#oh he's going to show you what you missed out on

[aajjks]

The Shower Show (m)

synopsis. A lot happens when you find out that your horny housemate is taking a shower in your bathroom and the worst way to find out is when you walk in on him naked in the shower.

genre: 18+, cringe, comedy, mature, crack

pairing: roommate jungkook x female!reader

warnings: shôwêr wârs, rôômâtês tûrñêd châôtîc fôês, jûñgkôôk bêîñg â flîrty lîttlê shît, tôwêl drâmâ, bîg d sélf-hypê, înâpproprîâtê shôwêr sêx rêfêrêñcês, dîrtÿ jôkês, thrôwîñg shâmpôô âs â wêâpôñ, sêxûâl têñsîôñ bât nó shôwêr shârîñg (fôr ñôw).

note. Besties he’s here to torture you again.. I bet you’ve missed him, but let’s see share your feedback. Please give me everything. ENJOY. I just want to thank JK for this GIF because it fits so well 😭 also GIF credits to owner. I found this on Pinterest.

•••

The bathroom door is open.

The shower is running.

The universe is testing your patience.

You stand frozen in the doorway, towel slung over your shoulder, brain cells malfunctioning as you process what’s happening.

Jungkook. Your roommate. Your personal headache. Your walking HR violation.

In your shower.

Naked.

Steam curls around his body, clinging to the obscene lines of his back, his unholy shoulders flexing as he runs shampoo through his hair, completely unaware of your presence.

Until he hums.

Not just any hum.

A deep, throaty, sinful hum.

Like he’s enjoying himself too much. Like he’s two seconds away from making the type of noise that would get this entire building evicted.

Your eye twitches.

“JEON JUNGKOOK.”

He jumps. Actually yelps. And then—he turns.

You see everything.

Then you see nothing because your soul leaves your body.

“Oh,” Jungkook breathes, completely shameless, absolutely evil. His hair is soaked, water dripping from his stupidly pretty face, rolling down his obnoxiously chiseled chest and lower—

You look lower.

Mistake.

The steam is not covering enough.

Jungkook grins.

“Hey,” he says, like this is normal. Like he’s not standing there, dick swinging, looking like a Greek god sculpted by the hands of sin itself.

Your brain malfunctions.

“WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU IN MY SHOWER?!”

Jungkook just shrugs. “Yours has better pressure.”

Better pressure.

Better pressure.

Better fucking pressure.

Like that is a valid reason to traumatize you before 8 AM.

“Jungkook,” you seethe, gripping the doorframe so tight it might snap. “Get. Out.”

He pouts. “Babe, don’t be like that.”

“WE ARE NOT DATING.”

Jungkook tilts his head. Smirks. Drops his voice.

“But you’ve thought about it.”

Your soul glitches.

“I— WHAT?!”

“I mean,” he hums, so casual, so dangerous, “you’ve definitely thought about me naked before. So this is, like, a dream come true, right?”

Your sanity explodes.

“Jungkook,” you hiss, “the only dream I’ve ever had about you is me strangling you to death.”

He grins. “Kinky.”

“THAT IS NOT—;”

“You should’ve told me earlier, baby. I would’ve let you tie me up.”

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU.”

Jungkook just laughs, shaking his head, completely unbothered, completely insufferable.

And the actual worst part?

He doesn’t even stop showering. He just turns back around, casually flexing, running his hands through his hair like he’s doing an audition for a porn parody of an Old Spice commercial.

Your life flashes before your eyes.

“Damn,” Jungkook sighs, glancing over his shoulder, grinning so hard it hurts. “Wanna hand me the body wash, babe? You can get real up close and personal.”

“I WILL THROW IT AT YOUR HEAD.”

“Mm.” He smirks. “Do it. I like it rough.”

You black out.

The next thing you know, a bottle of shampoo is flying across the room.

Jungkook dodges. Laughs. “Ooh, feisty.”

You are going to prison.

“You’re seriously not leaving?” you demand.

Jungkook just leans against the wall, completely naked, completely hardheaded, and possibly just hard at this point.

“Why would I?” he smirks, tilting his hips slightly, watching your eyes flicker down involuntarily.

Fuck.

Fuck.

You looked again.

And he knows it.

Jungkook grins. “Wanna touch it?”

You make a strangled noise.

“I—EXCUSE ME?!”

“What?” He grins wider, stretching, flexing, committing war crimes against your sanity. “It’s really nice. People say I should charge.”

Your brain ceases to function.

“I—WHAT PEOPLE?!”

Jungkook shrugs, completely casual. “Y’know. The lucky ones.”

Your life is over.

You should leave. You should run.

But you’re too furious, too flustered, too weak in the knees to even move.

Jungkook notices. Oh, he notices.

“Damn,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your very obvious reaction, his voice dropping even lower. “You’re really into this, huh?”

You sputter.

“I—NO?!”

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Babe, you’re standing there watching me like I’m the main course at a five-star restaurant.”

Your soul leaves your body.

“JUNGKOOK.”

“You wanna ride me so bad—”

“I WILL KILL YOU.”

He laughs. Laughs. Like this is fun for him. Like he’s living his best life while you suffer.

And then. Oh.

Oh.

The real war begins.

Jungkook leans back. Smirks. And then drops the bomb.

“You know,” he purrs, so cocky, so smug, so filthy,

“shower sex is scientifically proven to be good for your health.”

Your entire body malfunctions.

“EXCUSE ME?!”

“It’s efficient,” he winks. “Gets you clean and gets you off. Two birds, one very lucky stone.”

Your soul ascends.

“I—WHAT THE HELL—;”

Jungkook tuts, shaking his head. “Damn, no wonder you’re so grumpy all the time.”

You malfunction.

“Y’know,” he continues, completely evil, completely Jungkook, “I could totally help you out.”

Your brain combusts.

“YOU ARE A DEMON.”

“Or,” he grins, so sinful, so smug, “I’m just really good at what I do.”

You cannot breathe.

Jungkook tilts his head, all fake innocence, all filthy intent.

“You’re curious now, aren’t you?”

You launch the showerhead at his face.

Bestie, you want filthy? You’re getting filthy.

“OUT.”

You’re dripping wet, the bathroom is steaming up, and Jungkook? Still standing there, looking entirely too entertained.

“In a second,” he shrugs, leaning against the doorframe like he’s got all the time in the world.

“Now.” You point at the door with all the authority you can muster while wrapped in a damp towel.

But Jungkook? He just grins.

“Damn, babe, you’re really gonna throw me out when I’m standing here, fully clothed, knowing damn well you just got all wet and needy—”

“Jungkook.”

“—And naked.”

You whip a bottle of conditioner at his head. He dodges, but barely.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re in denial.” He tilts his head, all faux innocence.

“You sure you don’t wanna share? It’s an efficient way to save water. And time.”

“GET OUT.”

He scoffs. “You act like I haven’t seen tits before.”

“Not mine.”

“Yet.”

You stare. “Jungkook. I will kill you.”

He bites his lip like he’s thinking. “Damn, at least let me die with a good visual.”

You grab the showerhead.

“Okay, okay..” he laughs, hands up, but his eyes are shamelessly raking over your barely-covered figure. “You don’t have to be shy, babe. We’re roommates. We share everything.”

“Not this.”

“C’mon,” he grins. “It’s not my fault I’m built for shower sex.”

You gape. “Built for—what the fuck?”

“I mean, you’ve seen my thighs.” He gestures to himself, completely dead serious.

“Perfect for bracing you against the wall, if you think about it.”

Your brain is short-circuiting.

“Oh my fucking goodness.”

“And don’t even get me started on my stamina,” he continues, absolutely shameless. “I could make you—;”

The shampoo bottle goes flying.

Jungkook DIPS.

He books it out of the bathroom, laughing his ass off, knowing damn well you’re about two seconds away from actual murder.

Fucker.

[finelinevogue]

a musician’s day off

summary - a montage of your instagram posts with harry & the moments behind the photos

word count - ~1k

pairing - harry styles x gf!reader

Harry had been gone for too long.

Well, not from you but from the world. The public eye missed him and the stage was once again calling his name, but he was happy here. He was happy with his girlfriend and he was content with how his life was playing out for now.

His fans did miss him though.

You were good to them though, what with feeding them content every chance you thought appropriate. Harry loved how close you were with his fans and how you kept them occupied even when he was away.

You often updated them through your Instagram posts.

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y/n_l/n evening dip, anyone?

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“Harry, love, what are you doing?” You laughed as you watched him stumble trying to take off his socks.

“I’m going for a dip.”

“In a freezing cold lake?”

“It’s France… It won’t be that cold.”

Right.

You didn’t push him any further and allowed him to roll the bottom of his trousers up. You held out your phone to video him as he went near the water’s edge.

He turned his head slightly towards you, giving you a small smirk to which you rolled your eyes at, before he stepped into the very shallow water.

“Fuuuck!” He laughed.

“I won’t say I told you so, but…”

“Oh piss off.” He breathed through the cold on his feet.

“This was your idea.”

Harry walked back out of the water after having decided three seconds was enough time to dip his feet in there.

You put your phone away, tucking it safely back in your jacket pocket before moving to stand in front of Harry.

You threw your arms around his neck and brushed your body against his. Without hesitation you gave him a soft kiss, just to show your support for his freezing toes. You were a good girlfriend like that.

When you pulled away Harry’s arms clung around your waist to keep you close.

“Think your kisses are making me feel better.”

You smiled. He was too quick sometimes for you to think of a snarky comeback, so instead you shut him and his stupidity up by kissing him again.

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y/n_l/n water baby 🌊

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Harry dove into the pool as you slowly made your way down the steps into the pool.

Harry pushed his hair back off his face as he surfaced and pinched his nose from the water that had got trapped from diving, before making his way over to you.

He swam close by and stood up, below where you were stood on the steps in.

“What?” You asked, noticing him staring.

“You look so pretty, that’s all.” He smiled, wading through the water to stand closer to you.

“Don’t splash me.” You warned.

“I won’t.”

You smiled in thanks and wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning down to give him a soft kiss.

He looked so healthy with his summer tan and uninterrupted schedule. The smile on his face was solely because of you, he would argue. Nothing had made him happier this past year than getting to spend every moment of it with you.

“Was thinking of writing a song tonight.” Harry stopped kissing you to let you know.

“Oh okay. What brought that on?”

“Had a lot of inspiration recently.” He shrugged. “Need to let it out.”

“Okay.” You nodded in understanding, “You going to call the guys to help?”

“Probably. Just want to feel it out for myself first, though.”

“Sounds good.”

You leaned down to kiss him some more. Perhaps these kisses would serve as even more inspiration.

Harry’s arms found their way underneath your ass and lifted you up with his arms so you sat around his waist.

You both continued to kiss the night away, as you enjoyed the last of the sun in the pool.

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y/n_l/n on wednesday’s we wear pink

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You watched on as Harry spoke to Jeff over the phone.

“No.” Harry argued.

You sat on a garden chair as you nervously bounced your leg, listening in to Harry’s side of the conversation.

The sun was shining and the grass was so green, but the day didn’t feel so perfect. Jeff had called Harry demanding that some form of music plan was confirmed soon, otherwise the record label was at risk to sue him, but Harry still wasn’t ready to go back.

He wanted more time.

More time to enjoy with you and, more importantly, more time to just be with himself.

He still felt like he had so much to learn about himself and he couldn’t do that if he was giving every bit of himself to everyone else.

“Well I’m sorry, but I’m not doing that.” Harry ran a hand through his hair - a tell that you knew meant he was getting frustrated.

Ten minutes later and he hung up the phone.

Harry sat down on the garden chair opposite you, legs spread wide to let you know that he wanted you to come and join him.

So you did.

He welcomed you sitting on his lap with open arms. You rested your head just under his chin and your hand played with his as you sat in silence.

“I’m not ready to go back.” He said quietly.

“I know. You don’t owe anything to anyone, either.”

“Sometimes feels like I do.”

You tilted your head briefly to leave him a kiss, before settling back down again.

“You don’t. I know you know that, too.”

Harry let out a big sigh and kissed your forehead lightly. “Yeah.”

“Harry, my love, you gave so much of yourself to that last tour and the first thing you said to me when you finished that last show was ‘I’m ready for a long rest now’. It’s okay to still feel like you need that rest.”

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y/n_l/n behind the scenes

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“I’ve made a list.” Harry said after he spat out his toothpaste.

“A list?” You asked.

Both of you were getting ready for bed. You wore matching robes and worked through your nightly routines in tandem.

“Mhm. A list of things I want to do before I release music again and everything else that comes with it.”

You turned to him, intrigued, “Okay?”

“Number one. I want to run a marathon.” He said, whilst applying his face rub.

“Yup.” You nodded.

“Number two. I’d really like to travel to at least one new place.”

“Such as?”

“I’m thinking Iceland actually. The Northern Lights, you know? It’s kind of romantic.” He winked at you through the large bathroom mirror, causing you to blush.

“Okay.”

“Number three and probably the most important one is I want to marry you.”

You stopped applying your moisturiser to look at him fully. You gave him a little pout and a smile, so in love with him.

“You mean it?”

“Yeah. I’m ready if you are.”

“I am.” You leaned up to give him a kiss, careful not to mess up his facial routine. “But you have to ask me properly.”

“I will.” He nodded, sealing the promise with another kiss.

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

request!

kissing glasses spencer for the first time and his lenses get all fogged up and he gets all embarrassed 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 #need.

-🪲

Omg love this, your mind is *chefs kiss* 💋

You. | Spencer Reid

The night was perfect, the soft hum of the city fading into the background as Spencer walked you to your apartment. His hand was warm in yours, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your skin.

It was still surreal, Spencer was your boyfriend. Not just your best friend, not just the sweet genius who made your heart race. He was yours.

He had asked you over dinner, completely by accident. You could see it in his eyes, the moment the words slipped out, immediate fear. But it was perfectly Spencer.

“I can’t believe I messed it up.” He groaned, shaking his head as you neared your door.

You smiled, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t be silly, Spence. It was perfect.. it was.. you.”

“But I had this whole plan,” He continued, his brows furrowing. “We were supposed to go out into the countryside, away from all the light pollution. I was going to show you the constellations, explain the mythology behind them, and then-”

“Spencer.” You stopped him with a soft laugh, tugging on his hand so he’d look at you. His worried eyes softened. “I’m just glad you’re finally my boyfriend. I don’t care how you would’ve asked. The answer would’ve always been yes.”

His lips parted slightly, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Really?”

“Really.”

He brought your interlaced hands up to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of your palm.

You reached your door, but the thought of ending the night felt unbearable. You didn't want to let him go.

“Would you like to come inside?” you tilted your head, giving him a hopeful look.

His eyes widened behind his glasses. “Oh- yes. I mean, if you want me to. Do you want me to?”

“Spencer.” you teased. “I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you to. We could watch a movie?”

“Yeah.” he nodded, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smile. “I’d love that.”

Once inside, you both kicked off your shoes, the warmth of your apartment wrapping around you. Spencer hung up his coat, always so particular.

You grabbed the remote, And he sat down on the couch.“Any suggestions?” you asked. “I’ll watch whatever you choose.”

“Thirteen going on thirty it is.” you declared with a grin.

He chuckled softly. Of course, he had expected that. It was your comfort movie, and even though he could recite almost all the lines, he loved watching how your face lit up during your favorite scenes.

Once you put the movie in you sat down next to Spencer, closer than usual but leaving enough space so you don't freak him out too much.

He draped his arm around your shoulders, and you leaned into him a bit more.

It felt natural, like you two were meant to be like this.

Every time he absentmindedly traced patterns on your arms, your stomach fluttered.

Halfway through the movie, the craving for popcorn hit. You gave him a playful pout. “Be right back.”

In minutes, you returned, a warm bowl of popcorn in hand. The moment you sat down, you fed him a piece, giggling when he exaggerated the crunch. One piece led to another, and before long, the movie became background noise to your laughter.

“You missed!” Spencer laughed as you threw a kernel at him, watching it bounce off his chest.

“You suck.” You teased.

“Maybe your throwing skills suck.” He retorted with mock seriousness. “Okay then you try.”

He obliged, tossing a piece in your direction. You opened your mouth wide, ready to catch it, only for you to miss entirely, landing on the floor with a dramatic bounce.

“Okay, maybe we’re both equally bad.” You admitted through laughter.

The laughter faded as the moment shifted. His eyes locked on yours, the air between you thickening. You scooted a little closer, reaching up to fix his hair where it had gone messy during your antics.

His hair was soft beneath your fingertips, and he leaned into your touch.

“You’re so perfect.” You whisper, your thumb brushing along his cheek. His breath caught.

“You’re perfect.” He murmured in return, his voice low.

You tilted his chin slightly, bringing your lips just close enough to let the anticipation linger. “Can I kiss you?” He asks earning a smile from you.

Then, finally, he closed the distance. The kiss was slow and sweet, hesitant at first, like he was savoring every second. His hands found your waist, fingers gripping softly as though you’d pull away.

But you didn’t. You deepened the kiss, your tongue gently brushing against his as he eagerly responded. Before you knew it, you were straddling his lap, your hands tangling in his hair.

Every movement was intoxicating. You could feel the warmth of him, the pounding of his heart.

“Are you comfortable?” You murmured, breathless, breaking the kiss just enough to meet his gaze.

“I—” his eyes darted downward, his face flushing. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. His glasses were all fogged up.

“Oh god.” Spencer groaned, hastily pulling them off. Embarrassment written all over his face.

“I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not.” You assure him, taking the glasses from his hands. “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” He scoffed, though the blush on his cheeks deepened.

“Very.” You grinned, breathing softly on the lenses to fog them up further, then using the hem of your shirt to clean them. “There. Good as new.” You say as you place them back on his face.

He watched you with something unreadable in his gaze.

“Thanks… I don’t know why I’m like that.” He mumbled, his gaze dropping to his lap. His cheeks were pink, the embarrassment still lingering.

You reached out, gently placing a finger beneath his chin, tilting his face back up so his eyes met yours. “Like what?”

“Embarrassing.” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Spence.” You said softly, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “You’re not embarrassing. You’re perfect. And you’re you. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

His eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as the corners of his lips curved into a shy smile. The warmth of your words settle over him, and for a moment, all he could do was admire you.

You leaned in, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. It was soft and reassuring, filled with every bit of affection you felt for him. When you pulled away, Spencer’s arms wrapped tightly around you, his grin growing wider.

Without warning, he peppered your face with kisses. Your cheeks, your forehead, even the tip of your nose. You squealed in protest, laughter bubbling from your chest as he held you close…

Hopefully you enjoyed this!! Thank you so much for requesting<3

[thediazes]

from the wings

for @nymika-arts <3

Buck tells Maddie that he isn’t in love with Eddie, and she—well, she tries to believe him.

She does. A valiant effort, truly. It’s just that Maddie learned how to read her little brother before he even learned to read the alphabet, and she can tell when he’s not being entirely truthful. To her, or to himself. Like when he was five years old and he’d run inside from the street, bike abandoned on the front lawn, with scraped knees and two holes in his brand new jeans to match, and insist that it wasn’t his fault. “I wasn’t going too fast, Maddie,” he’d say. “My– My bike went over a rock.” Tearful eyes pointed towards the floor. Hands always fidgeting.

Kind of like he’s doing now.

He’s fiddling with the paper napkin his cutlery came rolled in, making tiny rips around the edges. It’s become more and more frayed as their lunch date has progressed, and Buck’s gaze is glued to it as he talks.

“It’s not that I don’t like Ravi,” he says, frowning when he rips a bit too far. “I do. He’s great. I’m just…not used to having to explain what I’m about to do before I do it, y’know?”

Maddie hums. “It’ll take some getting used to.”

“I know,” Buck sighs. “It’s just weird.”

“It’s natural to miss Eddie,” she says. Carefully. Neutrally. “You guys worked side-by-side for a long time.”

“I don’t–” His eyes flick up to meet hers for the first time in five minutes, narrowing—as if they’re playing some kind of game, and he’ll be damned if he’s about to play right into her hand (Maddie’s fairly sure all she did was make a simple comment). “I mean, of course I miss him. He’s my best friend. But it’s not like I’ve never worked with anyone else before.”

“Exactly. You and Ravi will find that wordless communication in no time.”

Eyes back to the napkin. “Right.” Rip. “Anyway, how are you? Still feeling…cooped-up?

Maddie sighs. “Yeah, but…not as bad. I’ve been going on walks. Plus, now that Jee’s home for the break, she’s keeping me busy.”

He grins. “That’s what I like to hear.”

It’s then that his phone, face down on the table, chimes with a notification. When he picks it up, his smile grows impossibly wider, in an involuntary, reflexive sort of way that almost makes Maddie feel like an intruder for looking. “Who is it?” she prompts, and Buck quickly schools his face when he looks at her, like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“It’s, uh– It’s Eddie.” He flips the phone around to show her, and on it is a picture of Christopher, in front of him a chess board with far fewer black pieces on it than white. “Chris is teaching him how to play, and he keeps losing. Badly.”

Maddie laughs. “Sounds like he needs a better teacher.”

“Eh, Eddie was pretty hopeless to begin with.”

He glances back down at his phone, eyes twinkling as he types out a response, and Maddie can’t help but think that her stubbornly resistant little brother is the hopeless one—navigating his new reality with his eyes closed; carrying a torch behind his back for a man who now lives eight hundred miles away.

She sighs.

Buck puts his phone down and changes the subject.

* * *

He picks up on the fifth ring, voice sounding tinny and a bit far away. “Hey, Mads, sorry—you’re on speakerphone. Need my hands free to chop veggies.” She hears the faint sound of a drawer opening and closing as he talks; the clattering of some utensil against the countertop.

“Ooh,” she says, “Whatcha making?”

“Soup,” Buck says brightly, “with chicken, peppers, zucchini—all kinds of stuff. Eddie sent me the recipe.”

Maddie smiles. Chim, sitting next to her, raises his eyebrows and smiles too. “Oh?” she prompts.

“Yeah–” His knife hits the cutting board, again, again, again. Chop-chop-chop. “–he found it in a drawer at his abuela’s house. One of her secret recipes, apparently. He thought I’d like to try it.”

“Her secret recipe,” Maddie repeats.

“Yep.”

“And he just…sent it to you?”

“Yeah?” And then, like he’s just realized what she’s getting at— “it’s not like she minds. She’s given me all kinds of recipes.”

“Right,” Maddie says. She glances to the side at Chimney, and her husband is just sitting there, grinning into his palm and shaking his head in a sort of resigned bewilderment. Tell me about it, his eyes say, as if this kind of familial domesticity has played out in front of him a million times over—because it honestly, probably, has. “I didn’t even know you liked soup,” she continues. Plenty of memories of her brother turning his nose up at it through the years.

“Yeah, well, I’m trying new things–” CHOP. “–in my brand new kitchen.”

Chimney snorts. “Right. Brand new,” he chimes in. “Having trouble finding anything?”

In the split second pause on the other end of the line, Maddie can tell Buck is rolling his eyes. “I’m glaring at you, Chim,” he says. “You can’t see me, but I’m glaring at you.”

Her husband just grins.

“Anyway, what’s up? Did you guys need something?”

“Yes, my wonderful brother-in-law who I have never made fun of, ever in my life—” Chim starts. Maddie’s sure Buck is rolling his eyes again. “Wanna spend tomorrow night with your adorable niece?”

Buck sighs, but he’s smiling. She can hear it. “You know I can never say no to that.”

“Great!” Maddie says. “I’ll drop her off at six. Let us know how that soup turns out.”

“I’ll send pictures. Eddie made me promise to take some so he could show his abuela.”

Chimney shakes his head, grinning. “Of course he did.”

“Goodbye.”

* * *

The firehouse is quiet when Maddie walks through the doors. She’d expected it to be a bit more hectic, really, given the time of morning, but things just seem settled. Comfortable. Yet to be disturbed by LA’s 8am traffic rush.

She hears the people she’s looking for before she sees them, their murmured chatter drifting down from the loft, and as she reaches the top of the stairs, she finds them gathered around the kitchen island, all clutching cups of coffee. She can’t help but smile at the tired, droopy expressions on each of their faces. Clearly the caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet.

“Hi,” she calls out, stepping into the space, greeted by turning heads and a few bleary-eyed smiles in return. Her husband’s face brightens immediately—before he’s even noticed the big pink box in her hands. “Thought you guys might be in need of some fuel this morning.”

Chim rises from his seat for a quick kiss on the lips. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he says with a grin, taking the collection of pastries from her hands and setting it down on the counter.

“You’re too good to us, Maddie,” Hen says.

Bobby smiles. “Thank you so much, Maddie. You didn’t have to do this.”

She waves him off. “Believe me, I’m going stir-crazy in the house all on my own. This was just an excuse to get out and do something.”

They all chuckle, and Chimney raises the lid on the box for everyone to take their pick.

Well—almost everyone.

“Where’s Buck?”

Hen makes a noise in response. Swallows a mouthful of croissant, and answers, “Downstairs. Eddie called.”

And when she glances over the balcony towards the floor, she sees him—tucked against one of the trucks in the far corner with his phone in one hand, pressed to his ear, and gesturing wildly with the other, despite the fact that his recipient can’t see him.

What strikes her, though, is his smile. God, it’s blinding. Grinning from ear to ear like he’s won the damn lottery, just because he gets to hear his best friend’s voice on the other end of the line. Radiant, comfortable; so soft around the edges that Maddie worries some part of him will spill over onto the concrete floor—all from a conversation that, if she's overhearing it correctly, seems to be about Christopher’s room-cleaning habits. And when he laughs, it’s a sound so genuine that she gets the sudden urge to jump into her car, drive to El Paso, and bring the Diazes back to Los Angeles herself.

Maddie’s much more used to the restless, ever-anxious version of her little brother. She doesn’t often see him looking so comfortable in his own skin. She finds herself wishing there was something, anything she could do to keep him there.

Some part of that train of thought must show on her face, because when she glances back, Bobby catches her eye and smiles, softly. A little sadly. Like he wishes he had the power to do the same.

Maddie just shakes her head and grabs a croissant from the box. Tries not to notice how familiar Buck seems to be with the tendency his best friend’s son has to leave too many glasses of water on his bedside table.

* * *

Maddie lets herself into Buck’s house three weeks later and is met with an empty living room. It’s impeccably clean; carefully organized. Furniture she recognizes from his loft placed at perfectly opposing angles—a vase of fake flowers placed right in the centre of the coffee table. The late afternoon sun streams in through the front window, but it doesn’t seem to quite reach the edges of the room.

She toes off her shoes in the entryway and heads down the hall in search of her brother. Nowhere to be found in the kitchen (a noticeably bigger space without the table that once inhabited it), but instead, found leaning in the doorway of the empty second bedroom, as if he’d been standing there staring at it for god knows how long before she got here.

There’s nothing in the room. Nothing really to look at, other than the small window on the opposite wall with the curtains drawn.

“What do you think you’re gonna do with it?” she asks, now at his elbow, and he doesn’t startle. So he heard her come in after all.

“I dunno,” he says. “Might just leave it like this.”

“Empty?”

Buck shrugs, plastering on a smile. “Don’t know what else I’d do with it. It’s not like I need an office.” He huffs out a breath, like he can’t quite commit to a real laugh, and Maddie just looks at him—really looks, at the tightness in his shoulders; the way that smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and the bags that seem to live beneath them instead. For a split second, she wants to haul him out of here and back to her house where he can sleep until his world is right side up again.

Instead, she suggests, “You could make it into a guest bedroom.”

Buck wrinkles his nose. Takes a breath and cracks another smile, but his energy for excuses seems to run out before the words have even left his mouth, and he deflates. “I don’t think I want anyone else sleeping in here.”

It’s the first bit of true honesty that she’s gotten from him in weeks, but it doesn’t exactly make her feel better.

“I just…I didn’t think it would be this–” He chews the inside of his cheek, looking down at his hands, and Maddie expects him to say weird, but instead, he says, “hard. Living here. Without them.”

Maddie sighs, wrapping her arms around one of his. “I know. But you know, filling the space might make it feel a bit smaller.”

Buck nods, still staring at the lone window. “Yeah. But I— I think I’ll leave it like this. For now.”

And Maddie contemplates shaking some sense into him; going on a shopping spree at IKEA and forcing this place into something a little less haunting herself. But they’d still be standing here, in Eddie’s house, cooking dinner in Eddie’s kitchen, eating it in Eddie’s dining room. Buck will still go to sleep in Eddie’s bedroom tonight—and she decides that rebuilding his own life is something Buck will have to take on himself.

So she simply says, “Okay,” and lets Buck pull the bedroom door shut. Allows him to move into the living room, and change the subject to whether they should have chicken or pasta for dinner.

* * *

Maddie pulls into her own driveway three days later and finds her brother on the front stoop—shoulders hunched, eyes glued to his feet. She slams the car door shut and plants herself in front of him, waiting for his eyes to meet hers.

“You okay?” she asks, when they finally do.

He looks at her, face open and honest and pleading for answers—an expression she’s seen countless times, since before he knew how to tie his shoes—and says, “I think I’m an idiot.”

And Maddie knows, immediately, what he means, because she’s been watching him inch towards realization since he came to her the first time, mixed up and messy and appalled at the mere thought of the truth.

“Yeah, I think you have been, a little. But you know, it’s never too late to be honest.”

Buck laughs; dry, humourless. “He lives halfway across the country, Mads.”

“I don’t mean with him,” she stresses. “I mean with yourself.”

Buck swallows. “Right. I’m not sure that’ll make me feel any better.”

“Maybe not,” Maddie says, lowering herself down to sit next to him on the concrete stoop, “but it’s probably better than pretending it’s not there.”

He sighs, and she smiles, laying her head gently on his shoulder. He’s quiet, contemplative for a moment, before he settles on, “Probably.”

Maddie just takes his hand and squeezes.

* * *

Buck is wearing a sweater that Maddie has never seen before. Knitted, dark blue yarn, a little tight around the shoulders. It pulls up above his wrist when he moves his arm, reaching forward to gesture at Chimney across the dinner table in the midst of a heated debate that Maddie has purposefully not been paying much attention to.

“The second one was way better!” Buck is insisting, while Chim gapes at him, appalled.

“I’m sorry, you’re telling me Top Gun: Maverick is better than the original?”

“Yes! The stunts were so much cooler.”

“It was never about the stunts, Buck–”

Their attention is drawn from the (clearly earth-shattering) dilemma at hand when a pair of headlights sweeps over the dimly-lit room through the front windows—a car pulling into the driveway. Maddie frowns.

“Are you expecting someone else?” she asks, and Buck shakes his head, brows knitted.

“Uh– no. No, just you guys,” he says. He stands, then, moving away from the table—still littered with dishes from their dinner and dessert—and into the dark living room to get a look at their mystery guest. When he reaches the window, his whole body freezes, like some frigid ocean wave has just crashed over him, swallowing the room and its perfectly placed contents whole.

“Buck?” Maddie prompts, though she has a feeling, as she watches his wide eyes track whatever scene is unfolding on his driveway, that she knows exactly who it is. That someone has just come home.

In lieu of an answer, Buck rushes to the door, throwing it open, and behind it is—Christopher. A bit taller than when she last saw him; his hair a bit shorter, but still, unmistakably, Christopher Diaz. Even simply from how Buck’s face lights up in a way that Maddie hasn’t seen since he left.

“Hey, Buck,” he says, grinning. Then, a beat later, “Is that my Dad’s sweater?”

And Buck just laughs, smiling ear-to-ear, and lets out a breath that Maddie suspects he’s been holding in for months.

* * *

Three weeks later, the house is warm. Comfortable. The air smells like home-cooked food and the scent of whatever candle Buck had lit when the sun went down and the overhead lights felt too intrusive. Scattered all over the coffee table are plates holding the remnants of the cake that had, before it was sliced into, read: ‘Welcome back pardners, yeehaw!’, along with half-finished glasses of water and wine.

By far the most eye-catching thing in the room, though—at least to Maddie—is her brother. Radiantly happy, shining like a disco ball as he laughs at something Hen just said, leaning back in the chair that he’s tucked in close next to Eddie’s. He looks…settled, finally. Even as he keeps sneaking glances at his best friend like he can’t quite believe he’s actually here.

It’s a relief, to see him like this, Maddie can admit. To be reminded—after months of confusion, denial, indecision—that sometimes, her brother is simply content. Loved, and aware that he is loved. That his life isn’t simply a timeline of difficult moments with a few smiles thrown in in between.

She smiles. Tries to commit the image to memory.

At some point, after getting caught up in conversation with Athena about the latest novel she’s been reading (something about beach houses and family scandals), she looks back to find that people have scattered—her husband at the dining table, sneaking another slice of cake to their daughter; Christopher, Denny, and Mara huddled over a Nintendo Switch in the corner; Bobby and Hen laughing about something over by the window.

Buck, nowhere to be found.

She excuses herself, following to where she expects him to be—likely already trying to load dishes into the dishwasher despite the fact that the party is only half-over—but pauses in the doorway when she hears his voice already in conversation with someone else.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Eddie says, quietly. Fondly.

“All what?”

“This. The party, the cake. I was only gone for a couple of months, you know.”

“Well, I can’t take credit for the cake. That was all Hen,” Buck says. “But…we missed you.” Then, more earnestly, “I missed you.”

Eddie hums. Pauses, then says, “I missed you too.”

They fall quiet, and Maddie is about to step into the room to make herself known—the guilt of eavesdropping creeping in—but when she puts one foot forward, she catches a glimpse around the corner; the two of them wrapped up in each other, Eddie leaning in to press a kiss to Buck’s lips. Easily, like he’s done it before.

“I love you,” he says. Soft. Meant only for Buck.

Buck grins—that same blinding, lottery-winning smile Maddie caught him wearing weeks ago—and says, simply, “I love you too.”

And as Maddie backs out of the room, finding a seat at the dining table beside her husband and daughter, she can tell she’s grinning too. If only because of the way Chimney looks at her, eyebrows raised, and asks, “What? Something funny?”

She shakes her head. “No,” she says, “Just glad everyone is back where they belong.”

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

"TOP OF MY SCHOOL"

SYNOPSIS: How an archer!reader first met Green Arrow and became White Arrow.

You've always been an overachiever, but that's not your fault; most people are underachievers. If your mom ever taught you anything, it was to reach for the stars and aim for the biggest and brightest one there is, and watch it explode into tiny little stars that can inspire the next dreamer and believer. So here you are at this archery tournament; you worked so hard to reach the finals. Your fingers might hate you, but that trophy will be in the manor, shining brighter than all the trophies and medals collected by the rest of the family. It's big, golden, and stunning. You don't care about the prize money—pfft, you're rich. You care about outshining all the Waynes, especially your father. Bruce's awards would look like baby medals compared to yours, and he'll notice you; he'll notice his baby and all the hard work they've done. The damage to your fingers is temporary, but the win is forever; the win is for life.

So there you are, hitting bullseye after bullseye, smirking like never before, perfect position, back straight, eyes forward. Who would you be if you didn't win? You wouldn't deserve the name Wayne if you didn't win; you wouldn't deserve to show your face outside of the manor gates. Ha, you would even say your name. Final game, and you're up next. Oh, you were gonna knock the judges off their feet, and you're gonna play them for fools when this is all said and done. So remember your stance: feet apart, back straight, head forward, elbows straight, bowstring near eye level. You could feel the tip of your fingers slipping with the toughness of the string for the bow, but you won't let it bother you; smile through the pain.

You look up at the stands; you see your judges and the people in the stands. You see Alfred and your school friends, but the seat you left for him is empty. You've been telling him about that tournament for days on end; you didn't shut up about this. You made him write it on his schedule board and his computer, yet he still isn't here. Rage is seeping through you. Bruce, you promised! He went to Damian's soccer game—the one he LOST—went to Jason's spelling bee, and Steph's track meets, but this is the most important moment of your life, and he isn't here. You wouldn't stop talking about it at the table, even when you knew no one was listening. This was your dream; this was your life goal, and he dropped it for what—a stupid ballet recital from Cass?

You're staring up at the stands, that empty chair you left for him. You felt the arrow slip through your fingers, and a loud "WISSH" went past you. Turning back fast, you saw that you hit orange, throwing you off your win streak of only hitting bullseyes. But it's okay, as long as the other kids don't outdo you when it's their turn. But they did; that slip-up was their chance. Every single time the arrow points red, you feel like they are aiming at you, shooting down your pride, your ambition, your hard work—everything you did to get here. You felt each arrow piercing through your very being, leaving you bloody. Your fingers clenched; you could feel the trickle of blood coming from your bandages. You knew you were going to lose when the game was set and match, and you were on the podium.

The judges were handing out the awards, and you closed your eyes, hoping that someway, somehow, you won. You had your hand open for something, but then felt another thing wrapped around your neck. It was a medal—a medal. Maybe it was gold, and the real trophy was coming out. But when you opened your eyes, you saw a silver medal wrapped around your neck. Silver, not gold. Silver. You felt red-hot tears prickle down your face. You wanted gold. You had the best shots each round; you missed just one—just one. You didn't deserve this; you didn't. But if you looked over your shoulder, you could see the kid who won—the tears of happiness that flowed down their face, holding the trophy way up high. That was supposed to be you. You were supposed to be the one highest on the podium. You meant to take this trophy to Bruce, show him what you could do, show that you were worth the time and trouble, and for one moment, he could see you as one of his own. He could see you as his. But no, you let your emotions get the better of you, and you lost.

You saw Alfred and your buddies running over to you, and you wanted to cry even more. You didn't deserve the hugs or their love because you didn't win. You didn't win. Running off the podium, grabbing your bag, you heard them calling you, but you don't stop. Your feet are moving on their own, gasping for air, and you finally stopped running. You're in the middle of Gotham City's streets, and you finally break down crying. How will you win his love? How will you win his affection if you can't win a stupid archery match? Then hell, the Justice League—and you saw him right there, the great archer himself, down on his luck. He was beaten down and bruised just like you; his bow was nowhere to be seen, and you heard so many swooshing sounds that your ears could bleed. Half the Justice League is in Gotham, including Batman. You ran over to him, not running over to Batman—he can handle himself.

"Mr. Arrow, are you okay?" You heard a groan through the sound of buildings crashing down and people screaming and running away. You shouldn't be here on the ground; he shouldn't be here on ground level. But you couldn’t leave him. What kind of fan would you be if your favorite superhero died right in front of you? You have to find his bow. Shit, where is his bow? You're running around like crazy. Still, you saw the green bow. The earth shakes, making you look up; it was some kind of brick monster and he was gonna crush you. You rolled over, grabbing the bow and finding an arrow. You tried to run over to Green Arrow, but the floor was breaking underneath you, and you couldn't reach him. Falling on your back, you had to stop it somehow. If you didn't, Green Arrow is dead and gone.

You have to win. You have to save him. Putting the bow up to your face, back straight, eyes forward, elbow straight, bow near eye level—through a small hole in the beast's chest. If you could hit it, the fool is done for. But what if you lose? What if you don't win? What if this silver medal around your neck proves that you're a loser? You put your arm down just for a moment, but you heard the groan of Green Arrow. If he can lose, so can you. But if he can win every other day, you felt the toughness of his bowstring; it cut your fingertips, making you bleed. The pain makes you want to cry. You stained the bow with blood—your blood. It's gonna be his life on your hand if you don't shoot. Aim, shoot, aim, win, win, win, your brain screamed at you.

Letting the arrow fly, it hit the core, making the monster crumble. You finally won; thank God! You fell to your knees, looking down—blood coating the green bow red. You felt a hand on your shoulder; it was his. "Nice shot, kid!" That gruff voice—his voice. You're a winner, not a loser like the first time and the time before.

[peacheeeliz]

016. she don't want you (wc: 770)

“It's so nice to finally meet the girl who's been clouding our Jisungie’s mind lately,” Jeno teases, pinching at the youngest boy's cheek. “We were all so sad we missed you last time.”

Jisung pulls away from Jeno, swatting his hand away. “Jeno, I'm a grown man,” he whines, avoiding eye contact with you as you sit down next to him.

“You're a grown man, but get tense whenever Y/N sits next to you,” Chenle comments, chuckling. “It's nice to see you again, Y/Nie.”

“You too, Lele,” you respond, smiling sweetly at the group. Your eyes fall on the only other familiar face, and your smile falls. “What are you doing here?”

“Jeez, you'd think you'd be kinder to your cousin,” Donghyuck replies, rolling his eyes. “I don't know why these dorks wanted to meet you so bad, I told them you were insane.”

“They're friends with you, I don't see how that's any different,” you joke, sticking your tongue out at him. “And they seem to love me already, especially Sungie,” you continue, knocking your shoulder into his.

“You're gonna give the guy a heart attack,” Jaemin teases, watching the way Jisung's face turns bright red at your words. “You're too cute, Sungie. How can we not baby you?”

Jisung just sighs in response, shyly looking over at you. “You were fine being all cuddly and flirty last night,” you whisper to him, letting out a small laugh. “Don't want to show that side to your friends or something?”

He returns the favor, knocking his shoulder into yours, and you can only smile back softly. You go to speak to the rest of the group again, but another voice cuts into the conversation:

“There you are, pretty,” the voice says, and your shoulders tense up. The empty chair beside you squeaks against the floor as they pull it out from the table, taking a seat next to you.”I knew you'd be on break around this time.”

“We didn't invite you to sit with us,” Donghyuck starts, glaring at the new person. “Sion.”

Sion smiles softly, throwing his arm around your shoulder, only for you to throw it right back off. “Oh, come on, I just want to visit my sweet barista.”

“Not yours, jackass,” you tell him, scooting your chair closer to Jisung. The man subtly pulls it even closer, wanting you as far away from Sion as you can get. “Just go, Sion. Order your drink and leave, please.”

“Baby,” Sion starts, running his hand along the edge of the table, closing in on your own. You pull back your hand instantly. “I just want to talk to you again. Our small chat yesterday just wasn't enough.”

“She doesn't want to talk to you, man,” Jeno fixes his posture, trying to make himself look bigger to scare the younger man off. “And like my friend here said, we didn't invite you to sit with us.”

“This doesn't concern you,” Sion responds nonchalantly, eyes never leaving you. “Come on, let's go outside.”

“She's not interested,” Jisung says, staring daggers into the other man's skull. “How many times does she need to tell you for you to finally get it?”

Sion scoffs, finally looking away from you and staring directly into Jisung's eyes with a cold look. “Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me, asshole,” Jisung replies. The rest of the group stare at their friend with wide eyes, in utter shock by the hostile words that leave his mouth. “What? You want to date her again because you've lost all control? She's actually dressing how she likes and you don't fuck with that? Or is it the fact that she's moved on to me?” He continues, and the fact that he can't almost see the steam rolling out of Sion's ears makes him smile. “Does that get under your skin?”

Your head slowly turns toward Jisung, jaw dropping at his sudden hostility. “Sungie,” you whisper, pulling at his sleeve.

Sion can't help but laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, I wasn't talking to you,” he says, a fake smile playing at his lips.

“Yeah, I don't care,” Jisung mocks, scrunching his nose up at Sion. “She don't want you, man. Learn to take no for an answer.”

“Learn not to speak when I'm not speaking to you,” Sion replies. His jaw tenses up, and he runs his hand through his hair, while his other hand tries to find yours again. “She knows she can't be away from me for long.”

Jisung's fist clenches in his lap, and he just can't hold his anger back any longer.

synopsis ⤏ could there be anything that could make your shift at the local coffee shop better? there is! and it's the hottest emo boy you'll ever find.

a/n: i love making nct members fight in my smaus for some reason 😭😭

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[hyunjincanraptoo]

Cyber sex

Requested by @kittentaegu. Tysm, this was very interesting to write. I hope you like it 💜

This is from my prompt list (complete now). Click here to check it out 😊

Word count: 774

Warnings: masturbation

Alexa, play Cyber Sex by Doja Cat

A late night Facetime call while you're miles apart

You hadn’t even meant to start anything. It was just supposed to be a late night Facetime call— a few sleepy conversations over the screen, maybe some teasing as usual. But the second you saw him, shirtless, hair messy and jaw clenching as he adjusted his phone on the pillow, something in you flipped. Hyunjin and you had been apart for weeks now as he was off on world tour, performing in countless cities and living his dream, but it was starting to feel like an eternity without him

“Miss me?”, he asked with that lazy grin, voice deep and a little scratchy from sleep. You curled a hand under your cheek, tugging your blanket up just a little, “Always. You look so good like this”. “Yeah?”, his gaze dropped, “Thanks, baby. What’re you wearing?”.

You pulled the camera back just enough to show that you were in one of his t-shirts, bare thighs peeking out beneath it. “This. Nothing underneath”. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped, “You’re seriously testing my self control”.

You let your legs shift a little wider on the bed, knowing exactly what you were doing, “You could help yourself out, you know. I wouldn’t mind watching”. His brows lifted, surprised, but he didn’t hesitate for too long, “You wanna see me jerk off for you?”. You bit your lip and nodded shyly, “I want to see everything”.

Hyunjin’s breath caught,  “Fuck”. He shifted again, propping the phone at an angle that gave you a full view of his body— toned, lean, veins bulging on his forearms flexing as he pushed the covers down. He was already hard beneath his boxers, and the sight of it alone had your clenching between your thighs.

“God”, you breathed, eyes trailing over every inch of him. “You look like temptation”. He chuckled lowly, palming himself through the fabric, “Then go ahead… watch me give in to it”.

Slowly, calculatedly, he pushed his boxers down, letting his cock pop free— thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. Your breath hitched at the sight, mouth watering. Fuck, you missed him so much.

Hyunjin’s hand wrapped around himself, slow at first, dragging from base to tip while his eyes stayed locked on yours, “You’re not touching yourself?” “I just wanna watch”, you murmured but your core pulsed already. “I want to see how you fuck your hand thinking about me”. His groan was deep, guttural. He spread his legs wider, stroking himself more firmly now, hips barely lifting from the bed.

“I’ve been thinking about your mouth”, he confessed, breath ragged, “The way you moan when I slide in… how warm you feel wrapped around me”. You whined softly, fingers digging into your sheets as your eyes stayed fixed on him. The way his chest was rising and falling, the veins in his arm became more prominent, pulsing beneath his skin as he pumped faster, precum dripping over his fist.

“Wish I was there to lick it up”, you said softly, “I’d let you come all over me” “Fuck”, he hissed, head falling back slightly before lifting it again to stare at you. “You’d let me paint your thighs with it, wouldn’t you?”. You nodded, dazed, “Every drop”. He let out another broken groan, then reached offscreen and when he returned, he was holding something.

Your panties.

You gasped, “You found them” “Oh, I found them”, he said with a grin, bringing the soft lace to his face and inhaling deeply, “They smell like you. Sweet and naughty”. Then, still stroking his cock, he wrapped the panties around his shaft and the image of it had your core pulsing harder. “Fuck, Hyunjin” “I’m so close”, he panted, “All because of you” 

His hand moved faster now, slick from arousal and the delicate fabric. You could hear the sound of it over the line— obscene and addictive. His thighs tensed, stomach muscles tight, jaw clenched as he chased the edge. “I want you to come for me”, you whispered, fingers finally slipping between your legs as you watched him unravel.

And with one more stroke, his hips jerked off the bed, eyes rolling back as his release spilled out, dripping hot and messy over his fist and your panties. He panted heavily, chest rising in sharp waves as he brought the lace to his lips again, kissing it with a smirk on his lips.

“Damn,” he muttered, “You drive me fucking insane. You smiled softly, cheeks flushed, “Glad I could help”. He gave you a look— hungry, still not completely satisfied. “Next time I see you, you’re gonna ride me while wearing nothing but that shirt”. Your stomach flipped, “Oh, really?” “Promise. And next time, baby…”.  He leaned closer to the camera, eyes dark, “You’re not just watching”.

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

Also, I made a playlist with all the songs I recommend on this blog. You can find it here if you're interested in listening 💜

[scarekat]

smut.

izuku’s been thinking about this all day, coming home after three weeks and seeing you cooking a wonderful meal and greeting him with that pretty face.

it was late when dinner filled your stomachs, he took a nice warm bath and was enjoying time with you before calling it a night. he was exhausted, but he missed you more.

he couldn’t get those stupid thoughts out of his head. you had asked him how the mission was, how you were watching the news and how you thought he was amazing out there. “i can’t believe deku is my boyfriend, i’m so lucky!” no, he’s the lucky one.

he couldn’t remember what caused it, maybe it was the praise, maybe it was how your hand slowly inched closer and his mind went wild with possibilities.

izuku throws an arm over his eyes in embarrassment, face red and choked noises coming from his throat. it felt like he couldn’t breathe, gasping between gritted teeth and his hips jerk.

green eyes flicker to look up at you, the lights dimmed but he had no trouble seeing the sweet smile on your cheeks.

you see the fresh bandage wraps as well as discolored, smattering of old scars that peek from his torso, lifting his t shirt up until it lands on the seat next to you, running your fingertips over his bare chest, hearing a shaky breath when you tweak his nipple.

“don’t- no teasing,” he says.

“m sorry.” and you listen, nails dragging over his stomach to the string that confined the bulge in his sweats.

he lifts his hips off the couch when you start to pull them down, and you gawk when his dick springs forth, flushed red and hanging under its own weight. izuku shrinks under your gaze. every time.

he twitches as precum leaks from the tip, and you use your thumb to spread it around. he mumbles inaudible, your soft hand moving up and down his shaft, squeezing just a little every now and then.

“you’ve been working so hard. i’ll take care of you, baby.”

television echoing voices that meshes into nothing as he melted into the couch pillows that cooled his burning skin. “harder,” he begs, and you listen.

the wet noises and your sweet praises while you jerk him off as if five minutes ago you weren’t just telling him about your day out shopping with your girl friends, how you bought a new dress that you couldn’t wait to show him later.

“come on, weren’t you just begging me to touch you? “ izuku’s heartbeat picks up. “is my hand not enough, baby?” you move up to the head and give small pumps there, his dick lubed up with pre so it was easier for your hand to move now.

“no, no.. swear i’m almost—”

“yeah? say it. i wanna hear you tell me.”

he’s climbing higher and higher, now the one thrusting into your hand while you watch him pant and squirm. he whines your name in broken syllables. “cmon.. need you to say it,” you continue to jerk him off to your own tune, the thickness of his arousal staining your fingers white.

izuku’s face contorts and his hands are grasping and clutching onto anything, it was obvious he was trying to hold back. “too much, i’m gonna —uh— gonna cum, please.. love, can i?”

izuku jolts when you quickly get on your knees in front of him, you spread his thighs further. his breath hitched when your lips brush over the leaking tip.

“i want you inside my mouth, i know how much you love it.”

oh. maybe he died while on the mission and this was heaven, watching the bulbous head slip passed your lips and hit the back of your throat. he wasn’t the biggest in size—but you were never able to fit him entirely in your mouth.

tears gather at the covers of your eyes, hollowing your cheeks as you kept going.

he loses his ability to speak, head lolling back and pathetic moans heighten. a hand finds home on the back of your head, helping you find the pace he craved for.

“—call now and buy one, get one free! limited tv time offer!”

he opened his eyes and happened to glance at the tv, there was a commercial playing, seemingly for this clothing brand releasing a limited edition deku pajama set in a couple weeks. he still needed to find it online.. for you, of course.

wait, why would he have to buy it? it’s his own merch. couldn’t he get it for free, have it delivered home for you as a surprise.

suddenly he’s seeing lewd images of you, the top pushed up, showing dark green lingerie and the delicate stitching looks perfect against your skin, his hands trailing up and down your body…

“i wore this just for you,” you moan against his lips, hand on his and guiding him to squeeze your breast. “touch me, izuku, feeling your hands on my body turns me on so much—“

“oh, jeez..” izuku yanks you off entirely, your lips wet and swollen, a drooling mess, he wipes at the corner of your mouth, and you open wide, sucking on his finger. “don’t waste it, ‘kay?” and he pulls you back down on him, slowly picking up the pace.

after a minute his thrusts turn sloppy, hurried, a fair cry from his lips “you’re so good to me, so good” as he becomes unable to hold off his own pleasure.

his hips buckled under you and without warning, you feel spurts of cum hit your tongue, unloading inside your mouth. whispers from the back of his throat as one wave poured after the other, mind numbing delight made his legs shake.

your muffled moans fall on deaf ears as he thinks about nothing but the pleasure flowing through his veins as he holds you still. izuku finally goes limp, releasing the tight grip on your hair.

you let go with a gasp and keep pumping his cock, your spit mixed with cum dripping onto his skin—he made a mess. don’t waste it. your tongue slides up the shaft, gathering the slick before giving one last kiss.

izuku catches his breath, watching as you stand up and lift your shirt over your head. “y/n, what are you doing?”

your fingers hook at the belt loops on your pants, slowly tugging them down. “i’m undressing.”

the smirk on your face makes him shake his head, scratching at his freckled cheek while glancing away. “ah.. uh.. i see that but..”

“what’s wrong?” you ask, neatly folded clothes placed on the opposite arm rest, staring at the hero with a quirked eyebrow.

“nothing! nothing at all, promise! i don’t want you to think you have to, just because i got a little .. you know—“ you realize what he’s trying to say, crawling back onto his lap.

he holds you steady, squeezing the fat of your ass. izuku laughs at the way you jumped. you two meet in the middle, lips meshing in a kiss.

your hands grasp at the hairs at the nape of his neck, tongue darting past parted lips and he deepens the kiss. he tastes himself on your tongue, but he doesn’t mind it.

you cradle his face after a good time of exploring each others mouths, pulling away briefly, his eyes searching yours.

you don’t give him time to collect himself when you grind against him just a little bit, reaching up to brush the dark strands out of his face.

“i would have jumped you the second you walked through the door, izu.” you tease. “besides, you’re still hard..”

izuku could feel you drag his cock up and down your wet slit, teasing before you nudge him past your folds.

you go slow, having not prepared yourself for his girth but it was worth the stretch, seeing that look on his face as you take him.

he winces as he filled you completely, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his already exhausted body. you relax and work yourself open for him, fully seated on his cock and izuku’s eyes fall closed.

all he could feel was hot pleasure of you clenching around him, the thick veins dragging against your cunt with each roll of your hips, he bites his lip to try and stop himself from groaning too loud, a metallic taste on his tongue.

“stop that.” izuku gulps hard when he hears your voice in his ear, warm breath on his cheek. oh god, he’s gonna pass out —“i wanna hear you, baby, don’t you fucking dare hold back on me.”

he keens into your touch, he watches you stick out your tongue and his eyes nearly roll back when you lick at the wound on his bottom lip, moans tied together in harmony. “you feel so- so good inside me.. i never want you to leave.”

slowly he starts to thrust his hips, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you chase the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls, he grunts each time you sink down on him.

izuku’s hands hover over your waist, almost hesitant. you shake your head, “please touch me.”

so he does. he doesn’t rush your pace, letting you take control. big hands ghosting along your hips, his thumb smoothed over the plush skin of your inner thighs. “look, izuku,” his eyes follow your hand, trailing down your stomach to where you both met. “i’m sucking you in, see that? oh, i’ve missed you so much.”

“yeah?” his mouth waters at the sight of you taking him whole, using him as you so please, it will always feel like the first time. “was thinkin’ of you the whole time too.” izuku watches your breasts bounce in front of his face before he reaches around to cup one, warm in the palms of his hands.

“so beautiful,” he pulls one of your nipples into his mouth, gentle with his teeth before leaving wet kisses. “getting bold, are you?” he hears, and a response bubbles in his throat but it’s cut short when a hand wraps around his neck.

you don’t say a word, he didn’t realize you stopped moving, pressure is applied on his throat, not too much and not too little, but it sends a tingling feeling from his fingertips to his toes.

he gasps when you press a kiss on his cheeks, turning his head to find your gaze, and you can’t help but give in. he kisses you back hard, it’s almost bruising until his lips naturally part to let out a groan.

god, he’s never felt so amazing and pathetic, like winning and losing at the same time. dick twitches inside you, the sensations drive him crazy as his hips snap into yours.

“no, slow down, izuku.” your voice clouds his mind, “don’t hurt yourself.” and he forces himself to nod, dropping his head back and your soft hands start roaming. there’s a throbbing tension in the pit of your stomach.

“i’ve waited so long to have you like this again, driving me fucking crazy,” you tell him. “love you.”

“i- i love you too. sososo much, oh my god,” he groans, cheeks flushed pink and his mouth twitches cutely every time you clench around his cock.

you take the opportunity to shove a finger in his gaping mouth, hooking his lower jaw as you ride him faster.

his eyes brighten, sucking on your digit before sinking his teeth into it. “good, yeah? ‘s good for you too?” his words were slurred, shaky and breathless, you melt at how desperate he looked for affirmation, and you nod fervently. “it’s amazing, baby.”

he was now the one moving you, peering up at you through half-lidded eyes. his lungs feel hot, jaw aching from how hard he’s trying to hold back as you whine his name and his name only.

izuku. izuku. izuku.

you throw your head back, struggling to delay your climax as a white heat starts to build up inside. his hands are kneading and clutching erratically at your ass, spreading you open, very obvious that he’s hurtling towards the edge with you.

“please, y/n. let me!”

“oh god.. you look so good like this.. so—fuck, perfect! go ahead.. you deserve it” and he doesn’t waste a second to flip you over, one hand propping himself up while the other slides between your bodies, fingers curling tightly into his palm as a thumb hones in on your puffy clit.

you see stars as his cock slides in and out with ease, the feel of him spreading you wide and his thumb rubbing tight circles already building pressure deep inside.

“yesyes, just like that baby” you can’t help the words, stuttering when he reaches even deeper. your head tosses back, jaw going slack as he fucks you into the couch cushions.

the wet noises from your pussy could be heard over your constant moans, over the sound of skin slapping against yours, it was becoming overwhelming.

all izuku wanted was to get you over the edge before him, to feel your walls flutter and clasp around his weeping cock. the pent-up energy inside him dispelling with each hard rut of his hips.

the more you twitched around him, the more he rocked into you, weak for the sounds you made. but after a while, the steady rhythm, he was aching for more. “you can be rougher with me,” you say, “i trust you.” it makes him falter for only a moment, desires itching at the back of his mind.

he won’t hesitate anymore.

then izuku straightens up, each of his thrusts had his dick kissing your cervix, fingernails digging as he fucked your hips in the air.

you were so close, and it seemed like you weren’t the only one— his thrusts are picking up again, faster and harder each time, keeping you right where he wants you.

he felt his ego growing bigger. it makes him dizzy. a little too excited, too ballsy.

“pretty little thing,” izuku chokes out, your body arching as tears gather in your eyes, nodding pathetically as you feel the room spin with how well he fills you up.

all thoughts left his head, it was primal, rough. just what you asked for. “getting taken by a strong hero, y- you like it huh? should’ve told me.. y/n—,”

“yes! i love it, you’re so fuckin’ hot.” it was a delicious friction, as your breath and movements became one, a constant of backs and forths.

“izuku, wanna cum inside?” you’re panting, not breaking eye contact, and he almost busts right then. he never gets to cum inside, maybe he was in heaven.

“fuck, please.. are you—”

“it’s okay. just.. a little bit.. more. can you do that?” it seems to encourage him, izuku nodding frantically, getting faster, sloppier; moaning louder than he probably should be.

his muscles rippled from the increase speed as his hips met yours, again and again, making sure his pelvis bullied your aching clit with each movement. burying his cock and hitting that spongy sweet spot inside your cunt that made you gush.

your breath gets ragged, moans get louder, body more desperate as you spasm and tighten around him.

his eyebrows pinch together, he almost looks in pain before his features melt into absolute bliss. he couldn’t wait to feel your sweet cunt milk him for all he’s worth.

“don’t stop! don’t stop, i’mso close” izuku adjusts his weight, caging you in even more, sweat from the tip of his nose, lips brushing against yours but never truly meeting. you could feel him everywhere.

“feel so good, like you were made for me.. i need you to cum so i can give you what you want, yea? c’mon, please baby. i’ve got you.”

it was sweet, rushed, you see a different look in his eyes that rendered you quiet. how could you refuse when he was asking so nicely?

one final thrust, so deep and hard it almost hurts, and your body exclaims it’s joy before your voice does, crumbling underneath him.

a broken sound escapes your lips when you come undone around him, clawing at his skin as everything hits you like a storm, like a burst of pleasure and it spreads through your entire body. it feels like the air was punched out of his lungs, your pussy clamping down on him, shuddering.

“oh, shit” his entire body was shaking, thrusting in a stuttering pattern before rough hands pull you into a tight embrace, canines biting into your shoulder.

it makes you dizzy in the best ways.

izuku lets out an moan, rumbling deep from his chest and pure ecstasy washes over. his hot seed filling you up, rutting his hips, he couldn’t help it, fucking the cum that seeped out back into you.

eventually the hero relaxes, panting out as he rides out the last bit of the high with you, kissing the mark he left— surprisingly he didn’t break skin.

your skin was sticky, a result of the unruly act, a mess on the cushions that would so fun to clean up. busy staring up at the ceiling, his heavy breathing fills the silence between you.

“i really needed that,” you can’t help but giggle, finally catching your breath, and he responded with a hum.

izuku never was able to stay conscious for long after sex.

you turn his head to look at you, mouths colliding in intimate kisses, sweet i love you’s as it feels like time has stopped, cock still buried inside you. izuku’s scarred hands caress your face.

he was in no state to think, muscles ache and and his vision was hazy.. his eyes barely stay open when you pulled away from a kiss.

izuku winces when your nails dig into his shoulder, cinching his hair to get his attention and maybe jostle some sense back into his mind. “is my baby so fucked out that he can’t even kiss me back anymore?”

“mmm yes? let’s sleep.. then we can go again..”

[w2soneshots]

a saying bye to george before inside fic would be sooo cute :( maybe eith a little bit of smut too?

One week -George clarkey

words: 1.0k+

warnings: smut, head (fem rec), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, aftercare.

summary: before George leaves for a week to be on sidemen’s INside you and him spend a steamy night together.

notes: living for watching George on netflix every morning🙂‍↕️. Love this request, thank you babes🫶🏼. I hope you enjoy!!❤️‍🔥✨

Tomorrow George is leaving you for a week to participate in the sidemen's 'inside', a netflix television show where twelve people live in a house together with one million pounds up for grabs, though everything costs money.

When he told you he was going to be doing it you were so excited for him. Though, since you spend most of your time with him and you message whenever you're not together you knew you were definitely going to miss him.

You walked into your shared bedroom to see him packing. "Hi," you whispered as you wrapped your arms around his torso. "Hello darling." He turned around, now looking down at you.

"You alright?" He asked softly. You nodded slowly before replying, "just gonna be weird not having you here." He squeezed you tighter in agreement. "I know, I'm gonna miss this face," he said, running his thumb over your cheek.

"What're you packing?" You asked once you'd broke apart, inspecting his suitcase. "An toothbrush-" you interrupted him with a chuckle. "What?" He smiled, confused. "Just, 'A toothbrush', still can't believe a Jeremy Clarkson quote has become apart of your daily vocabulary."

"Oh, right. Yeah, I don't know why I picked that up to be fair," he replied. You took a step closer to him with a bright smile. "I think it's hilarious."

An hour later he'd finished and had everything at the door, ready to go for the morning. He sighed deeply as he plopped himself down on your large, comfy sofa. "Done?" You asked, putting your phone down. "Done," he confirmed.

You spent the rest of the night watching a movie and cuddling after you'd ordered one last big takeaway, since George was most likely going to be on a diet of rice and beans for the foreseeable.

Somehow, as the credits of the film played in the background, you'd ended up on George's lap, while the two of you slowly made out.

"Not gonna see you for a whole week... a whole week without sex," he whispered into your ear. You breathed heavily, lips puffy from kissing as you took in his words.

Your sex life was un-fucking believable in the beginning and the flame just never really burnt out... meaning, -even though you weren't animals and could go a week without fucking each other- you knew when he came home you were going to get straight into bed.

"Mmm... yeah. We should probably do it twice to make up for it?" You smirked. "Definitely." He flipped you onto the couch and your back hit the cushions. "Ow!" You yelled. The vibe changed and George's face turned white.

You reached behind you and pulled the tv control from underneath your back and flung it onto the rug covering the floor. He immediately calmed and let out a breath of relief. "All good, continue." You both burst out laughing before getting back to business.

He reached a hand back to pull his shirt over his head, discarding it... somewhere, you weren't paying attention and didn't actually care. You hummed happily as he leaned down to pepper kisses along your collarbone.

The both of you were savouring the moment, though were completely naked within a few minutes. George slowly made his way down your body, leaving bright purple marks as he went. When he settled between your legs you ran a hand through his hair. "Sure?" You asked. "Always," he replied before placing a kiss to your clit, making you tense in pleasure.

"Oh m' god George...!" You moaned out as he ate you out. His tongue going from circling your clit to sliding down your folds to dip into your aching cunt.

"George, George, George," you chanted, extremely close to the edge, which he was well aware of, "don't stop- I'm gonna-" you sank back into the pillows as your orgasm overcame your body, vision turning white.

"That was- fucking-" "yes it was fucking, good analysis sweetheart," he teased as his face met yours once again. You giggled as you pushed his shoulder playfully. "Very funny, now are you gonna fuck me or should I go to bed?" "The first one," he replied quickly. "Thought so."

George grunted and his face twisted when he finally pressed into you. "Jesus- god- always so- hmf- tight baby," he husked as he reached the hilt. Your eyes practically rolled to the back of your skull at the sensation.

"Move George, move." Your arms and legs wrapped around him, heels pushing on his lower back. Without hesitation he pulled his hips back until just his tip remained inside of you, then he plummeted back into you.

His rhythm picked up and you met his thrusts as the room filled with your lewd sounds. "I love you- ugh- so fucking much y/n," he breathed out as your bodies collided over and over again.

"I'm gonna miss you- and this, you and this," you said as his thrusts grew sloppy and you approached your second orgasm. "y/n I-" "I know, me too. Come for me," you cut him off.

The both of you came hard, one after the other. His body fell onto yours. Your breath's heavy as you recovered from the last thirty minutes. Nether of you said a word as he got up, reached down, took you in his arms and walked towards the bathroom, your head resting tiredly on his chest.

"Okay?" He checked as he set you down on the toilet before leaving for a split second to grab two towels, then he moved to turn the shower on, steam beginning to fill the room from the hot water. "Yeah, incredible," you replied, voice quiet as you remained slightly dazed.

You got up and joined him in the shower a moment later, the water immediately making you feel ten times better and cleaner. "Here," he poured your favourite body wash onto a loofah and began running it gently over your body.

Five minutes later you were both clean, dry and lying in your bed, savouring one of your last moments together before he became a netflix star. "Night," you whispered, breathing in his scent as he cuddled you. "Good night gorgeous, love you."

[railingsofsorrow]

Game of Pretend

[Spencer Reid x Reader]

summary: In which friends with benefits go undercover as a married couple and they ended up playing the part almost too good.

pairing: spencer reid x f!bau!reader

w.c: 2.7K

warnings/content: criminal minds case related stuff; suggestive content (no smut!); graphic descriptions of violence and wounds; idiots in love/friends with benefits trope; their love language is touch, you'll notice that; just a little bit of angst.

A/N: and I'm back. again. this challenge motivated me to write cause I was really going through it. but anyways. this is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins “Undercover Challenge” with the prompt “Characters go undercover as a married couple” and the dialogue prompt “I'm just acting.” “Oh, so you can make your heart race on command?”

navi

masterpost

criminal minds masterlist

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“He’s looking over here.”

You looked at your partner, taking a sip of your non-alcoholic beverage slowly as you slightly inclined your neck to watch the UnSub having a drink in the other end of the bar counter.

“Let’s start the show then.” You winked at Spencer, earning a scowl that he quickly masked into a loving smile towards you.

Such an in love husband.

“He’s staring at her.”

JJ’s voice boomed into your ear as a warning as you reached for Spencer's hand, intertwining your fingers.

“My mom wants us to visit her first thing after the honeymoon.” You said, playing with the straw of your cup. “We should extend it.” That got a laugh out of him and you felt his curls tickling your temple as he leaned closer.

“We can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Yeah, baby.” You didn't know why the nickname surprised you but it did.

Spencer watched as your eyes traveled across this face in contemplation, wonder. He's just playing his part.

“Whatever I want huh?” You hummed softly, cheek leaning on your hand. Spencer knew that expression. He has lived with it these past months whenever you were going to do something you knew would piss him off. Often to tease him.

God he hated that look. Your teasing was relentless.

He pulled a strand of your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering near your cheek. His touch was warm and in spite of not really being a fan of physical touch, you'd always find yourself leaning closer to Spencer at certain moments. He represented some type of safety to you, you never really read too much into it, but you also never denied yourself to be close to him when you wanted to.

The way his eyes briefly shifted from behind you to you again told you the UnSub was closer this time.

“We could maybe do that thing in bed we were thinking of trying…”

The way Spencer choked on his own spit — he had a drink but he didn't even touch it — made you grin so big your mouth could split open. What he did with touches you were able to do with words.

“Kinky.”

You heard through your earpiece and Emily's voice almost got you to crack. You didn't.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Well, I have a few ideas I’ve been wanting to try but yeah, it's not like we have all the time in the world now.” You bit your cheek, hating the fact that he paid with the same coin. You, on the other hand, felt your neck heating up. His honey brown eyes stared you down and you saw the edge of his lips quivering in amusement. Caught you. You could read his thoughts.

“Oh, shit! I'm so sorry, miss.”

And you needed the UnSub to act to get out of your staring contest, you didn't know if that was good or bad.

First move — to accidentally bump into his victims with his drink ✓

Perfectly done.

Second move — the victim goes into the women's bathroom to clean herself up.

Now, it's your move.

Spencer heavily glared at the man as he insisted to buy you another drink, but you squeezed his arm and brought his attention back to you. Your voice was calm and calculated, a pointed gaze sent his way. I'm going to the bathroom, watch out for his partner. I got him.

“I’ll come with you.”

You halted, practically feeling the guy's gaze on your back. He had walked away after apologizing a thousand times but he was the one to watch the woman enter the bathroom while his partner stayed outside with the car, ready to take off.

They had fallen for the bait, it had been a simple stakeout. The whole reason the women were caught without any commotion was because they went into the bathroom alone. So why the fuck did Spencer want to come in with you? It wasn't part of the plan.

“Honey, it's the women's restroom.” You laughed as if that was the most funny thing in the world. Hotch’s deep angry voice resonated through the earpiece, telling Spencer off. You didn't have time to dwell on it because you were already moving away from your husband's pouty figure.

Flashforward and you were sitting in the back of an ambulance with an EMT tending to your superficial wounds. Nothing serious happened, a minor physical conflict when the man noticed you were about to fight back. He got a punch in your eye. You knocked him out with a swing of your leg. That was it. Still, Spencer was fretting.

“You need a head CT.”

“You need to calm down.” You told him with a sigh after pulling him away from the EMT so he would stop bugging them about your health. “Jesus Christ, I've been through worse. Relax.”

“He had a syringe to your neck—” He started and you interrupted him with a bored tone.

“Didn’t even graze my neck, Spencer.”

“It could've!”

Your voice was resigned because you were tired. All you needed was your bed and sleep twenty-four hours straight. That fucking duo of bastards had you and your team chasing them for a week. “Okay, honey, drop the overprotective husband act. We're off the stage. I'm fine.”

Spencer seemed to get the point and left you alone. After Hotch congratulated you for a good undercover job, he let you know you were not going back tonight because the jet would only be ready in the morning. So yeah, no warm bed with your soft mattress and your fairy lights tonight. Just the old musty bedding in your motel bedroom. At least it was a room for one, you didn't have to share with anyone else neither would you have patience to do it.

Emily and JJ followed you on your way to your room. You noticed their exchange of looks right away.

“Spit it out.”

JJ blinked innocently at you. “What?”

Pressing your thumb against the bridge of your nose, you tiredly said, “You two are either flirting shamelessly right in front of me or silently discussing something about me. I believe is the second option so spit.it.out.”

Emily wasn't one to beat around the bush when it was something she wanted information on.

“You and Reid at the bar.”

“You mean where we served as bait to catch the UnSub?”

“That kinky talk all of a sudden, I mean.” Emily smirked as JJ chuckled beside her.

The only thing you could do was offer her a blank expression. You also knew how to play dumb like JJ just did a few seconds ago.

“Oh, please. He didn't even bat an eye at you!” She carried on, raising a brow. “Something’s going on, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at them.

“What is this, fifth grade?”

Emily let out a groan that echoed the hallway just as you reached your door. Their respective rooms were a few doors down.

“Told you she wouldn't reveal anything.”

“I had hope.”

You rolled your eyes before pressing your key in the keyhole and opening your door. “Goodnight, girls.”

You liked certainty.

It was so much easier when people would be straight forward and simply put the cards on the table to avoid misunderstandings.

You've had that trouble in relationships throughout your life. The experience of navigating a situationship on eggshells. Am I giving too much expectations? Am I having too many expectations? Is this even worth my time? Sometimes you just wanted to take the edge off. Simple and effective. No strings attached.

Somehow, you never had that issue with Spencer. That doubt.

“Serendipity,” he said one night. Your limbs were tangled under the sheets and he just blurted out the word as if you were supposed to know what it meant without any context.

You looked up at him, your lashes barely letting you open your eyes since your latest activities had tired you out. “What?” You were used to Spencer’s random bursts of smart comments.

“It means when you…” He paused to kiss the back of your neck, causing you to squirm away only briefly, a smile growing in your lips. “... find something good accidentally…” another kiss, his hands wrap around your waist slowly. “without meaning to.”

“Oh.” You turned around as his arms caged you in, supporting your torso against his chest. You liked how his eyes seemed relaxed after you spent a night together. Ever since you met Spencer, he never had a healthy night sleep. Either because of a good book or worry. He never really rested. You had that in common. That was probably why you two clicked immediately in more ways than one. “You’re saying i’m that something good you found, Doc? Careful, I'll start thinking you’re getting attached.”

Certainty was in your agreement when you decided to turn friends with benefits. Things were pretty clear for the two of you since the beginning. Both wanted to just… forget about your jobs for a little while. And that's what you did.

That agreement was none of everyone's concern but yours. So you didn't tell anyone. It was your own thing, which was going well so far.

Too well.

You were too good at ignoring signs. All your life, you've been so focused on not getting attached that it usually worked well in your favor. But you realized you fucked up when after a bad day the only person you wanted around was him. And sex wasn't what you had in mind. Spencer’s presence was inviting and all you desired after being (barely) beaten up was to tangle your limbs with his and call it a night.

That's bad. Your brain warned. Very bad. Cut it off before it gets worse.

You stood in front of his door, staring at the wood as if it would knock on its own. Why were you even there? Maybe you should apologize because you felt like you did something wrong when he looked pissed moments before he left the crime scene. But then you remembered that he left. How dare he?

He answered your harsh knocks with a confused frown. His glasses were perched up on the tip of his nose, probably had slipped down while he tried to sprint to answer the inconvenient person at the door in the middle of the night.

“Is everything okay?” You entered without an invite and crossed your arms, waiting patiently until he closed the door. You were mad. You didn't have any reason to be mad.

“You left.”

He placed the book you only now noticed was on his hand on the nightstand. His nose scrunching up in confusion. “Left what?”

“You left the crime scene.” You left me — you wish you had say but you would've sound like a jealous girlfriend. Which you were none. “Didn’t wait for anyone.”

He didn't reply right away, his eyes accessing you carefully. He wasn't mad anymore. He wasn't even mad before. Just frustrated. You were just doing your part of the job and he let emotion go in the middle. It happens. Though the absolute terror he felt right before he got into the restroom was another thing. He never felt that before, it didn't just happen.

“I was tired, just wanted to… get some rest.” His eyes then softened which contributed to you feeling like a fool. “I’m sorry I didn't wait for you.”

“That’s not the point.”

He nodded, approaching you with careful steps. He wanted to redeem himself. You sighed in exasperation, running a hand over your face but you flinched when you touched your wounded brow.

With a gentle touch to your chin, he tilted your head upwards to check on your wound. Your eyes followed him every move. You felt like you could melt into a puddle. His touch was exactly what you needed.

“Does it hurt too bad?”

“No.”

“It may still be sore.” He observed, brushing your hair away from your forehead. Your eyes fell shut, you couldn't help it, your body had its own mind. “I’m sorry I reacted that way. It wasn't professional.” He mumbled after a long pause between the two of you. You had already given up on your tough act, resting your cheek against his chest as his fingers worked through your hair.

“Fuck professional.” You said, nuzzling against his neck while your arms wrapped around his shoulders. You fit perfectly and that would always amaze you. Spencer never rejected your touch and it made you wonder, for a moment, if you were being unbearable. That thought was quickly shut down by him pressing you closer.

“Your heart is racing.” He pointed out, both of his arms tightening around you as if that was supposed to make it better.

“I’m just acting.” You whispered, enjoying the sound of his laughter after you said it.

Spencer leaned back, quirking up an eyebrow looking down at you “Oh, so you can make your heart race on command huh?”

“I bet you got a scientific fact just on the tip of your tongue.”

“When you exercise, your heart rate increases,” he started slowly and you felt his fingers draw up your shirt slightly. You liked where that was going. His raised his hand until it was right by your chest, so he pressed his open palm right by your heart. You ignored the shivering. “It is actually very easy to raise it. When you take the stairs… When you're running on a treadmill…” He lowered his lips to your neck. “But when you're not doing any hard work with your body, let's say, it's even easier. Like now.”

The way he pressed kisses down your neck made your eyes flutter shut.

“If you're experiencing strong emotions like excitement or… stress? Which I know isn't the case right now, is it?”

“Oh, shut up.”

He chuckled, kissing the corner of your mouth. Before he could move to your lips, you drew back, but not so much.

“I came here to talk to you about something.” He withdrew his hands from your waist, his fingers traveled up your arms and he squeezed them reassuringly, urging you to go on. “So… this. Between us. It's cool, right?” Suddenly, you weren't good at communication at all. You barely remembered your own name.

“Yes?” His brows furrowed slowly. “Why? Do you want to stop?”

Your brows shot up. “No! No. That's not— it's not about that.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I mean…” You place a hand on his chest, taking a deep breath so you could gather your thoughts. “It’s not that it's wrong. But. Have you ever considered…”

Spencer tilted his head so he would catch your gaze. “Considered…?”

“Becoming serious. Exclusive. Like a—you know.”

You would've pushed him back annoyed because of how his face was scrunching while he tried to prevent a laugh. He was laughing at you. He held you back, hand crawling up your back to keep you in place. You felt like a fool.

“Yes.” He whispered, cupping your cheeks to make you look at him despite your annoyance. “Yes, I do want to be a couple. Exclusive. Whatever you want to call it. I want you to be my girlfriend.”

“Don’t sound too excited.”

“But I am excited.” Spencer emphasized, pulling your face closer which made you smile a little. “I was waiting for the right time, I didn't want to pressure you. I thought you would cut me out of your life and I'd rather just… stay with our deal instead of that being the case.”

“I’d never cut you out of my life, Spencer.” You said with your shoulders slumping in disappointment that he even thought that.

He nodded, resting his forehead on yours and silence took over both of you for a moment. Just your breathing balancing together.

“Stay the night?” His request was useless because you were about to do that anyway.

“Mhm, yeah, I'll stay.”

“Good.” He kissed you, his warm hands wrapping around your waist. “Girlfriend, right?”

You let out a loud groan. “Shut up.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[hellomissella]

another submissive!simon riley ficlet because apparently that's who i am now:

your shared bedroom is dim.

he finds it a little silly that you never use the overhead lights. "the lights are too harsh," you tell him each time. the warm lights are much more inviting, much more atmospheric. those same lights are infinitely more flattering as they surround simon, who stands in front of you, standing at ease.

his eyes never leave yours as his regulates his breath, but his heart nonetheless pounds hard and heavy like a war drum just by the way you look at him.

god, he adores you.

your voice is always even and steady and you give him permission to use one hand to undo his belt. unzip his jeans. he's already painfully hard, and you haven't even touched him.

he doesn't look away once.

"show me how you stroke your cock when i'm not with you," you tell him. "when you think of me."

he starts off slow, his wrist twisting while his hand moves up and down fully, paying careful attention to his tip. his breathing gets heavier. his eyes start to close. his jaw slacks and he tries to fight off moaning too loud, too quickly—

"eyes on me, puppy."

his lidded eyes snap back to you as he nods.

"yes, my love."

he watches as you, sitting on the foot of the bed, as you lean back with a playful smile on your face, like you're looking at a work of art.

soon, he's panting. he begins to tremble as his orgasm grows close, and his brows furrow in both focus and desperation. he can't stop the breathy moans now; his hips begin to snap forward, trying to fuck his own hand as he watches you watch him.

"please," he sputters, "may i cum?"

your gorgeous smile — the one that doesn't just light up your face, but your whole being — doesn't fade. "no," you tell him.

he nods, accepting your decision without question. he continues to stroke his cock for you but his moans are now being accompanied with whines and whimpers. he can't help it; he wants to be good but you're just sitting there and he wants to make love to you; he wants to make you cry out in pleasure and wants to hear your praises and words of adoration.

"my love..." simon whines, almost a whisper. "i'm so close."

you raise an eyebrow. you're not going to carelessly throw permission around. he needs to earn that orgasm.

"please, love, may i cum?"

"no."

oh, you could laugh at how loud he whimpers, his abdomen stuttering as he breathes loudly through his nose. he's trembling now and he tries to readjust his footing, as if it'll help him prevent cumming without your permission.

"darling, please—"

"no."

it almost burns as he strokes over his tip and he doesn't bother holding back any of the sinful noises coming out of his mouth anymore. all of it belongs to you, anyway. he groans, curses, cries. all futile attempts to keep his orgasm at bay.

"simon," you then coo, your smile all too playful for his liking right now. "i love you. you look so good for me right now..."

"please..." he whispers. "don't, or i'm gonna cum."

"aww," you chuckle. he doesn't miss the condescension in your voice. "such a good puppy, listening to me. i love hearing you. i love watching you. i love it when you feel good—"

"love!" he groans between his teeth. "please..."

he knows what you're doing, you cheeky minx: trying to get him to cum before you even give him permission to finish. his breath quivers and he pleads again for you to let him cum.

"i can't..." he whines, his voice higher pitched. "love, please... i'm gonna cum. i can't stop. please, can i—"

you shake your head and simon could cry.

"don't you wanna make me proud?" you tease. "i know you're a good boy, puppy. i know you can prove it to me."

"fuck, i can't— i'm gonna cum..."

simon groans as he cums, thick ropes splattering onto the hardwood floor as he closes his eyes and curses profusely, his hips thrusting to chase his hand. by the time he's coming down from his high, his chest heaves and his heart beats wildly like it's trying to break out and run to you.

when he finally looks up, he sees you shaking your head in playful disapproval.

"i'm sorry," he pants. "i'm sorry."

you just smile.

"get on your knees," you instruct, and he does so immediately. "clean up the mess you've made. then we can start on your punishment for breaking the rules."

simon nods, his breathing slowly returning to normal as he positions himself on his hands and knees. his eyes lock with yours. and with his tongue, he begins to clean up the mess he made all over the floor.

"yes, my love."

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Heyy! Could you maybe write for Oscar, his 2 year old babygirl being very cuddly and clingy? She doesn’t want to be separated from him or her mom. Just very fluffy and sweet

Little Miss Clingy

The moment Oscar and Lily laid eyes on their baby girl two years ago, their world shifted. They had thought they understood love before, but seeing their daughter for the first time, tiny and perfect, was something else entirely. They adored every part of her—the way her little fingers curled around theirs, the sleepy sighs she made when she rested on their chests, and now, at two years old, the way she toddled around their home, her chubby arms always reaching for them.

Yn was the center of their universe, and she knew it.

So, when Oscar suggested bringing her to a race for the first time, Lily had been hesitant. "She’s never been around so many people before, Osc," she had said, running her fingers through Yn’s soft curls as the little girl played with her stuffed rabbit. "She might get overwhelmed."

Oscar, ever the optimist, had grinned. "She’ll be fine, love. She’s got us."

And now, standing in the middle of the paddock with Yn perched on Oscar’s hip, her little fists gripping his shirt tightly, Lily wasn’t so sure about that.

Yn’s big eyes darted around, scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces. People were everywhere—talking, laughing, pointing cameras in their direction. Some even called out to her daddy, waving excitedly.

Yn didn’t like it.

She turned her head, burying her face into Oscar’s shoulder. He let out a small chuckle, rubbing her back. "Not a fan of the crowd, huh, sweetheart?"

Yn only gripped him tighter.

"She’s definitely overwhelmed," Lily murmured, adjusting the pink bucket hat on Yn’s head. She had fought hard for that hat. Everyone in the team had wanted to dress their daughter in orange, but Yn had refused. The second Lily showed her the pink one, she had clapped her hands and declared, "Pinky!"

So pink it was.

Oscar pressed a kiss to Yn’s hair. "It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it, bub?"

Yn peeked up at him with wide eyes, then at Lily, before reaching for her. "Mama," she mumbled, her little voice barely audible over the noise of the paddock.

Lily took her immediately, smoothing a hand over her curls. "I’ve got you, baby."

They made their way toward the hospitality area, where a few drivers were gathered, chatting casually. When they spotted Oscar, their faces lit up.

"Ah, so this is the famous Yn!" Lando was the first to approach, grinning wide. "Hey there, little one."

Yn stared at him for a long moment, then turned her face into Lily’s neck.

Lando gasped dramatically. "Rejected. That one stings, not gonna lie."

Alex snorted, leaning over to get a peek at Yn. "She’s shy, mate. Give her a second."

Oscar reached out, stroking Yn’s back. "You okay, bub? These are my friends."

Yn peeked up, glancing at the group again before curling back into her mom’s arms.

Lily chuckled. "She’s in a clingy mood today."

Carlos, standing nearby, tilted his head. "She doesn’t like crowds?"

"She’s just confused," Oscar explained. "This is her first race, and she has no idea what’s going on."

Max, who had been quiet, suddenly crouched down to Yn’s eye level. "Do you like racing, little one?"

Yn blinked at him, then shook her head. "No."

A beat of silence. Then, Lando burst into laughter. "Oh, Oscar, you’re in trouble."

Oscar let out a dramatic sigh. "Come on, bub, you’re breaking my heart here."

Yn just nestled deeper into Lily’s arms.

"You’re not into racing?" Lando tried again. "But your dad is really good at it!"

Yn furrowed her brows. "Where Daddy go?"

Oscar chuckled. "I’m right here, bub."

She shook her head, patting his chest. "No. Later."

It took them a moment to understand what she meant.

"She’s asking where you go during the race," Lily realized, rubbing Yn’s back.

"Ohhh," Oscar grinned. "Daddy goes in the car, sweetheart."

Yn looked unimpressed.

"To drive really fast," Oscar added.

Still unimpressed.

"You don’t think that’s cool?"

Yn shook her head.

Alex doubled over laughing. "She’s killing me!"

Oscar pouted dramatically. "Alright, bub, what do you think is cool?"

Yn thought for a moment, then lifted her hat. "Pinky."

Lily smirked. "Pink is her favorite color. She wasn’t having any of the orange merch."

Carlos hummed. "You have taste, pequeña. Pink is a great color."

Yn finally pulled her face away from Lily’s neck, her big eyes looking at Carlos. "Pink good."

"See?" Carlos beamed. "Smart girl."

Just as she was starting to relax, a crew member approached, handing Oscar his helmet.

"It’s time?" Oscar asked.

"Yeah, you’re needed in the garage."

Oscar turned back to his wife and daughter, taking Yn into his arms and running a soothing hand down Yn’s back. "Alright, bub, Daddy has to go drive now, okay?"

Yn’s little brows furrowed.

"Daddy will be back soon," he promised. "You stay with Mama."

Then, before she could protest, he gently transferred her into Lily’s arms.

Yn made a confused noise, blinking as if trying to process what just happened. Then—

"Daddy!"

Oscar turned just in time to see his little girl reaching for him, her lower lip wobbling.

"Oh, sweetheart," Lily cooed, bouncing her slightly. "It’s okay, baby. Daddy will be back."

But Yn wasn’t having it.

She let out a frustrated whine, her small hands grasping at the air in Oscar’s direction. "Daddy!"

Oscar winced. "Oh man, this is gonna hurt."

"You need to go," Lily said, though she was clearly struggling not to cave at the sight of their daughter’s distress.

"Yeah, but—"

"Daddy!"

It took everything in Oscar not to take her back. But he knew if he did, he’d never leave.

"I love you, bub," he said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I’ll be back before you know it."

Yn whined again, but this time, she slumped against Lily’s shoulder, defeated.

Oscar gave her one last look, blowing her a kiss, before heading off, feeling a pang in his chest at the sound of her little sniffles.

Lily sighed, adjusting Yn in her arms. "It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you."

Still, Yn was clearly not happy.

And when Lily started talking to a man called Zak Brown, the two-year-old had had enough.

She curled into her mother, pressing her face into Lily’s neck.

Zak chuckled. "She’s not much of a people person, huh?"

Lily smiled, rubbing small circles on Yn’s back. "She’s usually very social. But today is a lot for her."

Zak nodded understandingly. "First race?"

"Yeah. She doesn’t get why people keep wanting Oscar’s attention or where he goes. She just wants her parents."

Yn clung tighter.

"Well," Zak said, giving the little girl a warm smile, "I think she’s got a great support system."

Lily pressed a kiss to her daughter’s head. "That she does."

Yn didn’t understand racing, or why people were so interested in her dad, or why they kept trying to put her in orange when pink was clearly superior.

But she knew one thing for sure.

As long as she was with her mommy and daddy, everything would be okay.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves! I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[cherrylibby]

Chasing the Storms

The Oklahoma sky was bruised with the colors of an oncoming storm—deep violets and angry grays swirling above the horizon. Tyler barely noticed. His heart was pounding harder than it had on any chase as he stood on your front porch, waiting for you to slam the door in his face.

But you didn’t.

You stood there, eyes burning with something between fury and heartbreak, your arms crossed like a shield against him. The years hadn’t dulled your fire—if anything, they’d made it sharper. And damn, if that didn’t hurt just as much as it made him miss you.

"You got some nerve showing up here, Tyler," you said, voice tight.

He nodded once. "Yeah. I do."

A bitter smirk pulled at your lips, but there was no humor in it. "What do you want?"

Tyler exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking. "I need your help. There’s a storm system coming, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. We’ve got a solid team, the tech, but…" He hesitated. "No one tracks storms like you."

You scoffed, stepping back like he’d just insulted you. "Unbelievable. You disappear for years—no calls, no letters, not a damn word—and now you show up at my door because you need something? Do you even hear yourself?"

He flinched. He deserved that.

"It’s not just about the storm," he tried, but you weren’t having it.

"Oh, really? Then what is it about, Tyler?" Your voice cracked on his name, and that nearly broke him. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you only come back when it’s convenient for you."

His jaw tightened. "You told me you were done."

"You left!"

"You made me leave!" The words exploded out of him, sharp and desperate, cutting through the space between you. "You quit chasing, you shut down, and you looked at me like I was the worst thing that ever happened to you. I didn’t know how to fix that!"

You shook your head, eyes glistening, but you refused to let a tear fall. "You didn’t even try," you whispered.

Silence.

The wind picked up around you, rustling the old wind chimes hanging from the porch. The storm was rolling in fast now, but the one brewing between you and Tyler was worse.

"You think it was easy for me to walk away?" he asked, voice lower now, strained. "You think I wanted to leave you?" He took a step closer, and to his relief, you didn’t move away. "Every damn day, I thought about coming back. About calling you. But what was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, sorry for nearly getting you killed—wanna chase another storm?’" He let out a rough laugh, shaking his head. "I left because I thought you’d be better off without me."

You swallowed hard, arms tightening around yourself like you were holding yourself together. "That wasn’t your choice to make."

Tyler ran a hand over his face. "I know." He let out a breath, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. "I know."

A long pause.

Then, softer—more vulnerable than he’d ever sounded—he said, "I never stopped loving you."

Your breath caught.

For a second, you looked away, blinking fast, but then you lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with that same defiance he’d always loved about you. "Then why did you leave me to love you alone?"

That shattered him.

His hand came up, hesitating just for a second before he cupped your cheek. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into his touch, just the slightest bit, and that was all he needed.

Before you could say another word, he kissed you.

It wasn’t careful, wasn’t hesitant. It was desperate and raw, full of everything left unsaid over the years. His other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him, and when your fingers tangled in his hair, he groaned into the kiss.

You tasted like the past and everything he’d ever wanted in the future.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, foreheads resting together, he whispered, "Come with me."

You exhaled shakily. "Tyler—"

"Not just for the storms. For us." His grip on you tightened like he was terrified of letting go again. "I screwed up. I should’ve stayed. Should’ve fought harder. But I’m here now, and if you tell me to leave, I’ll go. But I swear to God, I don’t want to run anymore. I just want you."

You stared at him, torn between every scar he’d left on your heart and the undeniable truth that you still loved him.

Outside, thunder rumbled, shaking the sky.

You sighed. Then, finally, finally, you muttered, "Damn it, Tyler."

He grinned. "I’ll take that as a yes."

You rolled your eyes, but when you pulled him down for another kiss, he knew he was finally home.

[al1x00]

Guess who's back🫣 HII KATY HOW ARE YOU MY LOVE?😚 ALSO A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AU?!?! HELL YEAH

Ngl I read the first lines before anything else and I was prepared for the worst LMAO glad that Yuri's so comprehensive tho (love her sm)

"After our trip to the beach, I know it's his" GIRL?🫣OOP🤭

"And as for the guitar, he put a sticker of your face right on the crack and the mortherfucker kisses it before every show for good luck" WAITT THAT'S SO CUTE :((

I feel like Hobie would for sure take the responsibility if an accidental pregnancy happened, he's not the type of person to leave it all behind. ALSO, I feel like he'd be a huge ass girl dad (and also a huge misandrist LMAO)

Damn James you got a great timing to go piss huh😒

HELPPP YURI AND NED DRINKING AWAY THE EXHASPERATION BYE I'M DEAD

They're like "pass me the wine, I need to get drunk and forget about this" HAHAHA

KATY HOW TF DID YOU MANAGE TO WRITE THE UNDEAD TO BE THAT TERRIFYING MY GODD I HAD CHILLS ALL OVER. That scene where the horde starts to get in the house is written SO WELL ISTG, I can picture it perfectly in my mind.

You can literally feel the anxiety, the chaos of it all, the ABSOLUTE HORROR OF IT KATY YOU'RE A GENIUS YOU OUTDO YOURSELF EVERY GODDAMN TIME

The fact that Hobie immediately thought of what to do if him and R got somehow separated:( He's too loving for his own good

The burning house is giving the start of TLOU ngl

NOOO NOT THE FUCKING TRUCK AND HORDE THEY GOT SEPARATED BWAJFJSKOFF MY BABIESSS😭😭😭

Okay so the infection is like- instant. Once you're bitten you become one of them, right?

TWO FUCKING MONTHS HAVE PASSED?! GOOD GOD THAT'S SO MUCH TIME.

THEY CAN'T EVEN DIE?? Imagine how scared Hobie was when he was just taking a bath and he feels a hand around his ankle- I'd never set foot in any body of water ever again, no matter the size of it.

The voicemails :( I'm not even halfway throught it and I'm already starting to sob KATY YOU OWE ME A THERAPIST

OH HELL NAH PLEASE TELL ME HOBIE IS OKAY AND HE DIDN'T TURN INTO A SEA CREATURE

"It feels like your heart is out of your body, missing somewhere else" I'M SOBBINGG THEY LONG FOR EACH OTHER SM😭😭😭

"Looks like you already took the load" JAMES😨- YOU LITTLE SHIT OMG

My heart literally jumped out of my chest when R almost jumped from the bridge- for a second you had me thinking she was about to die (but then I remembered it's a Katy Special tm)

"The PG version please" HELPP I'M CRYING

"Mudwood Manor" BDAS REFERENCE BDAS REFERENCE BDAS REFERENCEEEEE

AAAAAAA

HOBIE'S ALRIGHT THANK GODDD MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED

Aww poor Hobie :( the way the situation remembers him of when he was younger actually breaks him. That and how he's already acclimate with how dangerous and difficult the whole situation is. He deserves all the hugs in the world.

The way R for a second didn't even realise it could be Hobie on the other side of the door or how she thought she was just going crazy and imagining it all

NOOO JAMESS GODDAMN IT :((

NOT R CRADLING HIS HEAD IN HER LAP AND FIXING HIS HAIR KATYY STOP MAKING ME SOB.

UGHH THE ENDING IS SO BITTERSWEET I LOVE IT SM. The life among the death, the gore and the blood and Hobie's hug just makes me want to bawl my eyes out of their sockets I swear.

KATYY I MISSED READING YOUR FICS SM AND COMING BACK TO THIS WAS SUCH A NICE EXPERIENCE SO THANK YOU SM. I know I've said it before but I SWEAR I'll get around to read IPOB because I'm so damn curios abt it🤭🤭. But this was such a great read, it's got me in a chokehold now ngl.

End of Beginning

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 18.7k

Synopsis: When the world seems to come to an end, life starts. Death looms and a virus has taken over. Life as you know it has ended and all you ever want is to see him again.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW pregnancy, vomit mention, TW blood and gore, CW injury, TW violence, CW death, CW guns, suggestive content, zombie apocalypse AU, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst.

Navigation

You stare intensely at the two little red lines on the plastic stick. Heart beating out of your body while the muffled sounds of the party rattles the locked bathroom door. Your breath hitches in your throat, mouth dry and hands shaking from the mere sight of the three pregnancy tests having the same result— positive. There's no doubt about it as the double lines are as clear as day.

“Fuck.” Yuri says the exact same word you have in mind.

“F–Fuck.” You breathlessly say, voice trembling while you haven't moved an inch from where you're standing in front of the sink.

“What're you gonna do?” Yuri asks beside you, hand placed right on your shoulder as you start wobbling in place, afraid that you might keel over on the harsh tiles. “Are you gonna tell him?”

“I–I’m not sure.” You roll the simple silver band around your pinky finger. One that was given to you by Hobie a long time ago.

Finally lifting up your eyes, you stare at yourself in front of the mirror. You look disheveled, hair a mess from the concert. Your clothes still smell faintly like bile and the floor of a pub. The eyeliner around your eyes is smudged, and lips bare from all the wiping you had to do after getting sick all over James’ parents’ bathroom. You feel like a bloody mess.

It was Yuri's idea to run to the chemist's and buy different packs of tests for you after she walked in on you heaving out your dinner. Damn Yuri and her smart ass.

“I thought it was food poisoning from the shawarma we ate.” You deflate, tears threatening to spill over as you sit on the toilet.

“That place near the post office?” Yuri sighs, leaning against the cold tiles as her voice echoes around the bathroom that's as big as your living room.

You rub your palms all over your face, elbows placed atop of your knees as your body folds over itself in an attempt to calm down. There's a rock in the pit of your stomach, face clammy and lips wobbling. The soles of your feet feel numb, ebbing up to your legs and further towards your chest until it reaches your shaking hands. Your leg keeps bouncing up and down, as if it has a life of its own. You don't hear your best friend calling your name as blood rushes in your ears.

“Hey,” she kneels down in front of you, bare knees freezing from the tiles but seemingly not caring for the sensation as her kind eyes stay on you. Her leather skirt pools around her, a blob of black framing under her. “You okay?”

“Y–yeah, it's that place near the post office.” a tear slides down your cheek, and you're quick to wipe it away.

Yuri holds onto your knee, stopping the bouncing of your legs as she cups it with her palm gently and looks into your eyes. “Please don't tell me it's James'”

You pause, staring straight at her with a glare. “Bitch.”

She laughs, the sound bouncing all over the walls. “Mate,” her hand grasps your own, fondly rubbing at your sweaty palm. “You and Hobie have been together since the dawn of time. trust me, after our trip to the beach, I know it's his.”

You crumple in place, a smile slowly appearing on your lips as you hide your face. “God, you'll never let us live that down.”

“Seriously, we had to wear our noise cancelling headphones.”

“Stop!” Chuckling, you feel a bit lighter from her teasing. Just a tiny bit.

Yuri mirrors your smile, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “What are you worried about, hm?”

You sigh, “you know what I'm worried about, Yuri.”

She shrugs and makes a face. “No, I don't, so don't waste both our time and just tell your best mate.”

Rubbing your eyes with your index finger, your entire body starts feeling the pin pricks all around you. “I just—” she patiently waits for you to gather your words. “What if he doesn't want it? That he'll leave me all because of…” you wildly gesture around your stomach.

“Are the hormones getting in your head already?” You give her a stern glare. “Babes, remember the time you accidentally broke his favourite vinyl?” You nod, wincing at the memory. “And that one time you dropped his guitar while attempting to clean it?”

“Please don't remind me, I have nightmares of breaking more shit.”

“Well, you might not remember that he never got mad at you.” Yuri smiles, taking your clenched hands and holding it in place. “He even placed the vinyl in a frame and made it look fucking cooler than before with its shattered pieces. And as for the guitar, he put a sticker of your face right on the crack and the motherfucker kisses it before every show for good luck.”

You chuckle, tears sticking to your lashes.

“All I'm saying is, he's not gonna fucking leave you because of this.” She beams at you, eyes shining from the bright light of the bathroom. “If he does, then I'm gonna help you raise that kid. But before that I have to bury him and you're gonna help me find a quiet and secluded place for him.”

You laugh, head falling down on Yuri's shoulder. “You really think so?” Your voice is small as she rubs your back.

“I know so, babes. Besides, this is his fault too.” You sniff and she holds onto you tighter. “And I know Hobie, he takes responsibility for shit he does. The one thing he truly loves in this world besides his guitar is you.” She whispers, love rolling off of her as she comforts you. “I've seen the way he looks at you, and that's not the look a man gives to someone he's ready to up and leave because of a baby.”

Your heart steadies in place as your mind flickers back to his face. Yuri's right, all those years of being in love with him, and the many years of being together would tell you that he won't bolt away from the product of all those years of loving each other. But there's that one thing you're worried about too.

“But—” you start and Yuri lifts your head up, scrunching your face in her hands.

“No buts!”

“Yuri,” you say, despite your squished lips and cheeks. “The band is just gaining traction, what if this—”

“I'm going to stop you right there.” She stands up, boots thumping on the tiles as she helps you stand up from the toilet and grabs a tissue to clean up your tear stained cheeks and messy mascara. “This won't stop us, and we'll learn to juggle it with you.” Gently patting your eyes, she smiles softly. “Don't forget, you're part of this band too.”

A smile manages to wiggle itself on your face with Yuri's bright encouragement. She does have a point, and you can't help but imagine Hobie kissing your baby's chubby cheeks, or the baby having his smile and his eyes. And the thought of him cradling them to sleep while the baby’s little lashes flutter close. He'll be a good dad, but at the same time you don't want to spring this huge news on him when his career is just starting to propel him and the band. You don't want to be the one to hold him back. Yes, you have options, but this is the product of your love, *years of that love. Maybe you'll be a good mother, for now, you have to be brave and tell him.

“I just manage the gigs, you guys can live without me.”

“Tell that to our lead guitarist.” Nudging your shoulder, she places you in front of the mirror. “We've got your back, alright? Do you think a baby will stop him from making music?”

“I don't know, Yuri. But thank you.” You nod appreciatively, swallowing thickly at the woman standing in the mirror. Will you still look like this in nine months? Will you be happy with your decision in nine months?

“Just tell him, or he'll be able to sniff it out like his surprise birthday party last year.” She gently shakes you in place, trying to get a smile out of you.

“I'll tell him, don't worry. He deserves to know.” You whisper as someone knocks on the bathroom door, their muffled words telling you to hurry up.

“Good, because it's his fault.” Yuri grabs another tissue and wraps all the tests and places it in your palm.

“Not entirely.” You chuckle out, and she makes a disgusted face.

“Augh, I swear you two are like fucking rabbits.”

You snort as you pocket the pregnancy tests. It feels vaguely heavy inside the front pocket of your jeans.

“You ready? Or do you need one more hug?” Yuri opens her arms, expecting for you to wave her away, but instead you step into her arms, embracing her. She hugs back wholeheartedly.

“Thank you, Yuri.”

“Anytime, lovely.” She kisses your temple, wiping away the kiss mark. “I can't wait to buy baby shit for whatever spawns out of you.”

“I can already tell you'll be a great aunt.” You say with a hint of sarcasm.

She scoffs, “of course I will be!” Wrenching the door open, you're met with James’ disgruntled face. “Jeez, do you need to pee that bad, Jameson?”

“Yes! Move!” He pushes Yuri out of the way and she shields you away from his elbow. “Why do girls always go to the loo together!”

The two of you shuffle away immediately before you get a sight of something that will surely make you hurl once again.

“Christ, it's because of all those beers he's been chugging.” Yuri walks next to you, eyes roaming around for the familiar punk’s back to bring you back to him.

“And to think that he has an army of groupies.” You find that your hand unconsciously meets with your stomach, protecting it from the rambunctious party goers.

The party is in full swing as you and Yuri go down the long winding stairs of James’ parents' mansion. Drinks are passed around, amber liquid sloshing out of the glasses and cans. Speakers play one of the band's songs, a loud punk anthem that adds fuel to the already on fire party. Expensive Arabian carpets now smell of beer and piss, crisps crunching down on your shoes, impossible to step around it when the place is packed with sweaty and dancing bodies. It's a miracle that nothing is broken or else James will never see the sun again after his parents see the aftermath of their million euro home.

“There's Ned!” Yuri guides you towards the makeshift bar which is actually the kitchen's island where bottles upon bottles of liquor sits on its previously pristine marble.

“Where the fuck have you two been? Hobie's practically going insane looking for you!” Ned exclaims as he pours you and Yuri a glass of gin.

You scrunch your face at the drink, stomach churning from the smell alone, and Yuri saves you by taking both glasses and chugging each of them without gagging or missing a beat.

“Whew!” The glasses clinks as she places it both down. “Thanks, Ned, I was getting thirsty!”

Ned blinks, and looks impressed at the feat. He sighs, ponting at you. “That was for her, I'll just pour you another one.”

“No!” You and Yuri collectively gasp.

“I mean—” you start, “I've been feeling sick lately, remember? I don't think drinking will help my stomach.” Yuri nods her head enthusiastically, agreeing with you.

“Right, I did tell Hobie that the shawarma place near the post office had a health violation last year.” Ned looks at something behind you, or someone.

A familiar arm loops over your shoulder, the comforting weight keeps your stomach from doing flips and hurling what's left of it onto the marble kitchen. His front is right behind you while his free hand has managed to wiggle itself into your backpocket.

“They said they're under new management, Ned.” Hobie chuckles out, warmth seeping through you.

You look over your shoulder, only to be met with his amber eyes that look almost golden under the light. He smells faintly of after concert musk and your own perfume that he keeps saying is his lucky charm. Smiling, he cups your chin with his palm, giving you a chaste kiss.

He scrunches his nose, smiling at you. “Did you brush your teeth?” His face then morphs into concern, brows furrowed and hands squeezing your side, fingers grazing your stomach. “We can go home if you feel too sick.”

“I did, don't worry I didn't use anyone's toothbrush, I just used my finger like a caveman. And please don't be a worry wart, it's nothing I can't handle, Hobs.” You lean against his shoulder, feeling infinitely better now that you're in his arms. Now that you're looking at him as he gazes at you with so much affection, you start to think that your worries feel silly.

“I don't think they had toothpaste back in the stone age, love.” He nuzzles your temple, nose tickling your hairline.

“Archeologists beg to differ.”

“Yeah? You an archaeologist now?” He flirts back, palm still cupping the back of your neck and thumb rubbing along your jaw. His rings are cold against your warm skin, comforting you further.

Yuri and Ned roll their eyes and tries to ignore the public display of affection while mixing in drinks and then downing it in one go. Like a couple of exasperated parents.

“I could be if I wasn't too busy being your manager.” You hold his hand as he kisses the tip of your nose. “And fluoride existed during the olden times, y’know.”

Hobie leans back, brows knitting together before a smile etches on his handsome face. “Really?” He says with a lilt in his tone. “This your way of sayin’ bye to the band?”

“Nope, someone's gonna miss me too much.” You whisper against his cheek, kissing him lovingly.

“I'm sure Ned will live.” Hobie laughs, embracing you as he sways you to the music.

“Don't bring me into this, bruv.” You and Hobie laugh at the look on Ned’s face.

Yuri stares at you and smiles, wordlessly telling you to tell Hobie the news. With a deep inhale, you twist around to cup Hobie's face and look at him with a serious expression. The glint of your ring urges you to continue.

“Can we go somewhere quiet? I need to tell you something, Hobie—”

“Oi, have the lot of you seen this?” James comes running in, flip phone in hand as he shoves the screen in each of your faces until Hobie takes it.

“That you finally washed your hands after taking a piss?” Yuri crosses her arms over her chest as she closes the distance and peeks over your shoulder.

A shaky and grimey video plays a scene of someone blowing out their birthday candles inside a restaurant. The celebrant claps while the guests cheer for them. It's all normal and happy at first then the camera zooms in on the background, right on the window where a man who looks like he's drunk, staggers and limps towards the restaurant window. Then a sound of an oncoming car skids to a halt but too late to stop in time. It hits the man dead on as he flips and flies over the car until his face meets and grinds on the asphalt, leaving a blood trail. Chaos ensues as the shaking of the camera moves towards the streets while onlookers yell and try to call for help.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate, what did I tell you about showing us these kinds of videos.” Ned groans then leaves to go tend to the makeshift bar again.

“No, no, just watch!” James pleads, shoving the screen in front of the band's faces but Ned just shakes his head. “It's bonkers!”

“C’mon, bruv, you can't jus’ show us shit like this.” Hobie moves the phone away from you, but you chase the screen with your eyes as you see the last bit of the video showing the man standing up like nothing happened.

Hobie tries to close the phone to save you from the sight but James snatches it and continues to show it to everyone else. Hobie tries to manoeuvre you away but with James' increasing insistence, Yuri takes one for the team and yanks it out of his hand and pockets it.

“No phone for you until you shut the fuck up about it!”

“Yuri! That's bullshit! That's mine.” James reaches for his phone but Yuri dodges him. “You're not my mum!”

“You tried to show us some live leak shit! No, absolutely not.” They fight like siblings while Yuri swats his roaming hands away.

“The bloke stood up like normal and his eyeball was hanging out of his sockets!” Their arguing falls into the background as Hobie leads you towards the corner of the kitchen.

“You alright, love? Not too queasy?” Hobie rubs your stomach, still unbeknownst to the growing life inside of you.

Taking his hand, you let it rest on your belly. “I'm fine, nothing I can't handle.”

He smiles, squeezing your hand and chuckling. “That's my girl, always so bloody tough, eh?”

“Yeah, that's me, tough as nails.” You nervously chuckle as if you weren't about to burst into tears a few minutes ago.

“Now, what were you about to tell me?”

“I—” you're suddenly out of words. “Can we go somewhere quiet first?” The raging bass of the music is starting to give you a headache, shaking through your skull.

“This serious then?” Worry flickers in his mind, and you know that he's trying to remember if he did something bad. “Did I do somethin'?” And you were right.

You shake your head, palms splayed over his chest whilst you lay down the lapels of his spiked denim jacket. “You didn't do anything wrong.” Your voice is gentle yet it wavers a bit from your own worries.

What if you don't do good for this kid? What if being a mother isn't for you? What if— your attention flits over to a staggering figure appearing from the hill. The shadow gets closer towards the house as you see them through the ceiling to floor windows of James' home, the glass is just situated behind Hobie. Everyone seems to not notice the person as it sprints on the grass. Their head dips back, as if the speed they're running at has their own head lolling backwards from the momentum.

“Is this because of me accidentally leavin' puddin’ on the table and having ants…”

Hobie's voice fades in your ears as your eyes stay on the figure that's coming towards you.

They're quickly gaining speed.

“Love?”

The party goers don't seem to notice the guy, continuing to dance and drink about all merrily. Your body freezes in place, mind going haywire, electricity running down your fingertips and stomach flipping upside down. It's as if your senses warn you of the figure, as if your innate fear response is acting upon itself.

Hobie cups your cheek gently just as the man gets closer, barefooted, shoulder bent at a harsh angle and blood dripping from his eyes.

Then more appear right on the hill, running like they've injured themselves, moon shining down behind them, bathing their shadows in silver light. They look like regular people, except for limbs that flail around, and mouths agape— the blood smeared all over them has your senses telling you to run.

Your breathing stops.

In a blink, there's a horde of them coming your way.

“Oi, you alright? You gonna be sick?”

“Run—!” As you say it, a loud smash can be heard as the first figure you saw comes crashing inside the house. People scream and dodge broken glass.

“Shit!” Hobie shields you away immediately, arms enveloping around you.

“What the fuck?!” James yells, trainers stepping on glass. “My parents are gonna kill me!”

Everyone looks at the body laying on the floor, around him lays plastic cups and crisps. He bleeds slowly into the marble floor, staining it with a puddle of warm crimson. You swear you saw smoke appear from within.

“Someone call an ambulance!” An acquaintance of the band yells as everyone else pauses to stare wide eyed at the still body.

“F–Fuck!” Yuri curses as she takes out her phone from her pocket, fumbling with it in a panic that causes the phone to slip from her grasp and onto the puddle of blood. “Shit.”

She takes a step closer to take it back, and you quickly yank her away. Everyone's attention is on the lone body, but yours are on the oncoming crowd that are running down the hill.

Yuri and Hobie follow your line of sight, gasping in place as they see a dozen or so figures running at breakneck speed.

The rest follows as the guttural groans get louder.

“What the fuck—!” Just as Ned says it, the lone body twitches on the floor and lifts his head up, revealing a grotesque slashed face with shards of glass embedded in his rotting flesh. Blood dribbles from his mouth, strings of drool and crimson leaving his cut lip. His veins pop out, black and blue. “What the fuck!”

You grab a knife from the bar, and you tug Hobie away. “Everyone, run!”

Glass smashes underfoot as everyone rushes to get to the exit.

Yuri holds onto your arm whilst Hobie takes the front. He holds onto your hand in a tight grip, shoulder smashing into the panicking crowd to get you out of there.

Bodies are packed into the doorway as people try to get out. Screams ring out behind you, screams that will haunt your dreams as tearing flesh accompanies the horrific sound.

“Fuckin’ move!” Hobie squeezes himself out in between panicking bodies, hand still grasping around yours. He yells your name, eyes set in a panic as blood splashes across the walls and expensive paintings.

You don't dare look back at the carnage as you manage to get out while your hand is around your stomach protectively.

“C’mon!” Hobie yanks you away, no time for gentleness as he leads you towards the car. “Fuck!”

The two of you run on the yard, the street filled with cries as people funnel out of the house. Neighbours come out of their houses, porch lights flickering on.

You notice the lack of hands around you as you look back at the house. “Yuri!”

Hobie pauses for a second, looking for the rest of his band in the midst of chaos and screams. Faces whizz by, but none of them look like them. With his heart plummeting down to his stomach, he continues to run and snatch you out of your worried stupor.

You stagger on your feet, the cold February air nipping at your cheeks. “What about the others?!” You cry out as Hobie unlocks the car and practically shoves you inside the passenger's side. Face unreadable. “Hobie!” He slams the door shut and goes around the hood to get inside.

He takes a breath for a second, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, and eyes wild as he stares at the rearview mirror.

You grasp his hand, fingers trembling around his palm. “We need to wait for them.”

Swallowing thickly and with a shaking hand, he inserts the key in the ignition and starts the car.

“Hobie, we can't fucking leave them here!” You cry out, head turning towards the house where you see limping and bloodied bodies exit the place.

More and more come out, all covered in crimson, eyes eerily wide, and jaws permanently set ajar, mouths frothing and dripping with blood. They sniff the air as a few of them pick apart the stragglers left writhing on the grass.

“What—What the fuck are they?” Hobie watches as they rip and tear into bodies like they're wet paper. Limbs fly about, severed arms and legs fling out before landing on the former pristine grass.

“I—I don't know.” Your hand grips the knife tightly. “Do you see them?” You whisper, afraid of being heard by the creatures.

Hobie roams his eyes around, frantically looking for the band. He licks at his lips, sweat dribbling down the back of his neck. “...no, do you—?!” A fist bangs against the window, the face belonging to it seems familiar, whoever it was, they break his window with ease after a couple of punches. The tattered arm reaches inside, trying to grab at Hobie. “Fuck!”

You scream, and Hobie, in his panic, steps on the gas.

“Hobie!” The car speeds off into the suburban streets but whatever or whoever it was they still hold onto the side of the window, groaning, eyes bleeding and trying to bite at him with his golden teeth. “Fuck off!” You yell, holding onto the grab handles above to propel your legs over Hobie and kick them out of the car.

They fly away, body rag dolling, skidding into the asphalt and leaving a trail of blood.

You huff, heaving back into your seat as Hobie glances worriedly at you. “Are you okay?” You ask, adrenaline filtering through your veins.

He checks himself over, and finds nothing of note. “Yeah,” he reaches for you, palm cupping your cheek. “You?”

“I–I think so.” You look down at your shoes, finding specks of blood staining your trainers. The hula girl on the dashboard dances to the hum of the car, completely unbothered.

“What the fuck is happening?” Hobie asks as his attention turns back towards the road, carefully steering in through the neighborhood.

“I think what James showed us…” you try to catch your breath, hand placed on your stomach. “...is that— it's happening here too.”

“Love.” He exhales shakily, trying to even out his breathing and expel out the panic. “I think that was the pub owner.”

“What?” You look back, only to see the grand houses fading away. “Who?”

“The fuckin' guy who tried to grab me.” He gestures behind him.

Your face morphs into horror as realization flits over you. “What the fuck.” Looking back again, you only see the dark road. “That can't— he was at the party with us!”

“Do you think it's contagious?”

“What?”

“They looked like they were sick, like fuckin'— like rabies.” He waves his hand wildly.

“Rabies?”

“I don't know— all I know is that he was bloody fine the last I saw him.”

“If it is contagious, we need to know how you get it so we can avoid it.” You sit back down, hand still holding onto the small knife you grabbed from the bar. He nods, eyeing you from his peripheral.

The car grows quiet for a minute as you and Hobie ride towards the city.

“We left them there.” You say solemnly, eyes staring straight at the buildings in front of you.

“They're alright.” Hobie says matter-of-factly, hands clenching around the wheel.

“Hobie.” You say his name with tears in your eyes.

“I know they are.” He grabs your hand, squeezing it three times before letting go. Another minute passes in heavy silence. “If…” Hobie starts, heart heavy. “...If we get separated—”

“Hobie—”

“Jus’ in case, love.” He pats your thigh lovingly. “Jus’ in case, we meet back at the houseboat. And if that doesn't work or you can't get there…” he inhales shakily, afraid of losing you in the chaos. “D’you remember that cabin we rented out last year for our anniversary?” You nod, hand reaching for his elbow. “We'll meet there, right? Tell me you understand, love.”

“I understand.” You say with haste. The frantic look in his eyes has you reaching for him, hand placed in between the headrest and the back of his neck as he leans against your touch. “We'll be okay, Hobie.”

He swallows thickly, fists tightening around the steering wheel. “You come first, remember that, y–yeah?” His voice cracks as he runs a rough palm over his face. “Whatever happens, we stay together.”

Just as the words escape his lips, the car passes by a burning building on the side of the road. The embers flicker in and out, flames illuminating the darkened road in its yellow glow. The fire devours the whole place, warmth felt through the windshield, kissing your cheeks. You and Hobie share a heavy look, recognizing the place as the same diner you two had your first date together. It doesn't bode well, and it doesn't help with your churning stomach.

“Love.” He calls you softy, grasping at your hand that rests on your stomach.

You didn't even notice you were holding onto your belly until he touched you. “Yeah?”

“You alright?”

Hobie turns the car further into the highway as you two come across more cars than before, all leaving the city unlike you and Hobie.

“Y–Yeah.” You lie through your teeth, eyes watching as an ambulance whizzes past you towards the city. “What’s your plan?”

“We need to go home and then sail on the houseboat. I bet whatever those things were can't bloody swim.”

“Hobie, the houseboat can't handle waves from the sea.” You say as you instinctively knead at his nape.

“I know, love, we'll stay close to the rivers—” He abruptly stops talking, eyes following an empty bus stopped on the road. It looked normal at first, but when you stare into it longer, the bloody handprints on the windows make your skin rise. “We'll be fine.” His tone says that he's not just reassuring you but also himself.

A helicopter passes by above you, blades whirring and fading away as it goes out of the city. The familiar streets are filled with people, all lugging bags and their children carried on their backs as they try to leave the place. Your palm curls around your shirt, a pit in your stomach weighing heavily.

“I think we should turn back.”

“Back to where?” Hobie doesn't mean for his tone to be harsher than it was. “There's nowhere else.”

You almost jump in place when a jet plane whooses past, leaving behind a trail in the clouds. “Somewhere that isn't crowded.”

“We're in London, love, everywhere is crowded.” Hobie stops the car as you two hit traffic. “The world is endin’ and there's still fuckin' traffic.” He honks the horn in frustration, muscles straining under the harsh push.

The sound rings in your ears as you look around you. Pedestrians have a solemn look in their eyes, clutching at themselves. A few limp in place, ankle swollen or leg bleeding from the worst day in their lives. Your mind wanders back to Yuri and the others, wondering if they're alright, or if they're injured and limping like the strangers around you.

Hobie turns on the radio, flipping through the usual music channels to get to the news. The sound of the emergency broadcast has you and Hobie covering your ears from the shrill sound. He lowers the volume down from the last music jam you two had on your way to James'.

The radio cackles for a moment, signal fading in and out as static cackles. “Stay….home…danger…bite.”

“Useless piece of shit!” He punches the radio, suddenly, instead of the broadcaster's voice, an ear piercing boom can be heard from your right. The knick-knacks on the dashboard fall on the floor. “Fuck!” Hobie instinctively puts his arms around your head, shielding you.

The explosion reverberates, shockwave echoing through the city as it hits the car and breaks all the windows and windshields. Glass shatters around you whilst screams erupt all around the streets.

“What was that?!” Your ears ring, a piercing sound deep inside your ears. Hobie says something, mouth opening and closing but you don't hear him through the shrill deaf tone. “What?!”

He grasps at your face, pointing at the black smoke billowing from the distance. You follow his finger, seeing fire and brimstone, the heat from it searing your cheeks. “—we need to go!”

You stare back at him, eyes wide at an oncoming truck heading your way. It runs through cars like butter, flipping metal and ripping flesh. You don't have time to run, so you embrace him— The only way you know how to protect him.

—

Hobie wakes up with a flaring pain on his temple. Skin aflame as gashes and scratches mar his flesh. His vision fades in and out, and his throat dry as he swings upside down in his seat.

Panic sets in immediately, blood rushing to his head. The car is a mess, trinkets that were on the dashboard are now strewn across the car's ceiling. Glass shards littered around, and metal folded and creaking as he moves. He yells your name, throat stinging, chest heavy as he looks beside him.

He only sees a splash of crimson on the seat.

“Love!” He cries out, rough and bloodied hands trying to push away several metal rods piercing in between him and the passenger's seat, fencing him out. It almost split the car in half.

“F–Fuck! C’mon!” Looking through the cracks, he spots an opening before him and a trail of blood. That's probably where you must've gone.

His hand trembles as he feels through the seatbelt and releases it with a click. He falls down harshly, body folded against himself. Breath wheezing, he inhales through the pain.

The thought of you injured and alone was enough fuel for him to squeeze himself out of the window and into the street. Glass nicks his body, scraping against his skin. He bites his tongue, hands scruffed and bleeding.

Hobie falls knees first into the asphalt, body aching and various cuts bleeding on the cold grey ground.

With a deep inhale, he pushes himself up, palms splayed, and feet boosting himself up. His muscles scream in protest as blood dribbles from his brow down to his lashes. He finally makes it up, standing on unsteady feet.

Hobie goes back to the car, arms reaching towards the backseat where his guitar case lies. His fingertips brush along its rough leather until he manages to get a hold of it. He yanks it out of the back, a miracle that it's even intact after the crash. There's no care when he takes it out of the car, case smashing loudly against the broken shards of glass and banging on the metal door. As long as he has it back, he doesn't care about the damage.

There's a sudden animalistic groan in the distance.

On trembling legs, he turns around. His whole body freezes as he sees piles upon piles of cars littered around. Death lingers in the place, rotten flesh and drying blood wafting over his nose.

You have to be alive. You have to be.

As he starts to stagger around the car to climb over the debris and over to you— he falls back on the hood from the sharp pain stinging on his cranium; hip hitting hard on the metal. The sound bounces off the concrete street, and he hears the sudden shuffling of feet, then running footsteps.

Hobie lifts his head up, seeing a crowd— no, a horde sprinting towards him as they appear behind the flipped and broken down cars. All gnashing teeth and bloodied fingers trying to rip him apart.

Without a choice, he bolts away in the different direction you might've gone.

—

Warmth kisses your skin as you lay on the soft mattress. Face squished on the pillow as arms wrap around your body.

“Morning, Hobie.” It was all a bad dream then, nothing but a nightmare fuelled from watching a horror movie before bed. You run your knuckles over his cheek, he still doesn't stirr. “I know you're awake, Hobs.”

You take his cheek, palm resting along his jawline. He feels cold. “Hobie? You okay?” Sitting up, you try to shake him awake. “Hobie? Are you sick?”

His body immediately flings up, sheets flying off his body as his hands wrap tightly around your neck. The amber eyes you love are now a pair of bloodied rubies in his eye sockets. Blood drips from his lips, skin bubbling and melting off his skull. Blue and red veins snake along his flesh, curling around his eyes and lips.

“H–Hobie!” You claw at his hands, ripping away his skin, feeling it crust under your nails.

He chokes you firmly, and you gasp awake.

Your eyes meet with carnage, fire and smoke hitting your face as a breeze passes by. The once normal London streets look like a car junkyard. A throbbing ache spreads through you as you see the hula girl on the floor, crimson splashed on her ukelele.

“Holy shit, you're finally awake!” The least likely person you thought you'd meet up with taps your cheek. James' face is drenched in sweat and blood, shirt caked in drying blood as he shakes you awake once again.

“J–James? How?”

“I need to unclip you, okay? You're gonna fall.” Before you could say something or even wait for your mind to wake up fully, he cuts your seatbelt off with a knife and you fall headfirst into the car's ceiling. Pain blooms on the back of your neck as you feel aches and pains all over. “There, we need to fucking move, Y/N.”

“No, where's—!?” You twist in your seat, sitting up and weakly pushing him away as you turn towards the driver's side. Hobie is still strapped in his seat, sitting upside down, arms dangling from his sides. He's unconscious but breathing.

“Hobie.” You try to squeeze your hands in between the metal crammed in the car that divides your side from his. The beloved car has seen better days. “H–Hobie, fucking wake up!” The tips of your fingers brush along his shoulder, feeling his warmth against your skin. “Please!”

James yells your name, tugging you away. “We'll get him out! But we need to hurry, they're coming!”

“Who?” A low rumbling groan echoes out from the chaos. In your headache, you finally remember what happened.

“You need to get out of the car and I'll try to get him out. You won't go far with your leg.”

“My leg?” You look down, gasping as a large gash runs down your hind leg. Blood trickles from the wound as shards of sharp glass sticks out of it. “Oh f–fuck!” Immediately, pain shoots up. A blinding pain that has you grasping at James’ shoulders and biting down your lip.

“Yeah, I know, calm down.” James pats your back and brandishes the same knife you took from his house. “I'm going to jump over the cars and cut him loose, okay? Stay here.”

You nod, biting down your yelps of agony. Your hand wanders down to your stomach out of fear for the life inside.

James leaves your side, grunting and grasping at his bleeding arm. You watch him carefully as he tries to find a foothold on a side mirror attached to something that doesn't even look like a vehicle anymore with its crushed metal and shattered glass. Ageing blood drifts in the air, clotted and drying while screams and screeches echo all around the city. There's a low rumble of helicopter blades somewhere, and sirens fading in and out.

James still struggles to climb up over the pile of cars. You turn your head, glancing at Hobie in hopes of him waking up from his dreamless sleep. There's drying blood trickling on his temple, lips split and bloodied. Adrenaline makes your hand shake, his words echo in your mind— “you come first.” He'd want for you to not just sit there wait for him to wake up, so with a determination to survive in your eyes, you reach upwards to grab a scarf you know you've placed inside the console. Things tumble out as you open it, polaroids, keys, guitar picks and the blue scarf you've been looking for.

You hear James' grunts as you gingerly pick up a picture of you and Hobie on a random day at the beach. That day was freezing cold with the waters nipping at your skin, but you two didn't care as you chased each other on the frozen sand. With trembling fingers, you hide the picture inside your jacket pocket.

“F–Fuck.” You bite your tongue as you take out pieces of glass out of your leg. A tear slides down your cheek as you remove the last one that was buried deep inside your muscle. Inhaling, you flick your eyes towards James who's halfway up the pileup. “Okay.” Cinching the cloth tighter and tighter around your leg, you breathe in through your nose, mouth clamped shut to prevent a shrill cry from coming out. Tying it neatly, you finally take a deep exhale of air.

“Shit!” James yells, foot slipping off a bloodied hood of a car as he tumbles down on the hard ground. He groans, sitting up and cradling his behind.

“You okay?” You ask, swallowing down your fear as you quickly glance at Hobie, who's still unconscious. If you take too long to get him out, the blood rushing to his head won't be good. “James.”

“I'm good— fuck!” An arm suddenly reaches from within a crushed car, skin mangled, black blood oozing from the wounds. James crawls backwards into a car, the loud bump and his screech could wake up the whole city.

“James— shit!” You clamber out of the car, leg immediately shooting up a wave of pain that has you almost curling against yourself. With another look at Hobie, you limp towards James and help him up. “We need to get Hobie out!”

“Yeah—” his eyes turn wide at something behind you. “Fuck me.”

As you look over your shoulder, you see a wave of people clambering out of the destroyed cars and appearing from the side streets. The moon gazes behind them, a spotlight on their shambling bodies and shadows dancing on the pavement as their hands open and close, trying to grasp at you.

With your heart stuck in your throat, you grab a piece of metal laying at your feet. Its sharp edges sting your palms as the smell of the rusted iron meets with your nose. You look at Hobie, eyes tearing up at him sitting there alone and defenseless. You murmur an apology before smacking the metal against the hood of a car.

“Over here!” You scream, throat burning and legs inching towards an opening towards the alleyway.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” James tries to grab you, but you nudge him away.

“Getting them away from him!” You hammer away at the cars around you while you limp towards the alley. “James, come on!”

The rotting corpses follow you as you and James shimmy in between a downed car and a truck. Their running footsteps thud in tandem with your heart, metal pokes and scratch you but you carry on with gritted teeth.

You make it out of the pileup, immediately turning around to grab James by the collar before one of the shamblers takes a hold of him. Their fingers graze his back, almost ripping his shirt apart.

“Come on, you fuckers!” You yell, banging the metal rod around the walls whilst James guides you backwards.

The corpses struggle to get out of the small space, pushing at each other as bodies quickly pile up over the cars and spill over the cramped alleyway. A few hit the ground in a crunching noise, but the rest pay them no heed as they jump over their heads, stampeding over them while they desperately try to get to you.

“We need to run!” James grabs your arm, quickly looping it over his shoulder to help you bolt away. “I've got an idea!”

Before you could fully turn away, you see a glimpse of Hobie in between the piles of bodies and metal. He sits there, undisturbed and safe.

“Go!” With tears in your eyes, you sprint away despite the searing pain in your leg.

—

Hobie quickens his sprinting, wind whizzing past him as he almost tumbles towards the docks. Wood creaks under him, heavy boots thumping against the old wood and water logged planks.

It looks like he outran the corpses, but he can still hear them heaving out a throaty groan like they're in pain. He's not taking any chances as he quickly makes time and jumps over the side of his houseboat the second he sees its well loved façade.

“Shit, shit, shit.” His knees hit the deck and an almost blinding pain lights his joints on fire.

He grasps at his knees, body laying against the cold wood. Despite the pain, he unties the rope tether from the dock, using his muscle memory and ignoring the fear to quickly untie it. The ropes fall down into the waters, sinking down into the depths.

With a deep inhale, he crawls towards the welcome mat that he still remembers you got for him as a housewarming gift. That was before you were dating, but he already loved you back then— still does, a lot more now. Turning it over, he grabs the spare key and climbs back up, using the doorknob as leverage.

With his hands shaking, he opens the door in hopes of seeing you waiting for him patiently inside.

The door creaks open, and he's only met with dead air and darkness.

Hobie bites the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down as he makes his way upwards and towards the steering wheel. The framed pictures of you two and the band whizzes past him in the dark, all smiles and laughter etched in each photograph. He makes it up to the wheel, immediately inserting the key in the ignition as the whole boat lights up like a damn Christmas tree.

The bloodied and bloated corpses appear from the street, shrieking as they see him standing in the boat before racing towards him.

Hobie doesn't steer the boat just yet, eyes roaming around the docks, hoping, wishing that he would see you sprinting towards the houseboat you two shared.

But with every inch the dead comes close to him, he has no choice but to sail away without you.

He promises to find you, even if it kills him.

—

Your lungs burn from the running, feet sore and feeling like you're sprinting on hot coals. It's torture, pair it up with your nausea and your various wounds, you feel like you're better off as the dead’s meal. And yet, you still run with James leading you towards a pub.

His shoulder hits the double doors, bursting it open and pulling you through it and locking the doors with a propped up chair all in quick succession.

You stand in the middle of the room with a wild look in your eyes as you see a handful of people peeking out of the bar.

“Get out!” One whisper yells at you, and James finally joins your side.

“Absolutely not, mate.” He shakes his head, taking your hand, he leads you towards the back of the place. “I own this bloody place.”

You whip your head towards him with shock. “What?”

“Technically my dad does.” He whispers to you as he continues to lead you to an office while the survivors follow you with their heavy gaze.

“And here I thought JJJ only had that radio show.” You say as you close the door behind you to shut off the stares.

James rummages through the desk, trying to find something as you roam your eyes around the sparse room with a few accolades framed to the walls and its business permit. Behind the oak table lies a large cabinet with a lock on it. And to the other side of the wall is the back exit. There's not even a framed picture of his family in it, not even of James.

“One thing about my dad is that he loves yapping, drinking, and…” he grins, showing you a ring of keys. “Guns.”

“Guns? That's—”

“Hard to get here? Yeah, he had to pull some strings.” He immediately turns around, crouching down to unlock the cabinet. “The real deal is at our house, and you already know what happened there, this is just a small part of his collection.” A muffled curse escapes from his lips as he tries to find the right key in the dozen or so keys.

You look at the window from the office, seeing the survivors beginning to stand up and staring at you with curiosity. Without missing a beat, you close the blinds with a quick tug. You can't risk it, not when you've seen too many apocalypse movies with Hobie. Fuck, Hobie, your heart squeezes at the thought of him. You should get back to him using those guns, saving him like in the movies.

“How'd you find us, James— shit, have you seen Yuri and Ned?” You lean against the table as a wave of pain ebbs through you. Your hand grasps at your stomach, trying to calm yourself down.

His hands pauses, “...no, no I haven't. We got separated too. We all ran out towards another house to get help but when I looked back they were both gone. Then I jacked a car to get to the city— to my mum and dad, hopefully. That's when I saw the pileup and your car.” He clears his throat, sniffing and wiping his face with his sleeve. “I'm sure they're fine though, this is Yuri and Ned we're talking about.”

“Yeah, I hope so. I'm sure your parents are fine too.” That means Hobie is all alone out there. “James, we need to get back to Hobie.”

“I know, boss.” He says your nickname that he dubbed to you when you took on the mantle of being their manager. “No man left behind, I promise.” The cabinet finally unlocks, revealing a pump action shotgun and a pistol. “Thanks dad.” James grabs the backpack next to the gun, filling it up with as much ammo as he could put inside. “Help me with this.”

You nod, quickly kneeling down to shovel in ammo. Your leg hinders you to fold it, but despite the stabbing pain, you still crouch. “After we get Hobie, we'll hop onto the houseboat then we'll go out and find Yuri and Ned.” The boxes of bullets rattle as you shove it inside.

“Solid plan.” He takes the shotgun and loads it in with shells. You gawk at his expert movements. He shrugs, “of course he taught us how to use these things.”

“Perks of being friends with the royal family I guess?”

James makes a face, nose scrunched up. “Never went to their hunts, dad said I would've pointed it at them instead.”

You chuckle, “that's probably true.”

He smiles, handing you the pistol. “You know how to use it?”

“Uh, point and shoot?” You take the weighted gun in your hand.

James takes the gun and shows you the safety, “right means pew pew, left means no pew pew.” He then takes a cartridge and loads up the pistol and shows you how to load it yourself. “Just pull this back right after and you're good.”

“What if it jams?” You ask as he gives it back to you.

“Like in the movies, huh?” It's your turn to shrug. “That rarely happens with a gun like this. But if it does, you run like hell, okay?”

“Okay.” You inhale, letting your hand acclimate to the weight. “I never thought that there's this side of you, James.”

“I was really into watching doomsday preppers when I was younger. I guess the doom mongering kinda stuck with me.”

You chuckle, “we're kinda stuck together until we find them. How do you feel about that?”

“Fucking lucky that I got the fittest member in the band.” James jokes, nudging you as he puts on the backpack. He stands up, giving you a helping hand that you take.

“Not going to be fit for much longer.” You groan as your knees creak from under you.

“C’mon, you're not that old.”

“I don't mean it like that.” You inhale, “I'm pregnant, James.”

“Shit, is Yuri the father?”

You push him playfully. “Fucker.”

“Congrats? Shit timing though.”

You shake your head with a small smile. You feel lighter now that you've told someone else. “The worst fucking timing. I haven't told him yet— I was about to but then you know.”

“Yeah, the fucking dead rises again.” He walks over to the backdoor, unlocking it.

“Should we help them?” You gesture towards the window and the bar.

James sighs then nods. “Yeah, actually we should—!” The door opens and out comes a stumbling wall of decaying flesh. He immediately fires at it head on, blood and guts spraying at you and the walls as your ears ring from the loud shot.

You take James by the back of his collar, tugging him backwards into the bar as the loud shot has brought more visitors to funnel into the office.

You yell ‘run,’ but you can't hear your own voice.

James points the barrel behind you as more and more appear. You quickly open the pub entrance, flinging away the chair as chaos ensues inside.

Your hearing comes back just as the screams start.

James tries his best to help, shooting at anyone who comes close to the survivors but he can't protect himself and them at the same time. He's backed against a table as he reloads. Fountains of crimson splashes out of the bodies as the corpses rip and tear into their insides.

A few escape, pushing past you to get out into the streets. But most fall into the jaws of death.

Soon, the oaken floorboards and marble bar is covered in guts and bone.

“James, we need to go!”

James struggles to reload with his shaking fingers, with a deep inhale, you point and shoot at a corpse who came too close to him. He cradles his ear, wincing at the sound as he retreats towards you. The body staggers back, but your bullet missed the head, ear no longer there.

You take the opportunity to pull him out just in time as bodies pile up and spring over to you, you see a glimpse of one of the survivors with a huge chunk taken out of their face, twitching and writhing on the floor before they stand up and bite at the air with their bloodied teeth.

You don't have time to ponder what you saw as you and James run towards the docks.

Your leg aches but you carry on with the pain, you feel blood seeping through the measly bandage while you run. James holds onto your elbow, making sure you don't lag behind as you blindly shoot behind you.

James leads you back to where he found you and Hobie, his feet skids to a stop but when he looks inside the driver's side, Hobie's gone.

You almost cry at the sight. But you hold onto hope. “The docks!” James immediately understands as he lets you lead this time.

Muscle memory guides you towards the side streets where you and Hobie use as shortcuts to get home faster. Shoes thudding against the pavement, shots echoing in the dark as smoke and fire billows all over the city you call home.

The smell of the river has you running faster.

Muscles screaming to stop, you heave as you bolt over to the houseboat. Only to be met with nothing in its place.

“What the fuck?!” You scream, gun tightly around your hand. “Where—?!” Turning around, you roam your frantic eyes across the familiar dock, but the red paint of the houseboat is nowhere to be seen, only the rope that was tied around it is left floating on the water.

“Where is it?!” James yells, reloading his gun before making quick work of the corpses that fall down with a bloodied thud.

With a heavy heart, you pull James away and back into the streets. “It's not here!”

You're half relieved and afraid of what might've happened to him. Hobie might've woken up and went to the houseboat in hopes of meeting you there. But he had to leave, you know he wouldn't have any other choice in the matter if he chose that. But another half of you thinks that he perished along the way, that the houseboat is now floating along the Thames with its captain writhing and stumbling inside the very place you both cherished.

You shake the thought away, focusing on surviving for him and for the life inside you. He's alive, you know he is.

“Over here!” James pushes himself inside a broken metal fence, helping you squeeze inside as the horde catches up to you. You feel the heat of their bodies against your back as they desperately try to wrap their rotted fingers around you.

He pulls you, shooting at any stragglers as your destination gets near. A tall building stands before you with its shiny windows that reach high into the sky, and rotating doors that remind you of a fancy hotel.

“Keep running!” He yells, arm still holding onto you for dear life.

“Fuck, my leg!” You almost stumble, but James comes back to you and grabs your arm and places it around his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, we're almost there!” He yells, panicking as he bares half of your weight for you.

The two of you pass by a pub that's filled with screams of terror echoing out instead of the sound of music that you're used to. The windows are painted in crimson, splotches of blood marr the historical walls inside like spider lilies spread across the glass. There's still people in there, fighting for their lives as you see a flash of light and hear a loud bang that has your teeth rattling inside your mouth.

The horde splits off towards the sound, leaving you with a dozen corpses heading your way.

Your adrenaline filled heart flips as you see the name of the pub, and it's the same one you were in just mere hours ago with Hobie.

“In here!” James pulls you back into the present, pushing you towards the rotating doors and into the empty lobby.

You make it inside just in time before the dead get to you. James grabs the metal rod in your hand, using it to lock the rotating doors by placing it in-between the glass.

“It's not gonna hold on for long, we need to go up!” James grabs your hand, yanking you towards the stairs. “Seventh floor!”

You don't have enough time to gaze upon the expansive lobby with its marble floors and crystal chandelier. It seems as though the place lies untouched by the calamity outside.

Your mind goes on survival mode, running, dodging bared teeth, climbing up the stairs, shooting, kicking a corpse away from your ankle. And then sprinting upwards towards the winding stairs.

James couldn't risk it with the elevators, knowing that it could get stuck in between floors or worse, the dead lurk and wait inside.

The condo door is in sight, just when James trips and falls face first into the harsh ground. You look at the crawling corpse, who's rotting hand is wrapped around his ankle.

Without wasting time, you take your foot up, stomping down on their skull in a sickening crunch of brain matter and bone.

Eyeing down your deed, with its mess marked on the once pristine floors, James pulls you away and towards the door. Within a second, he inputs the code on the panel and the door clicks open. He pushes you inside and shuts the door with haste.

There's banging outside the door, and you're left standing in the hallway with James pushing a bookshelf towards it as a barricade.

You don't notice him calling your name as you stare at your bloodied shoe with brain matter sticking to its heel.

“Hey.” James grasps your arm, panting and eyes wide awake. “I need help with the door.”

With a firm nod, you take your mind off of what you have done, and whilst you push shelves against the door, you could only wish that Hobie's alright and he made it to the boat in one piece.

—

Hobie's stuck alone in his boat. With nothing but the waters and the fish to keep him company for two months, he sails towards the north where the cabin, the designated meeting place, lies. His hand tightens around the wheel, lips chapped, scruff scratching him, and bags dark under his brown eyes. He feels as if he's going sea crazy out here. Hundreds of worries have appeared in his mind, and most of it consists of you and your whereabouts.

Without the knowledge of you being alive and breathing, he keeps seeing you in his dreams. The last two months have been a nightmare for him. And it has gotten worse with every day that passes without you by his side. Now he knows why Yuri and the others always joke that they shouldn't separate the two of you lest the other won't function or go stir crazy. He only hopes that you're doing better than he is.

His eyes seem to circle around the sticker of your face on his guitar, right where you accidentally scruffed it. You two always talked about sailing the whole world on the houseboat, ignoring the fact that the boat can't withstand the harsh waves of the ocean. But it was a good dream nonetheless. If only you could be here with him, it's not sailing around the world, but the water at night would be a sight to behold for you.

The waters around the country have gone wilder by the week, he sticks to the beaches and the coast where he can control the houseboat better. Where the water isn't too rough around the old ship.

The boat isn't built for seafaring, or even long journeys. If the houseboat collapses against the rough waves before he could get to the small fishing town you two stayed in, his hope would dwindle, but he'll stay determined for you.

He can already feel your arms around him when the reunion happens. Or is that his mind playing tricks on him once again?

At least he has enough provisions to last him a few more weeks out in the open. But in time, he has to go dock the boat and scavenge for food. He doesn't need to load up with gasoline when the houseboat runs on solar. Thank fuck he built that before shit hit the fan.

The virus seems to have wrapped its teeth around the world. Marks of death lay waste to every city he sails by. Piles and piles of bodies, half burned by the very people who once knew them, afraid of the walking death that could savage them too. Cities now lay empty or crowded by snarling corpses. Some were lucky enough to build walls around a small commune, but it was obvious that they didn't want newcomers with the mounted guns and patrolling armed forces around it.

With every port and dock he passes, he looks for you and your familiar face. He hopes that with every wave and tide he conquers, you're getting closer to him. But whenever he passes by a coastal town, or a beach he once visited with you, he could only see the dead awaiting for him on the sand, like old friends waiting to be reunited with him. Their eyes are long gone, white scleras and crimson irises staring him down with their maws agape, biting at air and inhaling through their rotten lungs.

The shamblers, he calls it, or them, the former humans that were sadly infected, can't swim, but they also can't drown. So swimming in the water poses a risk of getting bitten by one of them that are treading the sea floor. Hobie doesn't risk getting into the sea after a limp hand wrapped around his ankle when he decided to take a quick dip.

In the past two months since then, he misses you, misses the way he would wake up to your face, arms wrapped around him and protecting him from the harsh morning cold. He misses the way you would smile and laugh. He misses the sound of your footsteps walking around the boat, sometimes he hears it at night when he's in between sleep and the waking world. Missing you was an understatement, he longs for you, longs for you to be alive and back beside him. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but no one told him that the ache would be unbearable.

Hobie once hated the mundanity of life. The way he plays his loud music in the speakers, now he can't even turn on the stereo when every sound could bring the dead to him. Even the radio that he has taken for granted, one that you would always turn on in the morning without fail, now only plays static. Or the repeating sounds of the emergency broadcast over and over again. He sometimes wants to chuck it out of the boat and into the depths, but he remembers how much you loved the old radio and how you would sway to the music. So now he lets it play static, the sound keeping him company throughout the night instead of you.

The information pamphlet that the government tossed from an airplane glares at him from where he taped it on the side of the controls. Hobie still remembers the whirr of the engine above while the papers drift down like snow.

The drawings remind him of the ones in airplanes where they tell you what to do in case of a plane crash or how to put on your seatbelt. He feels like he's in a never ending plane crash heading to nowhere. The words ‘body fluids,’ ‘infected,’ ‘bites,’ and ‘ten seconds’ are engraved in his mind.

He once tried to call your phone in hopes of you answering it but he only heard your voicemail. In the rocky waters and the solemn sky, your voice echoes and presence felt through the speakers. He kept calling you after that just to hear your voice again and again until cell services stopped working.

He's utterly alone.

With a sigh, he steers the houseboat towards an empty dock. The wood creaks as he steps out, bag slung over his shoulder and rope itching against his palms. After taking a quick look around for danger, he ties the rope around the dock, securing his home before grabbing his hammer from his belt.

He stretches his arms and legs as if he's about to run a marathon, he probably would be after he tried to restock for supplies a few days ago. He can still smell the stench of rotten flesh and blood in his nose when a horde chased after him.

Like always he tries to find the evacuation area where you might be, or where other people might be. He would steer away from other survivors, but if there's doctors and a lot of people around, he's sure that they can be trusted. A gathering of people in the apocalypse could spell danger, but it could also be hope.

He treks along the empty street, nothing left but dusty shops, and abandoned cars on the road. There's no stench of death that lingers around the place, or blood splattered along the shop walls. Hobie guesses this town was one of the lucky ones to be evacuated before the virus got to them.

His hypothesis seems to be right when he spots a military vehicle abandoned on the side of the road. Peeking behind it, he doesn't find anything, not even a shambler waiting to bite at him behind the tarpaulin. He wonders what happened to this place.

Every place he encounters has him asking the same question, could you be here?

As he enters the large stadium, it's evident that it's long been abandoned.

Scattered boxes and tents lay where its occupants last left it. Needles and bloodied bandages are strewn across the painted floor and on the court seats. Hobie stands where the general seats would be, right in the middle of everything and with him having a good vantage point of the whole place. A breeze passes by, and papers fly ahead of him.

It’s completely empty, even if he scavenge for supplies in here he won't find anything.

Just as he's about to leave, he hears a clunking sound from the middle of the stadium. His hands hold onto the railings as he narrows his eyes towards the movement from behind the tents.

There, a couple of black clad strangers emerge from within, all holding onto their own blades.

Hobie immediately ducks down, hiding behind the wall and railings.

“This place is shit, there's nothin’ left!” One says, voice echoing.

“Keep your bloody voice down unless you want to wake the dead.”

“How fucking poetic of you.”

Hobie has managed to avoid the dead and the living, the dead a lot easier, but people are harder to get away from. He hasn't killed or maimed anyone, unlike the apocalyptic movies he had watched with you and the band. He tries to avoid it, staying away from staining his hands with red. The shamblers used to be human too, under all the rotten flesh and dead eyes, they once had a life, a family, someone that cared for them. So as much as he can, he only stuns them.

He has never encountered other people before, on his ship, the only faces he has seen are the ones in photographs. He always wondered where everyone went, if there's a huge ship somewhere carrying the whole world behind its metal back. Finding the strangers is comforting in a way, a way that he wasn't left behind to rot and survive on his own. That there are still people out there, living and breathing ones.

But it's clear that you're not here.

With a thudding heart, he slowly crawls on the dusty floor, gloved hand and knees dirtied by the muck and grime.

Hobie tries to not make any noise above the whistling wind and rustling trees. He avoids fallen bottles, and scattered paper plates. The voices fade behind him, the doors where he came from just in his line of sight.

He shifts left and right, crawling as he adjusts his belt. Your voice telling him that he needed a new one rather than the barely holding on rope echoes in his ears. He curses himself for not listening as he keeps adjusting the falling thing.

His breath quickens, pulse palpitating as he makes it to the door. His palm reaches for the doorknob, still kneeling down. But as he stretches himself, the hammer hanging from his belt falls.

Hobie gasps, fingertips brushing along its handle, trying to catch it. It falls down loudly on the floor, metallic clanging sounding like a death knell.

“What was that?!”

“Fuck.” Hobie, without wasting time, grabs the hammer and runs for his life.

The door swings open, the warmth of the sun greeting him. His boots thump loudly on the pavement, leaving his pursuers in the dust.

“Get back here!” They gain speed as their footsteps get louder, a cacophony of breaths and blades unsheathing. “He has supplies, get him!”

Hobie turns a corner, his destination still too far from him to see. His legs are starting to ache, chest aflame as he navigates the town that he thought would be empty.

“Shit!” He makes the mistake of looking back, finding three people now running after him. Wait, three?

A shambler joins the chase, eyes bloodied, arms trying to grasp at the couple.

“Behind you!” Hobie tries to help as they're too focused on trying to catch him.

Just as the man wielding a fire axe turns to look behind him, the shambler catches up and grabs him by the neck, taking a chunk out of his face.

His screams of agony would bring Hobie nightmares, but the guttural yell of grief from his companion would be etched in his mind forever.

“Wilson, no!” He cries, trying to help the other as blood sprays the pavement below.

The dead doesn't let go, maw properly set into his skin.

His pursuer cranes his neck towards the frozen Hobie, eyes pleading with him for help.

Hobie should help, could help. His mind is in scrambles as screams echo around the small town, waking the dead that hides in the forgotten homes. He swallows thickly just as the sound of running footsteps roar from further within the town. So he turns around, running away from the scene as more and more join in, hearing the screams of terror ebb out like a dinner bell.

He doesn't sleep that night, the faces of those strangers are painted behind his eyelids, faces contorted into pure fear. And yet he left them, had to leave them or he might've been caught with them. Died with them, died with strangers who tried to take his things and perhaps his life.

Hobie doesn't want to die amongst strangers, nor be forgotten and lost within the numbers of the dead. To be left for dead is his greatest fear, losing you was the closest he got to feeling that fear. If It's his time, he wants it to be with people he knows, people he loves, not wasting as a husk of himself in a place he doesn't know.

He lays awake in the same bed you once shared, the pillows still smell like your shampoo, and the room has lingering scents of your perfume. His eyes are heavy and lashes sticking to one another. The chipping paint of the ceiling morphs into shapes, the pub he played at, the band's faces, and you, smiling at him like always.

Closing his eyes tightly, he wretches the vision from his mind. He needs to stay sane. As he stands up from the bed, mattress creaking from his weight, he wraps your cardigan around himself, clinging onto it like a child's toy.

The ship rocks back and forth to the calm waves. Stars dotted along the sky while the moonlight stretches across the shining waters. Hobie sits on the deck, where you two would usually drink morning tea at, and where you'd be sitting when you're waiting for him to come home from a gig.

Everything reminds him of you, there's no escaping it, even if he doesn't want to. He doesn't know if it’s the only thing keeping him sane all alone, or the thing that's slowly making him bonkers. Either way, the memory of you keeps him company in the end of the world.

He brings his knees to his chest, chin propped up on it as his eyes follow a dot in the horizon. The moonlight shines on it whilst it moves on the water.

Fear grips him as it continues to move closer to his boat. The shadow moves from side to side, at the mercy of the waves.

Hobie stands up, putting on your cardigan as he makes his way up to the wheel. He steers the boat away from its way, now seeing it as a large cruise ship that's aimlessly floating on the water.

There's no light nor voices coming from it, only the familiar scent of decomposing flesh, and the sound of low groans.

He steers clear of it as he sees a face peeking from the side, eyes unblinking, red almost shining in the light of the moon. He swears he saw it grin at him.

As he swivels the wheel, he lets the ship pass quietly, letting it carry the dead on its empty voyage.

Hobie decides to get back into bed then, eyes too heavy, body too tired. His head lands on the pillow, sleep taking him into its calm arms.

—

Hobie wakes up to your thumb brushing along his jaw. He cracks an eye open, and your smile beams at him.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, me.” A smile spreads across his cheeks, your familiar warmth and scent felt through his bones. His eyes feel so heavy, and you're so warm that he could fall right back to sleep.

“You’re loopy today.” The pads of your fingertips graze along his stubble. “Are you tired, Hobie?”

“Yeah, love.” He breathlessly says, smile etched on his lips as the sun shines behind you, bathing you in warm light. “Where have you been?”

“I was waiting for you.” You tilt your head with a smile. “You sleep like the dead.”

He chuckles, hand grasping on your waist. “I was lookin’ for you in my dream.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle above the sound of wind chimes. “Did you find me in your dream?”

“I haven't, not yet.” He sniffs, and yet can't smell your shampoo or perfume.

“Maybe you should wake up then, continue your search?” You whisper, voice gentle as your hands cup his cheeks.

Hobie grins tiredly, eyes half lidded. “You're already in front of me, what is there left to find?”

“You have to wake up, Hobie.” Your fingers pinch his skin, nails digging into his cheeks as the sun is replaced by darkness. And the warmth in your eyes turn stark white.

“Ow, what?”

“Wake the fuck up!”

Hobie jumps off the bed, head hitting the hard wall of the houseboat as thunder rips through the wood while lightning flashes outside. He can still hear the last echoes of your scream in his ears.

“Fuck!” The whole boat shifts to the side, dangerously close to tipping. His things are knocked from their place, glass shattering and making a mess of the bedroom. If he doesn't get up to the wheel, the waves might break the boat in half.

He panics, grabbing his windbreaker, and boots in the other. As he climbs up the steps, he puts it on awkwardly over your cardigan and as best as he can with his shoelaces loose.

Rain battens down on the houseboat, wind howling outside. Hobie zips his jacket on, taking a breath before opening the door.

The water smacks him right on his face, sharp rain drops stinging his cheeks. He slams the door closed, bracing the wind as he shields himself with his arm.

“Shit!” The slippery floors made it hard for him to find a foothold while the waves shook and turn the boat all over like he's in a blender.

Hobie grips the side wall, trying to keep his balance to get up the steps to the controls. The waves splash and slap his body around, completely drenching him from inside and out.

The winds howl a dreaded tune, one that sailors would run away in fear. Dark waves loom overhead, sea salt on his lips, and seafoam spreading by his feet. All he could do is brace for impact.

—

The city in front of you is still burning. Skyscrapers that used to reach the heavens are now nothing but flaming metal and acrid dark smoke. James had warned you not to stay too long on the balcony when the air outside leaves less to be desired, especially in your condition. James has been pleasant company, but the life growing inside you has made it extra difficult to stay in a good mood. Especially when the one person you want to be next to you is missing.

It feels like your heart is out of your body, missing somewhere else.

Your eyes glance over to the Thames, the water is dark and glimmering under the embers of the city and the moonlight. Despite the crackling of fire and low groans of the dead in the streets, the city is quiet, dead quiet.

You long for the days when the sound of a guitar rips through the morning hours of sleep. Hobie would always apologize with a smile, but you know he has taken the position of your personal alarm clock whenever he would wake up earlier than you. Nowadays you would wake up to James trying to pick up a signal from a CB radio he found during his runs through the building. He said it's to contact the rest of the band, but you can always hear him trying to call for his parents when you're in bed and alone with only the polaroid of him, and your baby to keep you company.

It's been two months since you found out, two months without Hobie. You try not to worry too much, telling yourself that he's alright and probably faring better than you and James. But you only do it for the baby, you know all that worrying would bear down on them. Even the prenatal vitamins James found for you from one of his neighbours wouldn't help if you kept on crying through the night with your chest sore while mumbling Hobie's name.

According to the pregnancy book you found, something that was probably owned by James’ mother, your baby is as big as a raspberry now. You already feel bloated and you dread trying to run away from the dead when your belly gets bigger with time. It also said that in three months the baby will be the size of a lemon, the thought makes you realize how long it has been since you've held fresh produce.

James' parents' condo is big, too big for just two people. You've been stuck within the four walls for months now when you can't step out of the building without the city's horde lunging at you. James and you decided to wait out the dead after you read in the government pamphlet that they like to travel in hordes and they tend to leave when there’s no one left to infect or eat. You've seen that the infected are beginning to thin out, but not fast enough.

The place isn't uncomfortable at all; it's probably the best place you could wait it all out in. It's all pristine white walls and modern furniture that must've been worth more than your houseboat. You've taken the guest room with its king sized bed and hundred thread count sheets. It has its own bathroom, and a bathtub to boot. And yet your mind keeps going back to the houseboat where you and Hobie were happy and content. You hate the fact that he's been missing for two months of your life, two months of the pregnancy where you imagined you two would lean on each other. Not spending it all with James, he's kind and patient, but he's still not your Hobie.

You try not to gaze at the river again, but you keep failing each time. The hot chocolate you made sits abandoned on a small table beside you as the wind blows against your cheeks. The scenery doesn't change, it hasn't changed in two months, but you hope and wish that one day the familiar red paint of the houseboat would appear on the waters with Hobie on it.

With a tight grasp around the binoculars, you take a peek at the waters. Your eyes roam around the same docks where you last saw the houseboat, like before, there's nothing.

James thought that giving you the binoculars would help quell your anxieties, but whenever you look through it, you could only see the faces of the dead staring back at you. You could only hope that you don't— would never see a familiar face among the horde.

The sliding doors to the balcony opens, and out comes James' head peeking through it. He gives you soft smile, blond hair tousled in the wind, and a beard needing a trim. The light from inside the condo spills out into the balcony. You always thought that the city's electric grid would run out within a few weeks, but it's still going strong.

“Hey,” he sighs, gazing at how you grip onto the binoculars and down to your growing stomach. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” you inhale, lower back aching and stomach feeling heavier than yesterday. “Just sightseeing.”

He steps out, still wearing his dad's hunting vest, and his mum's silver bracelet. “Anything new?”

You shake your head. “I thought I heard a gunshot from somewhere, but I couldn't find where it came from.”

James sits down next to you with a groan, hand reaching for the binoculars. “Let me try.” You give it to him, hand subconsciously twirling the ring around your pinky. “Where do you think it came from?”

“West, just by the park.” You cradle your stomach, the growing belly still feels alien to you. But at least now the morning sickness is gone, but your feet look bloated inside your socks.

James hums, looking through the binoculars with intensity. He takes it off his eyes after a minute, shaking his head and giving it back to you. “Yeah, nothing, just a few of the infected.”

“Why are you still in your hunting vest? You already got us enough provisions to last us a couple of weeks.”

He looks down at his appearance, “sorry, I can't seem to just shrug it off.” You know what he meant by it, and it's not the vest he's talking about as he cleans off the grime under his fingernails with his thumb nail. “Does it bother you? I'll take it off.”

You stop him from taking the vest off. “No, it's fine, keep it on if you like.”

Nodding, James puts the beige vest back on. “Is your leg still hurting?” he glances at your leg that's perched on the railing.

“Just sore, is all.” You inhale, thumb drawing circles around your belly. “Putting it up helps.”

“If I just knew how to treat it properly before—”

“You did a good job, James.” You reach for him, palm resting on his arm. “If it was just me I would've thought of cutting it off or something.”

He smiles, patting the back of your hand. “How’s Hobie jr?”

“Fine, just like yesterday and the day before that.” You chuckle. “How are you holding up, James? I should be helping you out there.”

Scoffing, James flicks the back of your hand playfully. “You'd just hold me back, preggo.”

“Hey,” you say with a laugh. “All I'm saying is that you need someone to watch your back. Or at least help carry the load.”

He looks at your stomach then over to your face with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Looks like you already took the load.”

“You little shit!” Slapping his arm, he lets out a feigned yelp. “I'm serious, I could really help.”

“If something happens to you I wouldn't be able to live with myself, boss.” James looks at the distance, eyes darting over to the river. “Besides, I can handle it.” He flexes his arm, smacking his bicep.

You sigh, watching him with a strained smile and shining eyes. You blame the hormones. “Okay, but when you move up another floor again, I'm coming with.”

He shakes his head, chuckling and taking your mug of hot chocolate, taking a sip from the lukewarm drink. “Yeah, no.”

“James.” You say sternly, “come on, what if you get trapped up there alone? Ned would kill me if I get his best mate killed.”

“First of all, I'm nobody's best mate. Yuri is yours, and Ned is Hobie's. Second, I have a fucking gun and have been doing this alone for weeks now. I'll be fine.”

Your tone grows soft. “You're my best mate too, James. So is Hobie's, Yuri's and Ned’s. You're our friend, and if it was anybody else in your position, I would offer the same, and fight you just as hard.” You lean close, arms over the armrest as he stares at you. “I don't want you to fucking die in here alone. Especially when I can still do something to help. Because in a few months I won't be able to.”

“Do you think they're alright out there?”

“Don't change the fucking subject—”

“They have to be okay.” James licks his dry lips, swallowing down the lump in his throat. You've had this conversation before, and it always ends the same way.

You nod, chest heavy and hands shaking. “They are, I know they are. They're tough, our band will hold on.”

He swallows thickly, looking away at you and instead staring at the dark drink. The previous conversation wedges in his mind. “I just— I think I just want to be useful, you know? Because I know this stuff, shooting and shit. So I gotta use it to protect you and the baby because that's all I know.”

You feel tears prick at your lashes. “You've always been useful, James. You're our drummer, the music's shit without you.” He chuckles, sniffing as he gazes at the ruined city. “We're a band, we protect each other. And I've seen you do other shit with expertise, shooting is not all you know.”

He turns to you, smiling gently. “I do make a really good pot of stew.”

“The best.” You smile back, tugging at his hand and holding it fondly.

His face turns solemn, eyes downturned at your intertwined hands. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Can— will you end me if I ever get bitten?”

“James—”

“I've seen them closely, Y/N, I know they're in pain. I don't want to end up like that.” His voice breaks at the end, thumb brushing along the back of your hand, staring down at it. “The pamphlet said you have ten seconds before you turn, that's plenty of time to reload.”

Your lips wobble, head shaking before you inhale deeply. “...Okay. If that's what you want.”

“Y–Yeah, I want that.”

“It won't get to that, I promise.” You don't know that, but you promise him anyway.

“Thank you, boss.”

“Can you promise the same thing for me too—?” Before you could finish your words, the lights shuts off, and you see the wave of darkness ebb through the city. “Shit.”

“I think we need to get to that cabin sooner rather than later.” James utters in the dark.

—

After weeks of waiting and preparing in the darkened condo, with some luck and a miracle, you and James manage to get outside of the condo and even get to ride in his parent's lexus.

You shut your door as quietly as you can, heaving and laden with sweat as you're covered from head to toe in thick winter clothes; so if an infected gets to you, their teeth won't be able to penetrate the cloth. Patting your stomach, the roundness of it is still unusual for you now that you can feel the baby move around.

James mirrors your befuddled look, sweat dripping off his brows and beard sticking to his chin in what could be an uncomfortable feeling. He nods at you, smiling as he grips the steering wheel. All the bags and guns are thrown in the backseat, together with a baby bag that James managed to find in one of the flats.

“We fucking made it.”

“God, I could fucking kiss you right now, James.” You joke, reaching over the center console to briefly hug him.

“I wouldn't say no to that.” He chuckles out, patting your back before turning on the ignition with a shaky hand. “To the cabin we go!”

The engine stirs up immediately, a thrumming sound of victory. James presses a button on a small remote, prompting the automatic garage door to whirr awake.

You laugh, but the sound of running footsteps behind you has your stomach sinking. Looking behind and over the seats, you see a whole horde of them gunning for you and James. It's the building’s residents.

“We need to go!”

“Seat belts!” James revs up the engine and without missing a beat, backs the car towards the bodies as blood sprays all over the windows.

Clicking on your seat belt, you hang on for dear life as James panics and turns the steering wheel around to face the garage doors.

“James!” You yell as more and more clamber their way to the sides. The car jolts, wheels squeaking but not moving as blood and guts fly about.

The sound of the garage door’s metallic clanking has more of the infected join in, the stragglers left by the rest of the city's horde. The sun peeks through the opening, shadows of the stumbling and running crowd managing to squeeze through.

“The wheel's fucking stuck!” James presses down on the pedals, but the car still doesn't move.

You yell when a banging sound erupts from the backseat. Right on the glass, bodies and faces are squished in between it, blood and ripped skin kissing the car's window.

“I need to get out and—” James panics, but before he could grab the shotgun from the backseat, you're already holding onto it. “What—?!”

The loud reverb of the shot stings your ears as the glass of the back window now lay shattered all over your things.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!” James yanks the gun away and you surprisingly let him.

You crawl towards the seats, ignoring the broken and bloodied glass, and quickly ripping the bag zipper open as you grab a molotov cocktail from the arsenal you and James prepared exactly for situations like this. You only have a few minutes before your opening closes and before the horde gets back up.

Without questioning you anymore, James helps you by fishing out his lighter, clicking it once until the cloth lit up the whole car.

Just like Hobie taught you, you toss it through the opening you made within a half second.

The bottle flies over the dead, their heads turn towards the heat and light as it lands directly at them with force, shattering the glass and spreading the fire.

The guttural screams would haunt your dreams, but when the car lurches and the infected gather around the warmth and leave the car be, you smile victoriously.

James drives off, car hitting the streets with a metallic slam and wheels smoking. He hoots and hollers, smacking your side ecstatically.

“You absolute beauty, you!” He laughs, fist slamming against the car's ceiling.

Buildings whizz by, grinning back at James. His smile flickers away as his eyes move down to your lap. You suddenly feel a stinging ache on your palms.

With bated breath, you look down, blood pooling all over his mother's mink coat.

“It's probably fine—”

“Stop the car!” You yell as the car skids to a stop near the bridge. Opening the door, you immediately bolt away from James and climb up the wall of the bridge, standing precariously on the ledge as you look down at the Thames.

The sound of the car door opening has you looking back at a concerned James, the gun in his hand means that you both have reached an understanding.

Big Ben looms over the distance, its clock face standing still just like the world has. Just like you have as you count down to ten.

Your laboured breaths rise above the sound of the rushing river below you. It's dark depths calling for you.

Five.

“It's okay, boss, I—I think you're fine.” James utters but the tears in his eyes says that he has the same worries as you. “Ten seconds have already passed.”

Four.

“T–The glass had their blood, James.” You show him your blood drenched palms. “It might take awhile.”

“It won't fucking take you. Get down from there please.”

Three.

“The pamphlet said it transfers through bodily fluids—”

“Get the fuck down.”

Two.

“I can't.”

James slowly inches towards you, gun holstered.

One.

Your breathing rises, blood dripping from your wounds. “I think—” James yanks you away by the coat’s hem, dragging you away from the ledge as you land against his chest. Your cries are muffled by his own coat.

He shushes you gently, holding you in place. “You're good, see? Still alive.”

“I'm sorry, t–that was pathetic.”

“Pathetic? Nah, just melodramatic.” He sighs in relief, leaning away as he holds you at arm's length. Patting your cheek, he sees your left eye twitching briefly before stabilizing. “Let's get the fuck away from here. We have bandages in the car, come on, boss.”

You wipe all your tears, nodding and trying to calm yourself down. “Okay, we have a reunion to go to.”

—

“So, tell me about this cabin?” James asks while a storm brews in the distance, dark clouds looming over the trees on your right. “We have four whole days of travelling, might as well tell me about it.”

“What?” You ask, head still not screwed on tight on your neck after what transpired a few hours ago. The bandage around your palms are rough against your thumbnail, incessantly picking at it anxiously. The ring around your pinky is stained in red, you should clean it later.

“The cabin, tell me about your time there with Hobie. The PG version please.” He chuckles, eyes straight on the road as he carries precious cargo.

Shaking your head, you look over to him while a pair of beaded bracelets dangle from the rearview mirror. “It was nice, we went there for our anniversary.”

“And?”

“And?” You scoff with a smile. “That's it, we spent time lounging around the place and in the morning we would go out to eat and sightsee.”

“You have a way with your words, boss.”

“What do you want from me, James?” You shift in your seat, arms wrapped around your growing belly. “A narration?”

James shakes his head with a growing grin, eyes flicking to you briefly. “No, I'm just making conversation to fucking get you out of there.”

“Out of my seat?”

“No, your fucking head, emo. You've been quiet this entire time.”

“Oh,” you sniff as thunder rumbles from a distance. “Well, thanks.” You can't tell him that his annoyance actually worked and kept you distracted for a little bit, or you'll never hear the end of it. “The cabin was just an hour away from the town. It was pretty, you know, in a cabin in a horror movie type of shit.”

He chuckles, finally victorious. “Why? Is there a permanent smell of carcass around the place, oh! Or like dolls hanging from the ceiling?”

“That’s fucked up!” You chortle, smacking his bicep playfully while he mirrors your smile. It's nice to be finally out of the damn building you've been stuck on for almost three months. “No, there was none of that, just a bunch of antique furniture that looks older than me and Hobie combined. I remember the guy who owns it described it as, ‘rustic’ and ‘remote.’”

“That place is definitely haunted. Like someone died in there or some fucked up ritual.”

“Oh, you think you can do better?” You jab his side, earning a guffaw from him as he flinches away, stomach ticklish.

“Uh, yeah!”

“Of course you can, rich boy.” You roll your eyes, legs folding to rest on the seat with you, arms wrapped around it as you perch your chin atop your knees. Thunder rolls around, grey clouds now looming over the highway that's littered with abandoned cars and luggage.

“We have a farm further north— a fucking rest house more like.” He sighs, eyes fond as he remembers a memory. “We used to go there every winter with the whole family, go sledding and shit. Until the whole drama happened between my dad and aunt.”

“I'm sorry, James.”

“Nah, don't be. I was a kid, barely remembered the whole tiff they had. I just miss my cousins is all.” He shrugs, clearing his throat as he continues to drive steadily. “There's a huge chance that they might be there, y’know the whole family and stuff.”

“You planning on going there?” You ask, voice turning soft.

“Yeah, I think so— well, after we meet up with Hobie and hopefully the others.”

You smile, hand reaching to grasp reassuringly at his bicep. “Sounds like a good plan, James. We'll come with you, as support and definitely not to test out the hundred rooms you guys probably have. What's the name of the place?”

“Mudwood manor.” You nod, taking note of the name. “Dad's gonna have a heart attack if he ever saw you lot. He's still not over what happened two years ago.” He chuckles, hand patting your own in appreciation. “Thanks, boss, for everything. I think I wouldn't have made it this far without you.”

You shake your head, tears making your vision blurry. You blame the hormones. “That should be my words, not yours.” James mirrors your expression, inhaling deeply to get rid of the lump in his throat. “If your parents ever saw you now, they'd be proud of you. I'm proud of you.”

He subtly wipes away at his eye. “You gonna name the kid after me now?”

Laughing, you pat his arm before letting go. “Maybe, I'm seriously considering it.”

“Shit, really?” He says with disbelief. “James Junior, wow.”

You wince, making a face. “Probably not with the Junior. Ew.”

The two of you laugh as rain now pours over the car, drenching the pavement. The sound reverberates through the metal, and the broken window doesn't help with tamping down the sound.

You look over your shoulder, finding that the tarpaulin that you hastily stuck on the hole is hanging on.

“Hey,” James pats your knee, eyes shining despite the dark clouds and pouring rain outside. “We’ll make it there.”

“I know.”

“Let me worry for the two of you, okay?” He glances at your stomach, your belly button is beginning to protrude through your shirt.

“Careful, you'll have worry lines.”

“Birds find worry lines fit, boss.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pinch his arm. “Focus on the damn road, Jameson.”

—

“Wake up, Hobie.”

Your voice yanks him from deep slumber, hard pebbled rocks digging into his skin as he rises from the coast.

He aches all over, arms throbbing, knees screaming in protest as he kneels down on the rough rocks. His heavy eyes roam around the beach, finding nothing but miles of the rocky coast with its boulders piled up high, edges smooth from years of waves lapping around it.

Rain bears down on him, ears ringing from the sound of rain hitting the hardened ground. His body shivers, eyes straining from the downpour.

A sound of knocking wood from behind takes his attention. Looking over his shoulder, he finds the remains of his houseboat, all shards of wood and glass, memories scattered and floating in the cold dark water.

A scream almost escapes out of him. Hand covering his mouth, as he keels over to the rocks, palm digging harshly into the beach.

It was his home and yours for almost ten years, and it was his only salvation, his safety while he was out treading the waters. And it was his one reminder of you. Everything in it had memories, both fond and somewhat awful, but they were his, and now it lays in the bottom of the sea. Picture frames floating with the seaweeds, shoes and clothes tangled around drifting wood.

But by some miracle, his guitar case floats in between two rocks, knocking against the other, in tune with the waves.

Hobie, with whatever's left of his energy, stands up on wobbly legs. There's scratches all over his skin, all searing pain that almost had him falling back down on his knees. And yet he continues on, legs weak, feet barely moving towards the guitar case.

Salty water hits his feet as he shivers, he treads on until the water reaches his waist. The cold and salt exacerbates his injuries, with clenched teeth and shuddered breath, he reaches for the only thing that's left of his home.

The thick leather brushes along his fingertips, hands wrapped around it as he tugs it closer to his chest. Hobie shakily hugs it, a sob pushing through his carefully built wall as he cries atop it like it's a casket that's about to be buried.

His head lays on top of it while rain pours overhead. And his tears are carried by the salty waves.

—

Hobie lugs around whatever's left of his houseboat. All shoved inside a tattered backpack that was once yours. Your charms still clink against the other, and pins still clinging on the fabric. His hand holds onto the guitar case, afraid of opening it and seeing the damage on his guitar. So he carries it around, a heavy weapon that contains his most precious memory. He can still see the sticker of your face on the guitar, he hopes that it's still intact.

He's drenched from head to toe as the storm persists on his back, as if fate is playing with him.

It's bad enough that he had to trek the rest of the way towards the cabin, but the storm keeps following him, as if it's pursuing him and hindering him from finding you. With each town he passes, he sees less and less of the dead. Some lay withered on the ground, chest cavity opened, guts spilled all over the pavement while they desperately tried to reach him with their skeletal hand.

They seem to be dying out, or the virus can no longer keep them upright, not when the host is already decomposing. And now it desperately seeks a new host, even when their jaws are barely holding on, skin blanched and bones bleached by the sun.

Hobie passes by countless evacuation centres just like the one he saw before, and they all sit there empty just like the others. Medical tents lay fallen on the ground, gurneys broken and beaten beside dirty syringes and bandages. Despite that, he checks all of them thoroughly for a sign from you, anything that would indicate that you passed through. But he has seen none.

He feels like the last man alive.

He scavenges and rests in empty houses, careful not to wake the dead that might be hiding within the deep crevices of the town. Every night, he lights a fire, small enough to warm him and not let out smoke that would signal other people that could hurt him for what little he has. Hobie knows how to survive, he went through it during his teenage years, and he never thought that he had to experience it all over again. The uncertainty of where your next meal would be, the dangers lurking around every corner; and not trusting other people to help you. His old self is rearing his head again, peeking through his flesh that you once affectionately held in your hands.

When he finds you, would you see the same person you loved? Would he see the same person in you again after everything?

Hobie's own mind is his enemy. Back on the boat he only worried about hallucinations or delusions that could plague him in the dark. But out here, where the dead lurk, everything and anything could kill him. Even his own head.

It's been a week of walking, through rain and the dead, he finally makes it to the same woods that he once shared with you.

The gates of the cabin squeak in the wind, metal gates swinging around as the breeze picks up, fluttering his lashes.

There's a walkway leading towards the house made out of pebbles, pebbles that remind him of the coast, the same grey shade as the clouds, all rounded around the edges. He roams his eyes over to the cabin, all oak and dark yellowed windows. A porch sits in front with a rocking chair that gently moves back and forth in the wind. The perfect place to rest at the end of the world.

A wind chime clinks from somewhere, and as he cranes his head to the left, there sits under a pile of strewn out branches and leaves, a car, one with a shattered window at the back and side mirrors ripped from the hinges. Bloodied specks dot around its silver paint, scratches and bullet holes mar what was once pristine.

Hobie swallows thickly as he opens the gate, there right above the squeaking metal, a loud shot can be heard from the inside. He jumps in place, hand tight around the rusty metal. Then a guttural cry, one that sends shivers down his spine.

He runs on the path, stones rolling down as he makes his way towards the cabin. His hand wraps around the doorknob, finding it unlocked.

Pushing it, there's resistance from the other side. And as he stares down, he sees a pool of blood slowly spreading over the floorboards.

Panic sets in, as he pushes hard on the door.

“Get the fuck away!” Another shot echoes around as birds fly away from their perches outside.

Hobie heaves and stares at the bullet hole on the door. It missed his head by a couple of inches.

With wide eyes, he stares through it, body frozen as he sees you in the dark with a gun pointed right at him. For a second he thought that he's dreaming again. But he wouldn't dream of something so horrible as he sees what's in your lap.

“Why won't you just die?!”

Hobie dodges before another shot takes out a chunk of the door. Flinging his body towards cover, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. “Love? It's me!” He can barely recognize his own voice.

“Oh god.” You cry, and a smacking sound can be heard. “I'm already going crazy.”

“No, you're not, it's me, love. It's Hobie.” He then calls your name, soft and filled with fondness that it has you dropping the gun on the floor, metal clanging on wood.

“Hobie?” But he can still recognize your voice.

“Yeah, don't shoot.” His whole body shakes with trepidation.

“Hobie!” Your sobs get louder as he opens the door, letting out the pungent smell of blood and letting in sparse sunlight that filters through the dark clouds. “Hobie?” He stands there, hand on the doorknob as he looks down at you and the body laying on your lap. Maybe you are going crazy. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Hobie looks down, staring eye to eye at a dead shambler with a hole right in his head that was blocking the door. Then he gazes back at you with James' head laying right on your lap, eyes closed, blood pooling down the bullet hole in his head and down your legs.

His hand trembles at the sight of his friend, eyes watering, painting you in water colours of blood and gore. Chest sore and stomach in knots, he closes the distance. His eyes land on you, bloodied yet alive. Then he looks down, the familiar ring around your pinky is murky and covered in red, and then he sees it.

“H–He asked me to. James, he— he saved me again.” You stare at him with wild bloodshot eyes, hands drenched in crimson as you tremble and fix the blond locks on his head. “He got bit. I'm so fucking sorry.” There's a huge chunk of his neck missing.

“Are you—?”

“No, it didn't get m–me.” You heave, barely getting your words out as you stare into his eyes.

He kneels down, hand reaching down and towards your stomach. “Are you pregnant?” His hand is warm, and he feels real. You feel real.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “I tried to tell you before—”

His arms engulf you, holding you close, breathing you in, death and all.

A/N: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[bunnithechubs]

transcript:

V: Are you nervous? I told you they are going to like you.

R: I just feel really underdressed and tired.

V: Babe, this side of my life is about as normal and wholesome as it gets and you look amazing, as always.

R: Maybe I’m not in the socializing mood.

V: Do you want to head back home? We’re already here, might as well push through. My brother will understand remember he’s got a very pregnant wife.

R: I’m okay.

V: Well, if you change your mind just let me know.

R:Will do. How much older is your brother?

V: About 5 years, he acts like he's my dad though.

R: That bother’s you?

V: Sometimes, [shrugs] he can be a bit of a control freak.

R: He means a lot to you though.

V: What makes you say that?

R: The way you light up when you talk about him. Also, you never miss his calls. In fact you get upset if you don’t talk to him every week.

V: Are you calling me clingy?

R: I’m the same way with my dad, I just find it interesting.

V: I guess I just want him to stop worrying about me.

R: Then maybe stop giving him a reason to…

V: It smells good in here!

C: Hey Vin, welcome Reina. Nice to finally meet you.

R: Same, thank you for having me over.

C: Any time, this here is my wife Kitty and our daughter Maeve.

K: [Mae hides] She’s shy at first but she’ll warm up.

R: I get it, meeting someone new is a lot.

C: Well, Kitty made a mean meal let’s sit down and eat.

K: Reina, let us know if you need anything. We appreciate you coming after working and on short notice.

R: Thanks, it wasn’t a big deal.

C: Babe, I’ll set the table. Vin you mind giving Kitty a break?

V: You know I never say no to my princess, come here Mae!

C: So, Vinny told me that you just moved the city a few months ago. How are you liking it?

R: I visited it before but I feel like I’m still finding out stuff about it. I didn’t even know there was a suburb like this just outside of it.

V: I’ve been trying to show her more of the city but it’s hard when I’m in season.

R: How do you guys like New Crest?

K: It’s nice because it’s so family centered but we eventually want to make our way to Henford. That’s where my family is.

R: Vinny mentioned you’re not a city native either.

Kl: Not even close, but I love the city. I just get really home sick. Do you miss home too?

R: I miss my family, not so much the Valley. It’s hard to know who’s your friend or enemy over there.

C: I can see that, glad you’re liking it in the city then. Hopefully Vinny is being on his best behavior.

V: [smirks] Reina’s got a good leash on me, no need to worry there.

R: Was Cain the same when you met him?

K: [laughs] oh, he was worse. Yet look at me now? Married with soon to be two kids.

R: You both seem really happy though.

C: You meet the right person and it changes your perspective on life. Never thought I would be a dad.

V: He’s a great dad and husband- don’t let him fool you.

R: I can tell, Mae seems like a really happy baby.

K: Don’t let her give you baby fever now.

R: I’ve got a few nieces and nephews. No baby fever for me- Vin on the other hand.

K: [smiles] Mae has that affect, hence me being pregnant currently. Vinny mentioned you’re an actress?

R: Aspiring- I did a few day time tv shows. I’ve been trying to break into the cinema world but it’s taking a bit longer. I’ve been focusing on my online presence for the time being.

K: Well, if it’s a legal issue I could put you in contact with great lawyers.

R: I might take you up on that, my contract has been the root cause of my issues.

R: Thanks for the meal, it was delicious.

K: No problem. It feels good to make something we’ve been really bad at cooking now that we’re in the final trimester.

V: When dad moves in put his ass in the kitchen.

C: [laughs] that’s the plan. Hey, do you mind putting Mae to bed while I get these dishes cleaned?

V: Yeah, no problem.

R: You’re cute with your niece. Like a different version of yourself.

V: She thinks I’m a super hero so… I guess I want to keep that image up for her. What do you think about my brother?

R: He’s cool. To be honest, I like his wife better than him.

V: [laughs] Told you, everyone loves her.

R: They are really cute together. You can tell they were meant to be.

V: So what do you think? Think we can have a life like this?

R: Maybe in the future. I’m not really ready for all of this Vinny.

V: I’m not talking about right now, Reina. Who said you won’t get time alone? I work most of the day when I’m in season.

R: It’s my boundary, Vinny. I’m not ready for it. I already told you that you need therapy if you can’t bare the thought of living on your own.

V:Are you trying to hide something from me?

R: I don’t hide anything. You know that. If you feel that way then…

V: Therapy. Got it.

R: I’m not your brother’s wife. I can’t fix all your problems, Vin. You gotta do that for yourself. Not because you love me.

V: Sometimes I think you don’t like me.

R: Now that’s ridiculous.

V: Then prove it to me.

[random-blurbs]

I love your writing it's so satisfying to read! Can I request a platonic fic 👉👈 with the variants or mark, with a sayaka (madoka magica) reader or a cinnabar (land of the lustrous) reader I really love your work keep up the great work! (Idk if you know these shows so I put the titles here just in case ^^!!)

Platonic!Mark x Reader

a/n - i’ve never thought about doing a platonic imagine like ever so this tested my abilities. I just have a want to make everything romantic lol but hopefully you like 👉🏻👈🏻 sorry if its booty

“I-I need your help!” Shoving off your blanket practically tripping over yourself your hand gripped the phone tighter. “What do you mean! Where are you!” Hearing Mark’s tone threw you in a panic, worried he got himself caught in something he can’t handle. “I’m sending you my location, please hurry!”

As fast as you could you ran to the spot he wanted, yelling out apologies as you ran into people who were walking way too slow. Confused as you saw the exact location in the distance it didn’t occur to you it was Mark’s favorite comic store.

Hiding behind a wall you transformed into your outfit wielding a sword ready for what’s in there. Hopefully it’s not too destroyed after whatever fight is going to happen. Trying not to think too much about it being quiet outside, you rationalize it as some hostage situation and that’s why Mark isn’t breaking the buildings around you.

Bursting in you looked around trying to find the villain Mark was fighting, sword at the ready. “Aeros?” Hearing your hero name you perked up recognizing Mark’s voice, but his outfit left you confused.

Donning his regular civilian clothes you saw a group of guys surrounding him, as he finally pointing you out. “See! I told you I know them, now give me the comic!”

That fucking sell-out.

Before you can strangle him, the group crowded you shoving their phones in your face, as you see Mark happily paying for the comic in the front. With a strained smile you took some wanted pictures, glaring at Mark who gave you an apologetic smile before practically booking it. “How did this even happen?” You muttered catching a bystander’s interest, “Oh he wanted this limited edition comic and I had the last copy but he told me I can get a picture with you in exchange for it.”

That fucking asshole.

“Alright glad you guys got your photos! Thanks for supporting me, but I gotta run!” Before they can even stop you, you had run out the door looking wildly for the boy you call a friend. Seeing a familiar back of the head turn the corner, your body automatically starts sprinting fueled by your annoyance of taking photos. “You asshole!” Hearing him beg for you to stop chasing him, it just fuels your spite. “Get over here you back-stabber!”

“Please! I just really needed this!” Yelping at the sudden impact of dust being thrown at you, you grit your teeth as you try waving it off. Looking up you see Mark floating above you knowing fully well you aren’t capable of doing the same. “C’mon! I babysat Cheerio for you!”

“You’re her uncle Mark! She missed you!” You emphasized pulling out your phone showing him the photo of the two of you with your cute poodle smiling happily at the camera. “You can’t use that on me!” Mark whined feeling guilty seeing the photo, “And you can’t use me as some trading card!” You countered making Mark groan in response.

“You’re my friend!”

“And you’re my Cheerio’s god-father so obviously relationships don’t matter!”

This was the outcome of your relationship with Mark. An annoying relationship of back and forths.

But as he knocked on your door with a plate of home-cooked meal from his mom and a bag of treats for his god-daughter. You couldn’t help but forgive him glad you had a friend by your side.

“How was the comic?” You asked scooping another spoonful of Debbie’s food into your mouth. “It was worth it.”Staring him down as he gave you the glaringly wrong answer he finally stuttered out the correct one as you place the dirty plate on the coffee table. “Jeez was this payback because of the photos I showed Eve.” Finally recalling the only reason why Mark would’ve done this to you.

Recalling a few months back on how she wished she could see Mark’s baby photos as he put them under tight lock and key, and practically begging his mom to never show them to Eve.

Which where you graciously waltzed in by presenting your own photos remembering the old photos you used to keep safe, photos Mark never knew existed. You made some copies for Eve to keep wanting her to get the full girlfriend experience of seeing a boyfriend’s baby photos, but she unfortunately gave it away.

“Wait how did you know that happened?” Looking at you two suspiciously as Eve tried joking about Mark’s bowl cut incident years ago, it only solidified what he assumed was your fault when you both looked at each other guiltily.

“No! But now I know what else I can hold over you!” Mark’s face was burning red remembering the exact photo that Eve had gotten from you, making you laugh at his misfortune.

“No you can’t! You already used your one chance.” You pushed not needing another ambush, feeling embarrassed that you weren’t any ready for a photo shoot. “Why do you worry so much about your photos?”

“Believe it or not Mark, I love making sure every photo of me out there gets me at the right angle.” He rolls his eyes at the many times you’ve fought side by side remembering how you always take a moment to pose when there’s a New’s cruise overhead.

“Wait Mark does it look better if I pose like this or. . .like this!” Striking a pose as you held the detached tentacle of an alien that Mark was currently struggling with, he grits his teeth as he was slammed back onto the ground. “You look bad in both just help me!” Scoffing at him you decided to pose with your sword instead out of spite until he finally apologized and helped you pick a pose so you can help him kill the alien.

Which ultimately made you pose next to the beaten alien with Mark holding a light up begrudgingly he borrowed from the helicopter.

“Do you even remember the names they called me after that.” Mark asked in belief at the absurdity of it all, which made you grin happily as you got the better half of the deal. “What? That you were my little assistant.” You recalled innocently making Mark internally seethe remembering how in his solo missions they would rather ask for you than Invincible.

That was a cool name! And he’s a cool hero. . .

“You suck for that…” Cooing at his depressed face, he swatted your hand away playfully, picking up the remote to put something on the tv. You see Cheerio choose Mark over you and get comfortable in his lap making you happy that they pushed the assistant thing on Mark. “Even Eve believe I was actually your assistant for some time!” This time making you laugh proudly remembering Eve’s confused face as Mark didn’t want to shake her hand after the introductions.

“You’re Aeros’s assistant right? You’re pretty cool for a sidekick!” She was trying to be so kind, but her genuine tone killed Mark as you tried biting down a snicker, hearing Mark’s ego be crushed beside you. She immediately apologized when she realized the rumor wasn’t true; thanks to Mark strained telling of what happened, letting you finally cackle in the sidelines seeing the two future-love birds hash it out.

“I’ll never forgive you for that.” In a threatening tone you both can’t believe, you sighed contently as your head fell against the pillow on your couch, Debbie’s food making you sleepy after a long day. “I’ve done more positives in your life so don’t forget that.” Knowing he can’t argue against that he muttered something under his breath making you reflexively kick his side, making him let out a groan swatting your foot away from him.

It was a peaceful silence between you two, with only an occasional giggle from you, being entertained by the show. This was your routine with one another, a peaceful recharge of all responsibilities. Yours as a cursed user blessed with a sword, forcefully promised to protect the world, being one of the main faces of the superhero world, willingly or not. Mark who is still trying to navigate the same world, with less time, thrusted into a world that his father wanted to take over, the responsibilities of who he is weighing heavily on him. But you both find a solace within one another that simply can’t be explained.

Seeing the father-son duo fight in the screen in front of him reminded him of what he was missing. A life that was tore away from him by someone he trusted. He wishes to block it all out, the screams, the pain, the begging. He remembers it all vividly. Everyone was impacted in some type of way.

He remembers the silence you both shared when you had visited him in his hospital room.

You made no effort to comfort him, to share your thoughts, no words were exchanged. Just a silence that enveloped you both as you sat beside him your eyes meeting the floor rather than his.

It helped. In some weird way it helped.

It helped remind him that you were there but you didn’t want to overstep with your words. Because you didn’t understand. No one does understand. And you’re not going to try. You’re simply going to hear.

“Did you get hurt?” He asked, his voice strained from the days of not speaking. Everything in his body being practically crushed as he was trying to recover. That’s all he can do. Lay there and wallow in pain as his body tries to heal itself physically.

“Nope.” It wasn’t teasing, or trying to lighten the mood. You just gave him a small smile to ease his worry of another person he held dear was not hurt. He confided in you. All these warped emotions he spilled them out for you to hear, every piece anger/hatred he couldn’t share with anyone but you. He knew his emotions would only hurt his mother, hurt those around him as his anger was directed to everyone/everything. He knew what he was feeling was right yet it was eating him up inside. But you stayed. You stayed by his side seeing the ugly that no one really acknowledges of Mark; or never felt like allowed him to. And he was glad that you were by his side, that nothing happened to you.

It wasn’t until he got better and was moving around that he found out from Cecile, you were caught in the crossfire.

He knew you had regenerative abilities. But he didn’t know the extent as he watched the screen in horror seeing your arm get ripped off time and time again. Your body was being ripped by the second but here you were regenerating yourself, gritting your blood-soaked teeth to give Mark even a second more to recuperate. Hoping to use this as motivation for Mark to continue training, and fight with them. It just fueled Mark with the turmoil he thought he left behind in that room.

He was just tired of being lied to.

When he arrived at your front door he practically ended the friendship right then and there. And you didn’t even bother stopping him as you thanked him for all his time with you. He was grieving. Grieving a life that he’ll no longer have. A normalcy he can’t ever think of having, just a weapon against his father.

He wanted to apologize. He confided in Eve during the time that he regrets ever saying those words to you, just a moment of heightened emotions he took out on you, as Eve tried helping him with advice of what he can do to help being friends again.

But you didn’t care. You knew he needed time. After two months you were at his window with a bag of burgers and drinks as a sign of forgiveness.

He’s always riddled with guilt whenever he thinks back at the time. Understanding fully well why you’ve done it, you understand him painfully so. You knew in a way that the friendship wasn’t over, this was something that happened one other time as Mark was the victim of your words previously. But you guys came back, appreciating one another tenfold as you understood what you guys were to one another.

“Do you think we were like cousins in some weird life?”

“Like reincarnations and why weird you weirdo?”

“That’s like when people come back from the dead no?” Rolling your eyes, even if you also thought the same thing at some point only able to know the word because of the worrying amount of fictional media you consume. “I say siblings no? Like you’re so annoying that you had to have been my brother.”

“I will throw Cheerio at you.” Putting your hands up in faux surrender, you try to think about the hypothetical. Maybe you guys really could’ve been siblings in a past life, you never felt a love for Mark as anything more than a friend and vice-versa. It was a connection that no one can explain if you were to ask those to close you. The devotion to one another is something else entirely as scenario after scenario was thrown at the two of you only bringing you two closer.

Since the moment you were cursed, you recalled all the moments shared with Mark. Both growing up without powers for a chunk of your life but it didn’t deter you from living it to the fullest. Sharing play dates, as Debbie was convinced you both were meant to be for a short awhile. But when she caught you play-fighting in the mud as you stood over Mark with a maniacal life she understood she practically had another demon child in her hands. Not that she would complain she finds you adorable. Always having your parents over so you both can spend more time with one another just glad to see the smiles on your faces. They always joked that you had the worst luck of the two, considering you would always sport an injury after every hangout. At some point they were debating on bubble-wrapping you as tiny Mark ran into the house in full on sobs not able to say anything only following him out to the back seeing you sit there in shock with blood coming out of your nose and forehead.

You just didn’t want to get Mark in trouble considering the jumping off the roof was his idea.

And glad he didn’t follow right after you jumped.

But that luck truly did follow you as you were walking with your parents hoping to find a gift for Mark and his family after Nolan’s success of pushing out his books. All you could do was blink before realizing you were no longer holding your mother’s hand. Randomly caught in a battle between a villain and some C+ grade hero left you wounded crying out for your parents. Not knowing the news you would come to hear in the following days. You were in so much pain, feeling every tiny twist you take making you cough out more blood, impaled by some rubble. Rotten luck. It wasn’t until some strange creature came to you in hopes to make a deal with a suffering body for an exchange of a soul. You were perfect.

It would grant a wish.

And you wished to see your family one more time.

And then they found you. But something was different about you when they found you recovering in a hospital bed.

You had become a weapon, and they were planning to harness that same power to help protect Earth.

His family found you in the hospital bed unmoving, you practically looked death only indication of life was your breathing as you stared ahead with no ounce of will to live. Mark had stayed by your side through it all, you assume sooner or later you would’ve stopped wanting to live if it wasn’t for him and his family.

In some sick joke you were able to see your parents one more time as you wished for. Mark was by your side as you cried over their casket, having your life practically changed overnight. It was cruel. And you wished for your life to change but you knew you had to accept it. Bitterly accept the truth and be glad there is someone still with you through it all. You were always grateful to Mark and his mother. Always giving her small gifts whenever she mentions there’s something she wants or you know she’ll like; knowing you can never repay her kindness but wanting to do so anyways. As for Mark- it was awkward. You only tried once thanking him but as you both stuttered over your thank you and your welcome you accept the fact that some things need to be unspoken. But you knew he knew and that was enough for the both of you.

The bright colors of the screen pulled you out of yours thoughts as a funky commercial was advertising some new area. An arcade filled with excessive lights, but a crap ton of arcade games from all the years, some thought previously discontinued now there and only there for everyone to play. “Dude.”

“Dude.”

Looking back at one another with a knowing smile you ran towards the door, struggling to put your shoes on, while Mark apologizes to Cheerio excessively of moving her off his lap. “Guess we’re going to Las Vegas!” You shout excitedly keys ready in hand.

“It says Nevada.” Pausing all your movements you glance at Mark feeling your brain start to slow at the upcoming thinking ahead.

“Nevada? Isn’t that Las Vegas?” Shit.

“No they would just call it Las Vegas. . .right?” It was futile. Maybe you guys shouldn’t be friends as your lack of school education and Mark’s general stupidity for places had you guys at a standstill.

You share a look with one another before reaching a conclusion just with your eyes. “I’ll call Eve.”

“You go do that.”