#it’s really mild but I’m throwing it in there just in case

[reiding-writing]

Congrats on 1000 followers! That's such a huge milestone! For the climacteric event, could you do a continuation of 'Takedown'? Maybe a role reversal, where cold!reader witnesses a badass moment from Spencer (whether his 'takedown' is physical or verbal is up to you) and gets flustered about it? I love your cold!reader series so much, it's such a great character dynamic with the rest of the cast!! Congrats again!

TAKEDOWN [CLIMACTERIC]

/ˈteɪkˌdaʊn/ /part one/

Spencer might be a know-it-all, but at least he actually knows the things that he talks about.

WARNINGS: fem!reader, just some guy being really obnoxious and annoying, mild mansplaining

spencer reid x cold!reader || fluff || 2.4k || event masterlist!!

a/n: we’re gonna ignore i uploaded this prematurely and just focus on the fic thanks 😭🫶

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ cold!reader masterlist!!

this is a continuation of my original ’takedown’ fic for cold!reader with a role reversal!

Spencer wouldn’t say that he liked to ‘show off’.

He knew he was smarter than most people, and his teammates knew he was smarter than most people, and that meant that when he displayed his intelligence to provide important details about a case, the team would take his word for it.

It saved a lot of time in explanations for where he got his information from and allowed for profiles to be built at twice the speed.

But sometimes asking someone to quote a source was necessary.

Case in point, a police detective from Indiana who just would not leave the BAU team alone as they tried to curate a profile for the serial killer they were hunting.

Some of his muses, most definitely flukes in knowledge, actually did have a productive outcome.

“A majority of stabbing cases have an underlying sexual motive, so I’ve taken the liberty of looking into the sex-offences registry for anyone who could be our killer,”

And some…

“Have we considered the possibility that our killer is actually killers, I mean if you look at the stab patterns across the victims, there’s a clear dominant and submissive personality no?”

…were the exact opposite.

“What you’re seeing is a progression of the unsub’s confidence,” Spencer shook his head slightly at the detectives attempt at an explanation. “The slashes are only jagged and uncertain in the two first victims, with all of the victims after that displaying much more confident wounds, which clearly shows the evolution of one individual, not multiple,”

He didn’t like having to shut other people’s trains of thought down, it was something that he’d gone through enough to not want to put anyone else through it, but when they were the complete opposite of productive, sometimes it was for the best.

It was remarkably easy to tell when somebody had read something on the internet rather than actually going through the training required to be competent in a certain specialty. Especially when it came to the forensic side of things.

Throwing in key words like dominant and submissive personalities didn’t mean that he knew what he was on about. It just meant that he’d read a few case articles on a certain subject and then passed that off as a rounded understanding of whatever concept he was trying to explain.

And it was really frustrating.

“What’s wrong with you today?” You enter the put aside meeting room with narrowed eyes, a cup of takeout coffee in your hand that serves as a relic of you being able to escape from the hellhole that Spencer was inherently trapped in.

“It’s nothing, i’m alright,” He presses his lips into that awkward smile of his, but it lacks any of the genuity that it’s usually accompanied by, merely a shell of a smile that Spencer knows you’re not buying.

A quirk of your eyebrow is the only push needed for his façade to break immediately.

“It’s just—” Spencer exhales heavily through his nose, biting the inside of his mouth in a will for him to keep himself together. “I’m just frustrated.”

You gesture with your head for him to continue, and it’s like you’ve blown a hole in a dam with how fast everything comes tumbling out.

“Officer Harrison keeps interrupting the investigation and talking about absolute nonsense under the guise of it being objective fact and I’ve spent so long correcting him that I haven’t actually managed to do anything,” He gets it all out in a single breath, and it’s honestly quite impressive to watch until he’s caught at the end with barely any air left in his lungs and has to take a moment to catch it up.

“I just wish he would leave me alone,”

You haven’t met Officer Harrison, too busy with the coroner and taking interviews, but if you had to make an educated guess you’d say Spencer’s apparent frustration was well founded.

He wasn’t one to exaggerate things.

“Tell him to then,” You shrug out your answer like it’s easy, leaning your lower back against the table to sip at your coffee.

“I’m not like you,” Spencer sighs exasperatedly, his shoulders in a slump alongside his mind. “I can’t just— scare people off,”

You give a small quirk of your eyebrow at his assessment of your personality, and Spencer can see the small traces of amusement in the corners of your mouth. “You have the authority Reid, you outrank him tenfold,”

“I know, I just—” Spencer shrugs, defeated. “I don’t know, I just can’t,” He uncaps his marker to return to the barren whiteboard to try and actually get some decent headway on the profile with a solemn expression, submitting himself to the inevitability of having to do two jobs at once.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Your offer sounds almost like an assassination proposal, monotonous and almost too serious.

“No,” Spencer shakes his head lightly. “No it’s alright, it’s not your problem, I’ll be okay,”

“You’e sure?”

“Yeah,” He gives you a small nod over his shoulder, lips pressed into a line as a grateful but dismissive smile. “Thanks anyway,”

You push yourself from the table with a sigh, joining Spencer at his side to pull the marker from his hand.

“Wh—“

“Go make yourself a coffee Reid.” You cap the marker with a knowing tilt of your head, putting it away in your back pocket so he can’t try and take it back from you. “You need to take five and calm down, you aren’t going to get anything done like this,”

You can see the want to turn your idea down, to say that he’s fine and not affected by the officer in his expression, but you both know it’s not something to be acted on, and so gives you a small nod with an exasperated exhale as he drags himself out of the meeting room to do as you’d asked.

He’s grateful for it really, the warm ceramic under his hands serving as a grounding point and sickly sweetness of the drink as it reaches his taste-buds a welcome distraction from the rampant frustration inhabiting his prefrontal cortex, but that small voice in the back of his head continues to torment him about the inevitability of having to deal with the officer again.

He knows he should at least try to let it go over his head. If he stepped back into the meeting room like he was you probably wouldn’t even let him get one foot in the door before sending him on a longer break, but he didn’t want a break, he wanted to work, to crack this profile open and actually make some real headway.

He just needed to take a second to breathe.

When he does return to the meeting room, you’re not alone anymore, and Spencer can practically feel the amount of will power you’re using to keep your mouth shut as Officer Harrison rambles on about something he’s not quite close enough to hear yet.

“…very unlikely for that to actually happen,” The officer points to a section of scrawl you’d added to the whiteboard after Spencer’s departure, something about brief episodes of mania as a possible reason behind the unsub’s violent attacks.

“That’s not actually true, it’s been disproved dozens of times over,” You shake off his attempt at over-explaining your own theory to you with a full tone and a shake of your head, a clear indication for him to leave you alone.

He doesn’t of course, and Spencer swears he sees your eye twitch as Officer Harrison continues to talk aimlessly.

“I’m just saying, there’s research to support the idea that serial killers make their crimes more gruesome than they need to post-mortem so they can plead insanity in court if they’re caught,” He raises his hands in mock surrender, and you quirk your eyebrow at his explanation.

“And where did you get that information from?”

“A doctorate thesis paper from Stanford,” Officer Harrison crosses his arms like he’s secured a victory over you in knowing something that an expert doesn’t. “You’ve probably never read it, it was an investigation into the differences between legal and clinical insanity, and it concluded that serial murderers over gruesomise their kills to plead legal insanity in court despite being completely sound of mind,” He points back at your scribbling with his index finger, knocking his knuckle against the board. “So this theory isn’t worth looking into sweetheart, trust me,”

The use of the placeholder ‘pet’ name makes your eyebrows furrow until there’s a prominent frown line between them. “I have read that paper, for your information,” You spin the whiteboard marker between the fingers of your left hand, likely a way to expel some of the tension in your muscles as you grow increasingly frustrated with the man.

“You don’t have to lie sweetheart, it’s alright, no one’s expecting you to have read an 85,000 word paper from almost a decade ago, I just like to educate myself in my free time,” He shrugs with a nonchalant expression, but there are traces of what’s almost condescendion in his tone and Spencer decides it’s time to stop this little debate before Officer Harrison ends up with a broken nose and you end up getting a very long talk from Hotch.

“She wrote it,” Spencer presses his lips into a tight line as he walks around the table to join you at the whiteboard.

“Excuse me?” The officer blinks at Spencer blankly, eyebrows knitting together in a mix of confusion and a slight amount of irritation at Spencer’s intrusion.

“The thesis paper you’re talking about? She was the one who wrote it,” He nods his head in your direction, and he can physically see the way the officer’s air of intellectual superiority drains from his face.

“And I’m not actually convinced that you’ve read the whole thing yourself, everything you mentioned was part of the paper’s abstract, which at an average reading speed of 238 words per minute, should have only taken you a minute and 24 seconds to read, rather than the 5 hours and 54 minutes to read the whole thing,” Spencer feels a little guilty for how good the drop in Officer Harrison’s face makes him feel, but it’s easily overrun by inherent relief at getting the frustration off his chest.

“Can you name anything important from that paper apart from what you just mentioned? Anything at all?” The frustration underlying Spencer’s tone was obvious, and it was almost gratifying for you to watch him take a stand in his own beliefs for once.

There’s a few moments where he pauses, giving Officer Harrison the very slim opportunity to redeem himself and prove he had actually read through the whole document.

Neither of you needed to watch him try and stumble through his answer to know that he didn’t.

“Maybe if you had read it you’d know that the ‘fact’ you just mentioned, was proportional to the percentage of serial murderers that weren’t diagnosed with any mental illness prior to their arrest, which was only 63% of the total sample that was analysed. 114 of the murderers were actually diagnosed with some form of clinical psychosis, which is still entirely probable for the unsub that we’re looking for,” There’s a lingering trace of snark dousing Spencer’s tone, joined by an elevated sense of conviction as he narrows his eyes towards Officer Harrison. “Or maybe you’d at least remember that it was actually 97,502 words long, not 85,000,”

The fact that Spencer recalled such specific details of your thesis shouldn’t be a shock to you, his eidetic memory was practically a staple of his character after all, but considering you weren’t even aware he’d read it in the first place until five minutes ago made that revelation hit you just a little harder than it probably should.

“If you want to act like an expert in something, become an expert in something,” Spencer crosses his arms and it may as well have been a done deal. “Don’t pass off surface level, incorrect information as objective fact, all you’re doing is slowing the real experts down,”

The assertiveness in his tone, whilst occasionally used when arguing his point for a specific topic, was much more present as he shut down the Officer, and it was almost a little too gratifying to watch the wind get knocked out of his sails at Spencer’s reprimand.

“Now if you’d please excuse us, we have a profile to work on,” He gestures to the whiteboard with his head, and Officer Harrison is off like a whippet, retreating out of the room with his tail between his legs and a traffic light red coating his face from the embarrassment.

You give a dragged out whistle as the door closes. “Congratulations on telling him to leave you alone,”

Spencer laughs almost pathetically. Was he really so socially inept that he had to be congratulated on standing up for himself?

“Thanks,” He presses his lips into that typical Spencer smile as he fiddles aimlessly with the button on the cuff of his right sleeve. “And uh, thanks for letting me handle it on my own,”

You shrug nonchalantly. “You asked me to,”

“I know, I just— thank you,”

“It’s nothing to thank me for Reid,” You shake your head dismissively, but Spencer knows you’ve accepted his thanks through the slight quirk in the corners of your mouth that break the ever-present scowl that cements itself on your face. “I didn’t know you read my thesis,”

Spencer blinks for a moment before giving you a small and enthusiastic nod. “Three times actually, it’s extremely well written from a logical perspective, and the transcripts from the interviews you held were very interesting,”

And there’s the Spencer you knew.

“You’re an incredible psychologist, it’s no wonder you skipped your bachelors,” He emphasises his words with exaggerated head movements that make the curls of his hair bounce against his forehead.

“Thank you, Reid, that’s very sweet,” There’s a fondness to your voice that you’d deny if he pointed out, but you’re trying much less to hide it from Spencer than you would from anyone else in your team.

Spencer Reid had read your thesis three times. You wouldn’t be surprised if he knew it better than you did. You’re almost certain he knew it better than you did. He could probably recite the whole thing word for word where chunks of it had already been forgotten in your mind.

It wasn’t exactly something revolutionary, but it may as well have been.

[ryescapades]

Togame Jo + sfw + “Can I sleep with you—like next to you? Is that weird to ask…?” :]

→ EVENT OVERVIEW

prompt: “can i sleep with you— like next to you? is that weird to ask…?” characters: togame jo (wbk) x gn!reader contents: fluff, reader has trouble sleeping, they’re still kinda new in the rs? soft bf!togame <3 wc ~ 1k (not proofread)

a/n: tried to mino-insert but erm togame aside, what if this is ooc mino.. /sniff

“you sure you wanna sit this one out?”

togame’s skepticism sounds from one corner of the living room, and you turn your head to look at him. his tall frame stands by the window, long fingers peeking through the blinds at the tempest raging outside. he throws you a questioning glance when you take a second too long to reply, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“yeah, i’m sure. i got stuff to do tomorrow so it’s best that i get home by tonight,” you answer, mentally reprimanding yourself for openly staring at him. togame hums and nods slowly, though you can still see the wariness seeping in his emerald gaze.

the end credit of the movie the two of you had been watching prior to the storm is still rolling, faint music playing in the background along with the occasional thunder booming from the outside as you let the silence stretch.

togame wants to object, he really does. ain’t no way he’s letting you go back home in such terrible weather with only yourself as company. much like the thunderstorms just outside the window, he can feel an uproar of emotions rolling inside him; the doubts clouding his decisions, the flashes of worst case scenarios in his mind and the spews of protests that he wants rain down on you.

togame had initially arranged this movie date to give you the rest that you deserve. he’d long noticed the exhaustion in your eyes the past few days, something that you’d always brush off as trivial when he’d ask about it.

he had put on that boring ass movie for a reason, wanting to get you to doze off on him so that you could catch up on the sleep that you’d been missing. even a short nap would do but unfortunately for him, you stayed awake throughout the entire movie.

alas, he only brings up the notion he’s been holding in this whole time. “i don’t mind you staying over, though.”

from the couch you’re sitting on, you regard him wordlessly with a curious look marred over your face. “i didn’t bring anything to change into,” you reason, and yet it holds no weight considering your current circumstance.

his lips widen into a smile, one so tender you’d always find yourself distractedly gazing at it as he returns to his rightful place beside you, one leg folded on the couch while the other resting on the soft carpet below. “you can wear my clothes,” he simply says.

your pulse jumps then, swallowing tentatively at the suggestion. the tv has finally quietened down, the space now only filled with the sound of nature in turbulence.

togame swears he could’ve sagged down like a kicked dog the longer you stay silent. he had only realized the breath he’s been holding when he feels the way his chest relaxes, with you finally opening your mouth to speak. “...okay.”

another rush of emotions courses through him when he sees you draped in his shirt and shorts moments later, this time it’s in a heap of endearment, infatuation, satisfaction and a mild possessiveness piling together in a pair of saturated emeralds.

you’ve always been a sight for him to behold, but when you’re wearing his clothes? togame jo thinks he might’ve fallen in love with you all over again.

“how are we…?” your voice breaks him out of his trance, noticing how your gaze keeps bouncing between him and the bed. he clenches his jaw, the blood pumping in his veins heating up at the thought of sleeping in one bed with you.

“take the bed,” he firmly insists, leaving no argument to the matter as he nods his chin towards the mess of pillows and blankets. he walks towards the wardrobe to change himself, not caring that you’re there to look at him doing so (he hopes you do).

from the corner of his eyes, togame watches as you settle in the bed, patting the pillows to fluff them up and making yourself a temporary home under his blankets. he watches as you adjust and readjust your head where you lay, and he watches as you start tossing and turning to get yourself in a more comfortable position.

it’s only when he finishes his nightly routine, going so far as taking his sweet time in the bathroom and finding out that you’re still not asleep that he decides to try and put a stop to this predicament.

“hey,” he softly calls out, watching as the smooth curve of your back stiffens slightly at his voice. you crane your neck to peer back at him, and he can feel the tug on his heartstrings at the sight of your bright, unblinking eyes. the mattress dips under his weight when he props a knee onto it, a flash of lightning from between the curtains further illuminating the intent in his actions.

“can i…” he licks his lips in a moment of hesitation. “can i sleep with you— like, next to you?” his raspy baritone sends a trail of shivers down your back. halfway onto the bed, there’s a clear room for you to push him away lest you ever decide to say no to his advance. “is that weird to ask…?”

you purse your lips slightly, forehead creasing at the question. you’ve certainly cuddled together before so why should this be any different? so no, it’s not weird at all, and it never will be.

you express your thoughts by turning to face him, flipping the blankets open on his side. togame’s slow exhale melts into a smile as he accepts the invitation, taking the space beside you before he lifts an arm, returning an invite to you.

it feels like a proper home, being in togame’s embrace. his hold on you is firm and secure, cocooning you in his warmth as his familiar scent floods your senses. he pulls you closer against his chest and tangles his legs with yours as if trying to meld your bodies together, burying his nose into your hair as your heart steadily beats in sync with his.

it takes quite a while, a few hours maybe, but for the first time in so long, you close your eyes and fall asleep.

chat would he actually have a routine before bed? need opinions and thoughts🎤 anw ty for participating mino heh gives u the biggest fattest wettest(?) smooch

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[covid-safer-hotties]

also preserved on our archive

By Erica Sloan

These days, it’s tempting to compare COVID-19 with the common cold or flu. It can similarly leave you with a nasty cough, fever, sore throat—the full works of respiratory symptoms. And it’s also become a part of the societal fabric, perhaps something you’ve resigned yourself to catching at least a few times in your life (even if you haven’t already). But let’s not forget: SARS-CoV-2 (the virus responsible for COVID) is still relatively new, and researchers are actively investigating the toll of reinfection on the body. While there are still a lot of unknowns, one thing seems to be increasingly true: Getting COVID again and again is a good deal riskier than repeat hits of its seasonal counterparts.

It turns out, SARS-CoV-2 is more nefarious than these other contagious bugs, and our immune response to it, often larger and longer-lasting. COVID has a better ability to camouflage itself in the body, “and it has the keys to the kingdom in the sense that it can unlock any cell and get in,” says Esther Melamed, PhD, an assistant professor in the department of neurology at Dell Medical School, University of Texas Austin, and the research director of the Post-COVID-19 program at UT Health Austin. That’s because SARS-CoV-2 binds to ACE2 receptors, which exist in cells all over your body, from your heart to your gut to your brain. (By contrast, cold and flu viruses replicate mostly in your respiratory tract.)

It only follows that a bigger threat can trigger an outsize immune response. In some people, the body’s reaction to COVID can turn into a “cytokine storm,” Dr. Melamed tells SELF, which is characterized by an excessive release of inflammatory proteins that can wreak havoc on multiple organ systems—not a common scenario for your garden-variety cold or flu. But even a “mild” case of COVID can throw your immune system into a tizzy as it works to quickly shore up your defenses. And each reinfection is a fresh opportunity for the virus to win the battle.

While you develop some immunity after a COVID infection, it doesn’t just grow with each additional hit. You might be thinking, “Aren’t I more protected against COVID and less likely to have a serious case after having been infected?” Part of that is true, to an extent. In the first couple years after COVID burst onto the scene, reinfections were generally (though not always) milder than a person’s initial bout of the virus. “The way we understand classic immunology is that your body will say to a virus [it’s seen before], ‘Oh, I know how to deal with you, and I’m now going to deal with you in a better way the second time around,’” says Ziyad Al-Aly, PhD, a clinical epidemiologist at Washington University in St. Louis School of Medicine and the chief of research and development at the Veterans Affairs St. Louis Health Care System.

But any encounter with COVID can also cause your immune system to “go awry or develop some form of dysfunction,” Dr. Al-Aly tells SELF. Specifically, “immune imprinting” can happen, where, upon a second (or third or fourth) exposure to the virus, your immune cells launch the same response as they did for the initial infection, in turn blocking or limiting the development of new antibodies necessary to fight off the current variant that’s stirring up trouble. So, “when you get hit an [additional] time, your immune system may not behave classically,” Dr. Al-Aly says, and could struggle with mounting a good defense.

Pair that dip in immune efficiency with the fact that your antibody levels also wane with time post-infection, and it’s easy to see how another hit can rock your body in a new way. Indeed, the more time that passes after any given COVID infection, the less of a “competitive advantage” you’ll have against any future one, Richard Moffitt, PhD, an associate professor at Emory University, in Atlanta, tells SELF. His research found that, while people who got sick initially during the delta phase were less likely to get reinfected during the first omicron wave (as compared to folks who were infected in a prior period), that benefit leveled off with following omicron variants.

There’s also the fact that no matter how your immune system has responded to a prior strain (or strains!) of the virus, it could react differently to a new mutation. “We tend to think of COVID as one homogeneous thing, but it’s really not,” Dr. Al-Aly says. So even if your body successfully thwarted one of these intruders in the past, there’s no guarantee it’ll do the same for another, now or in the future, he says.

Getting COVID again and again is especially risky if it previously made you very ill. Dr. Moffitt’s study above also found that the “severity of your first infection is very predictive of the severity of a reinfection,” he says. Meaning, you’re more likely to have a severe case of COVID—for instance, requiring hospitalization or intensive care, such as ventilation—when reinfected if you had a rough go of it the first time around.

It’s possible that some folks are more prone to an off-kilter immune response to the virus, which could then happen consistently with reinfections. The antibodies created in people who’ve had severe cases “may not function as well as those in folks who’ve had mild infections or were able to fight the virus off,” Dr. Melamed says. Though researchers don’t fully understand why, some people’s immune systems are also more likely to overreact to COVID (remember the cytokine storm?), which can cause serious symptoms—like fluid in the lungs and shortness of breath—whenever they’re infected.

Being over the age of 65, having a chronic illness or other medical condition, and lacking access to health care have all been shown to spike your risk of serious outcomes with a COVID infection, whether it’s your first or fifth fight with the virus.

But you’re not home free if you’ve only had, say, a brief fever or cough with COVID in the past; Dr. Moffitt points out that a small subset of people in his research who had minor reactions with their initial infection went on to be hospitalized with a repeat hit. The probability of that might be lower, but it’s still a possibility, he says.

Even if you’ve only had “mild” cases, each reinfection strains your body, upping your chances of developing long COVID. A 2022 study led by Dr. Al-Aly found that COVID reinfections also increase your risk of complications across the board, regardless of whether you recovered just fine in the past or got vaccinated. In particular, it showed that reinfection raises the likelihood that you’ll need hospitalization; have heart or lung problems; or experience, among other possible issues, GI, neurological, mental health, or musculoskeletal symptoms. “We use the term ‘cumulative effects,’” Dr. Al-Aly says, “so, multiple hits accrue and then leave the body more vulnerable to all the potential long-term health effects of COVID.”

That doesn’t mean your experience of a second (or third or fourth) infection will necessarily be worse, in and of itself, than what you felt during a prior case. But with each new hit, a fresh batch of the virus seeps into your system, where, even if you have a mild case, it has another chance to trigger any of the longer-term complications above. While the likelihood of getting long COVID (a constellation of symptoms lingering for three months or longer post-infection) is likely greatest after initial infection, “The bottom line is, people are still getting diagnosed with long COVID after reinfection,” Dr. Moffitt says.

Researchers don’t totally know why one person might deal with lasting health effects over another, but it seems that, in some folks, the immune system misfires, generating not only antibodies to attack the virus but also autoantibodies that go after the body’s own healthy cells, Dr. Al-Aly says. This may be one reason why COVID has been linked to the onset of autoimmune conditions like psoriasis and rheumatoid arthritis.

A different hypothesis suggests that pieces of the virus could linger in the body, even after a person has seemingly “recovered” (reminder that SARS-CoV-2 is scarily good at weaseling its way into all sorts of cells). “Maybe the first time, your immune system was able to fully clear it, but the second time, it found a way to hang around,” Dr. Al-Aly posits. And a third theory involves your gut microbiome, the community of microbes in your GI tract, including beneficial bacteria. It’s conceivable that “when we get sick with COVID, these bacteria do, too, and perhaps they recover [on initial infection], but not on the second or third hit,” he says, throwing off your balance of good-to-bad gut bugs (which can impact your health in all sorts of ways).

Another unnerving possibility: The shock to your system triggered by COVID may “wake up” a latent (a.k.a. dormant) virus or two lurking in your body, Dr. Melamed says. We all carry anywhere from eight to 12 of these undetected bugs at a time—things like Epstein-Barr, varicella-zoster (which causes chickenpox and shingles), and herpes simplex. And research suggests their reactivation could be a contributing factor in long COVID. Separately, the systemic inflammation often created by COVID may spark the onset of high blood pressure and increased clotting (which can up your risk of stroke and pulmonary embolism), as well as type 2 diabetes, Dr. Melamed says.

There’s no guarantee that any given COVID infection snowballs into something debilitating, but each hit is like another round of Russian roulette, Dr. Al-Aly says. From a sheer numbers standpoint, the more times you play a game with the possibility of a negative outcome, the greater your chances are of that bad result occurring. And because every COVID case has at least some potential to leave you very ill or dealing with a host of persistent symptoms, why take the risk any more times than you need to?

Bottom line: You should do your best to avoid COVID reinfection and bolster your defenses against the virus. At this stage of the pandemic’s progression, it’s not realistic to suggest you can avoid any exposure to the virus, given that societal protections against its spread have been rolled back. But what you should do is take some common-sense precautions, which can help you avoid any contagious respiratory virus. (A cold or the flu may not pose as many potential health risks as COVID, but being sick is still not fun!)

It’s a good idea to wear a mask when you’re in a crowded environment (especially indoors), choose well-ventilated or outdoor spaces for group hangouts, and test for COVID if you have cold or flu-like symptoms, Dr. Al-Aly says. If you do get infected, talk to your doctor about whether your personal risk of a severe case is enough to qualify for a Paxlovid prescription (which you need to take within the first five days of symptoms for it to be effective).

The other important thing you should do is get the updated COVID vaccine (the 2024-2025 formula was recently approved and released). Unlike getting reinfected, the vaccine triggers “a very targeted immune response…because it’s [made with] a specific tiny part of the virus,” Dr. Melamed says. Meaning, you get the immune benefit of a little exposure without the potential of your whole system going haywire. Getting the current shot also ensures you restore any protection that has waned since you received a prior jab and that you have an effective shield against the dominant circulating strains. Plus, research shows that being vaccinated doesn’t just lower your chances of catching the virus; it also reduces your risk of having a severe case or winding up with long COVID if you do get it.

So, too, can the deceivingly simple act of keeping up with healthy habits—like exercising regularly, eating nutritious foods, and clocking quality sleep. Maintaining this kind of lifestyle can help you stave off other health issues that could increase your risk of harm from COVID, Harlan Krumholz, PhD, a cardiologist at Yale University and founder of the Yale Center for Outcomes Research and Evaluation (CORE), tells SELF. “Given that we will be repetitively exposed to the virus, the best investments we can make are in our baseline health,” he says.

Doing any (or all!) of the above is a big act of compassion for yourself, the people you love, and your greater community. “For the average person, it’s like, ‘Oh, COVID is gone,’ but they’re just not seeing the impact,” Dr. Al-Aly says, noting the invisibility of long COVID symptoms like disorienting brain fog and crushing fatigue. The truth is, in plenty of people, just one more infection could be the difference between living their best life and facing a devastating chronic condition.

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing — Damian Priest ♥︎ f!Reader 🖤 Summary — Damian and his girlfriend disturb the peace. 🖤 Word Count — 3.4k 🛑 Warnings — NSFW. Fingering, oral (m and f receiving), dirty talk, rough, unprotected p in v, mild pain play, cum. 18+ 🖤 Notes — Spanish translations are at the end of the story provided by Google Translate. 🖤 Taglist — If you’d like to be added, please click here! 🖤 Requested By — @danithepenguin05-blog. Hope you enjoy! 🖤 MASTERLIST, KINK LIST

“You know, I’ve been watching you all night …” She jumps at the voice coming from behind her, smiling when she can feel his warm breath ghost across her neck and bare shoulder. “And I think I’m gonna fuck you in that dress.”

Her grin widens, brow arching. “You might wanna be careful,” she advises, “my boyfriend is a big dude, and he gets really jealous.” She turns around, eyes climbing to meet the pair gazing down at her.

“Is he bigger than me?” Damian growls, puffing his chest out as much as he can in the confines of a button-down shirt, vest, and suit jacket, somehow making himself seem even taller than his normal six-five. 

“Oh, damn,” she purrs, closing the space between them. “You’re way bigger. Let’s get out of here.”

“And fuck you in that dress?” Damian repeats, eyes sliding down the garment in question—a deep purple ruched midi-dress with one sleeve and an asymmetrical hem that hugs every one of her curves, even ones she didn’t know she had but was excited to find just the same. His hands claim her hips, sliding back to her ass, possessive in his Priestly way, and she beams up at him. Her hands glide up his chest, straightening the tie she’d had to tie for him before clutching at the lapels. She inhales his cologne and body wash and the scent that is simply Damian, and her heart flutters, pussy dampening at the same time. The control he has over her should be studied by science.

“And fuck me in this dress,” she whispers, pulling him into a kiss that starts as a peck, but when she tries to pull away, his long arms wrap themselves around her. She giggles against his lips, her own arms snaking round his neck only when he bends his knees and comes closer to her height.

“We better get going,” Damian mumbles. He leans sideways and glances down at her silver heels—the ones that have diamond-encrusted bows on the toes, the excess of which provocatively climb her calves. “Because I think I wanna fuck you in those heels, too, and I know you’re not gonna last much longer before you whip out the chanclas.”

She throws her head back with a laugh. “Well in that case … Priest, you big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever.” She’s given universal consent with a quote from their favorite movie to watch together, and the change in her boyfriend’s demeanor is palpable.

Damian releases her only to drop his arm around her shoulders, and she reaches up to interlace their fingers. She’s smiling up at him, adoring, as she usually does, when she notices the Three Stooges headed their way, all of them leaning on each other, none of them able to walk in a straight line. They stumble over JD, who is passed out with his head on a plate of salad. Damian glances down at her, shaking his head, and she takes the hint, averting her gaze in the opposite direction. Together, they pick up their pace.

“Guys, wait!” Dom hollers behind them.

“Nope,” Damian grumbles so only she can hear, and they continue on.

“Don’t leave us hangin’!” Finn slurs.

The couple continues on, waving goodbyes to friends in passing, blissfully, though not really, ignorant to the whining that seems to be following them.

“Besties,” Rhea cajoles, then exclaims, “oh, shit!” just before a stomp, a thud, and three dummies giggling. Damian and his girlfriend slow to a stop and look at each other.

“There’s like a 70 percent chance they’ll die if we leave them here,” she says.

Damian rolls his eyes, nods, and turns to their friends, waving his arm for them to hurry up. And once they arrive at the rental SUV, Damian stuffs all three of his inebriated friends into the backseat, slamming the door in Dom’s face when he asks if they can stop for chicken tenders on the way to the hotel. Rolling his neck, he straightens his suit before turning to his girlfriend, who’s patiently waiting near the front passenger door. He opens it for her, taking her hand and helping her inside before closing the door and making his way around to the driver’s side.

“No, but seriously,” Dom says, poking his face between the front seats. She glances at him, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol, and then she looks at Damian, catching him taking yet another deep, calming breath through his nose. “I was lookin’ on my phone earlier and there’s this place that’s open late that has tendies …” He begins searching the pockets of his suit. “Hey, hey, who has my phone?”

“Whoops,” Rhea giggles from behind her, and Dom reaches over Finn.

“Give it back!” Dom exclaims.

“Get your arm outta my face!” Finn says, shoving Dom’s arm away.

“Tell her to give me my phone back!”

“Give him his bloody phone back!”

“I know his passcode,” Rhea taunts.

Suddenly Dom’s own shiny black shoes bounce between the front seats as Finn launches him into the trunk area of the SUV.

“Well, open it already! What are you waitin’ for?” Finn shouts, holding Dom back as he both fights to climb over the seat and grab his phone from Rhea at the same time.

“If this is what having kids is like, you can forget it,” Damian remarks, making a left turn out of the parking lot. His girlfriend watches the street- and headlights bounce off his handsome features, smiling when he places his hand on her thigh, lifting her dress just a little.

“I’m not really concerned with that right now,” she quietly replies. The three in the back are still arguing and paying no attention to what’s going on in the front. Damian looks at her, and she lifts her hips, tugging the bottom of the dress up her legs until the very tops of her thighs are visible. His eyes return to the road to be sure he’s still in his lane, snapping back to her as she places her hand atop his, beginning to slowly drag it up her satiny skin.

Damian’s rough fingers make first contact with her bare slit, and he casts another glance in her direction. Her grin is wicked as she licks her lips, rolling her hips against his touch wantonly. His left hand grips the steering wheel, he adjusts the positioning of his own hips, and his middle finger slips within her folds. He massages the tiny nub in slow circles, torturing, before gliding his touch up and down, easily causing her pussy to surge. She sighs, head falling back against the seat, and she bites her lip.

“Shit,” she whispers. She squeezes his solid forearm with both hands as she rides his gifted fingers. Slithering inside her, first with one finger, then two, he hooks them expertly, and her back bows. The raucous from the backseat, the very fact that she and Damian are not alone in such a tiny space, sends her into a shivering, inaudible orgasm quicker than is typical when he uses his fingers on her. She releases his arm, gaping as he brings those cum-coated digits to his perfect lips where he sucks them greedily into his mouth. His cheeks hollow with the suction, sculpting those bones exquisitely, her thighs instantly twitching. He pulls them from his mouth with a lewd pop, winking at the same time, and she knows exactly which direction things are headed once that hotel room door clicks closed behind them.

He opens her door after backing into a parking spot. He rearranges the bulge in his pants as he holds his other hand out for her. She makes a show of raising her hips so she can pull her dress back down to its original length before placing her manicured hand into his, carefully climbing out of the vehicle. Damian closes the door, leaning down to press his lips to her ear.

“I’m gonna fucking wreck you,” he says.

“Promise?” she murmurs, brows raising.

“You guys suck,” Dom complains, tumbling out of the back of the SUV. Finn and Rhea lean on one another, uncontrollable laughter passing back and forth between them. “Now everybody’s gonna think I’m weird.”

“You are weird,” Finn and Rhea snicker in unison.

Damian’s arm rests on her shoulders once more, their fingers again tangled, as the party of five boards the hotel elevator. Dom continues to whine about whatever Rhea and Finn did to him, which evidently has something to do with an embarrassing Twitter post. But their bickering slowly begins to fade into mere background noise, the three of them standing in front of her and she in front of Damian, and she snakes her hands behind her. Her nails clack against her boyfriend’s belt buckle, a sinister grin splitting her lips as they continue southward. She follows the zipper, the mechanism threatening to burst trying to hold back the monster hardening within, which she tenderly cups in both hands. Damian brings an arm around her shoulders and across her chest, the other enveloping her waist, and she rests her head against his pec, massaging his still-growing cock through his pants. His perfect mouth latches onto her ear, biting, kissing, sucking, moving onto her neck, making sure to touch all of her spots. She’s so distracted she doesn’t notice his hand sweeping back across her chest so he can fondle her breast, which further occupies her attention and keeps her from realizing he’s pulling the sleeveless side of her dress down until that bare breast falls out. He takes it into his hand again, groping obscenely, all the while feasting on her neck.

The ding of the elevator breaks the couple’s building tension, and Damian lifts her dress back into position before the doors slide open. They resume their customary holding of one another as they follow their three friends into the hallway, Damian having to redirect them from turning right to turning left. The lump in his slacks is incredibly conspicuous, but he doesn’t try to hide it, and she doesn’t blame him—he has a lot to be proud of. She waits by their room door as he snatches the key card out of Finn’s hand, knowing none of the inebriated three will be able to operate the machine. He herds them inside, not even bothering to take Rhea to her room, and closes the door before they can make any more requests.

She backs slowly into their room as Damian stalks her. He regards her with a tilt of his head, stealthily reaching back to turn the lock on the door after it clicks closed. He casually starts toward her, opening his suit jacket and allowing it to slide down his arms. He catches it in one hand and lays it on a nearby dresser. Her breathing accelerates and she chews on the inside of her cheek as he unbuttons the cuffs on his shirt, rolling the sleeves halfway up his forearms like he’s about to take on a task that’s going to last for hours.

“I love that dress,” he tells her, closing the space between them.

She smiles. “Well thank you.” She runs her hands up his chest, over the vest this time, applying a small amount of pressure just so she can feel how hard his muscles are. “I thought you might like … the easy access.” Her hands come down his abdomen and she takes hold of the buckle on his belt. “And I—” She starts to unbuckle it. “—might like—” She unbuttons and unzips his pants. “—this big cock in my mouth.” 

Ahead of her descending to her knees, he grabs hold of her with his hands under her arms and he tosses her back onto the bed. A giggle nearly erupts, but Damian is leering at her in a way he’s never done before as his fists come down on the mattress, then his knees, and she backs up on her elbows. When she comes to the pillows, she bends a knee, lifts her leg, and Damian pauses his advance. He glances at the heel perched delicately on his against his shoulder, the diamond bows, the diamond ribbons ascending her calf, and when he returns his attention to her, his eyes are devoid of any color except sable and he’s wetting his lips.

“Lick me, Papí,” she says.

Damian chuckles softly, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of her ankle. “¿Qué dices?”

“Please, Papí, will you lick me?”

He seizes her thighs, spreading them, pushing them back toward her until her hips nearly come off the bed and her elbows collapse. She feels the cold from the air conditioner rush over her bare, wet pussy, sending a shudder throughout her body. She lifts her head only to have it fall back into the pillows again after watching Damian lick a hot stripe from her aching hole to the top of her slit. She groans and her back arches as she grabs at his ponytail of tiny braids, to which he responds by closing his lips around her clit and sucking, slurping, effortlessly holding her legs in place as she fights to close them around his head.

“Fuck,” she yelps, releasing his hair to reach back and grip the headboard. Damian releases one leg so he can pull her dress down until her breast spills out, and that heel lands on his back, digging in as much as she dares as she tries desperately to ride his tongue. Damian grunts, coming away from her pussy, and she looks down at him, worried the heel in his back is too painful. He glances behind him in the direction of the heel, and when he looks back, she’s not sure he’s the same person. This man must certainly be the devil—the onyx flames in his eyes and the impish slope to his grin supporting her hypothesis. He surrenders her other leg, and she instantly brings the heel down onto his back, because that’s where a devil would want it. His eyes close briefly, opening just before he attacks her pussy, assaulting every nerve-ending with every trick he knows. She cries out, heels burrowing even further as her body undulates, and gushes cum all over Damian’s gifted tongue.

Without warning, Damian pulls away, standing on the floor now at the foot of the bed, the bottom half of his face glistening with her juices, and he repossesses her legs. Before she has time to pout, he yanks her down the bed, a leg on either side of him. He reaches down and wraps his hand around her throat, pulling her into a sitting position, her hands immediately rummaging through his pants and briefs, reemerging with Damian’s cock and balls. She makes a show of spitting into the palm of her hand before sliding it down his rigid shaft. He leans down to kiss her, pulling back just as she attempts to accept the kiss. She glares, trying again to kiss him, only to be met with the same results.

“Papí,” she sulks.

“I want you to choke on this dick first,” he tells her, hand still clutching her throat, lifting to the point she’s nearly coming off the bed. She sighs, glowing, hand decelerating on his cock. “You know I like kissing you when your mouth’s a mess.”

She nods, waiting obediently for him to release her neck, and as soon as he does, she has his cock buried almost to the root in her throat before she gags, coughs, and has to come up for air.

“Fuck!” Damian shouts, one hand on the back of her head, the other on the side near her neck, as he thrusts into her mouth. She grasps the ends of his belt, simply using them for stability as Damian rides her face. After several pumps, he pulls out, strings of saliva and precum bridging her lips and his cock. Now he allows her to kiss him, groaning as their tongues twist and curl, and she knows he can taste his cock all over her mouth, just like he likes it.

He picks her up under the arms again and launches her just a few feet back on the bed. Snickering as she bounces, she watches as Damian sheds all of his clothes from the waist up before crawling on his knees to get between her legs. He takes one of her heels and arranges it on his chest. Rubbing the velvety head of his cock along her throbbing clit, she feels him press into the heel, so she adds resistance with her leg so it might go deeper.

“Goddamn,” he roars. He starts to push himself inside her, and she revels in the sensation of being split open as she gives a moan of her own.

“Mmm, Papí likes a little pain,” she coos. She gives him a shove with the heel, and he snarls, glaring down at her with a tilt of his head, and maybe she went too far, but they’re past the point of no return. “That’s hot.”

Damian’s hips surge forward, impaling her completely on his rock hard member, nearly bouncing her head off the headboard if not for the pillows. She cries out, gripping the wood that is fastened to the wall, making it safe from rattling. However, the mattress has a squeak, which sounds in time with Damian’s rapid thrusts. He wraps his fingers around her ankle, anchoring it to his chest, other hand groping her bare breast, and he has a steady, albeit aggressive, rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants with each and every pump, unknowingly increasing the force in her leg. “Fuck me, Papí!” she cries out, finishing with a whisper, “please … please …”

Damian cries out his own set of curses, and with one final surge forward, he releases inside her. His pace slows, but doesn’t stop for several moments. A smile grows on her bruised lips, and even though she’s positive her makeup and hair are both incredible messes right now, she doesn’t feel shame or embarrassment. Her boyfriend doesn’t need to see her painted and polished to perfection every moment of their lives. And anyway, he’d warned her of his intentions to wreck her. Eventually he pulls out, lying next to her, and moments later, the couple is snoring together—she still in her dress and heels, he still in his pants and shoes.

The next morning, following a refreshing joint shower, they collect their belongings—Damian handling the heavier items, always leaving with her as little as possible to carry—and as she’s holding the door for him, Dom, Finn, and Rhea exit their room, Rhea having retrieved her things from her room earlier. The threesome are already wearing sunglasses and share a similar pale complexion, but when they spot her and Damian, they collapse into giggles.

Brows furrowing, she asks, “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothin’,” Finn replies.

She glances at Damian, who shrugs and rolls his eyes. They all head to the elevator, the three amigos murmuring amongst one another, and she has no idea what’s going on, but she knows it has something to do with her and Damian. Everyone stuffs themselves and their luggage into the tiny box, Rhea punches the button for the lobby, and the doors close. This is the moment the three of them launch into a litany of moaning and groaning and one of them even imitates the sound of a squeaking bed.

“Fuck me, Papí,” Dom’s voice is many octaves higher than normal.

“Papí likes a little pain,” Rhea joins in.

Finn repeats almost verbatim Damian’s list of curses after he came, and for some reason, she doesn’t understand what they’re talking about until this point. She feels her cheeks erupt as if coated in lava, and she’s shell shocked a moment before turning to Damian, who already has his hoodie unzipped and one side of it opened. Mortified, she buries her burning face against his chest and he covers her with the jacket. The rest of the elevator ride is filled with snickers and imitations.

Once outside, she pushes ahead of the group, hurrying toward the rental when she hears the distinct sound of hands clapping. Turning, she catches Damian grinning like he just won the fucking lottery, sharing handshakes with the boys and a high-five with Rhea.

“Really?!”

જ⁀➴°⋆ Chanclas — Flip flops જ⁀➴°⋆ Papí — Daddy જ⁀➴°⋆ Qué dices — What do you say?

[pinklemonslices]

little tiny fic, a missing scene of sorts? just after niko outsmarts the night nurse near the end of episode 7 🫶

—

“Oh, did you guys know, zombies are real,” Niko says, and Charles is sure he would be more intrigued by that if she had said it at any other time, after any other event. He’ll have to ask her about that later. For now, he settles for a little sound of astonishment.

His mind is more occupied with what she did just before that, having managed to buy him and Edwin more time on earth — together — via outsmarting a literal transdimensional being.

“Thanks,” he breathes out, shock still bouncing around inside him like a pinball. Niko might really be an angel, he thinks. There should really be a halo floating above her head, to match her inhuman kindness.

Edwin shifts beside him, “Yes, thank you, Niko.” His voice is shaky. Charles looks over, and Edwin meets his gaze. The sight alone could kill Charles a second time, if that were possible. Despite being back in his nice, unbloodied clothing, Edwin looks just as broken as he did on the stairs, with watery eyes and an expression of clear exhaustion.

He makes a face, which Charles realizes is a sorry attempt at a smile, and his heart aches. “And thank you, Charles. For coming to get me.”

Without saying anything, Charles makes a move toward Edwin, pulling him into the tightest hug he can manage. Edwin tenses for only a second, before he wraps his arms around Charles in return.

“Always, mate.”

Charles feels Edwin melt into him, like butter in a saucepan. His head finds a place to rest on Charles’s shoulder, as he releases an unsteady sigh.

And god, Charles means it when he says ‘always.’ He couldn’t live (figuratively speaking, anyway) without Edwin beside him, Edwin sighing in his arms, Edwin rolling his eyes fondly when he cracks a bad joke, Edwin solving cases with that clever brain of his. He wouldn’t be able to stand it. Maybe he would just dematerialize, or something.

He would go to Hell a million times, if he had to. He’d run up and down that staircase a million times and throw however many molotov cocktails it took to get Edwin out safe.

There’s not one thing he wouldn’t do to stay with Edwin.

Charles holds him a little tighter. He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to let go. Hopefully Edwin won’t mind; it might be a little hard to solve cases this way, but they could make due.

They will have to, because Edwin is solid and real against him, and they are not in Hell anymore, and it’s all Charles ever needs. Since he died, he has not wanted Death or The Night Nurse’s Heaven. He found his thirty-four years ago, and it is greater than anything they could offer.

With mild difficulty, Charles manages to pull back just far enough to make good eye contact. Edwin’s eyes are gray and green and they hold the whole world in them; Earth, Heaven, and Hell displayed in hues fit for an angel, a holier trinity than anything the bible could ever fathom.

Edwin takes a shuddering breath, and Charles wants to cry — wants to go back in time and take Edwin’s place.

“I’m glad you guys are okay,” Crystal says, after what feels like years. Charles tears his attention away from Edwin in his arms, to look at her. He thinks he should probably feel bad for not allowing her to go to Hell with him, but it was no place for her.

No place for Edwin, either.

“Me too.”

Niko nods, “Me three.”

Charles cracks a smile. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

Edwin squeezes Charles’s arm tightly before letting go of him and taking a small, singular step backward, and Charles mourns the loss instantly.

They have time, thanks to Niko, he reminds himself. Literally forever.

He hugs Niko next.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Undying Stupidity

Summary: After raiding a strange facility, 141 takes you back to base with them, where they interrogate you, and after shooting you in the head, quickly discover that you’re an immortal.

Word Count: ~ 1.4k

Warnings: blood, mentions of abuse, dead ppl, being shot in the head?? gaz being pretty

A/N: was giggling while thinking abt this today at school, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

They needed information, and where they got it from didn’t particularly matter.

A strange facility filled with what looked to be mostly dead or dying patients, the rest of the guards taken care of once Task Force 141 arrived. And they found…you. Locked in maximum security, malnourished with marks of what seemed to be abuse, but still able to walk.

Gaz and Soap exchanged a look as Ghost yanked you to your feet, dragging you along. You looked more annoyed and offended than afraid. An odd response for a teenage girl locked in enemy territory. You had a hint of a British accent, but also other accents as well. Weird.

“Uh…can we not yank on my arm?”

You said, looking in mild pain. Simon sighed, throwing you over his shoulder instead as the entire team began moving out. Price shot Ghost a warning look at the little ‘oomph’ you made. They needed you alive for the possible information you could have, and if he was too rough, he might break you.

Oh, how wrong they were.

Eventually opting to knock you unconscious once they got to their exfil, they put a white bag over your head. Couldn’t have you waking up and seeing where you were. Wouldn’t be great in case you escaped.

When you woke up, you were tied to a steel chair in a dark room with gray walls. The paint was peeling. In front of you was a table, and across the table, one of the men from earlier sat. The prettier one of the group. When you woke, he gave a little faux sympathetic smile, glancing over at what must’ve been a watch concealed within his sleeve.

“Right on time.” He said, putting his elbows on the table. A gun was in his holster and a few pairs of pliers and knives were on the table. You felt a bit mildly uncomfortable in the situation you were in.

“Look, I don’t think you know what you’re doing-“

You began, but he cut you off with a raised eyebrow.

“Really? I think I know exactly what I’m doing, now what’s your name, hm?”

You sighed, glancing down at the rope bindings chafing against your wrists, leaving angry red marks behind. The ones on your wrists weren’t any better.

“Y/N.” You said glumly, and he pulled a small notepad out from his jacket, writing things down on it with a small pen.

“Good, always easier when they cooperate.” He said, seemingly talking to himself, before glancing back up at you with deep brown eyes.

“Now, can you tell me why you were at that facility?”

You frowned, nose scrunching up slightly as you tried to find a way to explain it. He waited patiently, and you could hear his foot tapping against the floor.

“I was an…experiment?”

You tried with a little shrug. And he looked at you point blank, eyes running over your small form.

“Just shoot me. It’ll make sense after that.” You said with another uncomfortable look. It seemed to be your default. The strange man seemed a bit surprised at your words, but his features quickly tightened.

“Why would I shoot you?”

“I mean—I’ll come back, promise.”

A pause on his end and his gaze turned almost concerned. He stood from his chair, turning to face the door, and as he walked out, you heard him mutter under his breath.

“Didn’t think she was a crazy one. Could’a fooled me.”

Before he closed the door and left you in the room alone again.

It must’ve been a few hours before the door opened, except this time, it was the bearded man coming in. You’d decided that he wasn’t as threatening, not as the giant skull-faced one, anyway. The pretty man from earlier followed, looking panicked.

“Cap, you can’t just-“

A man with a Mohawk filed in after, a confused frown on his face, and the man with the mask stood by the door, silently watching.

“Anyone wanna explain wha’ tha hell is goin’ on?”

Mohawk-man spoke, with a Scottish accent. It made sense, you supposed, since he had a Scottish flag on his uniform.

“I’m gonna test somethin’, is what’s gonna happen.” The bearded man spoke, his voice gruff and low, and pretty-boy tried to stop him, but the man grabbed his gun from his holster, pointed it straight at your head, and fired.

You faintly heard yelling and fighting, your vision blacking out not too long after, and a warm liquid dripping down your face, dripping into your mouth. It tasted like iron and copper at the same time. Your senses faded to nothing, and then….

Groaning, your previously limp body straightened back up as you sat up in your seat, an empty bullet shell falling from a rapidly closing wound in your head.

Bearded-man watched, only nodding as if that had confirmed his suspicions. The pretty boy watched, mouth slightly agape, pure confusion and disbelief clouding his features. The Scotsman stared for a while, before letting out a breathy laugh and clapping you on the shoulder from where you were still in the chair. You winced.

“Well, that was one helluva show,”

He said, and the masked one just stared from his spot in the doorway, uttering the one thing most of them were thinking right now.

“Wot.”

The bearded man put his gun back in its holster, undoing the rope bindings on your hands, and the Scotsman followed his lead, taking a knee to free your ankles.

“Captain John Price.”

He said, shaking your hand. His grip was firm. Mohawk-man grinned and took your other hand.

“Johnny, but you can call me Soap.”

Your hands were limp in their grasp, still trying to recover from the bullet to your skull. Pretty-boy still gaped, mouth opening and closing, before Price explained, probably having known the shock the poor team would have.

“Immortal. Injuries don’t kill ‘er, she jus’ heals.”

A moment later, a skeleton-themed glove was in your hand, shaking it.

“Ghost.”

Was all he said, before the pretty boy came up, hesitantly shaking your hand.

“Kyle, but just..call me Gaz.”

He backed away quickly, still eying you like you might bite. Instead, you groaned, head falling against the chair.

“M….hate getting shot in the head.”

You mumbled, one hand going to rub your head where the bullet hole had now closed up. Your head was pounding, your mind swimming, and generally, it was not a good experience.

“I’d imagine,”

Soap said with a snort, and Price gestured to Soap.

“Walk ‘er to a room. Might as well get her acclimated. Laswell’s gonna want to hear about this.”

Soap gave a nod, a little grin remaining as he approached you, cocking his head slightly as he glanced down at your legs. Injuries didn’t remain on you, not much at least, but some scars did. Little indentions or light pink circles from bullets pockmarked your skin.

“Can ya walk?”

You glanced down at your legs, a doubtful frown crossing your face.

“…maybe?”

“Good enough excuse for me.”

He said, using one large arm to lift most of your body. Your arm slotted around his shoulders surprisingly easily as he carried you in one arm like a rag doll. He walked down endless hallways, until he stopped at one door, opening it up. It was mostly empty, with a thin mattress on the floor in the corner, a small window that was more like a slit on one wall, and a small dresser.

The bare necessities, but more than enough.

Soap set you gently down on the mattress, and your body relaxed into it, eyes nearly shutting from pure bliss. You’d had enough of stiff chairs, sore joints, and achy limbs. Just because you could survive almost everything didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt.

“I would say we’d get you medical, but…”

He glanced down at the spot in your forehead where the bullet had been, and you shrugged.

“I just wanna sleep.”

You said, and he chuckled, ruffling your hair before stepping towards the exit.

“We’ll get ya some food in the morning,..and maybe a bed frame. Wouldn’t count on the bed frame, though.”

Your lips quirked into a tiny smile at that, amused. He must’ve considered it a victory, because his grin widened, and he gave a little jerk of his chin upwards that looked like a goodbye.

“See ya la’er, kid.”

You knew one thing as you drifted into some much-needed sleep that night.

Life was going to get much more interesting from this point forward.

[riality-check]

More roadie shenanigans, keeping feedback from this post in mind! part 1, part 2

ao3

It’s before the second show, and they’re already fighting.

“You can’t chicken out,” Gareth says.

“I’m not gonna chicken out!”

“Good, because I’ll tell Wayne if you do,” Jeff says.

Eddie glares at him. “You’re an asshole.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Shut up and get out of here!” Archie says, pushing Eddie toward the tech booth. He complies, but not without another scathing look over his shoulder.

His friends laugh because of course they do. They’re assholes, but, luckily, they’re the same kind of asshole that Eddie is.

He straightens out his shoulders, breathes, and prepares to grovel.

Robin and Steve are setting up just like they were at the last venue. It looks like a mess of cables and boxes from Eddie’s perspective, but Steve and Robin work with ruthless efficiency, alternately talking and signing when their hands aren’t full.

“Um,” Eddie says. G-d, he’s never been this awkward in his life. But this matters, like, really matters to him, and he’s gotta do right.

Neither of them pay him any attention.

“Excuse me?” he says a little louder.

Robin turns around. When she sees him, her expression instantly sours.

“Hello?” she drawls, sounding bored out of her mind.

Steve turns around, too. When he sees Eddie, his face-

Well, Eddie isn’t sure what that expression is supposed to mean. If he had to guess, he’d say mild annoyance.

Mild annoyance shouldn’t look that hot.

“I just wanted to say again that I’m really sorry,” he says, making sure to talk clearly and loud enough to be understood. He’s not an idiot, he knows that shouting is rude, but he makes sure he can be heard over the general chaos of setting up for a new show. “It wasn’t any of my business, and even if I meant well, it’s not an excuse.”

Steve’s face softens a whole lot as Eddie stumbles through his apology, and then he reaches up to his ears to take out ear plugs.

Huh?

“Mind saying that again?” Steve says with a smile.

Eddie is. So confused.

But then Steve laughs. “You should see your face, dude. I got the gist. Apology accepted, we’re cool.”

Okay, that makes Eddie feel better. A lot better. But he’s still confused.

And his mouth always moves faster than his brain.

“Why are you- why do you have- what-”

Robin rolls her eyes fondly. “This idiot,” she says, pointing at Steve, “always tries to do the first show without the ear plugs he needs-”

“Not this shit again,” Steve mumbles.

“-because, as it turns out, your ears do a lot more than just hear. Like balance-”

“You’re one to talk about balance, Buckley,” Steve says, giving her a light shove. She nearly topples over if not for the fact that he immediately grabs her arm to steady her.

Eddie thinks he might know even less than he thought.

“I want to make it up to you,” he says, and Steve and Robin stop bickering.

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve says, and Robin elbows him.

“I want to,” Eddie insists. “What’s your favorite song? We’ll play it at the end of our set.”

Naïvely and terribly optimistically, Eddie hopes Steve might say something that’s already in their set list, or maybe another one of their songs.

From the way that Robin and Steve are looking at each other conspiratorially, he doesn’t think that’s the case.

“No,” Steve says, laughing and shaking his head.

Robin sneaks a glance at Eddie, smirks, and starts signing at Steve.

The only thing Eddie understands about the conversation as their hands move is their facial expressions: Robin with a smirk, and Steve trying desperately not to laugh.

He’s so cute. He gets this little crease on the side of his mouth that Eddie wants to smooth out with his thumb.

Slow the hell down, buddy.

“Fine,” Steve says, throwing his hands up in the air. He turns back to Eddie. “Pretty Fly.”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Eddie blurts.

Steve’s eyes narrow. “Didn’t you just apologize to me?”

“Sorry,” Eddie says. “It’s just that my bassist and lead singer have been gunning for this song for, like, 6 months. Archie chomps at the bit for fun bass lines, and Jeff just thinks it’s funny as-”

“Slow down,” Steve interrupts.

Right. He talks too fast.

“I’ll play it, but it means caving to my asshole friends,” Eddie says.

Robin cackles. “Told you it was a good idea.”

“Yeah, I love a good bass line,” Steve says. His face is softer again, and Eddie thinks he loves that expression.

He checks his watch. “Soundcheck is soon, so I’m gonna head back. Sorry again.”

“Eddie,” Steve says, and oh.

Eddie loves how Steve says his name.

“We’re good, okay?” he continues, small smile on his face.

“Well,” Robin chimes in. “After the apology song you will be.”

Eddie laughs. He really likes her now that she’s warmed up to him.

“Noted,” he says.

He heads back with a final wave and ducks backstage, where the band is tuning their instruments.

“Well?” Gareth asks, tightening his snare.

Eddie grabs his guitar, closes his eyes, and sighs. “He wants us to play Pretty Fly as an apology.”

“Let’s fucking go!” Archie roars, and Jeff gives him a high five.

“No way-”

“Gareth, I know-”

“You dick-hungry traitor.”

“Hey!”

“The fucking Offspring, Eddie? Punk? Are you shitting me? Punk just because you want a shot with a hot guy?”

Archie starts plucking out the bass line. Gareth throws a drum stick at his head. Jeff beams it back at him and misses.

“It’s one time,” Eddie says.

“Unless your cute roadie likes it enough,” Jeff teases.

“He’s not my anything.”

“Not yet,” Archie adds.

“Not ever.”

“Fucking pessimist,” Jeff says.

A tiny crashing sound makes them all turn toward the drum set, where Gareth is lightly thumping his head into the hi-hat.

“I’m gonna have to do the backing vocals for Pretty Fly,” he mutters.

“Your fault for sounding like a pre-pubescent chihuahua.”

Gareth throws his other drumstick at Jeff. “I’m not begging you for shit.”

“Do it for the bit,” Archie says. “You love doing it for the bit.”

Gareth picks his head up. “I do love doing anything for the bit.”

“Soundcheck in five!” someone calls.

“Thank you five!” Eddie yells back. Shit, he’s gotta tune his guitar.

Soundcheck is a breeze, and, after that, the time flies. Before he knows it, they’re out onstage, playing their usual set list.

Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this. The energy, the lights, the sounds, G-d, all of it. There’s nothing like being onstage and playing until his fingers hurt, nothing like joining in on the backup vocals, nothing like hearing the crowd roar with them.

It’s perfect. Touring is everything he dreamed of and more.

Eddie wants to do this for the rest of his life. They’re gonna headline one day, he knows it, but this is an amazing start.

What Eddie doesn’t want to do is talk, at Jeff’s request.

“Okay, okay,” he says, getting the crowd to quiet down. “We’ve got two more songs. The first one is one we’re playing because I fucked up.”

“And because he finally caved to us,” Jeff adds.

The crowd laughs, but it doesn’t feel mocking. Eddie laughs with them.

“So, Steve, consider this the final part of my apology-”

“And my peak embarrassment!” Gareth adds.

The crowd laughs again, and Eddie sighs, fondly long-suffering. “Let’s do it.”

The backing vocals are fucking embarrassing. Eddie’s with Gareth on that one. They suck, and he feels himself flush for reasons other than the heat.

But he imagines Steve smiling as he watches the show, and Archie is clearly having the best G-ddamn time on the bass, and Jeff is basically cackling his way through the song, so it’s worth it.

They get through it and then their closer without a hitch.

“We’re Corroded Coffin!” Jeff tells the crowd. “Y’all were amazing, so keep that energy up for the other opener and for the main act!”

The crowd roars, the lights black out, and they make their way backstage.

In the green room, on Eddie’s guitar case, is a note.

Apology more than accepted. Here’s my number in case you want to apologize again. Or maybe grab a coffee.

Text, don’t call. In case you haven’t noticed, my ears don’t work.

-Steve.

Eddie has never added a contact faster in his life.

I think I saw a 24 hour diner down the road. Hopefully they have good coffee.

Steve’s response is immediate.

Do you really think I care about the quality of the coffee?

You could be a coffee connoisseur for all I know, Eddie types back.

I don’t know a lot. Hence the date.

Date.

Woah.

Eddie tries to get his heart rate under control and text Steve back. He’s never been good at multitasking though, so by the time he’s able to formulate words again, the lights have gone down and the second opener is on. Steve’s working, and he shouldn’t be bothered.

Besides, Eddie should probably use the time between now and the end of the show to think before he speaks for once in his life.

Yeah fuck it I’ll keep the tag list (or you can follow the shiny new tag #gi;pe au): @vampireinthesun @paperbackribs @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @messrs-weasley @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @omgshesinsane @bestwifehaver @marklee-blackmore @gleek4twd @steddiestains @chaoticvictorianspirit @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @alienace @7shrewsinatrenchcoat @punctualhowell @pluto-pepsi @voidpacifist @sunfloweringstories @anaibis @evillitteguy @hallucinatedjosten @avi17 @b-u-g-g-y @shinekocreator @l0st-strawberry @brassreign @abbiecadabi-blog @rainbow-freckle @gregre369 @rehfan @just-a-tiny-void @weirdandabsurd42 @satan-is-obsessed @honeysucklesinger @coyotepup345 @gayafmermaid @thegingerrapunzel

[saebyeokbliss]

THE TREE

pairing: kang sae-byeok x fem!lawyer!reader

synopsis: when you come back to seoul from the states, you ask your younger sister ji-yeong if you could crash for a few days. however, her roommate is seemingly reluctant and only agrees to letting you stay for a week. you agree to do so and stay for the meantime while you help a north korean couple fight to stay in the south.

warnings: angst, slow burn, emotional themes, legal drama, mentions of north korean defection, doomed yuri, discussions of deportation, stress and exhaustion, mild language, mutual pining, reader is 2 years older than ji-yeong and sae-byeok

The morning air was crisp, the kind that nipped at exposed skin but wasn’t quite enough to be unbearable. Kang Sae-byeok pulled Cheol’s scarf up higher around his chin, adjusting it as they walked toward the small private school he attended. Ji-yeong strolled beside them, hands stuffed into the pockets of her oversized hoodie, her usual smirk barely present.

"You're wrapping him up like he's going to war, not school," Ji-yeong teased, nudging Sae-byeok with her elbow.

Sae-byeok rolled her eyes but didn’t respond, instead tightening her grip on Cheol’s tiny hand. He looked between the two girls, oblivious to the conversation but content in their presence.

As they turned the corner, the school came into view—a modest building with a neat little yard where other kids were being dropped off. Sae-byeok stopped at the entrance, crouching down to meet Cheol’s eyes.

"Be good today, alright? If anyone gives you trouble—"

"I tell the teacher first," Cheol recited dutifully. "And if that doesn’t work, I tell you."

Sae-byeok ruffled his hair, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Good boy."

Cheol beamed before running toward the schoolyard, his small backpack bouncing with each step. Sae-byeok watched until he disappeared inside, only then allowing herself to exhale.

Ji-yeong rocked back on her heels. "So, uh, speaking of kids," she started, voice casual in a way that immediately made Sae-byeok suspicious.

"Don’t," Sae-byeok warned.

Ji-yeong grinned. "You don’t even know what I’m gonna say."

"I can hear it in your voice. It’s something annoying."

Ji-yeong sucked in a dramatic breath. "Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all—"

"Ji-yeong."

"—my sister needs a place to crash for a week."

Sae-byeok’s face immediately hardened. "No."

Ji-yeong pouted. "You don’t even know her."

"Exactly."

Ji-yeong groaned, throwing her head back. "She’s only two years older than me, she’s a lawyer, and she’s working on some big case in Seoul. She just needs a place to stay while she’s here."

Sae-byeok shook her head, already walking away. "I said no."

Ji-yeong jogged to catch up. "Sae-byeok, come on. She’s not some creep. She’s my sister."

"That doesn’t mean anything."

"You let me stay at your place."

"That’s different."

"How?"

Sae-byeok stopped, turning to face Ji-yeong with an exasperated look. "Because I know you. I don’t know her. And Cheol—" She hesitated. "I can’t have strangers around him."

Ji-yeong’s expression softened. "She’s not a stranger to me. And I wouldn’t bring her up if I thought she was dangerous."

Sae-byeok crossed her arms, jaw tight. She hated new people. She hated disruptions. But most of all, she hated putting Cheol in any situation where he might not be safe.

"It’s just a week," Ji-yeong pressed. "Seven days. She’s barely gonna be there anyway, she’ll be working all the time."

Sae-byeok exhaled sharply through her nose. "If she oversteps, she’s out."

Ji-yeong grinned. "Deal."

Sae-byeok clicked her tongue, already regretting it.

She had a bad feeling about this.

And she was rarely wrong.

The flight from the States to Korea was long and exhausting, but stepping into Seoul’s crisp evening air felt oddly refreshing. It had been years since you’d been back—too long, really—but work had finally brought you home, even if only for a week.

Dragging your suitcase behind you, you punched in the address Ji-yeong had given you into your phone. The apartment wasn’t too far, just a short cab ride away.

As you stood outside the modest building, you took a deep breath before knocking.

The door swung open almost immediately.

"About time," Ji-yeong greeted, her grin wide as she pulled you into a tight hug.

You laughed, squeezing her back. "Missed you too, Ji."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, pulling away and ushering you inside. "Come in before Sae-byeok starts regretting this."

You stepped in cautiously, eyes scanning the small but cozy apartment. It was clean, minimal, clearly lived in but not cluttered. And then, standing stiffly by the kitchen counter, was the infamous Kang Sae-byeok.

You knew of her, of course. Ji-yeong talked about her all the time—their friendship, their shared struggles, and most importantly, the little brother Sae-byeok was raising. Cheol. You’d heard so much about him that it almost felt like you already knew him.

Sae-byeok, however, looked far less thrilled to meet you.

"Hi," you greeted, offering a polite smile.

She gave a curt nod. "Rules are simple. Don’t touch anything, don’t bother Cheol, and don’t stay longer than a week."

Ji-yeong groaned. "Jesus, Sae-byeok. Can you at least pretend to be a decent host?"

"It’s fine," you reassured, not at all offended. You understood her protectiveness. "I’ll stay out of the way."

Sae-byeok didn’t respond, just gave you one last assessing glance before disappearing into the hallway.

Ji-yeong sighed. "She’ll warm up. Eventually."

You weren’t so sure about that.

A few hours later, after settling in and getting some work done at the small dining table, the front door opened again.

You glanced up just as a small boy stepped inside, his tiny frame bundled up in a thick scarf.

Cheol.

His eyes widened slightly at the sight of you, and he immediately pressed himself against Sae-byeok’s side, gripping the hem of her jacket.

You smiled gently. "You must be Cheol."

He didn’t respond, just peeked up at Sae-byeok, who shot you a warning glance before ruffling his hair.

"This is Ji-yeong’s sister," she told him. "She’s staying for a little bit."

Cheol stayed quiet, still clutching onto his sister like she was his lifeline.

You didn’t push. Instead, you returned your attention to your paperwork, flipping through the legal documents sprawled across the table.

A few minutes passed before you noticed a small presence beside you.

Glancing down, you found Cheol standing near your chair, eyes locked onto the colorful pens you had scattered across the table.

"You like these?" you asked, picking up a bright blue one and twirling it between your fingers.

Cheol hesitated before nodding.

You uncapped the pen and handed it to him. "You can try it if you want."

His small fingers closed around it, and he quickly grabbed a scrap piece of paper from the pile, drawing a few wobbly lines.

Ji-yeong whistled. "Damn, that was fast. He likes you already."

Sae-byeok, who had been putting away Cheol’s backpack, turned at Ji-yeong’s comment.

Her eyes landed on the sight before her—Cheol, sitting beside you, completely at ease, scribbling on paper with one of your colorful pens while you watched with amusement.

Her jaw tightened.

Without a word, she grabbed her coat and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Ji-yeong asked.

"Dinner," Sae-byeok muttered, yanking the door open and stepping out before anyone could say anything else.

You barely noticed, too focused on Cheol’s enthusiastic scribbling.

But Ji-yeong did.

And she smirked.

Dinner had been quiet. At least, for the most part. Ji-yeong had done most of the talking, cracking jokes and trying to lighten the mood, while Cheol had happily eaten beside her, occasionally showing you his doodles from earlier.

Sae-byeok, however, had remained mostly silent, her usual sharp gaze flickering between you and Cheol with something unreadable.

Now, with the dishes cleaned and the apartment settling into a comfortable quiet, you stood by the main window, stretching after a long day.

That’s when you noticed it.

The tree.

It was massive, its thick branches stretching close enough to the window that it almost felt like an invitation. The night sky beyond it was clear, stars scattered across the darkness like tiny glowing freckles.

Before you could think twice, you were already climbing out.

The cool breeze greeted you as you carefully maneuvered onto one of the sturdier branches, settling down with your back against the trunk. The view was beautiful—Seoul’s city lights twinkling in the distance, the moon casting a soft glow over everything.

You exhaled, letting the moment sink in.

And then—

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

You turned your head just as Sae-byeok leaned out of the window, her expression a mix of disbelief and irritation.

"Uh… enjoying the night?" you offered, lips twitching.

Sae-byeok let out a sharp breath before climbing out after you, moving with the practiced ease of someone who had probably done this a hundred times before.

"You can’t just climb out onto random trees like this," she scolded, settling onto the branch beside you but keeping a firm grip on the trunk. "What if you fall?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "It’s funny."

Sae-byeok narrowed her eyes. "What is?"

"That you’re scolding me like I’m a reckless kid," you mused, tilting your head toward her. "You do know I’m two years older than you, right?"

Sae-byeok scoffed. "You sure don’t act like it."

You laughed at that, and for the first time, Sae-byeok didn’t immediately look like she wanted to strangle you.

Deciding to shift the conversation, you leaned back a little. "Ji-yeong talks about you a lot, you know."

Sae-byeok tensed slightly. "Does she?"

"Mhm," you hummed. "She really admires you."

Sae-byeok looked away, gaze fixed on the distant skyline. "She talks too much."

You smiled. "I think it’s sweet. You two seem close."

Sae-byeok didn’t respond right away, but her expression softened just a fraction.

You took the chance to ask, "What about you? What do you do when you’re not... glaring at new people in your apartment?"

Sae-byeok shot you a look, but there was no real heat behind it. "I work. I take care of Cheol. That’s all."

"That’s a lot," you pointed out. "He’s a good kid."

Sae-byeok’s lips pressed together, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "Yeah. He is."

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the city buzzing softly in the distance, the wind rustling through the tree.

Eventually, Sae-byeok sighed. "Just… don’t do dumb shit like this again."

You grinned. "No promises."

She groaned, rubbing her temple. "You’re worse than Ji-yeong."

"I’ll take that as a compliment," you teased.

Sae-byeok clicked her tongue in annoyance, but she didn’t move from her spot beside you.

And that, you figured, was a small victory.

The older adults' home was modest, tucked into a quieter part of Seoul, far from the relentless buzz of the city. The air smelled faintly of brewed barley tea, and the walls were lined with faded pictures—fragments of lives lived before they had ever set foot in South Korea.

You walked in with your briefcase in one hand and a notepad in the other, your heels clicking softly against the floor. The director of the home, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a kind smile, had called earlier, asking if you could come as soon as possible.

Two of their residents—an elderly couple—were in trouble.

You were led into a small sitting room where the pair was waiting.

The man, Mr. Choi, was thin, his frame slightly hunched with age, but his eyes were sharp. His wife, Mrs. Choi, sat beside him, her hands wringing together in her lap, her face lined with decades of worry.

As soon as you introduced yourself, they bowed deeply, desperation evident in the way they clung to formality.

"Please," Mrs. Choi said, her voice trembling. "We don’t know who else to turn to."

You offered a reassuring smile and took a seat across from them, flipping open your notepad. "Tell me everything. Start from the beginning."

Mr. Choi cleared his throat, his fingers tightening around his wife’s. "We defected from the North twenty-two years ago. It was… difficult, but we made it. We were granted automatic citizenship like all defectors."

You nodded. "Right. Under South Korean law, all North Korean defectors are recognized as South Korean citizens the moment they arrive."

"Yes," he confirmed. "But we—" He hesitated, his jaw clenching before he forced himself to continue. "We made a mistake. A bureaucratic one, but a mistake nonetheless."

Mrs. Choi took over, her voice hushed as if saying it out loud would make it worse. "When we first arrived, we were afraid. We didn’t trust anyone, not even the government. So when we were told to register for our new identification cards, we… we paid someone to do it for us."

That made you pause, your pen hovering over the notepad.

"You paid someone?" you echoed carefully.

Mr. Choi exhaled sharply. "A broker. He told us he would handle everything quickly, make sure our records were clean. We were naive. We thought we were protecting ourselves."

You resisted the urge to sigh. "And now?"

"Now," Mrs. Choi whispered, "we’ve been told that our citizenship is under review. The government flagged our paperwork as fraudulent, and they are considering revoking it."

Your grip tightened around your pen. If their citizenship was revoked, that meant—

"They’re trying to deport you," you realized.

Mr. Choi gave a stiff nod. "Back to China. Not even the North. If that happens—"

"They’ll send us back," Mrs. Choi finished, her voice cracking. "And if they do, we’ll be executed."

The weight of their words settled over the room like a thick fog.

You had handled difficult cases before, but this? This was life or death.

You took a slow breath and closed your notepad, looking them both in the eye.

"I won’t let that happen," you said firmly. "I’ll do everything I can to fix this."

Mrs. Choi let out a soft sob, covering her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes. Mr. Choi bowed his head, his shoulders shaking.

"Thank you," he murmured. "Thank you."

You weren’t sure if you deserved their gratitude just yet.

But you knew one thing for certain: you weren’t going to fail them.

The weight of the case pressed down on you like an unbearable force, settling deep into your bones.

Days had passed, filled with phone calls, legal research, and endless meetings. The Choi couple’s fate balanced on a knife’s edge, and despite your best efforts, the government's review process was painfully slow. Every possible solution led to another obstacle, and it was exhausting.

You hadn’t realized how much it was taking out of you until tonight.

The apartment was quiet—Ji-yeong was asleep, and Cheol had long since gone to bed. You hadn’t seen much of Sae-byeok today, but you figured she was around, watching as always.

Slipping out through the window, you climbed onto the tree, settling into what had become your spot. The cool night breeze brushed against your skin as you leaned against the sturdy trunk, staring at the sky.

Your mind raced with possibilities. What if you couldn’t fix this? What if you lost the case? What if—

The sound of someone climbing out onto the branch startled you from your thoughts.

You turned your head just as Sae-byeok eased herself onto the tree, sitting beside you with practiced ease.

"You’ve been doing this a lot," she noted, her voice quieter than usual.

You huffed out a tired laugh. "Guess I have."

She studied you for a moment, arms resting on her knees. "You seem less… cheery than usual."

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair. "It’s the case," you admitted. "It’s a tough one."

Sae-byeok didn’t say anything right away, waiting for you to continue.

You hesitated before explaining, keeping it brief. "An elderly couple—North Korean defectors. They made a mistake years ago when filing their paperwork, and now the government wants to revoke their citizenship. If that happens, they’ll be deported to China, and then sent back to the North."

Sae-byeok’s expression darkened. "And if they go back to the North…"

"They won’t survive."

Silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken understanding.

Finally, Sae-byeok sighed, leaning back against the trunk. "I don’t know you very well," she admitted. "But I can tell you’re a hard worker."

You blinked, turning your head to look at her.

She continued, voice steady. "You wouldn’t have taken the case if you didn’t think you could win. And even if it’s difficult, I can tell you’re the kind of person who doesn’t give up easily."

Something warm settled in your chest.

Most people reassured you with empty words—"It’ll work out," or "Things happen for a reason." But Sae-byeok? She wasn’t sugarcoating anything. She was recognizing your effort, your ability to fight through the exhaustion.

And somehow, that meant more than anything else.

You smiled, looking back up at the stars. "You know, in the States, you don’t see the stars like this."

Sae-byeok glanced up, following your gaze. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you murmured. "Too much light pollution. But here, you can still see them, even in the city."

Sae-byeok hummed in acknowledgment, her gaze lingering on the sky.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The night air was cool, the stars distant but unwavering.

Even though you only had four days left with them, Sae-byeok didn’t seem as indifferent to you anymore.

And that? That was enough for now.

The courtroom was tense, the air thick with anticipation. You sat at the plaintiff’s table, your hands clasped together as you listened to the government’s final argument. They spoke in formal, detached tones, stating that the Choi couple’s initial documentation contained fraudulent elements, and therefore, their citizenship was not legally binding.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to remain composed.

It had been a brutal legal battle. You had spent the past few days gathering every piece of evidence, every precedent, every argument you could possibly use. You had pored over immigration law, defectors’ rights, and testimonies from other North Korean refugees who had gone through similar bureaucratic nightmares.

And now, this was it.

The judge turned to you. "Counselor, your closing argument?"

You stood, smoothing down your blazer as you stepped forward.

"Your Honor, my clients, Mr. and Mrs. Choi, have spent the last twenty-two years as lawful, contributing citizens of South Korea. They have built a life here—a life of hard work and quiet resilience."

You turned to the courtroom, making sure to meet the judge's gaze.

"Yes, they made a mistake in trusting the wrong person to handle their paperwork when they first arrived. But does that mistake erase the decades they have spent as South Korean citizens? Does it justify sending them back to a country where they will face certain persecution, imprisonment, or worse?

South Korea recognizes all North Korean defectors as its own. It has done so for decades. To revoke their citizenship now over a clerical error—one made in fear and desperation—is not just a legal misstep. It is a moral failure.

I urge the court to remember that the law is not just about technicalities—it is about justice. And justice demands that Mr. and Mrs. Choi be allowed to stay in the only home they have known for the past two decades."

Silence.

The judge studied you carefully before nodding. "I will return shortly with my decision."

The minutes that followed felt like hours.

Mr. and Mrs. Choi sat beside you, their hands trembling slightly. You could feel their fear, their exhaustion. You wanted to tell them it would be okay, but until the ruling was official, you couldn’t make promises.

Then, the judge returned.

After a moment of shuffling papers, they spoke.

"The court finds in favor of the plaintiffs. The motion to revoke Mr. and Mrs. Choi’s citizenship is hereby dismissed. They will remain South Korean citizens, with full rights and protections under the law."

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding finally escaped.

Beside you, Mrs. Choi let out a broken sob, covering her mouth with her hands. Mr. Choi bowed his head deeply, his shoulders shaking.

"Thank you," he whispered, voice hoarse with emotion. "Thank you, Miss [Last Name]."

You smiled, relief washing over you like a wave. "You don’t have to thank me," you said softly. "This is your home. No one should be able to take that away from you."

As you shook their hands and gathered your things, the weight that had been crushing you for days finally lifted.

You had done it.

They were safe.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you could finally breathe again.

The apartment was quiet when you returned, the adrenaline of the courtroom victory still thrumming in your veins. You had done it. Mr. and Mrs. Choi were safe, their citizenship secured. It felt good—like all the stress, the exhaustion, the sleepless nights had been worth it.

But now that the fight was over, you found yourself seeking the one place that had become your quiet retreat.

The tree.

Slipping out through the window, you climbed onto the branch with practiced ease, settling into your usual spot. The sky stretched vast above you, stars glinting like scattered fragments of glass. You exhaled, letting the moment sink in, letting yourself be.

The sound of rustling behind you made you glance back.

But instead of Sae-byeok, it was Ji-yeong who climbed out, her movements casual as she plopped down beside you.

"Didn’t peg you for the sentimental type," she teased, nudging your arm.

You chuckled. "Guess I just like the view."

Ji-yeong hummed, swinging her legs slightly. "You’re in a good mood."

"I won," you admitted, unable to hide the satisfaction in your voice. "The Chois get to stay."

Ji-yeong grinned. "Knew you would."

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Then, Ji-yeong spoke again, her tone more thoughtful.

"You know," she mused, "Sae-byeok learned how you take your coffee."

You blinked, turning to her. "What?"

She smirked. "Yeah. Black with just a little sugar. She made a face when she saw it, said it was weird, but she still made sure it was right every time."

You stared at her, surprised. "I… didn’t even notice."

Ji-yeong shrugged. "She also remembers that you always leave your shoes by the door but never actually put them on right away. That you hum when you’re reading something important. That you always check on Cheol before bed, even though you think no one sees you."

Your heart skipped, warmth creeping into your chest.

"She doesn’t say much," Ji-yeong continued, resting her chin on her knee, "but she notices things. And I think she’s noticed you more than she wants to admit."

You swallowed, glancing back up at the stars. "Well… it doesn’t really matter, does it?"

Ji-yeong frowned. "What do you mean?"

You sighed, a sad smile tugging at your lips. "The case is over. That means I only have three days left before I go back to the States. My next case is waiting for me."

Ji-yeong was quiet for a long moment. Then, she let out a small sigh, running a hand through her hair. "I missed having you around, you know."

Your chest ached at that.

"I missed you too, Ji," you admitted softly.

She hesitated, then grinned. "Maybe you should try convincing Sae-byeok to let you stay longer."

You laughed, shaking your head. "She barely tolerated me when I got here. I doubt she’d want me sticking around."

Ji-yeong gave you a knowing look. "You sure about that?"

You didn’t answer.

Because, truthfully?

You weren’t sure at all.

What neither of you noticed was the figure lingering just inside the apartment.

Sae-byeok stood by the doorway, hidden in the shadows, listening to every word.

She had heard Ji-yeong’s teasing, your soft laughter, the way your voice carried gently through the night air. But most of all, she heard the quiet finality in your tone when you said you were leaving.

She didn’t know why that made something settle uncomfortably in her chest.

Without another word, she turned and retreated to her room, closing the door behind her.

But even in the silence, her thoughts lingered on you.

And the fact that in three days, you’d be gone.

Ji-yeong had called it a "girls' night out", but you should’ve known better than to trust her vague descriptions.

You had imagined a casual bar, maybe some light drinking and conversation. Instead, you found yourself in the middle of a packed club, music thrumming in your chest, neon lights flickering across the walls, and Ji-yeong already ordering shots before you could protest.

"Come on," she had shouted over the music, pushing a glass into your hand. "You just won a huge case! You deserve to celebrate!"

You hesitated for all of two seconds before downing the shot.

And that was where the night started to blur.

You weren’t wasted, but you were definitely drunk.

Somewhere along the way, Ji-yeong had disappeared into the crowd, her arm slung around a pretty girl’s waist, flashing you a thumbs-up before vanishing entirely. You had laughed, stumbling your way to the bar, only to realize that now you had no ride home.

The bartender gave you water, which you barely sipped, and your phone buzzed in your hand.

Ji-yeong: yo i found someone im gonna go home w her Ji-yeong: u good???? You: idk You: i think i may be a lil drunk You: how do i get home again Ji-yeong: oh my god Ji-yeong: hold on

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed again.

Ji-yeong: Sae-byeok’s coming to get you. Don’t move. You: bro SHE is gonna kill me Ji-yeong: lmao probably. good luck

You groaned, dropping your head onto the bar.

Sae-byeok. Of all people.

She found you exactly where Ji-yeong told her you’d be—sitting at the bar, sipping lazily on a glass of water, looking far too pleased with yourself for someone who was about to get their ass dragged home.

"You’re an idiot," was the first thing she said, stepping beside you.

You grinned up at her. "Hey, you came."

"Unfortunately," she muttered before grabbing your wrist and pulling you to your feet. You wobbled slightly, but she steadied you with an exasperated sigh.

"How much did you drink?"

"Uhhh…" You thought for a moment. "A lot?"

She rolled her eyes. "Let’s go."

The walk home was a blur, but you remembered the feeling of Sae-byeok’s hand gripping your wrist, keeping you from stumbling too much. You weren’t sure if she was annoyed or just resigned to her fate, but either way, she got you back to the apartment in one piece.

Cheol was already asleep, his door closed, the apartment dark except for the faint glow of the kitchen light.

You flopped onto the couch, groaning loudly. "Ughhhh. I feel gross."

Sae-byeok sighed, rubbing her temples. "You’re impossible."

You peeked up at her. "You’re still here."

She scoffed. "I had to make sure you didn’t choke on your own stupidity."

You laughed at that, and for some reason, that seemed to make her smile—just a little.

Then, as if making a sudden decision, she turned toward the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of soju from the counter.

You raised an eyebrow. "You’re drinking now?"

She shrugged, sitting on the couch beside you. "Might as well. I already had to deal with your drunk ass."

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. "So mean."

She rolled her eyes but poured you both a drink anyway.

And so, you drank.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first.

Maybe it was you, tipsy and warm, feeling bolder than you should have.

Or maybe it was her, gaze flickering to your lips too many times, her usual walls crumbling just a little in the haze of alcohol.

Either way, one moment you were laughing at something ridiculous, and the next, you were kissing her.

It was messy, uncoordinated, fueled by soju and exhaustion, but neither of you pulled away. Her lips were soft, her hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer as if she had stopped caring about pushing you away.

Somehow, you ended up in her room, tangled together in the dim light, the world outside forgotten.

And when morning came, with your head pounding and your limbs still wrapped around hers, the only thing you could think was—

Oh.

Shit.

Your head was pounding.

Your mouth was dry.

And there was warm, steady breathing against your neck.

For a moment, you just lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to piece together what the hell had happened last night.

But when you shifted slightly, you felt it—the solid weight of an arm draped over your waist. The warmth of someone pressed against your back.

And then it hit you.

Oh. Shit.

Sae-byeok was asleep in your arms.

Your breath caught in your throat as you carefully, carefully turned your head to look at her.

Her face was peaceful, her usual sharp, guarded expression softened by sleep. Her lips were slightly parted, dark hair fanning across the pillow.

And worst of all?

She looked comfortable. Too comfortable.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You needed to get out of here.

This—whatever this was—was a terrible idea. You were leaving in three days. This was just a drunken mistake, a lapse in judgment. If you stayed, if you let yourself get used to this—

You shook your head, carefully shifting to slide out from under her arm.

But the moment you moved, her grip tightened.

You froze.

Sae-byeok let out a quiet, sleepy sigh before pressing closer, her arm locking around your waist with surprising strength.

You swallowed hard. "Sae—"

"Don’t," she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Your heart pounded. "Don’t what?"

"Don’t leave."

Your breath hitched.

For a moment, you thought maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe she wasn’t even really awake.

But then she spoke again, her voice quieter this time.

"Maybe it was just because we were drunk," she admitted, her grip never loosening. "But you’re leaving anyway. So it doesn’t really matter, does it?"

Your chest ached, something twisting deep inside you.

You could hear what she wasn’t saying.

If you’re leaving, then what’s the point in pretending this meant something?

You wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat.

Because she was right.

You were leaving.

And maybe, just maybe, that was why this hurt so much.

Your suitcase lay open on Ji-yeong’s bed, half-filled with neatly folded clothes. Three days had passed too quickly, and now you were down to your final few hours in this apartment.

You tried to focus on packing, on making sure everything fit just right, but your hands felt clumsy, restless. Your mind was too busy replaying everything that had happened—especially that night.

The way Sae-byeok had held you.

The way she had told you not to leave.

And then, the way she had avoided you ever since.

You had barely exchanged more than a few words since that morning. No lingering glances, no quiet conversations under the stars. It was as if she had drawn a line between you, pretending nothing had happened.

And if that was how she wanted to play it, fine.

You weren’t going to beg her to care.

You were folding your last shirt when you felt it—that presence at the door.

You didn’t look up, but you knew she was there.

Sae-byeok stood in the doorway, arms crossed, silent. Watching.

The air between you was tense, heavy with all the things left unsaid.

Finally, she broke the silence.

"You’ve been acting weird."

You scoffed, shoving a pair of jeans into your suitcase with more force than necessary. "Oh, I’m the one acting weird?"

Sae-byeok’s eyes narrowed. "Yeah. You are."

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "That’s rich, coming from you."

She exhaled sharply, stepping further into the room. "What’s your problem?"

That did it.

You turned to face her fully, anger bubbling to the surface before you could stop it. "My problem? Really?" You took a step closer, your voice rising. "You want to know what my problem is, Sae-byeok? It’s that you’ve been treating me like a stranger ever since that night. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like I don’t mean anything."

Her expression hardened, but she didn’t look away. "I never said it didn’t mean anything."

"Then what the hell was it?" you demanded. "A one-time thing? A drunken mistake? Just something to pass the time before I left?"

Sae-byeok’s jaw clenched. "I don’t play games."

"Then stop acting like you didn’t pull me closer that night," you snapped. "Stop acting like you didn’t want it just as much as I did!"

She inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. "And what do you want me to say, huh? That I regret it? That I don’t?" Her voice dropped, but the frustration was still there. "You’re leaving. What do you expect me to do?"

Your chest tightened. "I expect you to be honest with me."

She shook her head, running a hand through her hair. "You think this is easy for me?"

"You’re the one pretending nothing happened!"

"You’re the one walking away!"

Silence.

You both stood there, breathing heavily, the weight of your words settling between you like a storm that had finally broken.

Sae-byeok’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Then, as if deciding something, she exhaled sharply and took a step back.

"Forget it," she muttered, shaking her head. "It doesn’t matter."

The words stung more than they should have.

Before you could say anything else, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving you standing there, fists clenched, heart pounding.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you wanted to leave at all.

The night air was cool against your skin as you climbed onto the tree one last time.

You settled into your usual spot, leaning against the trunk, gazing up at the stars scattered across the Seoul skyline.

It felt different tonight.

Maybe because you knew it would be the last time.

You exhaled slowly, letting the silence wrap around you, trying to soak in the moment. The past few days had been a whirlwind—winning the case, the drunken night with Sae-byeok, the fight that had followed. And now, it was time to go.

There was no fixing things between you and her.

Maybe there never had been.

You heard the quiet creak of the apartment window opening, the soft rustle of movement.

For a brief second, you thought—hoped—Sae-byeok would come sit beside you. That she would say something, anythingbefore you left.

But she didn’t.

She just stood there, watching.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved.

And eventually, after what felt like forever, she closed the window.

Leaving you alone.

By morning, your suitcase was packed, your ride was waiting, and the apartment was still.

You didn’t wake Ji-yeong. You didn’t wake Cheol. And you certainly didn’t wake Sae-byeok.

Instead, you left your goodbyes in ink.

A letter on Ji-yeong’s bed. One on Cheol’s. And finally, one on hers.

Then, without another word, you were gone.

Sae-byeok woke up to the sound of the apartment door closing.

At first, she didn’t move.

She just lay there, staring at the ceiling, already knowing what had happened.

Still, when she finally sat up and saw the letter on her bed, her chest tightened.

She hesitated before picking it up, fingers tracing the edges.

Then, without thinking, she walked to the window.

The tree stood there, empty.

For a moment, she just stared at it, jaw clenched.

Then, with a quiet sigh, she climbed out, settling into the same spot you had sat in the night before.

She unfolded the letter with careful hands.

And she read.

Sae-byeok,

I don’t know how to say goodbye to you, so I won’t.

By the time you read this, I’ll already be on my way back to the States. I figured this was easier—leaving without any more words left to fight over.

I don’t know what we were. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. Maybe just a mistake made under the influence of alcohol and bad timing.

But I do know this: I meant it.

Every touch, every glance, every moment we shared—I meant it. And I think, deep down, you did too.

But you were right. I was always going to leave. And maybe that’s why you never let yourself get too close. Maybe it was easier that way.

Still, I wish things had been different.

I wish we had more time.

I wish you had asked me to stay.

But I also know that even if you had, I don’t think I could’ve. Because this is my life—always moving, always chasing the next case, the next fight.

And you?

You’ve spent too long fighting already.

So this is me letting go.

Take care of Ji-yeong. Take care of Cheol. And, for once in your life, take care of yourself too.

I hope when you look at this tree, you don’t think of me leaving. I hope you think of the nights we sat here, staring at the stars, saying everything and nothing at all.

I hope you remember me the way I’ll remember you.

Goodbye, Sae-byeok.

Sae-byeok’s fingers tightened around the letter, her chest aching in a way she couldn’t describe.

She read it again.

And again.

And again.

Until the words blurred, until the weight of what she had lost finally settled in.

She closed her eyes, exhaling shakily.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself feel it.

The morning was like any other.

Sae-byeok walked with Cheol to school, Ji-yeong by her side, the two of them making quiet conversation as Cheol ran ahead, waving goodbye before disappearing through the school gates.

It was routine now—dropping him off, grabbing coffee, walking back to the apartment. A routine that kept Sae-byeok grounded, distracted.

But today, something was different.

As they neared the apartment complex, the usual quiet of the morning was broken by the sound of machinery, voices shouting commands, the telltale buzz of a chainsaw revving up.

Sae-byeok’s steps slowed. Then stopped completely.

Her blood ran cold.

A construction crew stood beneath the tree. The tree. The one where she had spent countless nights sitting beside you, listening to you ramble about the stars, about your cases, about things that didn’t matter and things that did.

The same tree where she had read your letter, hands trembling, heart breaking.

Now, it was marked for removal.

A thick red "X" was painted onto the bark, and one of the workers was already preparing to cut into it.

Something inside Sae-byeok snapped.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!"

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the noise. The workers turned, startled, as she stormed forward, shoving past the orange cones like they weren’t even there.

"You can’t cut this tree down!" she shouted, her accent thickening with anger. "Who gave you permission?!"

One of the workers, a middle-aged man in a hard hat, approached cautiously. "Miss, this tree is scheduled for removal. The roots are damaging the sidewalk, and the landlord approved it."

"I don’t give a shit what the landlord approved!" she snapped. "This tree isn’t going anywhere!"

Ji-yeong, who had been watching in stunned silence, finally stepped beside her, blinking in disbelief. "Uh… Sae?"

But Sae-byeok wasn’t listening.

She turned back to the workers, eyes blazing. "You touch that tree, and I’ll make damn sure you regret it."

The man sighed, rubbing his temples. "Miss, I understand you might be attached to it, but—"

"Attached?" she repeated, her voice shaking with barely restrained fury. "You don’t know anything."

"Look, we’re just doing our job," the man said, clearly trying to keep his patience. "If you have a complaint, take it up with the landlord."

Sae-byeok clenched her fists, her whole body tense, as if she were about to throw a punch.

Ji-yeong must have sensed it because she quickly grabbed Sae-byeok’s arm, pulling her back. "Okay, okay, let’s not get arrested today."

Sae-byeok yanked her arm away but didn’t push the fight further. Instead, she shot the workers one last murderous glare before turning on her heel and storming into the apartment.

Ji-yeong followed, still looking baffled.

The moment they were inside, Sae-byeok kicked off her shoes and made a beeline for her room.

"Sae," Ji-yeong called after her. "What the hell was that?"

No answer.

Sae-byeok slammed her door shut, locking it behind her.

Ji-yeong groaned, running a hand through her hair. "Unbelievable."

She knocked on the door. "Sae, seriously. Talk to me."

Nothing.

Sae-byeok sat on the floor of her room, back against the door, staring at nothing.

Her hands were shaking.

The tree was going to be gone.

And with it, the last piece of you that she had left.

a/n: low-key inspired by flipped but hehehe also im sorry for the angst AH

[drowningkeyborad]

De Rolo Kids Headcanons

Disclaimer: These headcanons have no set timeline in the CR universe. I just like to keep them safe in my back pocket.

Vesper De Rolo

The oldest child

Part of me thinks that she has some mild case of ‘Only Child Syndrome’. For a while, it was just her, Percy, and Vex. Then the twins came along. I don’t think there is a canonical confirmed age gap, but given that Vesper is about 30 in her last canon appearance; I ballpark the age gap between her and The Twins at about 9-10 years.

 She’s the oldest child AND eldest daughter… so that’s a lot

Her white hair comes from Vex being pregnant with her while she was a Champion of The Dawnfather.

Paladin Class. Worships the Dawnfather and can often be found by the Sun Tree. 

Vesper and Vax’ildan II bond over their respective faith practices. 

Takes after both her parents in the best ways. But this can also backfire. 

Spends most of her free time reading or painting. Her preferred reading material is non-fiction and history. 

She’s just as unhinged as the rest of her siblings, but tends to keep it out of the public eye better than the others. 

Loves painting. Like REALLY loves to paint. Her room looks like the inside of Rapunzel’s tower in Tangled. 

Yeah, turns out those paintings were linked to oracle powers–

Anyway– that means she’s off on an adventure! She likes to take her siblings with her, when they’re old enough. Leona and Vax’ildan II are her favorites to travel with. 

Despite the 9-10 year age gap, Vesper and Wolfe bond over being the ‘Eldest Daughter’ and ‘Eldest Son’ of the De Rolo family. 

Gwendolyn and Vesper have a very close relationship, despite having the biggest age gap of all the kids. They share a love for history and fashion. 

Has no real interest in politics, but given the order of her birth, she pays close attention in the case she might have to replace her Aunt Cassandra’s seat.

Heavy Weapons AND Heavy Armor girlie!! Will smash your skull in and look cute while doing so.

Wears her white hair in a messy side braid. Just like her mama <3

Wolfe Kristoff De Rolo

Contrary to most headcanons I’ve read about him; this boy is his father’s son. The Einstein of the new generation. 

Demisexual 

Definitely found old blueprints of Pepperbox and thought “I could do better”. And he did.

Fighter/Artificer Multi Class

Acts the most ‘Noble-like’ out of all his siblings. 

Will throw money and his family name at all of his problems. (“My father will hear about this.”)

“I’m gonna k*ill myself.” – Wolfe, at any minor inconvenience

The most sought after bachelor in Whitestone. Weekly, Percy and Vex are approached by other nobility with the proposal of a political marriage of Wolfe and their own heir. If it’s not nobility; it’s townspeople trying to catch the inventor out of his Workshop to ‘get to know him’.

Wolfe has threatened to Crash Out if either of his parents even considered one of the offers. 

Very well-versed in both engineering and politics. 

Accidentally invented the Printing Press at the age of twelve… He was trying to make a stamp for his dad and it just got out of hand. 

Took a really nasty fall when he was younger. Probably climbing on something he wasn’t supposed to. Resulted in a broken arm and busting his head open. 

Has a scar on his forehead from the fall. His brown hair turned white where the scar meets his hairline. 

Big into hair & skin care. Always has lotion on his person at all times.

Dresses like Percy in Vox Machina Origins. Thigh high boots people…

Take the demon-murdered family-torture trauma from Percy, keep the brains, add a healthy noble upbringing, and tune up the cockiness by ten; ya get Wolfe. 

Hear of Hearing! Boy is around heavy machines and gunfire all day. Sounds like he’s yelling most of the time, but his family knows it’s because he cannot hear them.

Learned Sign Language because of his hearing loss. 

Has to spray Gwendolyn with water like a cat to keep her out of his Workshop. 

Jealous of how free spirited his twin sister can be. He wished he could naturally let go of his worries the way Leona does. 

Leona De Rolo

Middle child. Literally. Between Wolfe being two minutes older than her, then followed by Vax’ildan and Gwendolyn– Leona is smack in the middle.

A bi queen

She loves hunting, target practice, etc. Anything to get a bow in her hands.

Thick-ass glasses and she HATES them! They’re so annoying when she’s trying to hunt/fight in the rain or snow. Still has a deadly aim though. 

Very competitive. She’s the reason the De Rolo family can’t have a game night. 

Fighter/Ranger Multi Class

Good fucking luck trying to tame her lion’s mane of hair. Vesper, Vex, and Gwendolyn have all tried to help her tame it, but it just gets put into a messy ponytail/bun/braid.

Very much a tomboy. Takes to wearing suits and more masc-leaning clothing. Hasn’t worn a dress or skirt since she was like seven years old. 

Wolfe has even commented on how she pulls off suits better than he does. 

She would never tell him, but that compliment has stuck with her for years. 

Often has to push/tackle her twin out of harm's way because he’s hard of hearing.

She and Vex bond over their shared love for the woodlands. There was a time the two of them were camping together, and Vex opened up about her own twin brother. That was the first time Leona had ever seen her mother cry…

She silently vowed to never let something like that happen to Wolfe.

Doesn’t care much for engineering like her father and twin, but she will willingly listen to them ramble on about whatever rabbit hole they’ve both fallen into. 

A small, dark part of her is jealous of Wolfe and how he seems to be admired by everyone. Everywhere. 

Will kill anyone for looking at any of her siblings in a way she doesn’t like. 

She and Vesper travel together the most out of the siblings. Sometimes they’ll go on separate journeys and end up meeting in the middle anyway.  

Leona and Gwendolyn love to pull pranks together.

Vax’ildan Frederick De Rolo

Trans.

Trans, and I cannot be convinced otherwise. 

He 100% chose the name Vax’ildan. 

He’s very quiet. Usually lost in thought or just observing the people around him. 

Stares at people. 

Really good perception (checks). 

Cleric/Paladin Multi Class 

Cleric of the Raven Queen… Yeah, Vex was real happy about that…

His family calls him “Danny” or “Freddie”. He understands that “Vax” is reserved for their dearest friend. 

Wolfe calls him “Danny Boy”. It’s Vax’ildan’s favorite nickname. 

Mama’s boy to the max. Vex, like all parents do, says she doesn’t have a favorite. But everyone knows it’s Vax’ildan II.

Vex was the first one Vax’ildan II came out to as trans. Then Percy, then his siblings, etc. 

“Yeah, dude, we already knew.” “...What?” 

Just like his uncle; Vax’ildan II had been/is watched by the Raven Queen. 

When he accompanied Vesper to her faith work, he would often wander off and be found by the Raven Queen’s Shrine. 

Ravens follow this poor kid everywhere. To the point that Leona has offered to shoot them on multiple occasions.

Fell through a frozen lake when he was about ten years old. It scared his family to death, and he was grounded to sleeping in his parents’ bed for like a month (Vex physically would not let him go.) 

He tried to explain that he was “-following the guy in the raven cloak who had daggers.” 

The reality of the situation didn’t hit him until a few years later, but he still felt no dreaded fear for when it happened. 

The only one allowed to come-and-go into Wolfe’s workshop as he pleases. Likes to sit in the back and read his books.

I could write a whole book on this kid. 

Gwendolyn De Rolo

Daddy’s girl 100%. It's canon.

The little game that Percy and she play during parties is just training her for trouble. 

Rouge Class through-and-through. 

Learns how to use a rapier from her Auntie Cassandra 

Around the age of fifteen, she starts asking to go by just ‘Gwen’. It’s much less of a mouthful, and something about dropping the lengthy name took a weight off her shoulders.

The age gap between her and the rest of her siblings puts a little bit of a strain on things when it comes to relatability. What would an eleven year old Gwendolyn have in common with a twenty-six year old Vesper? 

They all make it work though. 

Aside from Vesper; Vax’ildan II is the next sibling that Gwen is closest to. No one else in the family has the same level of spying skills and likes to gossip as much as she does– except for Danny. They talk shit about other people all the time.

Danny and Gwen’s relationship is similar to that of Cassandra and Percy. 

I can see her picking up bow skills from both Leona and Vex. Having her as a Rouge/Ranger multi class would be deadly.

Cuts her hair when she’s older and likes to keep in short afterwards

Can rattle off years worth of history of about any city/town/ceremony site she steps into. 

Despite her family not seeing her as anything other than their sister/daughter; Gwen feels, in a deep part of her, that they look down on her for being a Tiefling. More so WHY she’s Tiefling. 

She and Leona love to pull pranks on the rest of their siblings together.

[kiradrabbles]

Ouuggh uuu if you want maybe headcanons (if you do them ofc) w the Marble Hornets fellas (oh just Tim if I want :3) w a afab s/o who's a volleyball player?

Have u seen their uniforms???

Ouugh sorry this took a while....... i got halfway through and my phone crashed and i lost some motivation q-q

In any case, why yes nonny i have seen the uniforms, and i do take headcanon requests!

Without further adieu...

Tim, Brian and Alex with an AFAB S/O who plays volleyball!

Mild NSFW warning!! No graphic sex but a few suggestive things said (and the worlds shittiest pickup line)

Tim:

His awkward ass!!! I see a lot of people portray Tim as this cool confidant man, but especially pre-MH I think he was a little awkward. Not quite shy, just.. awkward, as he spent a lot of his childhood in the psych ward. So that would carry over to this.

He wouldn’t stare so visibly, but he’d make it obvious he had to try not to, averting his eyes and shuffling on his feet.

I think sometimes he’d steal looks when he thinks you aren’t looking. He’d glance over, and let out a little sigh and lean back in his chair just a little bit, and you know he’s just admiring you.

how did he get so lucky?

he isn’t a huge fan of sports himself, but he’ll try his best to support you!! He’ll turn up to every game he can, make sure to sit or stand in the front row, and cheer so loud everyone looks at him and he’ll sit back down in embarrassment.

Tim is a physical touch fiend, considering he didn’t get it a lot as a child, so he loves hugs, and will probably be touching you somehow often.

the problem is, when he hugs you in uniform, he is suddenly very acutely aware of how.. much he can see of you right now, and gets all red, and won’t tell you why.

you could probably force it out of him though :3

Brian:

This mf is into it and does not hide it!!

Brians pretty much a smug asshole in canon (lovingly) so he’ll be all smug and show you off to pretty much everyone. Will not hold back on the PDA either. Will probably slap your ass in public and act confused why you’re mad at him. (Only if he knows you don’t mind ofc).

i wouldn’t put it past him to run up to you as soon as you get in the game and quite literally pick you up and kiss you and spin you around, like some scene in a shitty movie.

most ATROCIOUS pickup lines ‼️

“Hey girl, are you an overpass? Because I’d hit that” “BRIAN I JUST SAT DOWN-“

He’s canonically a nursing student, so I’ve always imagined he takes pretty good care of himself, eat well, stay fit, workout often. So you two would match!

he’d be happy to train with you, one of his love languages is quality time, and he’d get to stare at his girl in short shorts and a top anyway, so who is he to complain?

plus, you’d both be all sweaty after, and he could invite you into the shower with him.

I’m sure you can imagine what ensues.

Alex:

He was intimidated at first. I mean, look at him, he’s a twinky theatre kid, and you’re.. muscular and not afraid to show it off, clearly. I mean you could probably pick him up and throw him around, or wrap your legs around his head, or- Not that he’s thinking about that (that he would admit).

he’d stare, but unlike Bri he does NOT own it.

he won’t admit it, but he will stare at you so much. sometimes unintentionally. He thinks he’s being subtle (he is not). I mean, how is it his fault that you’re really pretty and the shorts are so short.

it’s so easy to fluster him, even if he would rather die than admit it.

tsundere ass!!! /silly

Sit on his lap all sweaty after a game and he will turn the most red you've ever seen him and stutter like all hell. he isn't blushing red though, he doesn't know what you're talking about, he just forgot the sunscreen.

Your biggest fan!!!

He'll film your games (and you KNOW mf would get the best angles even if it meant pushing other onlookers out the way). Perks of a film maker bf...

He does want you to crush his head between your thighs i'm so sorry....

[risriswrites]

Booze, Burgers, and Bartenders

summary: short love story involving rooster and penny's favorite bartender.

pairing: bradley bradshaw x fem reader

warnings: none really, just some mild language and minor angst (if you can even call it that)

author's note: wow!! thank you guys so much for all of the love on my second fic "just roommates". i don't have a lot to say about it because honestly i'm speechless! with that being said, this fic has been in the works for months now and i'm exhausted with it. i wanted to write this and get it out back in may but everything with college really held me back and then from there i've just been enjoying summer and have been putting it off. so i apologize for the wait, but i hope y'all enjoy it!! likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated :)

word count: 5.7k

“Penny! Where are the extra bottles of Budweiser?” you call out, body crouched just below the countertop of the bar in an effort to find a hidden Budweiser bottle behind all the Corona’s.

Somewhere in the bar, Penny shouts back to you, a muffled, “Just got a new shipment order in this morning! Check in the backroom, they’re probably still in their packaging!” reaches your ears.

Huffing, you force yourself back to a standing position, leaning your weight against the bar for a few seconds before pushing off and heading towards the backroom.

Flickering the light switch on once the door is fully open, you begin the tedious search for the famous beer the patrons preferred to order at Penny’s bar. Sighing to yourself, you grab a stool just in case the box was placed on one of the top shelves. Jaxson had a habit of doing that, he knew both yourself and Penny preferred the heavier boxes on the bottom shelves, but he somehow always managed to “forget” that important factor.

Crouching low you start with the bottom shelves before moving upwards. Luckily, Jaxson put the newest box of Budweiser’s one shelf above the middle. Lifting the box into your arms, you steady yourself before moving back out of the room and towards the bar.

Maneuvering around the tables and chairs scattered throughout the bar was easier said than done. It wasn’t until you were able to push the box onto the countertop that you could take a breath, leaning your body weight onto the bar again with a huff. Flicking your hair over your shoulder, you notice Penny coming into your field of vision, a sly grin on her face.

“Jaxson leave the box on the top shelf again?” she questions, quirking a curious brow in the process.

Pinning her with a joking glare you smile, “Not this time, but it’s still heavy.”

“Hey, I’ve been doing it for ten years, trust me hon, it doesn’t get much easier” she chuckles.

Throwing your head back with a groan, you grip the edges of the bar, leaning back on your heels, “I’m sure I’ll get used to it soon,” straightening back up on your two feet, you turn to face Penny again, fixing her with your stare and point in her direction, “but, if Jaxson continues to put new, heavy, boxes on the top shelf, I can’t guarantee he’ll be around forever.”

Penny lets out a snort and nods her head in understanding, “I’m right there with you, but until then,” she gets up from her seat at the bar and pats the box of beer twice, “let’s get these in the fridge.”

With a forced laugh and a mock salute, you let out a “You got it Pen,” and resume struggling against the bottles of booze.

~

Nights at the Hard Deck fluctuated. Weekdays were a little slow, apart from Friday nights, with Saturdays being the busiest. Not that you’re complaining since that’s when you receive the most tips. And having the local aviators around as eye candy wasn’t so bad, plus, they’re generous tippers.

Tonight though, there had been an abundance of new faces floating around the bar. Mainly naval aviators, not to your surprise, but the sheer amount that had been crowding the bar was just a tad overwhelming.

Even Jaxson was flustered, his eyes flitting back and forth from you to Penny in search of some assistance. Unfortunately for everyone, you each were too busy struggling with keeping up with your own sides of the bar, and just when you thought you had a second to breathe, another patron would waltz up to your side and ask for a drink.

Glancing over towards Penny, you notice her interacting with a brunette clad in a leather jacket, an easygoing smile accompanying the glint in his eyes as he spoke with her. Smirking to yourself, you keep this interaction in mind and turn back to the guy in front of you, grabbing a bucket, loading it with ice and the six coronas he ordered, popping the tab off one before handing it to him with a smile, “Here ya go.”

The blond shoots you a smile, and pats a hand on the bar, shouting a “thanks” back in your direction. Moving around your section, you plucked empty bottles off the bar top and disposed of them in the large trash bin under the bar. And just as you were about to grab a clean washrag to tend to simpler tasks than dealing with the local riff raffs of the bar, another patron squeezes their way up to your side of the bar.

Flicking your gaze over to the guy you shoot him a small smile, “I’ll be with you in a second.” Snatching the wash rag, you tuck it into your jean shorts and take two strides back to the bar, leaning your forearms on the top, you shoot the mystery man a small smile, and pose the million-dollar question, “What can I get ya?”

After mixing the jack and coke your customer requested, you accept the twenty and continue working around the bar, popping bottle-tops off Corona’s, Heineken’s, and the bar favorite, Budweiser. All while simultaneously wiping any spills off the countertop.

A few hours later, the Hard Deck is looking less and less crowded, with all the civilians having cleared out. Which allows for you to sidle over to Penny and pester her for the next two hours before closing, sipping on your Coca-Cola in the meantime.

“Haven’t seen you all night, how’d it go?” Penny questions, permanent smile on her face and a light in her eyes you haven’t seen in a while.

Quirking your head to the side, you raise your eyebrows, “Clearly not as eventful as yours,” you smirk. Wiggling your eyebrows you throw out a second question, “Who’s got you all hot and bothered?”

Penny giggles at your playfulness, swatting at you with her dishrag, “No one special.”

“Now that, is a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” you point at her with the pinky finger that had been resting around the bright red can you’ve been holding.

Bringing the can back up to your lips, you smile, “Wouldn’t have anything to do with that brunette with the brown leather jacket decorated in naval patches, would it?”

This earns you another swat from the dishrag.

Leaning away from her, your smirk grows wider, “I’m taking that as a yes.”

Penny playfully glares at you for the second time today, and peers around you, nodding her head in the direction of your side of the bar, “You’ve got another one.”

Giggling to yourself you turn your head in the direction Penny motioned to, the sight before you halting your giggling almost instantaneously.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Cussing under your breath, you take the last sip of your coke and turn to make your way towards him, receiving a swat from Penny’s dishrag in the process.

“Bradshaw.”

The man of the hour turns in his seat towards you, honey brown eyes gazing into yours for a brief moment before one side of his mouth quirks up into a half smile, “Hey.”

“What made the navy drag your ass back here for?” you ask, snorting at his attempt at remaining casual, folding your arms over each other, jutting your hip out in a stance that you hope comes across as vaguely threatening.

Bradley taps his thumb on the bar top and shoots you an award-winning smile, “I’m not really sure about that yet, sweets” he states, his voice coming out in a low rasp, while his eyes wander behind you towards the bottles of liquor.

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, you open your mouth to shoot him a smart-ass retort, but instead, choose to close it and offer up the same line you use on everyone else, “What can I get you to drink?”

Bradley refocuses his eyes back onto yours, lips forming into a frown at your lack of retaliation, “Bottle of Budweiser if you have any would be great.”

Moving on autopilot, you bend down and sort through the fridge for another Budweiser, gripping the bottle and popping the top off, before sliding it forward towards the tall hunk of muscle in front of you, “You opening up a tab?”

Bradley looks over towards the pool tables where his friends were gathered around, no doubt betting on who was going to have to pay for the next round of beers. Turning his attention back to you, he stands from his seat, pulling his wallet out from his back jean pocket and holds his card out to you, “If you don’t mind, that’d be great sweets” sending you a small smile in the process.

Plucking the card from his grasp, you send a sarcastic smile his way before turning to the computer to input his information.

Bradley lets his gaze linger on you for a moment, then sets off back to his friends.

Hangman is the first to comment on Bradley’s singular beer and the sour look on his face, earning him a rough shove from Phoenix.

Nat turns to face Bradley, offering a sympathetic look, “Didn’t go well I take it?” she mumbles.

Hangman snorts and gestures with his beer towards the bar where you’re currently standing with Penny, “Judging by the way she’s standing,” sucking a breath through his teeth, “I’d say it went swimmingly.”

Jake goes to sip his beer with a smirk on his lips, satisfied with his dig, until Natasha forcefully bumps his elbow, forcing his beer to miss his mouth and instead spill down his shirt. Glancing towards her, scowl present on his face, Nat flutters her eyelashes and pouts, “Oops.”

Bradley covers his laugh with a sip of his beer, looking towards the dart board as a distraction.

“Maybe you should go get cleaned up.” Phoenix smiles, her words sickeningly sweet and not up for debate.

Grumbling to himself, Jake gets up from his seat and makes his way towards the bathroom of the Hard Deck. Once he’s out of sight, Nat fixes her gaze on Bradley, “Alright, tell me what’s going on.”

A huff slips past Bradley’s lips and he slumps into the seat adjacent to Phoenix, “That’s the thing Nat, it’s not really going anywhere.”

Nursing her own beer, Nat plays with the perspiration sliding down the bottle, “It’s probably gonna take some time Bradley. You can’t just show up after not talking to her for a year,” sparing you a brief glance she watches the way you smile and pop a cap off the bottle for a customer you’d been serving for the better half of the night, “stuff like that actually bothers a girl yaknow” emphasizing her words with a pointed look.

Bradley taps his thumb against the tabletop, a low groan leaving his throat, “I know Nat, I just didn’t know how to tell her I was being deployed for six months and then dealing with the Uranium mission on top of that,” he pauses briefly to sip on his beer, “It’s not fair to her.”

Natasha nods briefly, understanding where he’s coming from, “I get that, but that��s not your decision to make.” Pointing at him with her bottle briefly, she maneuvers it to gesture towards you, “She’s a big girl, she can make her own decisions.”

Bradley nods his head in understanding, moving his gaze to survey the room briefly, a red blush painting his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Sensing how flustered he was Nat slaps the table and shoots him a sympathetic smile, “I’m going to get us a few more beers from our favorite girl. When I get back, you’re going to be done with all that sulking and were going to kick Coyote and Hangman’s asses in eight ball.”

An, “In your dreams hot shot,” settling over both Natasha’s and Bradley’s ears, the pair rolling their eyes simultaneously at the overconfident voice of Jake Seresin.

~

“Ready to start cleaning up? It’s twenty minutes before we close.” Penny asks, the clinking of glass bottles ringing in your ears when she tosses them into the trash.

Peeking at her from over your shoulder you send an exhausted smile her way, “Definitely, tonight’s rush took a lot out of me.”

Biting her lower lip, Penny begins wiping down the counter, “That the only thing that took a lot out of you tonight? Or did a certain tall, mustached naval aviator have something to do with it?”

She doesn’t look over at you when you whip your head to glare at her, instead choosing to continue to innocently wipe at the sticky bar top.

“Don’t start.”

Moving away from her, you begin to collect the remaining empties and toss them in the trash.

Ignoring her for another ten minutes, you busy yourself by sweeping up around the front of the building, avoiding Bradley and his lingering group of friends.

Maneuvering back to the bar, you grab the remaining glasses and bring them to the dishwasher in the backroom. Once you’ve loaded it up, you put in the dishwasher detergent and start it on a regular cycle, heading back out to the bar to help Penny finish up.

Gripping the rag in your hand you begin wiping down any places Penny may have missed, hyper fixating on the task at hand to avoid looking over at the man who ghosted you a year ago.

Penny eases herself into the space you were occupying, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt at gaining your attention. Looking up to the ceiling you breathe out, turning your head to give her your full attention. An apologetic smile is what meets you and you instantly feel your resolve soften.

“I’m only going to say this once, and from now on I won’t mention it.” Nodding her head in Bradley’s direction she continued, “He’s a good guy Hon, but unfortunately, he’s still a guy. And guys make stupid mistakes. Trust me,” an eye roll from her ensuing shortly after.

“I’m not telling you that you need to forgive him, but maybe hear him out?” she coaxes.

Looking over towards him, you watch as his drunken form laughs with his friends, “I’ll think about it Pen.”

“Okay honey,” leaning away from you she squeezes your shoulder, “Oh and I’ve gotta go pick up Amelia, soo could you close up?” she pleads.

Throwing your head up, you laugh, “Oh I see, just trying to butter me up so you can sneak out to go be with that Naval officer.”

Penny bites her lip at the thought and begins heading for the door, “Not yet, but maybe eventually,” she vocalizes, shooting you a wink in the process. “Alright guys and gals, time to go!” she calls out to the last group lingering at the back of the bar.

The blond calls back to her, “You got it Pen!”

Giggling to yourself, you finish up a few more tasks as the remaining aviators file out. Going to the storage room to grab some beers to restock the fridges for the following day, it’s always easier on you guys the next day if you restock the night before.

Heading back out to the bar you notice the handsome aviator you’ve been avoiding all night, sitting right where he had been earlier that night.

“Heyyy” Bradley smiles, clearly drunk judging by the flush that’s blossomed over his cheeks, neck, and ears.

Chuckling to yourself, you let an amused smile crawl across your face, “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you again?”

Bradley hiccups and leans his head on the bar top, “I need to,” another hiccup interrupts him before he continues, “close out my tab” he rasps.

Nodding to yourself, you go over to the computer and close out his tab, printing his receipt and wrapping it around his card, you turn back to him and place the card on the bar top, sliding it towards his drunken form.

Bradley looks you over and smiles, “You’re really pretty.”

Choosing not to laugh at his words you fold your arms over each other and smile at him, “How are you getting home, Bradley?”

He hums, still looking you over in a daze, “I drove.”

Shifting a little in his seat, he uses one arm to reach into his back pocket, presenting you with the keys to his infamous blue bronco, jingling them in front of you with a goofy smile on his face.

Leaning towards him you grip your hand around his, easing the keys from his hand into yours. His eyes watching your hand as it encloses around his.

“I’ll be taking those big boy.”

Bradley groans, reaching his arms out towards you as you lean away from him, “Nooo, come back, I need those.” he whines out.

Shaking your head you muffle a chuckle at his drunkenness, “Bradshaw you can’t drive yourself home,” nibbling on your lower lip you spit the words out before you can take them back, “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Bradley shoots his head up at your statement, “You’re taking me, where?” he questions.

Rounding the bar, you grab your purse in the process heading towards Bradley, “I am going to take you home.”

“How do you know where I live?” he asks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Cute.

Smirking at him, you quirk your own eyebrow, “I’m a witch.”

Bradley points at you lazily and whispers, “If you’re a witch, then tell me what I’m thinking about right now.” Promptly closing his eyes afterwards.

Looking up, you shake your head, smile growing wider on your face, “Burgers” you declare confidently, crossing your arms in the process. As if this motherfucker didn’t spend every waking minute with you for a year.

His eyes instantly open, mouth dropping in amazement, an emphasized “Yes” leaving his lips.

Offering your hand to him, you give him a small nod, “We can get some on the way home if you want?”

Bradley eyes you skeptically, “You promise?”

Smiling, you fold your fingers in, leaving your pinky out for him, “I promise.”

Slowly, Bradley wraps his own pinky around yours, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Alright, let’s get going. Joey’s Burgers sounds amazing right now.” Giving his hand a squeeze, you lead the way out of the bar, Bradley stumbling behind you, mumbling about some triple patty burger that they recently added to the menu.

Once the two of you managed to make it out the front door, you turned back to lock up, Bradley leaning his head on your shoulder as you did, making it a little more difficult to maneuver around in the process.

“Okay tiger, lets get you in the car.”

Leaning his weight on you some more, he scrunches up his face in confusion, “I’m not tiger, I’m rooster.”

Lugging his weight across the graveled parking lot and towards the bronco, you snicker at his words, “I know Bradley, it’s just a nickname.”  Earning a low groan from Bradley in response.

Once you’ve made it to the bronco, you focus on getting Bradley’s passenger door open, all while he leans more and more of his weight on you, at this rate the navy should just hire you if you can lug a full-grown man around a dark gravel parking lot.

After you’ve managed to get the door open, you coax Bradley into the passenger seat with the promise of burgers and a movie once you got him home. Rounding the car after ensuring he’s buckled himself in and jumping into the driver's seat.

Looking over towards him, you note the way he’s leaned his head against the window, arms folded over each other, in what you could only guess is an attempt at staying warm. Mindful of his potentially cold state, you don’t bother with turning the air conditioning on, and keep the volume of the radio low, trying to allow Bradley to relax as much as possible. He’s lucky he’s cute when he’s drunk.

Pulling out of the parking lot of the Hard Deck, you make your way down the street to Joey’s Burgers, ordering two large fries, two medium soda’s, one triple patty burger for Bradley, and one regular cheeseburger (with only ketchup) for yourself. Then continuing your mission of getting Bradley back home for the night before he’s sobered enough to realize he’d not only let you drive him home, but also from the driver’s seat of his beloved bronco.

~

Parking Bradley’s bronco wasn’t an issue, however, getting Bradley to move out of his passenger seat was.

Pleadingly, you rushed out a whispered, “Bradley, please get out of the car, you can’t stay in there all night.”

Receiving only an annoyed grumble in response, you tried again in the form of bribery, “I got you your favorite burger from Joey’s, if you get out of the car you can eat it while we watch a movie.”

This gets his attention and before you know it, you’re lugging Bradley out of his seat and across the parking lot. Somehow, he’s gotten heavier in the past twenty minutes of your drive. Mumbling to no one in particular, you let out a low, “He’s got a lot of groveling to do after this.” Huffing out a breath, you manage to pull him up the steps of the cozy one-story house, forcing Bradley to lean against the wall while you unlock the door.

Once you’ve managed to get the door open, you pull the brunette aviator over the threshold and towards the couch, kicking the door closed once you’ve made it inside.

The grey couch that had been centered towards the edge of the living room absorbs a drunk Bradley Bradshaw into its cushions, earning a content hum from him in response.

Throwing yourself down next to him, an audible sigh slips past your lips, leaning your head against the cushions in an attempt at seeking a moment of comfort before you inevitably must help Bradley into bed.

Lolling his head to the side Bradley fixes his gaze on you, eyes trailing across the expanse of your face, when the question, “What happened to my burger?” comes tumbling out of his mouth.

A sharp laugh is what Bradley gets in response, along with a, “I swear you become more and more like a dog as the night goes on.” Bradley is too drunk to understand what that’s supposed to mean, so instead, he widens his eyes and tilts his head a little, a silent question in regard to the aforementioned burger.

Yep, definitely dog like.

Swiping the bag of burgers and fries from the table, you pull Bradley’s special burger; along with a few napkins, out and hand them over to the man of the hour, who immediately starts to gobble it down like he hasn’t eaten in days.

While the man who resembles a golden retriever consumes his food next to you, you start the venture of looking for a movie you wouldn’t mind focusing your attention on until Bradley falls asleep, settling on “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days”.

Settling into the couch again, you curl your legs up underneath you and proceed to snack on the fries you’d gotten.

Everything was calm, for a total of thirty seconds.

Your peace being ruined by an overgrown buffoon looming over you to steal one of your fries from its container.

“You know, I got you your own fries,” you snicker, side-eyeing the Topgun graduate who has resorted to looking like a kicked puppy from your scolding.

“Yours tastes better.”

Snorting at the remark, you shake your head in exasperation, “Finish your food and if you’re still hungry, you can have some of mine.”

Seemingly pleased with the compromise, Bradley gets comfortable on the couch once more, and continues with consuming the fried potato.

After some time has passed, Bradley satisfied with his food and no longer pestering you for yours, you make an attempt to clean up. Which is instantly foiled by a tipsy Bradley Bradshaw, “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you Bradley,” you wave him off, continuing your advances towards the kitchen.

Bradley forces himself off of the couch, stumbling after your composed form, “Sure seemed like it earlier.”

Tossing the leftover food in the trash, you grab a paper towel and the spray bottle of cleaner he always left under the sink, “And I don’t recall you being particularly sober within the past two hours.”

A small smirk graces Bradley’s lips while he leans his body weight against the doorframe of the kitchen arms folded over each other, “I had a triple patty burger from Joey’s an hour ago.”

Rolling your eyes at his retort, you push past him to get back to his living room, “You’re welcome then.”

Like a piece of gum on the bottom of your shoe, Bradley follows after you, “You don’t have to clean.”

Better than having to look at him while he’s sober and engage in this conversation.

Pulling your eyebrows together, you force yourself to concentrate on the coffee table littered with grease stains from the bag and a few misplaced French fries, completely ignoring Bradley’s piercing gaze.

Hearing him sigh, your gaze breaks from the table and flits to where he’s standing. Looks more like leaning to you since he’s clearly still feeling some of the effects of the alcohol. As your eyes roam over his figure, you take in his posture, his arms, and lastly his eyes, which are locked on yours and the way you’re examining him.

Looking up to the ceiling, you huff, bending to your full height. Abandoning the damp paper towel on the semi-clean coffee table before you address him.

“I don’t hate you.”

Bradley’s eyebrows lift, one side of his mouth quirking up in a half-hearted smirk, mustache following suit, “So you’ve said.”

Your eyebrows crease while your eyes pinch, fixing him with a glaring look, “But I don’t appreciate being led on for months either,” your tone heavy in the way you spoke to him.

Bradley visibly winces at the jab, “I know, not my proudest moment.”

Crossing your arms over each other, you jut your hip out, “Why’d you do it then?”  

Bradley crosses the room slowly, moving closer to your defensive stance with a slowness that resembled someone afraid of spooking a baby deer, “I didn’t want you to get caught up in all my shit.”

“One mission for six months is bad enough,” he pauses, “Another mission with no guarantee of survival a month after the last isn’t something I wanted to put you through.”

Your frown that you’d adorned for majority of this conversation, deepens, “That’s not something you get to decide, Bradley.”

A forced chuckle slips past your lips, “I’m a big girl, I’ve been able to make my own decisions for myself, for years. I don’t need you and your hero complex thinking you can make those decisions for me.”

Your eyes roam his face scowl still prominent. Finally uncrossing your arms, you poke a finger into his chest, “You should be able to trust me enough to tell me those things, and allow me to decide if it’s too much,” you pause taking a step back, hand retreating back to your side, “or if I care about you enough to stick around.”

Bradley tenderly reaches for the hand you’d forced back to your side, threading his fingers through yours, “I know, trust me I do. I just thought I’d be protecting you,” he breathes out, using his hand to bring you closer to him.

Your hardened gaze softens at his words, he thought he could protect you from himself, from heartache.

Settling your other hand on his chest, you tilt your chin up, the height difference between the two of you showing in the close distance you’re in.

“Like I said before,” you whisper, “That kind of decision I can make on my own.”

Bradley’s eyes are half-lidded as he looks at you, processing your words and what to do next with them.

Silence falls over the two of you, the only noise emanating from the tv next to you.

Breaking his gaze, you look behind him to see the clock hanging from the wall that’s surrounded by framed pictures of his parents along with a few pictures of himself with some of his squadron, taking note of the time.

Glancing back to him, you mumble, “You should probably go to bed.”

Bradley huffs at your suggestion but makes no move to argue.

Instead, he grips your other hand in his and pulls you closer, tilting his head to the side, “Tuck me in?”

Laughing to yourself at his suggestion, you give him a small nod, taking the lead down the hall to his bedroom, “Sure, do you want some warm milk while were at it?” you tease.

Bradley hums from behind you, “Now that you mention it,” he trails off, biting his lower lip to contain his laughter.

“Keep dreaming aviator,” you chortle.

“Oh I intend to,” is the retort you get in return.

Turning into his bedroom you push him towards his closet and gesture for him to change, turning your back to him in an attempt to avoid being distracted by his charm and physique, reacquainting yourself with his bedroom instead.

Not much has changed apart from the bedding which had gone from a pale blue to a darker green.

A raspy, “I’m decent,” makes its way to your ears and you turn to look for the source. Intaking a sharp breath at the sight of Bradley Bradshaw in a plain white t-shirt, and boxers, eyes roaming the expanse of his body before deciding you’ve ogled him too much.

Moving your eyes away from his lower half, you make your way to the closet in search of your own shirt and boxer combo, cause if you’re staying there’s no way you’re staying in your “The Hard Deck” tank top and jean shorts.

Wordlessly, Bradley sidles up behind you and reaches for his old training tee from his first days at Topgun, handing you the shirt and a pair of gray boxers to match.

Mumbling a soft “Thanks”, you make sure he turns all the way around before stripping down to put the new garments on.

Once comfortable, you glance to the opposite side of the bed Bradley’s in, fiddling with your fingers as you fight yourself on whether or not you can trust yourself with him again.

Screw it.

Acting before fully thinking through your decision, you climb into bed beside him, hiding under the covers for some warmth, and maybe from Bradley.

It’s Bradley’s warm hands that bring you out of your thoughts, hooked around your waist and pulling you to him, “You’re thinking too loud,” he mumbles, one leg slotting between yours.

Reaching up with your right hand, you glide your fingers through his locks, earning a sigh of content from him, “I just don’t want to get hurt again,” you confess, tugging your lower lip between your teeth.

The confession has Bradley propping himself up onto his elbow, his free hand finding your own, putting it square against his, measuring the sizes of your individual palms, slotting his fingers between your own once he’s satisfied.

“I can’t promise that being with me will never hurt,” he states, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Sighing, he continues, “I don’t know if something will happen to me when I’m in the air.”

You nod solemnly at his confession, running everything over in your head, the pros and cons of being with him, loving him. What that might do to you.

Bradley tilts his head toward yours, catching your eyes once more, “But,” he pauses, “I can promise that I’ll never voluntarily hurt you again, and I will do everything in my power to come home to you.” He finishes, voice shaky and his eyes displaying a vulnerability you’ve never seen before.

Scanning his honey-colored irises, you search for any doubt he may have hidden, finding none, a soft smile graces your lips.

Leaning forward, you nudge your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed at the contact, “Okay” you whisper.

Opening your eyes to scan his face, trailing along the faint freckles that litter his cheeks, your smile widens, “but this is your last shot Bradshaw, don’t ruin it,” you tease.

Bradley grins back at you before closing the gap between the two of you, slotting his lips against yours in a kiss that had been a long time coming; by at least a year.

His tongue traces the bottom of your lip and without much coaxing, you open your mouth enough for him to slip his tongue in, maneuvering his body over yours for easier access. Bradley slides his hands down your frame to trace circles into your hip, while the other braces himself next to you.

Breaking the kiss, Bradley maneuvers his lips down towards your exposed neck, trailing open mouthed kisses lower each time before coming back to your lips, catching them with his over and over until the two of you have settled into a relaxed state, lazy open-mouthed kisses replacing the urgent ones you were enacting before.

Gently reaching your hand up, you slot your fingers into Bradley’s tousled locks, tugging ever so slightly, earning a low groan from him in response.

Smiling to yourself, you slot your lips against his one last time before leaning back, appraising him with a gentle smile adorning your lips, “I thought we agreed on sleep?”

Chuckling, Bradley moves a stray hair out of your face, “Sweets, will you please put me out of my misery and go on a date with me?”

Clicking your tongue, you drag him down closer to you, snuggling into his chest as you make yourself comfortable.

 “Mmm, dating the bartender, huh? Hope it’s for more than free drinks,” you quiz, trailing a hand down to his abs, tracing each one with your fingers.

A tender kiss is placed to the crown of your head, while one large hand sneaks under the back of your shirt, tracing small circles across your skin, “Definitely.”

Humming, you close your eyes, content with the warmth emanating from Bradley and his tender touches, “That’s nice.”

Bradley chuckles at your drowsy state, “So is that a yes?”

He receives a chaste kiss that’s pressed to his shirt, right where his heart is as you mumble out, “It’s a yes Bradshaw.”  

[reiding-writing]

erotomania [ s.r ]

01 - exhortations

Summary:

You’d found yourself with a stalker, one who seemingly had a romantic obsession with you, and you had no idea what to do, except maybe confide in one of your team members.

WARNINGS: Signs of stalking, mentions of break-ins, fears of violence, mentions of panic attacks

pairing: spencer reid x gn!bau!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, mild fluff

wc: 6.8k

main masterlist!!

a/n: so… i decided to start a series- considering chapter length it’ll probably only be three parts and i hope to have them out once a week but knowing my college schedule i’m not sure about that 😭

<poem used - ‘my fire, my flame’ by ariana alonso>

thank you guys for all the love on my other uploads <33

series masterlist!!

01-exhortations, 02-avoidance, 03-revelations, 04-confession

It started with a rose.

A single white rose left haphazardly on your doorstep.

You didn’t really think much of it, your neighbours had a white rose bush they regularly pruned, and you figured the wind must have blown one of the loose roses cut from it over to your porch.

You’d often find scattered petals and wilting rose heads on your lawn, blown over by the wind to no fault of the old couple living next door. Although you did have to admit that a full rose was something that had never blown over before.

But hey, sometimes these things happen right?

That was the same rhetorical question you asked yourself two weeks later when a blank envelope was posted through your letter box alongside your regular mail. It looked like a birthday card, the envelope a pale yellow and closed shut with a small white sticker in the shape of a rose. Curious.

You debated on whether to open it at first, not wanting to accidentally intrude on somebody else’s private business, but after a few days of deliberating you came to the conclusion that reading what’s inside might help you find the intended recipient.

You didn’t find anything of note in the envelope, just a folded piece of white paper with a typed out romantic poem imprinted on its inner side. It was odd for sure, but it wasn’t anything to worry about.

You ended up throwing the envelope away. As much as you would’ve liked to have delivered it to its rightful recipient there just wasn’t enough information for you to do so. You just guessed that it was a teenager trying to romance one of their classmates and had posted their efforts through the wrong door.

It was harder to brush off the new succulent lining your kitchen windowsill.

You’d come home to your house after four days spend in Iowa on a case, absolutely exhausted. So much so it took you three separate trips in and out of your kitchen to realise that the three succulents usually lining your window had now been increased to four.

At first you just thought it was your exhaustion getting to you, but you knew for a fact that you’d only bought three. Garcia had made you pick them out specifically. And this new fourth one didn’t fit in.

You examined the new succulent closely, trying to figure out where it came from. It was a vibrant green colour, with small, round leaves that formed a rosette shape. Unlike your other succulents, this one had delicate white flowers blooming from its centre. It was a beautiful addition to your collection, but you couldn't help but wonder who had put it there and why.

You carefully examined the plant for any clues. There were no tags or labels indicating its origin, and it seemed to blend in seamlessly with the rest of your succulents, as if it had always been there. The thought of someone entering your home while you were away sent a shiver down your spine, but there were no signs of forced entry or any other evidence to suggest foul play.

You unfortunately didn’t have much time to mull over this new addition to your plant collection as the team were whisked away on another case, less than 24 hours after your last case finished.

Still, you couldn’t seem to get the small white flowers of the plant sat upon your windowsill out of your mind, and you were starting to question your sanity a little. Were you sure that you hadn’t bought four? Maybe you had. Maybe it’d been there the whole time.

“If it isn’t my favourite profiler, don’t tell Derek that,” Garcia almost immediately backtracked as she picked up the phone. “What can I do you for my sweet?”

“Hey Penny, just a random question, you remember when we went plant shopping a while back?” You held the phone up to your ear with your left hand, using your right to continue jotting down notes on the portable whiteboard the Montanna Police Department had provided your team with for the case you were working on.

“Oh of course I do my love. Why, Looking for a professional suggestion for your next addition?” You could practically hear Garcia’s smile through the phone as she spoke.

“No Pen, I just wanted to check something,” You let out a small chuckle at her exaggerated confidence in her knowledge of plants. ”Did I end up buying three succulents or four?”

“Three my love, two Chinese Jades and one Opalina I believe. Why’s that?”

“Oh no nothing, I was just checking which ones I’d bought with you and which ones I’d bought myself, thanks Pen,” You didn’t know why you felt the impulse to lie. Maybe it was your subconscious telling you that it was in fact you who had put the plant there. That you’d just been so busy that you’d forgotten about it. Either way you didn’t want to stir up the pot if you couldn’t prove anything was actually wrong.

But you also couldn’t rid of that feeling in the pit of your stomach that rose when Garcia confirmed you hadn’t bought the plant when out with her.

“Alrighty, anything else you need from her majesty of all knowledge?”

You give another small laugh at Garcia’s manner of speech. “No Pen, thank you.”

”Well then my dear, this lady’s got other fish you fry, I’ll catch you later,”

You hear the end dial through your phone before you can respond, a usual end to a phone call with Garcia, and whilst her little quips and jokes left you with a small smile on your face, it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

A pale yellow envelope.

You feel a sense of deja vu when you pick it up from the floor on the inside of your front door, seemingly slotted through your letterbox just like the former had been, white rose sticker holding it closed and all.

The difference this time however, was that when you turned the envelope in your hand it had your name inked on the front, scrawled out in a messy cursive that stained parts of coloured paper black, the ink having bled as the name was written from the sheer amount of pressure used.

That’s the moment that you started to panic.

You could put the signs together by now. A perfectly de-thorned rose on your doorstep. Messages posted through your door. A new succulent left in your kitchen after you’d expressed interest in them. It wasn’t just a series of coincidences, they were signs. Signs of something you didn’t particularly want to think about.

The last one was the worst. It meant that whoever had taken it upon themselves to form a fascination with you had somehow managed to get inside of your house whilst you weren’t there.

You triple checked the locks on your doors that night, leaving the new envelope unopened on your kitchen counter.

You ended up taking it to work the next day, tucked away in your messenger bag and left under your desk as you tried to distract yourself through with your files.

You tried to convince yourself that you were just overthinking. Maybe the indented recipient of the letter just happened to have the same name as you. Maybe this was just the last two weeks of continuous stress was just taking it’s toll on you and making you paranoid. You tried to convince yourself. But you knew.

“Excuse me,”

Your internal monologue was cut off by a soft voice, and your mind was momentarily wiped of your dilemma as you looked up towards the source of the noise, the small receptionist from the front of your floor.

“This was dropped off last night, I believe it was for you.”

In her hand was a small rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper, and she held it out to you with a small smile.

“Oh, thank you,” You return her smile with one of your own, taking the package from her hand and watching her retreat back to her desk. You weren’t expecting anything delivered, were you?

Unwrapping the package only left you more confused. It was a leather bound copy of Romeo and Juliet, the cover a deep red and embossed with with gold roses and an intricate border, the book’s name embossed in a similar fashion in the cover’s centre, although flaking in some areas from the wear of the book.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned the book over in your hands, but as you opened the front cover that expression fell straight back into concern. A small rose, etched into the inside over in a black ink pen, fit with a single letter, ‘R.’

“Hey Spencer, uh- can I- borrow you for a sec?” You stand from your desk, walking around the cluster in the bullpen to stand behind Spencer’s, head buried in the files he was working on.

“Of course, what’s up?” Spencer took a second to look up, folding the folder closed and leaving his pen inside to mark the page. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah uh- I uh- Were you expecting a book delivery?”

You held the book out towards him, eyes silently pleading for him to say yes. A part of your brain still denied the inevitable, that it wasn’t some outside person who had been leaving things around for you to find. That there wasn’t someone who knew where you lived, and now where you worked, sending you eerily creepy ‘gifts’.

Spencer inspected the book in his hands, examining it closely with narrowed eyes.

“Not that I know of...” He looked up at you, eyebrow slightly raised as he handed the book back to you. “I already have this copy at home,”

Your stomach dropped a little when he confirmed it wasn’t his.

“Right, sorry,” You take the book back from him with a pursed smile, holding it in both of your hands and tapping your nails against the back cover.

You logically knew it wasn’t for him, Spencer was all for buying things second hand, but he would never pick up a book with this much wear and tear unless was a first edition owned by some prolific scholar, the spine damaged and the pages folded and scrawled with annotations that you weren’t sure you wanted to read, but hearing the confirmation just made it sink in a little further.

“Are you alright? You seem a little tense.” Spencer’s voice cut you out of another internal spiral, and you gave him a quick nod.

“Hm? Oh yeah i’m alright, thanks anyway Spence,” You give him a small smile and a half wave as you retreat back to your own desk with the book in hand.

Spencer stared at you for a moment longer, watching as you sat back down at your desk, discarding the book behind your stack of files as if you couldn’t bare to look at it any longer.

Something seemed very off with you.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

My fire, my flame,

My one and the same.

Swiftly swinging from life to end,

Through the times, we meet again.

My lover, my friend,

My mirror, my mend.

My fire, my flame,

No darkness can tame.

Ochre to blue, two as one.

Never unbroken, never undone.

Healing the hurt, flame dims down.

Fire prevails, doubt it drowns.

Forever and true, I am your blue,

The one you felt, the one you knew.

Drunken to sober, you are my ochre,

The one who inspires all my desires.

Over and over, we dance again,

Swiftly swinging from life to end.

It was nearly midnight, and yet you felt wide awake.

A part of you wanted to sleep, lay in bed and pretend that nothing was happening, but you knew that your mind wasn’t going to let you.

You’d sucked up the resolve to open the envelope you’d stored away in your bag, another poem left inside. Except this time instead of being typed out and printed, it was written in the same ink that had adorned its sleeve.

Some of it was barely legible, but you found the words ingrained in your mind almost as soon as you read them. They were sweet from a surface level, a message of true and eternal love, but under your circumstances the only emotions that it evoked from you was a mix of dread and fear.

Your mind soon flickered over to the book you’d left on your nightstand, and you soon found yourself curled up under your duvet with the book in hand, lamp left on both to aid your reading and provide you with a small sense of security in the warm light it cast over the walls of your bedroom.

The narrative of the story was what you’d expect, the traditional tale of Romeo and Juliet, but that wasn’t what you were interested in, it was the annotations, written in the same handwriting as the poem left discarded on your coffee table.

It seemed like a lot of references to love, mainly to the female protagonist in Romeo and Juliet, and you noticed that your initials and “R.” were written a lot.

It seemed that whoever had taken a liking to you really liked you... a little too much.

There were references to your personality, how much you loved things like animals, reading books and eating dark chocolate. They had even written that your favourite colour was burgundy.

You were starting to find this rather unnerving.

The part that really sent you over the edge into a panic was one line in particular, underlined so many times that there was a small rip in the page.

These violent delights have violent ends.

The book in your hand was soon replaced with your phone, held up to your ear as took in slow breaths through your nose.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You heard Spencer’s voice ring through your phone.

“Hey uh, I’m so sorry to call you so late but uh- Can I ask you for a favour?” The tone of your voice wavered slightly as you spoke, not at all aided by the small tremble of your hand.

“Yeah of course, anything for you, what is it?”

“Can I uh,” You hesitate for a second. “Can I come over?”

“Yeah, of course,” Spencer responded quickly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah I just, don’t want to be on my own right now,” It wasn’t exactly a revelation. There had been a few instances where tough cases left the team feeling more comfortable spending the time after in the company of someone else.

Most of them had family or lovers as their comfort, but in the case of Spencer, not having any contact with his father and his mother institutionalised, and your parents living across the country, you often found comfort in each other instead.

“Thank you,”

It seemed like you wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.

“It’s no problem at all, I’ll see you soon?” Spencer’s voice was soft and understanding, and you found yourself increasingly grateful for his insomniatic nature.

“Yeah, see you soon…”

You let out a small breath of relief as you hang up the phone, piling some things into a backpack, tattered book included, before locking up the house and driving to Spencer’s apartment

The drive there seemed to be one of the longest drives of your life, constantly deliberating with yourself on whether to confide in Spencer about your theory. Part of you wanted to tell him, you knew with an outside objective view alongside his intelligence that he’d be able to find you a solution, but you also didn’t want to burden him.

When you reach his apartment, you knock on the door twice. “Spence?”

The door unlocked almost before you’re finished knocking, and Spencer stands on the other side, dressed in tardis pyjama pants and a black t-shirt, his brown hair a little flattened, presumably from tossing around in bed trying to get comfortable.

“Hey,” He stepped aside to let you in, adjusting the crooked glasses sat over his nose.

“I’m so sorry for bothering you so late, thank you for letting me come over-“ You blurt out a hasty apology for your intrusion as you take your shoes off at the door and slump down on Spencer’s couch, dropping your bag on the floor next to you.

Spencer followed you with his eyes as he closed and locked the door behind you. “It’s totally fine, it doesn’t matter if it’s 2pm or 2am, you’re always welcome, you know that,”

Spencer smiles at you before asking, “So, what’s going on?”

“I think I’m being stalked-"

The words almost melded together with how fast you spoke them, and it’s only after the whole sentence leaves your mouth you realise that you’d blurted out the thing you’d been mentally fighting over telling him or not.

Well, so much for dealing with it on your own.

Spencer’s smile immediately disappears, being replaced with a look of concern. “Stalked? What do you mean? What’s been happening?”

You sigh softly at Spencer’s expression. There was no backtracking from this now. So you start right from the beginning.

“Well, a few weeks ago I found this perfectly pruned rose on my doorstep,"

Spencer listens to your explanation with a small nod. “Right…”

“But I wasn’t like concerned or anything because my neighbours have a rose bush, and I figured it was just the wind or something. You know, sometimes that kind of stuff happens right? But then over the last few weeks things keep turning up and I know that it’s not normal you know?”

Spencer’s look of concern only grows as you begin explaining, and he took a seat next to you on the couch. “What kind of things have been showing up? Apart from the rose?”

“Like two-ish weeks after the rose thing, there was an envelope posted through my door alongside the rest of my mail, and I ended up opening it because it didn’t have a name on the front and I wanted to to figure out who it was for right?”

Spencer gives you a small nod as a gesture for you to continue.

“I thought it was a birthday card at first, but I’m pretty sure it was a poem, it was just typed out and stuck in the envelope, no names or addresses or anything. So I just threw it out and moved on. I figured it was some teenager who’d posted a love note through the wrong door.”

You use your hands to gesture your explanation, your right leg bouncing absentmindedly as the nervous tension builds up in your body.

“And then after the case we had in Iowa I came home and instead of three plants on my kitchen windowsill there was four. And that was when I was like ‘okay something’s not right here’, and I even rang Penny to check and she confirmed that I’d only bought three,”

Spencer raises a brow, his expression furrowing further if that was possible. “Wait, it turned up in your house?”

You give him a small nod. “I checked all the doors and windows and everything but there was no evidence that anyone had broken in, and by this point I’m like genuinely questioning my sanity over whether I’d actually just bought this stupid plant myself and was freaking myself out over it, but then yesterday evening after I got home from the Airport I found another envelope by my front door, same colour, shape and everything, they even both had the same sticker keeping them closed, but this one had my name written on the front of it,”

By this point, your explanation had turned into more of a ramble, and by the time you had reached a comfortable place to stop, you were feeling short on breath.

“And you opened it?”

You respond to Spencer’s question with a nod, brushing a piece of hair from your eye. “I opened it an hour ago maybe?”

“And it was another poem?”

You give Spencer another small nod in affirmation at his prediction.

“Okay, what else? Did anything else happen?” Spencer’s hand reaches out towards the curve of your knee, effectively halting the nervous tic you’re using to release your tension.

“Well, I showed you this earlier-”

You bend forward to pull your backpack up onto your lap, rifling through it to pull out the worn copy of Romeo and Juliet to present him with it once more.

“it was left at the office’s front desk which half makes me want to believe that it’s not related, but I was reading the annotations earlier and they’re really specific and I freaked myself out which is why I called you in the first place-“

Spencer’s brows crease under the rims of his glasses as his eyes pour over the book’s cover again. “Who left it for you?“

“I don’t know Spencer that’s my issue," You sigh softly as you turn the book over in my hands. “Can you just read through this for me please? I didn’t finish it because I freaked myself out and then immediately came over here so-“

You over-explain your reasoning for wanting him to read through the book for you, figuring that if you could give him a valid reason then you would feel less guilty about asking him to do it in the first place.

Spencer takes the book from you hands whilst you’re still explaining yourself, beginning to flick through the pages one by one, pulling his middle and ring fingers down the page as he scans over the writing.

It’s times like these you’re thankful that Spencer’s reading speed is 85 times faster than the average person’s, and you find your eyes following his fingers as he traces them over the pages, taking note of how he bends his middle finger ever so slightly so that his fingertips are level with each other and how he keeps his index finger raised away from the paper’s surface. It was oddly distracting to watch.

It takes him little more than five minutes to have read through the whole thing, with him stopping a few times along the way to make a couple of comments as he does.

“Well he makes reference to your favourite colour, and your birthday...”

“....your job...”

“...and of course your name.”

“Jesus, the guy’s really obsessed with you isn’t he.”

You furrow your face as Spencer confirms your concerns, rubbing your hands over your legs as a self-soothing technique.

Spencer thinks again for a moment as he shuts the book in his lap. “I think you should spend the night here.”

You can see his gears are turning, the same cogs turning when he’s deep in a profile. He’s gone from being concerned to calculated. “No way in hell am I leaving you alone tonight.”

“I don’t wanna burden you this is a me problem-“ You immediately shut down his suggestion despite you having stayed at his apartment on multiple occasions in the past.

You’d gotten an objective opinion on the situation. That was all you wanted. You didn’t need to drag him any further into your personal issues.

“Hey no,” Spencer shakes his head as he places the book down on the small oak coffee table in front of you. “You’re not burdening me, okay? You don’t have to be alone tonight, you can sleep here.”

“I’m not letting you leave now,” Spencer adds with finality. “You’re clearly anxious, and you look like you need to get some proper sleep.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at Spencer’s insistence, flickering your eyes over to the book on the table, its embossing glinting slightly under the warm overhead light.

He might not exercise it often, but Spencer definitely knew how to put his foot down when he needed to.

“Thank you…”

“Hey, look at me?” Spencer waits until you look at him, then he offers you a soft, reassuring smile. “...Everything’s gonna be okay. Okay?”

You give him a short nod with a pursed smile, not entirely convinced of his assurance but wanting to go along with it anyway for the sake of being able to calm down enough to at least get some sleep. “Okay,“

“Let’s get you set up for the night. We’ll talk this through in the morning.”

Spencer stands up, pushing himself up from the sofa with his hands and leaving into the bedroom. “Get as comfy as you’d like okay? I’ll be back.”

He turns to leave then stops at the door and looks at you one more time. “Oh, and... do you want to borrow one of my T-shirts?”

The invitation was obvious. “Uh yeah if you don’t mind…”

He gives you a small nod as he retreats into his bedroom, re-emerging a few minutes later with a fleece blanket, one of the pillows from his bed, and a black T-Shirt identical to the one he was wearing. “Here, my couch probably isn’t the comfiest place to sleep but-”

He hands the T-shirt over to you with a small smile, stacking the blanket and the pillow on the end of the sofa.

“Don’t be silly Spencer, I’m grateful for you even letting me in let alone letting me stay over on such short notice,” You return his smile with one of your own as you take the shirt from him, retreating into the bathroom to change into it.

You feel the soft cotton against your bare skin as you pull the fabric over your head, noticing that it’s been washed recently, and it still has a slight smell of Spencer’s cologne. It falls quite low, Spencer having to have bought a bigger size than he realistically needed due to the length of his torso.

Your mind continues to run rampant as you exit the bathroom, a mix of the overwhelming stress of your situation and the conflicting feeling of serenity from the solicitude radiating from Spencer.

It was a lot to process for it to be just 1am.

You basically collapse onto Spencer’s couch, burying your head into his pillow with a groan and unfolding the blanket to throw it over yourself.

“If you need anything, anything at all just wake me up okay?” Spencer continued to express that kind compassion that made your chest tingle a little, definitely not helped by the faint scent of his cologne radiating from his pillow, joined by a trace of lavender, most likely an essential oil he’d been using in the hope it would help him sleep better.

“Yeah, thank you again Spencer, it really means a lot.” Your voice is half muffled by the angle of your head against the pillow as you crane your neck to look at him.

“It’s really no problem. You’re always welcome,” He switched off the small lamp keeping the living room, dimly lit, allowing it to fall into a comfortable darkness. “Get some sleep okay?”

“Yeah, thank you Spence…” Spencer gives you one last smile, joined by a half wave that you found more endearing than awkward, before leaving for his bedroom and clicking the door shut behind him.

For the next half hour or so you lie awake on his couch, trying in vain to sleep despite the rampaging thoughts running through your head. It was only when you heard Spencer open the door and quietly enter the room that you finally turned your head to look at him.

The surprise on his face told you that he hadn’t expected you to be still awake. “Why are you still up?”

“My mind’s running a million miles a minute, why are you up?” Your voice is partially hoarse from tiredness, and you shift around on the couch until you are lying facing in his direction.

“Just wanted to get a glass of water…” Spencer purses his lips slightly as his eyes trail over the position you’re lying in, clearly feeling a sad-sympathy at your mind’s insistence at you staying awake. “Hey, can I try something?”

Spencer slowly makes his way over to where you’re lying, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table in front of you.

“Sure?” You raise an eyebrow slightly, rubbing one of your knuckles over your eyelid. Spencer smiles at your reaction, extending his hand palm-up.. “Alright... can I have your hand please?”

“Should I sit up?” You extend your right hand towards him, using your left to prop yourself up onto your elbow.

Spencer shakes his head. “No, no, keep being comfortable... I think I know how to fix your problem.”

Spencer then reaches out and takes your hand firmly in his, holding it between both of his hands with your palm facing the ceiling. “Ready?”

You give him a short nod in expectancy, eyes flickering between the way his hands hold yours and his eyes as you lie on your back.

His hands were frigidly cold compared to the warmth of his apartment, but you couldn’t say that it was uncomfortable, it was actually quite soothing, a nice contrast from the small cocoon of warmth under the blanket.

Spencer slowly rubs his fingers on the inside of your palm, adding a gentle pressure first to the bases of your fingers and working his way down slowly, pressing the pads of his fingertips into your skin in small circles. “Close your eyes and breathe deeply.”

You follow his guidance with no hesitation, relaxing back into the pillow beneath your head and closing your eyes as you focus on the feeling of Spencer’s fingers dancing over the palm of your hand.

“Just breathe in and out....” You can hear the confidence in his voice as he continues to move the pressure downwards, pressing his thumb against your wrist and gently massaging it.

“A lack of sleep is usually the cause of delayed melatonin production, and studies have shown that certain pressure points on our bodies can help speed up the process.” Spencer begins to explain the reasoning and process behind the gentle hand massage he’s giving you, his voice soft and quiet.

“It was traditionally used in China as a part of acupressure, with six identified pressure points on our bodies that encouraged the production of serotonin and melatonin to help with relaxation and reduce chronic pain, but in the present day it’s been adapted into a massaging technique to help people fall asleep.”

The softness of his voice paired with the gentle massaging of his fingers on your wrist quickly left you feeling more relaxed.

“There are two pressure points on different points of your ankles, one point on each foot, one between your eyebrows, one behind each of your ears, and one on each of your wrists.” You find yourself nodding along to his explanation absentmindedly as you enjoy the gentle pressure of his fingers.

“Although, the only pressure points that have been reliably linked to melatonin production are those on your wrists and behind your ears, here, lie on your side for me.” Spencer gives your wrist a gentle pull to encourage you to turn over, which you very gladly oblige to, humming a soft agreement as you turn to lie of your side facing him with your eyes still closed.

He gently slides his hand up the side of your neck, the coldness of his fingers sending a small shudder up your back, and he presses his thumb into the small gap between your jaw and the rest of your skull, rubbing it in slow circles.

You let out a small, almost inaudible sigh at the gentle pressure he’s applying, and Spencer can tell that you’re quickly falling into full relaxation. “The best results from acupressure occur after 3 - 5 minutes of continuous pressure and…”

His voice trails off slowly as he feels the tension in your jaw release, and he glances down towards your face, a small smile adorning his features at your relaxed expression. “…is best done in a comfortable environment…”

He continues to rub gentle circles into your skin for the next few minutes before gently removing his hand from you, standing up from where he was sat on the coffee table with a soft smile still gracing his features.

“Sleep well..” He whispers the words under his breath as he slowly retreats back to his bedroom, the glass of water he originally sought after completely forgotten about.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’d been a few days since you’d confided in Spencer about the stalking situation and stayed the night with him, and fit with a new set of locks on your doors, you’d gone back home to stay on your own.

You walk into the BAU office expecting to see Spencer at his desk like always, ready to talk through your next steps forward with him, except he wasn’t there. You check the watch on your wrist. 7:45. He should’ve arrived by now. Why wasn’t he here?

"Hey uh, do you know where Spencer is?" You approach Morgan over at the kitchenette, leaning against the counter top with your elbow.

“Good morning to you too lover.” Morgan gives a half-laugh at your lack of your usual greetings, making sure to throw in a tease about how the first thing you talk about is Spencer’s whereabouts, not something entirely unfounded considering how close you and Spencer had been getting over the last week or so.

“Ha ha very funny, do you know where he is?” You respond to his quip with a slight roll of your eyes.

Morgan shrugs his shoulder slightly, taking a sip of his freshly made coffee. “Maybe he slept in,”

“Spencer Reid? The man with four wake up alarms?” You furrow your expression slightly. Something about Spencer not already being in the office didn’t sit right with you.

“Okay okay, maybe that was a bad guess, but I don’t know, who knows what he might be doing,” Morgan remains nonchalant if not a little heedless. “Maybe he stumbled on an antique Russian novel collection on the way to work or something,”

“He’s never late for work-“ You mutter to yourself under your breath, half-ignoring Morgan’s attempts at explaining Spencer’s lateness, and you pull your phone out of your pocket, dialling Spencer’s number and holding up the phone to your ear, the consecutive rings echoing out of your phone’s speaker.

Pick up Spencer.

If anyone on the BAU team would know Spencer’s whereabouts, it should be the two of you. And yet neither of you had any clue where he was.

The phone continues to ring until it reaches his voicemail. there’s no answer.

Something was wrong.

You try to call him again. Nothing. This was not like Spencer at all.

Your anxiety spikes as your subconscious links his lack of answering back to your stalking situation, What if Spencer was in danger? What if this stalker had followed you to Spencer’s apartment that night you stayed with him and now knew where he lived?

The minute your brain made the connection you were turning on your heels to exit the office, grabbing your car keys from your desk as you did so.

“Hey-” Morgan follows you over to your desk, putting an arm out as you try to walk past him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Spencer’s apartment.” You try to push Morgan’s arm out of the way, only for him to block you with his entire body instead.

“Slow your roll there turbo, everyone is late every now and again, that doesn’t mean we have to turn up to their house out of nowhere.” Morgan’s explanation would be logical under normal circumstances, but he didn’t know that you were being stalked. Nor did he know that this stalker had possibly found Spencer’s address due to your own stupidity leaving him in potential danger.

“Listen Morgan I appreciate your apprehension but I do not have time for this right now.” You manage to swerve your way around Morgan and push your way out of the glass doors of the BAU office, bee-lining it down the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator.

“Hey! Wait up!” Morgan’s voice echoes down the stairwell as he runs out of the office after you, only managing to catch up to you as you stop to unlock your car, and he blocks the door from opening with his hand. “What is going on?”

“Morgan, if you want to ask me questions, get in the car.” The tone of your voice leaves no room for argument, and Morgan can tell be this point taht you’re not alright, so he gives you a short nod and goes around the front of the car to get in the passenger’s side.

Please be okay, please be okay...

That’s what’s going through your mind as you leave the BAU building, running the speed limit as you drive towards Spencer’s apartment with an awful feeling in your stomach.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on or what?” Morgan begins his questioning as soon as you hit the main road.

“I think Spencer is in danger.” You keep your eyes trained on the road, both hands braced against the steering wheel as you turn a roundabout.

“Okay, listen.... I’m with you in the fact that this is very out of character for Spencer... but there’s no use in jumping to conclusions, okay?” He puts a hand on your shoulder, clearly concerned at how fast your mind linked Spencer being late with him being in danger. “Let’s just approach this calmly and rationally.”

“I am being rational.”

“No you’re not, you’re panicking,” Morgan gives your shoulder a squeeze before letting his hand fall back into his lap. “Just take a deep breath and a second to think.” Morgan’s voice was full of a calm, soothing reassurance even as you were clearly anxious. “You’re gonna give yourself a panic attack if you don’t.”

“I know I know I’m fine-“

You open your palms against the steering wheel as if to emphasise your point, exhaling heavily through your nose as you pull into the parking lot of Spencer’s Apartment building, leaving your car parked at an angle across two parking spaces.

You’re thankful in this moment that Spencer lives so close to the office building, and you shut off the car quickly, exiting it with the same haste.

Morgan follows closely behind you as you jog across the concrete towards the entrance of the building, locking your car remotely as you pushed the outside door open and started your ascent of the stairs.

“Come on, calm down you don’t need to run-” Morgan called after you as he followed you up the stairs, continuing to try in vein to get you to take a step back and just calm down a little.

You didn’t listen of course, and you only come to a halt once you’ve reached Spencer’s apartment door.

You reach out your right hand to knock as Morgan reaches your side, but as your knuckles come into contact with the wood of the door it creaks open, the hinge pin of the door not fully closed.

Oh no.

[artydonsgf]

Hi, I know Mike fiast has a dog and not sure if you only write about art or mike but can I request Mike with his dog and a story regarding y/n - any direction works

hi! i forgot to add it to my rules but i don’t really write about actors/real people, all my work is fictional characters because that’s what’s comfortable to me. that’s on me though, but i did write a meet cute with art n his dog! please enjoy<3

“Stop!” The single word is so desperate, you can’t help but look up. Right as your eyes left the book in your hand, a speeding object hits you right in the chest. Everything goes flying, your book now ruined a few feet away. Your head snaps to the ground, your vision briefly going black as a result. You’re still on the floor when the same voice keeps yelling.

“Bad boy! No!” The sound of running fills your ears. You’re hauled up until you’re sitting, making the green of the grass and the blue of the sky blend together. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to control the nausea rising in your stomach.

“Are you alright? Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” a voice frantically checks on you. The stranger places a hand over your hair. You finally stop swaying enough to put a hand up.

“Please stop yelling,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. You swallow another wave of nausea.

“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry,” the voice quiets but not by much. You crack an eye open, not really sure what you’d find. Crouched in front of you is a boy your age. His blue eyes are crinkled with worry and his blonde curls stick to his forehead, slick with sweat. The rush in your head stops a fraction. The hand that isn’t on your head is wrapped around the collar of his dog, effectively calming the puppy down. “Racket is only a puppy and I’ve been trying to train him to be less-,” he starts ranting.

“Not to interrupt or judge, but you named your dog Racket?” You both interrupt and judge in the same breath. The stressed look on his face melts away, now replaced with a puzzled look.

“I’m a tennis player, it only felt right,” he explained, his hand still situated on your head. You slowly nod. The dimples on his cheeks deepen with a smile. A click sounds in your brain and you recognize the boy in front of you.

“You’re Art Donaldson!” You move too fast and speak too loud and the sharp pain in your head is a swift punishment. He grabs your shoulder to steady you before nodding. His smile somehow getting bigger.

“You recognize me?” He sounds bashful. You give him a look before throwing a glance at the poster pinned to the tree behind him. A picture of Art is plastered over it with details of his upcoming game. There’s one on every tree in the park. His cheeks turn pink. “I didn’t actually think they’d put it on every tree,” he explains. You nod, still dizzy. It’s only then he remembers that his dog knocked you over. “You need a doctor. Can I bring you to the athletic trainer?” He points to a nearby building. You nod, getting ready to gather your things. He beats you to it and soon, your bag is slung around his shoulder. Racket sniffs at your feet but with a stern warning from Art, he walks forward with no issue. When you finally arrive at the trainer, Art explains what happened and waits patiently until you’re assessed.

“You likely have a very mild concussion. Keep an eye on your symptoms and if they worsen after about three days, please see your primary doctor,” The athletic trainer tells you, strapping a ice pack your head. “And if you can, stay with someone. This is just in case you end up passing out.” She pats your hand and gives you a lollipop on your way out the door.

“Thank you for bringing me,” you turn to Art with a smile. The ice pack strapped your head probably makes your face look a little wonky. “I’ll see you around.” You start to turn away but he grabs your hand.

“Wait,” he turns red upon realizing he grabbed you. “Do you have anyone to stay with?” He drops your hand and starts running his fingers through his hair. Your eyebrows shoot up, though your face looks squished.

“Yeah, my roomate is getting back from spring break in a few days, I’ll be fine,” you start to turn again but he stops you once more.

“I’m just a little worried, do you mind if I check up on you? Maybe through text?” He fishes his phone out of his pocket, dropping it in the process. Your head pounds still but butterflies start to flutter in your stomach.

“Are you asking me for my number?” Your sly look is thrown off once more by the ice pack but his face turns an even deeper shade of red anyway. He clears his throat.

“Yes, I am. I want to make sure my dog isn’t the reason a pretty girl gets irreversible brain damage,” he says with a grimace that is somehow adorable despite its awkwardness. You grab his phone and tap your number in, dropping an emoji with a bandage next to your name.

“We’ll work on your flirting techniques, I’ll see you around,” you wiggle your fingers before crouching down to gently rub Racket’s head. As you walk away, you decide that the concussion was worth it if it meant meeting Art Donaldson.

i know this isn’t exactly what you were looking for but i hope you enjoy anyway!! idk how concussions actually work by the way. thank you for the request n as always, feel free to request something again! mwah mwah mwah

[eyesofshinigami]

For Love

Rating: T

CW: None

Tags: Established relationship, very mild sexual content, fluff, humor, a little dialogue heavy

Prompt: For @starryeyedjanai "Love is letting him put his cold hands under your shirt and only complaining a little bit"

WC: 617

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 22

Steve knows it’s coming. He wants to brace himself, even if he’s not sure exactly when it’s going to happen. It’s something he’s come to expect, so he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Just let it happen,” he whispers to himself. 

Which is exactly when Eddie chooses to slip his hands up Steve’s t-shirt. 

Steve manages to only jump a little bit. Months of being together has honed his ability to ignore the way Eddie’s freakishly cold fingers feel against his skin. It’s like his boyfriend has no ability to produce his own body heat. Even now, Steve can feel the scrape of his own sweater against his skin, and yet, Eddie’s fingers still feel like tiny icicles against his skin.

“Sorry, baby. You’re just… so warm,” Eddie says, not sounding sorry at all.

It’s a familiar song and dance. Eddie constantly shoves his cold hands (and occasionally his cold toes) up Steve’s shirt, his sweater, and sometimes even his shorts. 

“And your fingers are fucking freezing. Seriously, Ed. You’re like a corpse.” 

“Maybe when they revived me the first time, they forgot to turn that feature back on. Besides, you’re a human furnace, surely you’ve got some body heat to spare?”

Oh, he sure does. Steve’s always run hot, so there are some occasions when he really appreciates Eddie’s cold ass fingers against his skin. Like in the middle of the summer. Or when he’s sleeping and he has to throw off the blanket because he feels like he’s sweltering. He appreciates it considerably less when he’s doing something like cooking breakfast, or bending over to get the laundry. Case in point, he’s standing at the stove, trying to flip eggs with Eddie’s slowly warming fingers digging into his sides. “Is that all I’m good for, huh?”

Eddie grins, shifting to cup Steve’s pecs with his hand as he presses against the line of Steve’s back. “Not all you’re good for, no, but it is one of my favorite boyfriend package features for sure.” He gives Steve’s chest a good squeeze before his hands retreat to fold across Steve’s belly. They’re a tolerable temperature now, but they’re both enjoying the closeness. “Come on, you know you love it.”

Steve grumbles, just for show, “That’s what you think. Now, are you going to stop being a menace and let me finish making you breakfast?”

“Only if you promise me we can go back to bed after? It is No Fucks Sunday, after all. Maybe you can warm me up in other ways?” Eddie wiggles his eyebrows and somehow Steve still wants to tell him yes. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Steve turns back to the stove, but Eddie doesn’t let go. “That’s your cue.”

“Never was a good drama student. I think I want to negotiate terms. How about you say fuck the eggs, we go back to bed and fuck until we can’t move anymore, then we order in?” Eddie lets his now warm fingertips trail down, fiddling with the band of Steve’s sweatpants and dipping just underneath, a nice little tease. “And look, my hands are warm now. Imagine how good they’ll feel…”

Steve is a weak, weak man. He doesn’t speak, just turns the eggs off and sets the spatula to the side. “You better be naked and lubed up by the time I get this kitchen cleaned up.”

Eddie gives him a dorky salute and speeds off towards their bedroom. Meanwhile, Steve looks down at the half-cooked eggs in the pan and can still feel the cool tingle of where Eddie touched his skin. 

The things he does for love, he thinks to himself as he scrapes the pan clean.

[sirhamburrger]

CHAPTER TWO: grow some facial hair

basket case - h. chigiri x f!reader (band!au) || divider by @roseraris wc (written portion): 377 || tags/cw: 'kys' joke at the end, kaiser is an asshole, oliver is down bad for reader, chigiri is afraid of rejection :((( prev. chap || introducing manshine! || introducing x-gen! || next chap

she’s practically beaming at her phone when hyoma walks in. reo is look over her shoulder from behind the couch, eyebrows raised.

“what’s got you so happy tonight?” hyoma teases.

reo locks eyes with him, wide-eyed. it’s nothing, he mouths.

“it’s nothing,” she giggles. then she covers her face with her hand, squealing. 

well, it’s clearly not nothing.

she hands him her phone. she’s texting oliver aiku, the leader and bassist of the ubers. his name is saved as ‘grrr bark bark bark’, and recent texts show they’ve been… flirting.

him, flirting with her. her, flirting with… him.

it’s like his brain short-circuits, and it’s not until reo tugs on his sleeve hard that he comes back to reality. a reality in which she’s staring up at him, clearly giddy with the unadulterated flirtation in aiku’s words. waiting for a reaction he’s not sure he wants to give. 

because the way she’s feeling isn’t for him, not one bit, and that really stings.

“well?” she prompts, looking at him expectantly, seemingly unaware of his discomfort. hyoma can’t even bring himself to look a concerned reo in the eyes. it just makes him feel so much worse. he doesn’t need pitying. the lead singer of manshine schools his expression into something displaying mild interest - or at the very least, neutrality. 

“he seems nice.” he forces out the words like he’s trying to throw up something foul-tasting. “good for you.”

“he is nice,” she hums, taking her phone back. their hands brush, and he tries his hardest not to jerk away at the contact. “thank you.”

hyoma smiles tightly, walking past her to his room. reo follows, a knowing look of melancholy in his eyes.

“hey, man, i’m sorry about that -”

“don’t be.” hyoma smiles his tight smile again. he loathes it. “it’s not your fault, it’s not her fault, or his, or mine. it’s no one’s fault.” and as he says it, he thinks he might almost believe it.

almost.

he doesn’t know what to do now, as he sits on his bed, twisting a lock of his hair around his finger. but as soon as the feeling of hopelessness comes, it disappears. 

his friends might be across the globe, but still - they might know what to do.

a/n: no words sorry chigi :( (bachira is the ultimate yn defender) (chigiri did NOT find their advice helpful, except for isagi’s but he’s not gonna do it anyway)

taglist: @narcjsistx, @nyxlai, @n0ah-hal00, @kawoala, @chuuyalvover, @ih8geography, @lorisheaven, @hqnge (open, comment on any post in this series to be added, preferably here at the series masterlist)

bllk masterlist || general masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Rolling with the Punches ~CollegeStudent!Broken!Casey Novak xFem Reader (Charlie Angst)

Summary— Set in past, when Casey was still with Charlie. Casey shows up at your doorstep after a fight with Charlie. You are left to pick up the pieces of a broken Casey Novak.

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: mild SVU spoilers, angst, crying, implied anxiety attacks, implied abuse, implied abusive relationships, comforting, physical comfort, fluff, etc.

Enjoy (:

You didn’t question how or why Casey wound up at your doorstep on a pouring night at 3 am. But she looked like a wreck with smudged makeup, raw skin and red eyes. You simply let the drenched redhead in without another thought.

“Christ Case, you’re soaking…!” You exclaimed softly, immediately guiding the young woman into the house and towards your main bathroom, “Come on, let’s get you out of these clothes… don’t want you getting sick…” you hummed.

“I… sorry mm sorry….” Casey rambled in a mutter.

Casey simply followed along to the bathroom. You turned around a found the redhead frozen in tears in front of you.

“Oh honey…” you comforted, opening your arms and nearly falling back into the bathroom with how the redhead barreled into your embrace.

You didn’t care that you were getting wet off of her drenched clothes one bit. Her head nuzzled into the crook of your neck as she let out a fresh batch of sobs. You could feel the young woman trembling underneath your touch. This only resolved you to hold her closer, wanting to let her know that she was okay and that she was safe.

“You’re okay, Case. I’m here, you’re safe.” You cooed softly.

You swayed back and forth in the doorway of your bathroom, until her sobs stifled and she let out a sniffle, pulling back and meeting your caring gaze.

“I’m sorry I^^hic^^ didn’t know where to go… I left and I couldn’t stop and I just ended up here and—” the redhead whispered.

Your heart melted for concern at the woman’s disposition. She had walked from her place all the way to yours, not impossible, but terribly long considering it had been pouring the entire time.

“Oh Casey it’s okay. It really is. Now, let’s get you into a warm shower… Don’t want you getting sick on me.” You gently comforted the redhead, indicating to the large shower in the bathroom.

Casey nodded as she shuffled into the lavish room. You followed her, pulling out a warm, fluffy towel and placing it on the counter for her.

“If you leave your wet clothes by the door, I can run them through the wash for you while you shower.” You softly hummed.

Casey nodded once more.

“Thank you…” she croaked.

You immediately nodded, squeezing her shoulder lightly and reassuringly.

“Of course, Case. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done.”

Receiving an understanding nod from the young woman, you left the bathroom, closing the door behind you. Soon you heard the shower start, and you took that as your cue to grab her wet clothes and throw them in your dryer. You then walked into your kitchen with a sigh, itching for a glass of wine. Your nimble fingers grabbed a glass and a bottle of red, instinctually pouring just the right amount, as if you had done this before.

Sipping at your wine, you surveyed your food provisions to see what you could offer Casey. You had an inkling of why she was here in the middle of the night… You had noticed the bruising along her face and arms. You knew that she was in a complicated relationship… to say the least.

With another sigh, you decided on making some breakfast for dinner for the poor girl. Not that it was either time of the day to eat, but you had a feeling that she needed to eat. You cooked up some eggs, bacon, and pancakes. As you were plating the pancakes, Casey came padding into the kitchen wrapped in the fluffy towel. You saw her eyes go wide and her mouth practically salivating at the sight of food.

“Come, sit and eat.” You softly instructed the woman, “Your clothes aren’t done yet, but I can grab you some of mine for now if that’s alright?”

Casey scurried over to the large kitchen island, sitting on the opposing end. You pushed the plates towards her as you plated the last pancake and handed her some silverware. It took her less than three seconds to start digging in right then and there. You chuckled lightly as you cleaned off your hands. Casey’s face flushed in embarrassment at her current ravaging nature.

“Mm sorry…” she mumbled, gazing up from her plate to you with a strip of bacon hanging out of the left side of her mouth, “Clothes would be great”

“Don’t worry about it, eat ‘hun. I’ll grab you something to wear.” You hummed caringly.

Casey nodded, returning her full attention back to the plates of food. You smiled lightly, happy to see the redhead eating something, before going deeper into your apartment to find her some clothes. You came back to all of the plates on the island being completely cleaned off. You handed Casey a pair of pajamas. The redhead muttered a thank you, before padding over to the bathroom and getting changed.

When she came back out, Casey let out a yawn. You had cleaned up all the dishes and were making yourself some tea on the counter. The redhead walked up to the island, fidgeting with her hands as she sat on a bar stool. You handed her a mug of hot tea.

“Thanks…”

“Of course.”

Silence took the room for a moment, before you spoke again,

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to… You’re more than welcome to stay in the guest bedroom for the night.” You hummed.

Casey fiddled with the mug, keeping her eyes low. Her hair was still damp, and she smelled of your body wash.

“I… I—” Casey stammered before breaking down into tears once more in front of you.

You put your mug aside to draw your full attention to the redhead. And you immediately rounded around the island, placing your hand on her back reassuringly rubbing little circles along her trembling and small frame.

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay…” you cooed gently.

Casey sniffed violently a couple times to try and reign her tears in. You squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, making sure to let her know that it was alright. The redhead then turned toward you and curled her face up into your chest.

“I didn’t… didn’t think it would get this… like this…” She stammered, spiraling in thought.

“I know, I know, sweet girl. This is not your fault.” You comforted.

Casey hiccuped again.

“I… I don’t know what to do…” she whispered into your chest in confession, clinging on tight to your frame and not showing any indication of letting go anytime soon.

You hummed and let her lean into your embrace as much as you needed. You knew what she had to do, but you also knew that now was not the time that she needed to hear it.

“Why don’t you get some sleep? Then we can talk in the morning.” You softly hummed.

Casey reluctantly peeled her face off of your chest and shirt, looking up at you hesitantly.

“Don’t want to be alone right now…” she whispered,

“D-don’t know what I might do”

Trying to mask the anger and fury coursing through your veins, you gulped lightly and nodded in recognition. You hated what this Charlie was doing to Casey. Destroying her every fiber of self, self worth, self confidence, self esteem… You wanted to go over there yourself and tear her a new one. But you took a deep breath instead.

“I understand. Why don’t you sleep with me tonight? We can cuddle if that would help…?” You offer.

Casey’s eyes immediately light up a little brighter at your offer. She nods slowly but eagerly and lets you lead her to the main bedroom. You let her climb into bed, while you change into your nightwear. Then you join the redhead, allowing her to curl up into your chest under the covers.

“Good Night, Casey”

“Mmmm night…”

Casey was off like a light, dozing away almost the second she curled up next to you. You could feel her tired bones finally relaxing against you, hear her snoring ever so slightly. It gave you a moment to sigh and let all your emotions out.

“Charlie doesn’t deserve you, honey…” you sigh.

~~~

Casey Novak Masterlist