turning towards you. you looked at him with a raised eyebrow, a soft smile on your face, “how’d you know?” you asked, looking back down at the ring.

“suits you,” he said, his shoulder brushing against yours, “get it,”. you shook your head, turning to look around the store, “blew most of my bounty money already, shouldn’t spend anymore,” you reasoned. “did i say you’d be paying?” spike said, almost as though it puzzled him that you thought you’d pay for your own ring.

“spike, i can’t let you d-” “quit being stubborn, grab the ring,” he interrupted, walking towards the cash register. you grabbed the ring, quickly following behind him. the cashier rang it up with a mumble of, “7 dollars and 37 cents”. spike handed her a 10 dollar bill before grabbing your hand and leading you out of the store.

he grabbed your hand, slipping the ring on your pointer finger, “s’pretty,” he murmured, looking back up at your face. “yeah,” you said softly, and before your brain could catch up, you were wrapping your arms around his body and pulling him in for a hug.

“thank you,” you mumbled into spike’s chest, the giving a short hum in answer.

though cacri had been a beautiful planet, you were glad to be somewhere with a beautiful beach. hot, white sand that toasted the soles of your feet, almost crystal clear water. you were lounging in a beach chair, an umbrella over your face. you were reading an old play titled blithe spirit, you had picked it up from a bookstore after the ramen date with spike.

you reasoned that you shouldn’t call it a date, feelings already being designated as non-acceptable. you sighed, pushing your sunglasses onto your hair. though spike was the reason for your inner turmoil, you couldn’t help but watch him splash ed with water. 

he had a huge grin on his face, and you could hear his laughter. your eyes raked further down his body, pausing on his abdomen before you turned your attention back to your book. 

“you brought food right,” you heard spike’s voice, lifting your head as you saw him jogging towards you. ‘mhm’ you nodded, leaning over your chair and tapping on the picnic basket.

“ohh yum,” spike cheered, pulling out the container of chocolate covered strawberries. “want one?” he said, holding the fruit out to you. you accepted with a smile, biting down on the chocolate covered delicacy. a small amount of juice dribbled down your chin, spike laughing softly at you.

“always so messy,” he sighed, his thumb collecting the strawberry juice before bringing the digit to his tongue and lifting it up. you could feel the heat in your cheeks, that familiar tingle spreading throughout your body. 

“bathing suit’s pretty on you,” he complimented, his eyes raking over your figure with a smirk. he bit the chocolate covered strawberry whole, placing the remains on the cover of the container. 

“thanks for the snack,” spike grinned, running back down towards the shoreline. jet groaned from beside you, flipping over onto his back. 

“you guys disgust me,” he grumbled.

jet and ed walked back to jet’s ship with calls of, “see you back on the ship,”. faye had spent the day at the casino, and you teased her slightly for it earlier in the morning when she discussed her plans for the day.

you and spike had crammed into his ship for the beach trip, and you found yourself attempting to stuff towels and a picnic basket into the tight area. eventually, you both were seated, spike’s ship lifting off. 

“heard this song the other day,” spike said, looking at you for a second before focusing his attention back in front of him. “search up hey lover by daughter’s of eve,” he said, tilting his head towards his phone that sat in the center console of the ship. 

you grabbed the device, typing in the song title. music flooded the speakers of spike’s ship as you smiled at his head bobbing along to the beat. “hey hey hey lover,” spike sung off pitch, causing you to laugh softly.

he smiled over at you, “s’ earth music,” he said, turning the volume down slightly. “from the 1960s or something, long time ago,” “s’neat,” you smiled over at him. spike’s hand fell back to the volume nozzle, the music growing louder once more. 

spike’s hand grabbed yours causing you to gasp softly. he closed your hand into a fist, using it as a makeshift microphone as he continued to sing off-key. “focus on getting us back to the bebop,” you laughed softly, pulling your hand from his hold.

you sought out comfort from spike, your hand grabbing his. you soon realized the gravity of your actions, planning to pull away, but spike’s hand softly squeezed yours. you let your hands rest latched together on the center console as the moon began its ascent in the night sky. 

spike had come into your room that night, his body snuggling against yours under the cover. your soft breaths became synchronized as his arm wrapped around your midsection, the pair of you drifting off into sleep

that morning when you woke up, spike was no longer next to you.

you couldn’t help but wonder what you had done wrong. did he realize you had fallen in love with him? did you even realize it? you shook away the thoughts, getting into your ship.

spike had ignored you the entirety of the day, rushing out of the kitchen once he had seen you. you had decided that you needed some weed, something to calm you down. you were using it as a coping mechanism. you hadn’t gotten high in a while, most of your time spent with spike. 

you had blanked out the entire flight there, your brain on autopilot. you set your ship down, pushing open the door as you stepped out of your ship. the bell on the dispensary door rang, the cashier giving you a soft wave which you returned with a smile. you grabbed rolling paper, and a small bag of bud, the cashier totaling the amount.

“thanks,” you said softly, pushing open the door. you walked back to your ship, your mind flooded with images of spike, overrun with worries. on a lighter note, the planet you were on for this next bounty was actually one you had been to before. 

there was a beautiful lookout area that you had gone to with faye, and in no rush to return to the bebop, you set your destination for the lookout spot.

you had only been at the lookout for about 30 minutes when you felt the first drop of rain hit your skin. “fuck,” you grumbled. you set the joint down onto the dirt, stepping on it before you rushed into your ship. the rain was hitting the windshield, your ship lifting off as you headed back to the bebop.

the rain seemed to worsen as you got closer to the bebop, the raindrops hitting your windshield sounding like pellets. you set your ship down on the landing strip of the bebop, groaning at the thought of having to rush inside. you prepared yourself for the feeling of the cold rain on your skin, pushing open the door of your ship.

you yelped slightly, rushing down the landing strip and towards the entrance gate, which to your surprise, was already open. a figure was rushing towards you, and you soon made it out to be spike. the ship had been set down in the water for the night, close to the harbor, the lamplights from the sidewalk lighting up spike’s face.

“where were you,” he yelled as he rushed over to you. “you didn’t care earlier,” you grumbled walking towards the entrance of the bebop. spike grabbed your hand, turning you back towards him. “i was worried about you,” he yelled over the sound of the rain, and you couldn’t tell if tears were forming in your eyes or if it was just the rain. 

“yeah?” you yelled, your voice shaky, “all i’ve been doing all fucking day is worrying about you!” you ennunciated the last word with a jab to his chest. the rain was still coming down hard, your eyes squinting. “i can’t-” your voice hiccuped, your throat feeling tighter, “c-can’t do this anymore, spike,”. 

spike eyes remained at you, his bottom lip under his upper one. “it was jus’ to forget right?” you continued at spike’s silence, “so it doesn’t matter,”. you turned back walking towards the entrance once more.

“wasn’t to forget,” spike yelled over the rain, walking towards you as you paused your movements. “i-i was so scared this morning,” his voice quieted for a moment and you had to lean in to hear him. “you were humming something in your sleep, some tune,” he paused, looking down at the floor.

“every thing reminded me of her, every whistle i heard along to the melody of a song, every hum along to a certain tune,” he was looking at you now. “b-but for once, th-this wasn’t her anymore. i didn’t think about her,” spike’s voice broke. 

“it was only you,” he finished. you responded in the only way you saw acceptable, your hands planting on spike’s cheek as you pulled him in for a kiss. “s’ only been you,” spike mumbled into your lips. “only you,” you mumbled back. the kiss grew more passionate before you both pulled away, breathless. “

“i’m sorry,” he said, pulling you into him, your face pressing against the wet fabric of his shirt. “just want you,” you hiccuped, tears falling down your face now. “i’m not leaving,” spike reassured you.

the rain cascaded over your bodies, the memories of a past love washing away along with it. as the sky cleared, the moon marked the creation of new memories. new love blossomed with the dew.

[juniorgman187]

Something Borrowed, Something Blue (Reid Fic)

*MY GIF

Summary: Despite her engagement to someone else, Spencer grapples with the reality that he’s in love with SSA Reader when he sees her in her wedding dress.

A/N: I am so fucking proud of Spencer’s speech that I wrote.  Playlist: Till Forever Falls Apart by Ashe + FINNEAS This song hurts so good :,) Category: Fluffy happy ending! Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: possible unrequited love, soft angst  Word Count: 6k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Call it a superpower or a sixth sense, but I had this inexplicable, preternatural ability to detect when we weren’t heading in the right direction - a skill unaffected by even shut eyes or the deepest slumber. 

It seems as though after all these years of being (y/n)’s passenger, my body has developed a survival adaptation in order to offer her guidance before she would even have to ask, or worse - lower her pride and admit she’s lost! 

With as hard-headed as she is, she’d sooner drive us to Timbuktu before asking me for help.

I was half-asleep when I peeked through one half-lidded eye to observe where we were only to see she blew right by Gregory Boulevard when she should’ve turned left on it. 

“Um, you should make a u-turn at this next light,” I gently advised her before returning my head to its previous position perched on my hand. I closed my eyes again with the presumption she would follow my navigation and make a u-turn, but when I didn’t feel the car change course, I opened them to see that she blew right past the stoplight, too. 

“Hey, my apartment’s that way.” I gestured behind us while looking at her for the first time, catching a smug look on her face. That’s when I knew I was in for it. “Where are you taking me?” 

“You’ll see.” 

“You know I don’t like surprises,” I grumbled, slumping back into my seat with partially renewed energy. Her little antics never failed to get my heart racing. I never knew whether to expect a sweet sunset or a sea of snakes when it came to her. She was that polarizing. “Can I at least get a hint?” I egged on, considering she had yet to even reply to my first statement. 

She was completely unfazed by my pleading. She didn’t even peel her eyes away from the road - that’s how little attention she thought I deserved. “Mmm depends. What’s the magic word?” 

This blatant tease was successfully getting a rise out of me. “Pleaseee,” I dragged out the word as if it would do me any good to let her hear it for longer, but in reality, she just liked to hear me beg. 

She took a sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth, a chupse, to express her displeasure before saying, “Ooh tough luck. The magic word was actually mushroom, but nice try.” 

A mirthless chuckle escaped me for willingly falling for her tricks despite knowing she’d pull something just like that. This girl was the bane of my existence, but at least she still rewarded me with a hint anyway. 

“Your hint is …” While pondering what hint to give me, her eyes traveled to the side, away from the road long enough to make my heart palpitate in a “if-she-doesn’t-pay-attention-to-the-road, we’re-both-gonna-die” kind of way. 

“... something old.” 

Again, she tore her eyes away from the road so she could register my reaction, but truthfully, I didn’t have one. I had no idea what that hint meant. Or rather I had too many ideas, far too many to limit to just one. 

She could’ve been talking about the age of a location, the history of a place, the vintage appearance of something - virtually anything.

“There’s an infinite amount of possibilities about what that could mean,” I argued. “If you actually want me to guess, you’ll have to give me something more.” 

As expected, she was not a fan of my whining and simply rolled her eyes at me. “Oh, stop complaining and use that big brain of yours. I’m sure you’ll figure it out before we even get there.” 

Although there was a high probability she was right that I could’ve solved it by myself, it was more enticing to feed off of what she could give me. “What if I ask you ‘yes or no’ questions?”

The gears in her head were turning as she weighed the pros and cons of humoring my offer. “You better ask some good questions then,” was her answer, which was the long way of saying yes. 

“Is this ‘something old’ an object?”

She hesitated, then decided on, “No.” So I took that as maybe. 

“Is this ‘something old’ a place?” 

There was no indecision with this answer. “No.” 

“Is this ‘something old’ as in appearance?” 

Again, a partial hesitation, but still ultimately a, “No.”

Realizing I pretty much exhausted the tangible, I settled for something more abstract. “Is this ‘something old’ a concept?”

“Yes, you could say that.” 

Her answer would prove to be redundant, as just seconds after we would arrive at our mystery destination. 

Ellie’s Bridal Boutique. 

“Something old, something new. Something borrowed, something blue.” I recited to myself under my breath when I finally unearthed the meaning. The rhyme was a wedding tradition that referred to the things a bride is supposed to wear on her wedding day that’s meant to provide protection and prosperity for the new couple - a superstition.

“Ding! Ding! Ding!” She mimicked the sound of a winning buzzer. “And you are going to be my something old.” 

A short chuckle left me as I stepped out of the car. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do - wear me?” I jested. 

“Well you are a very pretty boy, but I don’t know if you’re pretty enough to wear down the aisle.” 

“So then how am I going to be your something old? I’m only two years older than you.” 

She stopped dead in her tracks on the sidewalk to reach for my hand. I’d be lying if I said the chilling warmth of it didn’t make my breath hitch. My eyes fell to where our bodies met, but they rose to look at her again when she finally spoke. 

“You’re the very first person I met when I started working in the BAU, which makes you my oldest friend on the team, and since you were the first one that saw me, I wanted you to be the first one that saw me in my dress, too.” 

I was already aware that she’d picked out her wedding gown months before, so this appointment couldn’t have been anything more than an alteration update. The only reason I knew that, besides the obvious, was because I could still remember with perfect clarity the morning she came into work after her fitting. She marched right up to my desk to wave a picture of her in the garment right in my face. It wasn’t until I drew back with my head that I could see the image clearly. The dress, while incredibly stunning on her, ‘didn’t fit right’ - her words, not mine. 

“But that’s not how it’s actually gonna look on me. I asked them to take in the waist, change the neckline, and alter the length.” She vividly described to me, letting her finger run over the digital photo of the dress as she spoke. “Do you see what I mean?”

I lied when I said, “Yeah, I do,” because really, I didn’t need her to describe the details to me - I could already see the vision. Even if the dress was the wrong color, length, and ‘poofiness,’ I’d still think she’d look lovely. 

It was my only hope that her future husband would think so, too. 

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here for my alteration with Reagan at 4.” Just as quickly as she introduced herself to the receptionist, she was being whisked away by an older woman who seemed to have recognized her. 

“Oh, (y/n)! It’s so good to see you again! Come, come, your dress is ready. I just know you’ll love it.” 

Before she slipped out of my vision completely, (y/n) turned around to address me. “I’ll be right back, I promise. Just wait here.” 

I raised my hand in the air to give a short acknowledgment goodbye and followed her instruction to sit in the chair that lied directly in front of a circular raised platform. 

“Are you the groom?” A soft voice from beside me suddenly asked. I looked up to see it was the receptionist holding a tray with a glass of champagne. 

“Oh, I’m okay thank you,” I denied the alcohol with a shake of my head. “And no, no I’m not. Just an … an old friend.” Again, her words, not mine. 

It would come as a surprise to both me and you that with as much as I know about the world, I had no idea how long this would take before I saw her again. With my estimates, it should take maybe fifteen minutes maximum before she walked out in her dress, but who knows? It’s (y/n) after all. She runs on her own clock. The sun rises and sets on her. 

At least in my world it does. 

By around minute 17, I realized my estimates were way off and there was no way she’d be coming out any time soon, so with all that I could do in that store having been done already, the only thing left for me to do was read. Nothing of quality, though. Just those frivolous bridal magazines on the coffee table beside me. I didn’t even want to think about the germs and bacteria that were harboring on these reading materials, but if it meant it’d cure my boredom then perhaps the contraction of microbes would be worth it. 

To say I wasn’t well-versed in fashion would be an understatement and reading the subscriptions only emphasized that further. To put it in perspective, you could style my future bride in a medieval frock and it wouldn’t discourage me whatsoever because I simply have no understanding of what a ‘good’ wedding dress is, therefore, I cannot make an accurate comparison. 

Take, for example, the dress on page 17 of Modern Bride. The model was donning a high neck, long sleeve creme satin dress. I thought it looked quite nice and classic, but the excerpt described it as totally out of style and too old - a faux pas.

But when comparing that dress to the gown on page 24 of The Bride’s Guide, I couldn’t spot a single difference between the two, yet this passage was written in complete adoration. “This dress is vintage done right,” said the article. But to me - they were exactly identical! What was wrong with the first one?

Maybe it was a good thing grooms weren’t allowed to help pick wedding dresses because if I had to assist my bride in picking her’s, then, of course, it would be bad luck! I’d probably pick something utterly horrendous!

I had to admit it was slightly humiliating to confront my incompetence relating to wedding dresses, so before my self-esteem plummeted any further, I set the magazines back in their rightful place on the coffee table so they could once again be what they were always intended for - extraneous decor. 

With a flick of my watch, I noted the period of waiting had only increased by three minutes. Again, I had yet to master the art of wedding garment fittings, but how was 20 minutes not enough time to put a dress on? However, unlike my better half, I had (relatively) zero problems admitting my ignorance, whereas she’d rather drive us off a cliff or into a lake before letting me know she was lost. 

In surrender to my lack of knowledge, I rose from my seat to approach the receptionist and ask if she had a more accurate estimate for how long it would be until I saw (y/n) again. But as it turns out, any estimate she might’ve been able to tell me would’ve been completely wrong for she wouldn’t have even been able to finish her answer before the aforementioned future bride entered the space behind me. 

Remember before when I said I had no gauges of good fashion to outrank a medieval frock? Well, I stand corrected. 

(Y/n) in her dress is what I will measure everyone against. And no one will ever compare. 

“Wow…” The word came out of my mouth before I could think to stop it. My tone was so honest that it scared me. “I’m - You’re …” I was at a total loss for words that I had to sit back down to hopefully regain some clarity. She laughed at my stupidity with a laugh so gentle, I couldn’t not laugh back. 

“That good, huh?” 

I wordlessly nodded while my mouth lied openly in waiting. But the right words never came out; there just weren’t any that could capture this vision of perfection in front of me. 

My mannerisms had clearly already given away the true level of my admiration, so in an effort to lessen the enormity of my obvious wonderment, I reluctantly broke my gaze away from the angel in white and picked up a magazine on the table to perfect the notion of nonchalance. 

“You look . . .” She impatiently waited for my addition, even doing the most adorable little twirl in her dress to give me the full view in the meantime. “Nice,” was the adjective I settled for, as it was such a thoughtless response that perhaps it would convince her that there weren’t a million thoughts on my mind. The most recurring one, and arguably the most troubling one being: I think I’m in love with you. 

“Nice?” She repeated like the word stung her tongue, more out of mock offense than earnest disappointment. “You’re reading your magazine upside down so it’s gotta be better than nice.”

I bashfully looked down to find that, sure enough, her words were true. The magazine was upside down and therefore a total revelation of just how ‘nice’ I really thought she looked.

I tried to hide my smile behind my knuckles as I pressed a fist to my lips, deciding on the most sincere compliment I could give her. 

“Nobody holds a candle to you, (y/n),” I nodded in affirmation. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

After saying so, I nonchalantly - well as nonchalantly as one could when caught slack-jawed and completely in awe - reoriented the catalog. Had I glanced up even a second later, I might not have caught her reaction to my words and the way they made her smile uncontrollably. I looked back down at the magazine with a smirk, giving it a brief flick to open up the pages all the way to me and parrot the motions one would make if they were actually reading.

We both knew I wasn’t though. 

It seemed I never left that wedding boutique because even as we arrived outside my apartment later that day, my mind was still there, stuck on the future bride in her gown.

“Earth to Spencer!” She waved her hand in front of me to grab my attention despite already having it. “We’re here!” She announced. Who was I kidding? She always had my attention. I only wish it didn’t take me this long to realize that the reason she was constantly at the front of my mind was that I loved her.

Nearly about to exit the car, the millionth and one thought rang in my head like a bell - wedding bells, if you will. 

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

At a tantalizingly slow speed, I released the doorknob and turned back towards her.

“...I love you.”

She furrowed her brows and shrugged with her mouth, forming a confused pout. “I love you, too, Reid?” She kind of laughed when she said it, so I knew she thought this was just a friend sending off a friend goodbye, but I couldn’t let her think that’s what I meant. 

“No, not like that.” I clarified with the utmost candor. “I’m in love with you.” I shook my head when I said it which, in any other context, might make you think I was lying, but the shake of my head was merely the physical manifestation of every bone in my body knowing I shouldn’t be saying this, but my heart still having the audacity to do it anyway. 

I confessed with that brutally honest tone again, the one so raw and vulnerable it leaves you nauseous and breathless all at once as you anxiously anticipate the other person’s response to your vulnerability. But I couldn’t even meet her eyes, I was too scared. Even if I had, they would’ve been vacant. Her spirit had vanished from her body, and in its departure left just the shell of a woman who was completely void of color. Her flushed face was a remnant of the shock that paralyzed her and it wouldn’t disappear even as I tried to bring her color back. 

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I wish I had better timing - trust me, I will beat myself up later for not saying it sooner. But I promise you, I am not trying to ruin things between you two and I would never actually try to stand in the way of your wedding - you have to believe me. I want you to be happy and if he’s what makes you happy, then I will live with that. I just had to tell you now because ... if you married him without ever knowing how I felt, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself.”

This was true - I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if I hadn’t said anything - but now that I have - will she be able to forgive me?

Vacant stares turned into piercing glares that drove, what felt like, a thousand daggers right through my heart. She was looking at me as though I were a stranger - completely unrecognizable to her. 

(Y/n), it’s me. It’s Spencer. Don’t you remember me? My heart pleaded. I’m still the same guy I was before. I’m the first friend you made on the team, remember? I’m your something old. Please, please remember me. 

By the time I came to the woeful conclusion that she wouldn’t reply, at least not now, there was only one question weighing on my heart heavily enough to make me ask it before I left her car. 

“Would it have been better if I didn’t tell you?” 

My question stayed answerless even as I lingered at the door after getting out, waiting for one. I knew I should’ve closed it, but I couldn’t. In many ways, it would’ve been shutting the only open vessel to her, formally closing myself off from our friendship. The possibility of losing her as soon as I walked away was too real, and I wasn’t ready yet.

“Please, (y/n), talk to me.” It was a trending theme to have every word I spoke be underlined by this profound piteousness. “Say something.” Say anything.

“I ... I need to get home,” She quietly whimpered, practically begging me to let her go. Up until then, I didn’t want to, but I suddenly wished I had shut the door sooner so that I might not have had to hear the quiet addition, “To my fiancé.”

The color she was so void of in her face? It seems I must have recompensed, for not only was I crowned her something old that day, but I was also her something blue. 

_ _ _ 

If there were a guidebook on all the things to do as the love of your life’s wedding (to someone else) nears, I’d like to think I was following all the protocol. 

Since my not-so-subtle confession, I had yet to press the subject or force her for an answer to my final question, which I think she was thankful for. I also hadn’t plotted a giant scheme to ruin the wedding, nor did I have any intentions of doing so. 

For all intents and purposes, I was acting as a gentleman (who’s in love with you but whom you’re not marrying) ideally should.

You would think that after my big declaration, (y/n) would do everything in her power to avoid me. It’s what I would’ve done. But she’s no coward. That exact heart of gold I fell in love with made no exceptions. Because even after what I did, she still had it in her to extend her kindness to me. 

She’s stubborn like that, remember? 

And though she was showering me with a treatment I didn’t deserve, it still wasn’t enough for my greedy heart. 

The true pain lied in the pretending. Every day I would have to come to work and talk with her and laugh with her and smile with her - I would have to be her friend … pretending that was all that I wanted and nothing more. 

It was both a blessing and a curse that she was acting just as she always had with me. It may seem weird to have expected, nay - wanted - a different reaction from her, but I just wanted something. At least, if she was angry, then I would know what I said had some effect on her, but she was just so indifferent. Like what I said didn’t matter. 

It’s been said that there is a thin line between love and hatred. Hate and love both seem to be involved in the neural processing of what is sometimes referred to as the arousal effect of emotion - this is a technical term, so arousal can be negative. Scientists studying the physical nature of hate have found that some of the nervous circuits in the brain responsible for it are the same as those that are used during the feeling of romantic love – although love and hate appear to be polar opposites. Therefore, the same brain circuitry is involved in both extreme emotions. So, as strange as it may sound, if she didn’t love me, then I at least wanted her to hate me, just so I’d know she had any passion for me that matched my burning passion for her.

But as it turns out, she would never go on to display signs of hatred or love, for she never acted passive-aggressively, never gave me the silent treatment - nothing. Nope, she just acted as if it never happened. She went on with her life, essentially expecting me to do the same, but how could I carry on with life while she was still carrying half of my heart with her? 

It’s an impossible feat, that - to walk around with half a heart. And it’s one that has not gotten easier with time. If anything, time has made it worse, and the closer we got to the wedding, the more difficult it became for me to hold back. And with this exponential growth, it was only inevitable that the pinnacle of difficulty came right before the wedding. 

Before shit hit the fan, she arranged, or rather insisted, that I give a speech at the dinner rehearsal. That hadn’t changed, despite almost everything else having done so. Up until the minute I arrived at the venue, I could’ve recited that speech a million times, forwards and backwards, in my sleep, or even in Russian. But I lost any ability to form coherent thoughts from the second I laid eyes on her. 

As soon as I opened the door, she stood at the entrance to greet her guests, having taken a radiant form that I could only imagine would not pale in comparison to what she would look like tomorrow on her actual wedding day. That thought alone scared me shitless. 

If this is how beautiful she looked tonight and it was only just the rehearsal, how would I ever be able to resist her less than 24 hours from now when she would be marrying a man I could only dream of being half so lucky as?

“Spencer!” Familiar crinkles formed around her eyes as a result of her gigantic smile when she saw me and hugged me thereafter. Her embrace was strangely tighter and lasted for longer than usual, not that I was complaining, but I had to wonder if she was compensating for something. What’s that saying - keep your friends close, and your enemies closer? Was she killing me with kindness? That might’ve been wishful thinking though. Because the same flash of indifference I’d been dealt in recent times came back into her face and tone after hugging me. “You’re at table five with the rest of the team.” 

“Oh, thanks.”

That was it? Just a ‘Spencer!’ and then a nudge in the direction of my seat? No questions about my speech? No threatening comments to not say anything that would ruin the charade we’d been playing for months now? Had she forgotten I was even giving a speech?

“Oh, wait, Spencer!” I felt her hand on my shoulder before I heard her voice. “You left this in my car a couple months ago. I’ve been meaning to give it back to you, but I didn’t remember until today.” 

The first thing that raised a red flag was what she was saying. I’d left something in her car? That would imply that I’d forgotten something, and we both knew that wasn’t possible. But the second suspicious element was the matter of what she claimed I’d left behind. She was handing me a book with the back cover facing me. From the looks of it alone, it wasn’t mine. Clearly, it wasn’t mine. I knew every single book that resides on my shelves and this one has never once crossed them. That, on top of the new book smell and the lack of a wear in the spine, was enough to tell me that not only was this a book I’d never read nor was one to grace my bookshelf, but it was most certainly not one I would have left behind.

She was lying. 

She saw the realization dawn on me, but knowing I would mention it, her hand’s grip around my wrist, which I hadn’t noticed was even there in the first place, tightened, sending me a message. 

She knew I saw the deception. There were so many flaws in what she was saying, that she couldn’t have possibly been clueless of them. It was too easy. Or maybe that was by design. She wanted me to figure out it was a lie. But why?

What was she hiding?

The final thing to leave me when she did was her hand. In its place, it had left a a near perfect indentation in my sleeve. How flawlessly it sculpted to her hand told me just how tightly she was holding me. What was she trying to say?

That’s when I flipped the book over to see the cover. 

Can Love Happen Twice?

And right on the inside cover page was scribbled - in a handwriting so distinctive it could only belong to one person and one person alone - “Yes.” 

_ _ _ 

My heart was racing the entire night as I anxiously awaited for the moment to give my speech. Nothing seemed to ease the tension. Not a sip of water, not the loosening of my tie, not the self-soothing bouncing of my leg. But all it took, all it took was one glance from her and suddenly, the storm within me had settled. 

“Next up we have a speech from Spencer Reid!” 

I rose from my seat like a floundering mess, as to be expected, because how can you possibly catch your bearings as you’re about to make a speech to a room full of people?

“H-hi there. I’m Dr. Spen- I’m Spencer Reid. I’ve worked with (y/n) for several years now and - and so I, um, I wrote this speech for her, so, so I’m gonna read it to you all now,” My stammering had gotten the best of me, so before I could unravel into the mess I surely came off as right about now, I spun from my previous position facing the majority to facing only her. I needed to see her. I needed the reprieve of her eyes again, and she was happy to give it to me.

“(Y/n), from the moment I met you, I thought who is she? And I mean that quite literally because I had no idea who you were and why you were there,” Laughter from the crowd erupted, but her laugh was the only one that mattered to me. “But also because there was just something about you that told me I needed to talk to you. I had no idea what that instinct to strike up a conversation with you would lead to, but I trust my gut a little more now because that very intuition gave me one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” 

To my words, an endeared pout formed on her face. She was touched, and I was glad. 

“Over the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years we’ve spent together, I have enjoyed every single measure of time with you. You have taught me more about life and myself than I could have ever learned otherwise - which says a lot,” This once again brought her to laughter. “So I thank you for that, because without you, there would be no one to tell my campfire stories to, there would be no one who could recite Jung or Freud with me, and there would be no one I’d have to correct when they drive down the wrong path,” My own chuckle cut my sentence short. 

“Life with you has simply been made better, and my only hope is that tomorrow, as you get married, you too, will experience that eternal bliss with which you have surely bestowed upon everyone who has had the privilege of knowing you.”

By now both of us were on the verge of tears, hers more apparent than mine as she used the palm of her hand to stifle her sniffles. 

“There is so much more I could say about how great you are, but your favorite author, F. Scott Fitzgerald, has said it best. ‘She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines. She was beautiful, for the way she thought. She was beautiful, for the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful, for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No she wasn’t beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul. She is beautiful’,” A tear ran down her cheek as my own eyes welled up beyond their means. “So to you both - may you have a life as beautiful as the bride.”

Even if that life isn’t with me. 

I tuned out all the clapping and cheering, and set my focus solely on her, giving me full liberty to see the way she rose from her chair and escaped the room. Not even shock could paralyze me or stop me from running after her. I sprung so fast into action, which required the maximum amount adrenaline, although I could not credit my speed to the rush, but it was more the exclusive motivation to find her that powered me. The entire time I kept calling out her name as I frantically chased her out of the venue. 

“Spencer.” 

I didn’t even see her there at first, probably because I was half-expecting her to be jumping into a cab or running away from me some more when I found her, but just as before, she made it too easy for me. She was waiting for me, standing there in no spectacular fashion. 

The wind was blowing strands of hair in her face that were not so large so that I couldn’t see the red rings around her eyes that were caused by the irritation and formation of tears. She was simply staring back at me with this look in her eyes as if she wanted to say something. 

In the silence, I could still appreciate how astonishingly gorgeous she was. How badly I wanted her. I would’ve whisked her away and taken her as mine if I knew it would make her happy. But that’s just it - I didn’t know. 

I needed her to say it. So say it. 

Say it, darling. 

Spoken through a congested voice (which spoke volumes in reality because of the mere revelation that she was indeed crying) was the plainest, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, she vanished back into the restaurant, leaving me to my devices on the sidewalk. 

She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to. 

_ _ _ 

Perhaps the false confidence in my speech or what little she had to say to me after it or even the hidden message in the book got to my head, but whatever it was, I was feeling suspiciously alright. Luckily, that feeling didn’t deviate even as I made my way to the church. 

Upon arrival, everything seemed exactly as it should be, so consequently the lack of something out of place did not adequately denote what lied just beyond those doors. Or should I say what didn’t?

Much to my mortification, it was a completely empty church. Every pew, though decorated for a wedding, was uninhabited and showed no indications of having been such recently. As I walked further in, the door automatically shut behind me with a loud bang. It would’ve shocked me more had something else not caught my attention already. 

It was (y/n), standing at the altar … completely alone. 

Suddenly, it felt like I’d been drawn in by this invisible gravity, which was now floating me down the aisle. My feet could not carry me to her fast enough.

I was sure this was some kind of dream simply by the way the light gleamed through the stained glass windows, casting banners of golden luminescence on her. It was as if heaven itself had come down with the specific delegation to illuminate the vision of one of its fallen angels. 

“(Y/n)?” My voice reverberated throughout the chapel, ricocheting off the high, painted ceilings and back to me. “Where is everyone?” 

It wasn’t until I reached a certain point in the middle aisle, that I realized her veil had been covering her face this entire time. The angel in white only turned more heavenly when she flipped the veil backward, revealing herself to me. 

It took her a moment to answer, but it was her head that answered first before her mouth did. She began shaking her head slowly, followed by a short, unequivocal, “No.”

As you might imagine, I was dumbfounded. “No?” That answer wouldn’t have made sense in the context of what I had previously asked. 

“No.” She repeated, with somehow even more definitiveness. I decided it was best to stay silent and wait for her explanation. 

“No, it wouldn’t have been better if you didn’t tell me.” 

There was my answer I’d been searching for. 

“God, Spencer - what took you so long?” 

From the breathlessness and the rushed cadence of her voice, I knew precisely what was coming next. She instantaneously abandoned the bouquet she’d been clutching in favor of her hands’ ability to pull me in. The pressure on my fragile skull when our frenzied lips finally met was not a punishment so much as it was a reward. And just as we began to find our rhythm, I slid my hand into her hair, which I began to regret when I realized just how much time and effort probably went into its structuring. I pulled away the moment I felt a carefully placed pin lodged within her hair slip between my fingers. 

True, for a moment I was unable to open my eyes afterward from the sheer elation I was experiencing, but as I came to, I found myself looking at the hairpin I’d accidentally extracted from her curls, one that I could’ve sworn I’d seen a fellow coworker of ours donning in the past. 

“Is this -”

“Yep, it’s Penelope’s.” She admitted through the most debonair giggles. After giving her a quizzical, and only partially judgmental glance, she managed to blurt out, “What? Why are you looking at me like that? It was my ‘something borrowed’!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

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