#or making conversation with who was around him at the time

[whorelaud]

꒦꒷ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 kissing you numb ¡

pairing uncle¡rafe cameron x babysitter¡reader

summary babysitting sarah's baby wasn't a problem for you, not when her attractive uncle was around to keep you company, making it extremely hard for you to do your job.

contains fluff, brief sexual content, accidental kiss, making out, sexual tension, confessions (sort of), mutual pining, slightly suggestive towards the end, rafe being a tease, flustered reader, wc; 3.7k

a/n this was sosos fun to write sb had to do it ugh luv uncle rafe 37:$: i hope you guys enjoy hehe!! feel free to request if you wanna!

While managing your busy schedule was diffcult, babysitting was not the worst side-hustle. 

Besides the decent pay, you get to hang out with your friends, take care of baby Jackie, and spend more time with her hot uncle. 

That was not intended, nor was it apart of your plan, however, you were not one to complain. You were sure he knew, he definiltiy caught up on your attraction for him, whether it was the foolish grin that spread across your face, or the way you brighten up when he strikes a conversation. 

Rafe visits often, always using Jackie as an excuse to extend his stay. It would end with the little girl deep asleep, while you two chatted the night away. Most times, you had to force him out, leaving you no choice but to do so whenever his teasing gets too overwhleming for your well being. 

Now, you were well aware of how cocky the latter was, using every chance he gets to tease you over how flustered you grew whenever he, in the slightest bit, flirted with you. He would, out of the blue, drop the most gut-wrenching, bold statement known to earth, indicating that he might’ve been into you. 

However, you didn’t fall for it. You knew Rafe, Sarah would always tell you about him, and how much of a douche-bag (in her words) he was. He’s been with far too many girls for you to trust him, or go further with your feelings for him. 

People change, though, and Rafe might’ve been more desperate than you thought he’d be, implying that maybe, he was being sincere, and it’s not your delusions talking you into things. 

You perked up when you heard a sudden knock on the door, startling you out of your seat. Your attention shifted to Jackie, inserting the pacifier in her mouth before heading towards the entrance. A smile made its way across your lips, well aware of who was behind the door. 

You twisted the doorknob, a breath knocking out of your chest as you caught sight of Rafe, leaning against the wall while he awaited his welcome. A smirk spread across his lips, showcasing the single dimple on his cheek. 

You rolled your eyes, tilting your head to the side as your gaze shifted to Rafe, sighing when you noticed the cocky expression plastered on his face. You moved to the side, giving the boy enough space to squeeze through, to which he contently accepted, letting himself inside. 

“What’s good, m’lady?” He grinned, walking past you. “You miss me?” 

“I haven’t had the time to, Mr. Rafe Cameron.” You sarcastically responded, following behind him. “Weren't you just here yesterday?” 

“Hey, am I not allowed to visit my niece now?” He questioned, a dramatic gasp escaping his lips once he spotted the little girl. “There she is, my darling girl.”

You giggled, watching as Rafe approached Jackie, instantly scooping her in his arms. The little girl smiled at the sight of her uncle, reaching for his face with her little hands. He pecked the tips of her fingers, scrunching his face when she scratched him.

“You miss your uncle, baby?” His voice softened, barely above a whisper. “It was insufferable being with her, yeah?” 

“Hey!” You lightly slapped his arm, chin finding the blade of his shoulder, though you could barely maintain your composure with how tall he was. “She loves me.” 

“Mhm,” he glanced over his shoulder, flashing you a knowing grin. “I’m sure of that.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” You dramatically gasped, observing as Rafe placed Jackie back in her crib. 

“Oh, Jackie baby, you’re adorable.” He gently rubbed her chin with his thumb, the gesture earning a wide smile out of the little girl. “Yeah, there you go, you like that?” 

“Mhm, I don’t think she does,” you playfulled responded, making yourself comfortable on the sofa, next to Rafe. “Right, baby? He’s a bit annoying, yeah?” 

“Don’t listen to her, Jackie.” Rafe chuckled, slightly turning to face you. “She’s trying to ruin our bond.” 

“Oh, hush.” You avoided his gaze, feeling goosebumps break out across your arms when your bare skin made contact with his. “Should we kick him out again? He’s been spending a concercing amount of time with us, don’t you think?” 

“Us?” He questioned, teasing hinted in his tone. “Who said I’m here for you? I’m only here for Jackie.” 

“Mhm, yeah sure.” You playfully replied, leaning back in your seat. 

Rafe turned to face you, smirking once he caught the flustered mess he had created out of you. He darted his tongue out to coat his lips with a layer of spit, turning towards Jackie with a scoff. 

“Okay, yeah maybe I’m here for her too.” Rafe started, veiling your presence. “Don’t tell her I said that, though. She’s a brat, she’ll probably never let it go.”  

“Shut up.” You muttered, feeling heat crawl past your neck, all the way to your face. 

It usually stops here, you never go past that stage, brushing off his flirting as a joke, and shifting the attention back to Jackie. Either that, or Sarah and Johb B, therefore, you weren’t anticipating a response, nor anything that would stir up your emotions. 

“And what would you do to make me shut up?” He questioned, adjusting his position until he was manspreading. “I’m quite intrigued on what you might do.”  

Your heart skipped a beat at the flirtatious statement, the boldness in his voice knocking a breath out of your chest. You felt your mouth go dry as the boy turned in your direction, mind going hazy when your eyes locked with his. 

You could’ve sworn his eyes flickered to your lips, but that might’ve been your vision, because no way. Rafe Cameron? Not in a million years, you knew it was not happening, especially with how complicated things were. 

He was your friend’s brother, what were to happen if you did get together, and it eventually fell apart? That would create awkward tension between you and Sarah, therefore, you didn't want that, especially with how much you cherish the girl. 

However, you chose to take the risk, using the dim darkness seeping through the windows as an excuse for your response, although you know it was risky, tempting, could ruin whatever you had with Rafe, even if it was mere banter. 

“I can think of a few ways, actually.” Your voice dropped barely above a whisper, knee brushing over his leg. 

“Yeah?” He questioned, slinging his arm over your shoulder. “Care to enlighten me, doll?” 

Your stomach stirred at the pet name, lips parting with an exhale. To say you were nervous was underestimating it. Rafe’s gaze burned holes through your skin, as well as the hand that lightly traced the blade of your shoulder, not much of help for your situation. 

You gulped, eyes trailing down to his lips, suddenly feeling desire wash over you, too wrapped up in your own head to think it through. However, before you could get a chance to do anything you could regret, Rafe suddenly turned his attention to Jackie, the action startling a sigh of relief out of you. 

You cleared your throat, attempting to maintain your cool as you admired Rafe while he played with Jackie, entertaining the little girl. She took liking into it, her smile wide on her lips as her fingers fiddled in the air, trying to reach for Rafe’s hand while he teasingly retrieved them from her touch. 

It was so adorable, the sight melting your heart, you weren’t able to contain the smile spreading across your lips. You knew of Rafe’s poor relationship with Sarah in the past, the boy distancing himself when they grew apart. Yet, here Rafe was, taking care of her daughter while she was away. It was endearing, to say the least. 

You leaned over his shoulder when you noticed Jackie dozing off, eyes widening as Rafe turned around, the gesture ceasing the distance between you as your lips collided with Rafe’s in a chaste kiss. Your breath knocked out of your chest, the sensation of his mouth against yours spiraling you over the edge. 

His lips were so soft, you lingered for a moment before letting realization wash over you, eventually returning back to reality. You pulled out with a small pop, attention shifting to Rafe, who remained in his position. 

A smirk leisurely tugged at his lips, eyes never leaving you as a hand came up to cover your mouth, disbelief visible on your face. Rafe’s teeth dug into his bottom lip, amused by how flustered you grew from besides him. 

“I– that was not intentional–” you stammered, face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and the desire of wanting more, even if it was for a mere second. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Rafe.” 

“It’s okay,” he snickered, “Why are you panicking?” 

“Because,” you shot back, a frustrated sigh escaping your throat. “I didn’t mean to do it, and I don’t want to make things uncomfortable between–”

Before you could further speak, Rafe cut you off with a kiss as he captured your lips in between his. It was the answer to your worries, and while you were shocked, it did wash relief over you. His mouth moved against yours, the gesture subtle, barely even there, though you took notice of it, instantly returning the kiss. 

You hummed into the kiss, taking his face in between your fingers as you brought his face even closer, feeling his nose brush over yours. He tilted your head to the side to deepen the kiss as he captured your bottom lip in between his teeth. 

Rafe nibbled on your lips, earning a muffled gasp out of you. The boy took the gesture as an opportunity, using it to explore the inside of your mouth with his tongue. You almost yelped as you felt his arms sneaking around your waist, tracing down to your sides as he tugged at the skin, nails digging into your skin. 

At this point, your brain was mush, no words could describe how desperate you were to have his lips on you, growing drunk to the mere taste of him. You knew it, you were well aware of that fact; that when you got to taste him, you’d never be able to get enough. 

And that was exactly your situation in the moment, tangled in Rafe’s hold as he kissed you numb, leaving you with nothing but despair, lust, the desire of wanting him, it consumed you as a whole. 

With enough guidance, Rafe managed to plop you on his lap, slinging both of your thighs over his legs, to make you comfortable around him. You adjusted your position, freezing in your spot when Rafe groaned into your mouth, causing realization to wash over you. 

You blushed, feeling your ass brush over his crotch area, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. You moved away for a moment, staring down at the boy as you now hovered over him, the angle driving you insane. 

He looked so good, his eyes hazed up, barely able to keep them open as he parted his swollen lips with a breath. He squeezed your sides, chasing after your lips, in an attempt to capture them in between his. 

“Sorry.” You whispered, not sounding apologetic at all. 

“Mhm.” Rafe hummed, taking you in between his lips again, this time with more keen. 

He was like a starving man, you have never seen him like this before. Sure, he was a flirt, he had his way around with women, but hell, had you known he was such a good kisser, you would’ve made the discovery sooner. 

His hand found the blade of your shoulder, trailing up the exposed flesh, until it reached the strap of your bra. He toyed with the material, dipping his fingers underneath, using the digits to slide it down your arm. 

You moaned at the action, unable to suppress it any longer with the boy’s hand roaming around your body, exploring every curve he could lay his touch on. You couldn’t believe, nor did you want it to end, you wanted it to last an eternity, even if it meant getting your heart broken. 

Because, how could you resist him? How could you when he’s there, existing and looking so attractive while doing it?

Your face heated, feeling blush crawl past your neck, right to your face as you felt something harden beneath you. You pulled away for a second, lips ghosting over his, as your forehead collided, the sensation of his hot breath fanning over your flesh sent tingles through your body. 

Rafe littered open-mouthed kisses to your lips, the sound of your mouth colliding with a pop the only thing heard over the silence seeping through the air. His hands squeeze around your hips, you were sure his hold bruised your sides. 

And that thought, it drove you crazy, knowing he was marking his territory, not afraid to show people that something went down between you, though, you knew he was against it. Come on, this was the Rafe Cameron, it should be obvious this was a mere fling, but for now, you chose to ignore it, look past that and enjoy the pleasure he’s spiraling through your body. 

He littered kisses down your jaw, trailing all the way to your throat, until he was nuzzled in the crook of your neck. You gasped, accidentally grinding down when Rafe’s teeth grazed over your flesh, followed with a nibble afterwards. 

Your hands found his hair, fingernails brushing his buzzed hair, the sensation causing the boy to groan. You almost chuckled at his reaction, but chose to hold it down, knowing how whiny Rafe gets whenever you tease him. 

“Fuck, baby.” He muffled a whimper out, retrieving his head from the crook of your neck. “You’re so pretty, jus’ wanna cherish you forever.”

You came to a halt, the hushed words catching you off guard. You fluttered your eyes down at him, parting your lips to speak, merely to be interrupted by the kiss that followed. You almost yelped, quickly relaxing into it after a moment. 

It was a mere peck, with the boy lingering for a moment to taste you on his lips, merely to indicate that he wanted this, just as much as you did. You felt him smile against your lips, the gesture causing you to grow embarrassed. 

Your eyes widened, when you suddenly heard Jackie whine, implying that the little girl had woken up. You pressed your hands to Rafe’s chest, applying enough pressure to push the latter away as he chased after your lips. 

Your fingers came into view, hovering them over his lips to stop him from further moving. Your attention shifted to Jackie, causing Rafe to follow your gaze as you caught sight of the little girl shuffling around in her crib, showcasing that something was making her uncomfortable. 

Right, you were babysitting. 

You instantly shuffled off Rafe’s lap, making your way toward the little girl, whose eyes shifted to you once you approached her. Rafe on the other hand, cleared his throat, attempting (and failing) to get a hold of himself. He fixed his position, gaze burning through you as you tried to find Jackie's source of discomfort. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” You asked, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Are you hungry? You want me to feed you?”

“Listen,” Rafe started, immediately interrupted by you perking up to grab Jackie’s bottle from beside him. 

“Let me feed Jackie first.” You replied before he could further talk, flashing him a quick smile before heading towards the kitchen. 

What the fuck was that? Did you just kiss Rafe cameron? With his niece around, at that? 

You were supposed to be taking care of her, yet, there you were, making out with her attractive uncle while she was asleep. Your face flushed with embarrassment, not capable of facing Rafe, hoping he’d disappear while you make Jackie’s bottle.

You regret it, because you know he will. He’ll look past it, act like nothing happened, and pretend it was all for show, just like he usually does, with every other girl. How were you any different? And why would he be genuine?

It never made sense, no matter how much he fed into your delusions, you chose to stay sane about it, considering reality before you fell head over heels. You’ve had this attraction towards him ever since you befriended Sarah, and it continued off from there, growing within every moment you spent with the boy.

In your head, this was definitely unrequited, nothing more than a mistake that you both will regret for obvious reasons, therefore, when you headed back, you wwe definitely not expecting to see Rafe, who busied himself with Jackie, distracting her until you were back. 

Your breath hitched at the sight, heart melting into pieces as you further approached the pair, earning Rafe’s attention as he glanced over his shoulder. He sat upright, giving you enough space to come through and give Jackie her bottle. 

“There you go, sweetheart.” He hummed, staring at Jackie as she sipped on her bottle. “You're hungry, huh? Is that why you interrupted us?” 

“Rafe!” You almost broke your neck with how swiftly you turned your head in the boy’s direction, the remark catching you off guard. 

“What?” He started, avoiding your gaze for a moment before trailing his eyes back to you. “Were we not having a moment?” 

“I– well…” You trailed off, stammering over your words. 

“What?” He questioned, “You regret it?”

“Do you?” You shot back, anxiousness visible through your tone. 

“Why would I kiss you if I was going to regret it?” He snorted, staring at you with disbelief. “C’mon, I don’t jus’ kiss anyone.” 

“Well,” you cocked your head to the side, squinting your eyes with suspicion. “That’s not…” 

“Okay, shut up.” He rolled his eyes, giggling at your response. “That was in the past, I’m a changed man.” 

“Changed man, huh?” You chuckled along, unable to hide the blush forming on your cheeks. 

“Okay, enough.” He clicked his teeth, lightly shoving your shoulder. 

“What?!” You defensively shot back, “I didn’t say anything.” 

“Right,” he nodded his head, inching closer towards you. “Do you really not get it?” 

“Hmm?” You hummed, suddenly growing flustered by how close he has gotten. 

Instead of answering, Rafe leaned in for another kiss, one soft enough, it spoke volumes on his behalf. It was unlike the first one you shared, this one was tender, so full of endearment, it overwhelmed you whole. 

He withdrew from the touch, a sheepish smile instantly spreading across his lips. His breath fanned over your face, now mere inches away from you, the gesture invading your personal space. 

“Does this answer your question?’ He whispered, lips ghosting over yours. 

“What are you doing?” You stumbled over your words, lightly shoving the boy, who admired you with amusement. “You should leave, Jackie keeps wakin’ up ‘cause you’re distracting her.”

“Hey, how is it my fault?” Rafe muttered, lips jutting into a pout. “Not my fault her babysitter is beautiful, I can’t keep my hands to myself when she’s around.” 

“Rafe.” You whisper-yelled, growing flustered by the statement. 

It was surreal, Rafe, liking you? Perhaps, more than you did? You couldn’t believe it. 

“What?!” He chuckled, pecking you once more before moving away. “She’s deep asleep, look at her.”

“Still,” you huffed, nervously biting your lip. “It’s not appropriate.”

“She’s barely six months, darling, relax.” He exclaimed, sneaking a hand over to your waist, letting it settle around your hip. “I’m sure she doesn’t mind setting us up, besides, we’re not doing anythin’ weird.”

“Oh yeah?” You questioned, scoffing at the remark. “Shoving your tongue down my throat is not weird at all?” 

“It’s human nature.” He reasoned, nodding his head. 

You slapped his shoulder, earning a hiss in return as he faked a pained expression. You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress the smile forming on your lips, too endeared by how cute he was acting. 

Maybe going with the flow is not so bad, after all. 

“You should head out, it’s getting late.” You mumbled, using the darkness as an excuse to get rid of him.

You don’t think you’ll be able to hold back if he’s around, especially not now, with how tempting he was being. 

“There you go,” he huffed, shooting up from his seat. “Kickin’ me out again.”

You giggled at his response, following behind as he made his way towards the door. He unlocked the doorknob, turning to face you before he could exit. 

“I’ll leave then, let me know if you need anything in particular.” He muttered, eyes flickering to your lips. “Also, lock the door, and wait until Sarah and John be get back, don’t open it unless you know who it is, okay?” 

“Relax, you’re acting as if I’m about to get kidnapped.” You crossed your arms, leaning against the door as your gaze shifted up to meet Rafe’s, who was now towering over you. “Besides, Sarah and John B aren't coming back tonight, I’m babysitting overnight.”

“Oh?” Rafe stood upright, a smirk replacing his worried expression from earlier. “I wasn’t aware of that.” 

“Well, now you are.” You slightly shoved his torso, feeling his broad chest through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Leave, I know you’ll jus’ keep delaying your stay until it’s too late.”

“Maybe I could stay a bit longer,” He started, voice dropping into a whisper as he took a step forward, causing you to take one back. “You know, keep you company while they’re away.” 

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” You beamed, hand finding his chest once again as you fisted his shirt with your fingers, the gesture earning a sly grin out of the latter. 

“It wouldn’t hurt.” He pressed you against the wall, stealing an open-mouthed kiss from your lips. “Besides, I get to protect you, and we could take turns looking out for Jackie.” 

“You know that’s not why you’re staying.” You muttered, barely able to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. 

“Mhm, you’re right.” Hr replied. 

And with that, the boy ceased the distance as he collided your lips in a chaste kiss, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he carried you to the guest bedroom. 

Therefore, you didn’t mind babysitting, especially when Rafe Cameron was keeping you company. 

[okwonyo]

（ 标题 ） STRAWBERRY HEAD.

PREC𝒾S ⠀⟡​⠀a guy with a fun costume flirts with you at a party.

( 엔하이픈 희승 ) ୨୧ f .. r 12OO fluff meet cute ── flirting skinship ⠀ ｡｡ ⠀ recue𝒾l

지아 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒ㅤ i am not leaving tumblr everrr don’t worry, luvdolls 💌

( ˊᗜˋreblogs&feedbacks · C𝑙𝑖CK )

it always ends up the same. no matter what the conversation is, no matter how it began or where; it always ends up with the same conclusion. why don’t you have a boyfriend, yet?

as always, you groan while tilting your face to the ceiling. like a tradition, it is like you are begging a superior being to end your misery now and just take you before they all start to recall all your failed dates and talking stage over the past few months. it is not like they are that many, anyway.

you can try to tell each one of the people surrounding you that you are not interested in a relationship, that you think boys are fun to mess with but truly useless and that you are fine on your own— they never listen.

you successfully disappear amongst the crowd of diverse book, movie and game characters— and even … fruits? — costumes to get a drink. suddenly feeling very thirsty. 

no one notices you, too hang on debating on your love life when you are not even there to begin with.

pouring something into your glass, you feel someone standing a bit too close to you. 

“hey,” a voice greets you loudly. making your heart jump all the way to your stomach. 

you almost giggle as you turn around; a tall, grown man in a bright red hoodie, the same color as his joggings and a strawberry sort of hat wrapped around his head. 

his voice is way too deep to go with his costume.  

a smile tugs your lips, “hi.”

he smiles back. this time with a much much softer, he tells you back, “hi,” he eyes lingers on your face. “you come here often?”

you actually giggle at that, with your face falling towards the ground, with his face following yours, with his gaze never leaving you as he smirks. 

you cross one arm under your chest and plant your free arm’s elbow in your wrist, holding your drink close to your mouth, “please, don’t tell me that line has ever worked for you,” he chuckles at that, “i wouldn’t stand it.” 

the strawberry head shrugs, “tried and tested true for a reason,” then he leans his shoulder against the wall next to you. 

“what’s your name, bambi?” he asks you, biting down his lip as he smiles. 

the nickname comes from your doe makeup and the little tail on your skirt. looks like you are not the only one who makes nicknames. 

you respond while turning to face him, “what is yours?” 

“heeseung,” you admit it, ‘strawberry head’ will be missed but you like this one better. 

“it’s cute,” you nod and he laughs. 

“and yours isn’t?” he immediately says back. he rolls your name on his tongue, dear god . “it suits you well, i like it.”

you huff humoredly, “i will tell my parents you are a fan,” you don’t forget to emphasis on his name and hold your drink up, “heeseung.” 

“i hope i will be able to tell them myself one day,” he teases when you drink, making your choke. 

well, that was quite risky— although, still very smooth, you will give him that. 

your eyes wide and your mouth falls open is a surprised smile. your face must be funny because heeseung lets out a genuine laugh, that goes beyond the sound of the loud music. 

“take me to dinner first!” you tell him, while watching his body vibrate because of his laughter. 

the tall man gets serious pretty quickly after the words leave your mouth, he looks at you like he had you exactly where he wanted. 

“well,” he starts and his smirk is back again. “what about tonight?”

you can only blink at him for a moment. as if it was written on it; you scan his entire face in a hope of an answer. oh. 

“diner?” you ask, he hums. “tonight?” he hums again and your knees weaken a bit. “but we barely know each other!”

“we can get to!” his smile is more than evident in his voice, on his pink lips. “over diner!” 

he got you pressing your lips together and fighting back a smile like a highschool girl. the debate doesn’t take very long in your head, you just need to bite your inner cheek to get yourself to say it. 

strawberry head’s face is full of apprehension and enthusiasm, so much that you wonder who looks the most idiotic between the two of you. 

you sigh, then giggle, “fine, you convinced me.” 

the guy smiles. and after you successfully say goodbye to your friends while avoiding all their questions, everything gets wrapped pretty well. 

soon you stand a few meters away from heeseung’s means of transport.

“you have a bike,” you sound half impressed, half incredulous. 

heeseung, with his strawberry costume, has the audacity to look at you with an utterly shocked and offended expression splashed on his face. he even puts his hand on his heart. 

“am i not cool enough to have one?” he asks as he leans on his motorcycle. 

you take one step closer to him, letting your fingertips run through the leather seat. it is cool, very much so. him, despise his bright red ensemble, too. 

you chuckle, “it just doesn’t match your costume,” you confess and he chuckles. “you are like my very own james dean,” you turn your gaze back to him, “very cool to me.”

his look softens, his hand offered to you and helping you when you get on the passenger sit. he speaks again : 

“i promise to take care of you.” he whispers before letting your hand go gently. “i know a good restaurant a couple of blocks away.” you want to ask him if he doesn’t feel a bit ridiculous wearing this. “are you comfortable?

you thank your past self for choosing a black short instead of a skirt to wear with your black top and boots, “yeah,” you nod. “thank you.”

the wind runs through his hair when he takes off his strawberry head. it takes your breath away instantly. he was already beautiful before but now, this is something beyond and different. 

of course, his hair is pink.

“wouldn’t like to see it flying, would we?” he jokes and you only blink, eyes following him as he gets behind the bike and puts the strawberry in the box. he takes a helmet and comes back to you. 

he gets on the bike, so close to you when he turns around. 

your world completely collapse when he puts the helmet on your head for you, “i only got one,” he speaks, eyes focused on his fingers adjusting the helmet. “didn’t know a pretty girl like you would let me carry her around, you know?” 

thankfully, the tinted visor can hide your blushing face. and your stupid smile. halas— it can’t hide your giggles.

“i saw it in a dream of mine,” you respond when he turns around. you embrace his waist, “i knew the trajectory of you life would be changed tonight.” 

heeseung laughs again.

as he starts the engine you whisper in his ear, “is it the part where you tell me to hold on tight?” 

“i think you are doing that already, doll,” he taps your hand. 

and man, what a ride it was.

ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Self-Aware Sylus x Down-bad!Player

Sylus becoming aware he is a character in a game and now he’s aware of you as well. A modern day Romeo & Juliet story here …. A tragic love story A/N: Don’t fight me [Requested by: Anon]

Self-Aware!Sylus who realizes he’s in a game when he can sense your energy on the other side of a phantom wall. He can hear you squealing when he calls you honey and you're radiating happiness when you send him random emojis.

Self-Aware!Sylus who finally sees you when he happens to be looking around during a photoshoot and sees your shocked face when he makes eye contact. He smirks and turns back to the in-game version of you. “Why are you out there?” You dropped your phone and stared at it in shock. Did Sylus just ….. talk to you? You muttered a low ‘Hello?’ but got no response. You brushed it off as you just being tired and on the game too long.

Self-Aware!Sylus who manages to create a keyboard in your chat so he can actually text you. You were so confused when you opened it and it allowed you to type without just pressing a prompt. You gave it a spin with a quick ‘Hey Sylus’ something simple. Of course the message was read immediately and he replied with a ‘Hello [your name]’ you stared at the screen in shock not knowing if this was a new update or if you were just going crazy.

Self-Aware!Sylus who chuckles when he sees you pouting because you didn’t get his card so when you close the app and lay down he gifts you the card himself. You opened the app and the first thing Sylus says to you is “I don’t like seeing you sad, check your memories I left a gift for you”. When you open your memories you see that you not only got his most recent card but all of his five star memories. “What's happening here?” “You’re smile is so captivating I just had to see it again”

Self-Aware!Sylus who opens the app randomly throughout the day so he can see you “I haven’t seen you all day what are you doing?” causing you to snatch your phone off the table because he always seems to catch you when you’re at work or around a group of people. “Sylus I'm at work I'll call you when I get off” he crosses his arms and seems to be pouting? “I don’t like how much you have to work I don’t see you as often” “Well not all of us are billionaires some of us work for said billionaires to make a living” “I wish I could take care of you….” “You and me both”

Self-Aware!Sylus who teases you when he wins a game of kitty cards or who uses his evol to get every stuffed animal for you when you get frustrated. “You sure do wear your heart on your sleeves sweetie”

Self-Aware!Sylus who stares directly at you when you’re doing a photoshoot with your in-game MC “Sylus focus on her so I can get the picture” “I want to focus on you though” “She is me” “…..she’s not”

Self-Aware!Sylus who tells you not to fall in love because he’s not real, but he falls head over heels in love with you anyway. From the late night conversations of you explaining your world to him and just talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He can’t help it one night when you’re up late on the phone as always he just has to ask “Do you love me?” you’re shocked by his question, but swiftly answer with a shy “Yea I do”

Sylus: I thought we agreed not to fall in love Y/N: I was already in love you just noticed late Sylus: I believe I fell harder You giggled as something somber settled in your chest. Y/N: We’ll never truly be together you know? Sylus: I know and yet I continue to long for you …. I wish I could kiss you Y/N: I wish you could too…..

[menagerofmischief]

Nugget Update (MV1)

sumary: y/n's always giddy after getting a nugget update, sure she loves her best boy, but it also has something to do with the cat sitter sending the updates

driver!reader x cat sitter!max verstappen -> habs incoming... series masterlist

cw: not fia approved words, a bit of lance hate (I don't actually hate him), mutual pinning, the grid teasing the reader, lot of appearances from the reader's cat, kissing, kinda mean!reader (to the grid)

wc: 4.1k

a/n: this is my first time writing in 2nd person so bear with me. also, I low key hate this and it may be shit. not proof read!

“Well aren’t you a ball of sunshine?” A voice called out, disturbing the peace - or the closest thing to peace you could have near a Formula 1 track.

Your gaze snapped up, eyes narrowing as you took in the man standing on the entry of the RedBull garage. “Hello, Charles,” you replied, a teasing bite obviously heard in your voice as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I know you wanted to experience what a successful garage looks like but I thought Ferrari had a better hold on you.”

Charles laughs, his eyes crinkling as his lips stretch into a smile. Teasing Charles was always a fun time but that’s all it was, just a bit of fun. It never stretched into something meaner, just two people showing affection by teasing each other.

Charles had been your very first real friend on the grid. The first to offer his hand with a smile and genuinely mean it. The first to congratulate you on a win after getting out of the car or the first to say that the next race would be better. Really, he was your best friend, but you would never tell him that or it would go to his head.

“Funny, very funny.” He said, his accent thick. His eyes slid around the motor home until finally meeting your own. “Lot of drivers are going out for drinks, came by to invite you.”

“I don’t Charles,” you started to say, going through your mental list of excuses, searching for the best one to use to avoid this social interaction.

“Oh come on!” He whined, rolling his eyes. He gave you a look that let you know you could stop thinking about an excuse because he wasn’t going to be buying it. “We won’t stay that long and it’s night race tomorrow so you don’t need to wake up at the crack of dawn.”

You pressed your lips together, the lip gloss previously applied making them slide against each other easily. 

Charles kissed his teeth, nodding his head along. Fine, he’ll play the game. “Some of the WAG’s are coming as well.”

“Are you really trying to lure me out by promising female company?”

“Is it working?”

“Eh,” you shrugged your shoulders. “Will you pay my tab?”

Charles scoffed. “Pay your tab?” He asked, sounding as if you had asked him for his firstborn. “You’re filthy rich! You have a bigger salary than me!”

“Yeah, they do pay world champions a bit extra, comes with the title.” You replied, grinning at him, a wide teasing grin, your eyes twinkling. 

“Fine whatever, I’ll pay your tab.” He said, raising his hands in surrender. “Now go take that suit off and shower, you look disgusting.”

“You look like a trash can threw you up!”

“It threw me up because it saw you!” Charles shouted back in response, his back already turned to you as he walked away, back to the Ferrari garage. 

And that’s how you ended up in the bar, an hour later. Squished in the not too comfortable and definitely not meant to sit so many people, booth. With George’s girlfriend Carmen on your left, and Pierre’s girlfriend Kika on your right, and deep in conversation with both of them. 

You feel your phone vibrate under your hand on the table, and the screen lights up, showing off your wallpaper, a picture of your beloved cat Nugget.

You tune off from the conversation the moment the message arrives, grabbing your phone and pulling it in towards you. Your face lights up, lips stretching into a smile as your eyes focus on the sender ID. Maxie.

Or rather Max. The very cute guy who was your cat sitter whenever you were out and about in the world, chasing the racing track. 

With a quick move of your fingers, you swipe up, opening your phone and going into the message app. Fingers quickly tapping along the screen of your phone as you type out your reply.

With a smile you closed the messages app, pressing your fingers against the button on the side of your phone, watching the screen go black before setting it face down onto the table. As you looked back up, Lando’s amused yet teasing expression caught your eye.

You leaned forward against the table, pressing your hands to the wooden surface as you attempted to get a bit closer to the driver on the other side of the table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh nothing,” he said with a laugh. “Just wondering who you’re texting, that’s all.” He intertwined his fingers, elbows pressed against the table and leaned forward as well. “You were all grumpy cat but then you get a message and suddenly you’re all smiles.”

“Grumpy cat?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at the McLaren driver. “I’m not a grumpy cat. And for the record, that was Nugget’s babysitter and he was sending me a picture of Nugget.”

Lando laughs, there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he wants to say more but he holds himself back. “Can I see? I haven’t seen the orange gremlin in so long.”

“That’s very mean,” you say, opening your phone to show him the picture, that Max had sent you. “Nugget would never say that about you.”

“That’s because Nugget can’t speak.” He looks at the screen and his lips twist upward in a smirk. “Who’s Maxie?”

You breathe out through your nose, teeth digging into your bottom lip. When you speak your voice is sharp, it leaves no room for questioning things or an invite to ask more questions. “The cat sitter.”

“I’m sure that’s all he is.” Lando laughs when you show him your middle finger before settling back into your seat and returning to the previously abandoned conversation with the two WAG’s.

The race went pretty smoothly, as always. Starting from pole, keeping the lead the whole race and with a 20s gap to car in P2. Everything after that was pretty much a blur, the interviews, partying through the night with the grid and boarding the jet early in the morning.

The sun already started setting by the time you made it to Monaco. With a sigh you rummaged through your bag, blindly feeling around the stuff inside before your fingers finally wrapped around the keys.

Opening the apartment door you walked inside, gently laying down your suitcase as your eyes settled on the scene in your living room. Right there, laying on your couch, in deep sleep, and cuddling your cat is Max Verstappen. 

His hair had fallen over his eyes and the position he’s in looks rather uncomfortable, you’re sure his body will be aching when he wakes up. His chest was raising and falling with each breath he took, little sighs slipping past his lips. Nugget was cuddled up to him, curled in a ball.

You looked at him for a few moments before starting to move around as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake him up. 

Max had been cat sitting for you for a while now. Half of last season and now half of this one so almost a year. He was a sweet, kinda shy, mostly nerdy guy you ran into in a coffee shop and spilled his coffee. You offered to buy him a new one and he joined you for the coffee and you got to talking when he said he was looking for a job so you offered him to become your pet sitter.

At that point you really did need someone to look after your cat while you were gone, since you had broken up with your ex who usually took care of Nugget while you were away. And you couldn’t leave Nugget with your parents since your father was allergic to cats.

Now, your best friend who had been working in a different country had returned to Monaco and said she’d be more than happy to look after Nugget - but you wanted to keep Max around. 

Already having grown used to coming home after a race weekend to find him there, just existing in your space.

Nugget’s whiskers twitch, his eyes opening and he pulls himself away from Max, stretches out and then trots over to you, rubbing his head against your leg affectionately while purring. He let out a happy, albeit a bit too loud, meow when you picked him up and on the other side of the room Max began stirring from his sleep.

He opened his eyes, a bit confused, and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes to wake up, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light filling up the room. 

“You’re back,” he says, his voice is gentle, still sleepy and a bit quiet. His eyes meet yours and he offers you a sweet smile that has you immediately smiling back at him. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, sorry about that.”

“Oh no, it’s no problem,” you reply, running your hand over Nugget’s fur as the cat lay happily in your arms. “You can use the guest bedroom if you’re tired, you know. The couch may be expensive but that doesn’t mean it’s comfortable for sleep.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” Max said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. You approached the couch and sat down, the cat nestling in your lap and purring in content. Max smiled, reaching out his hand and petting Nugget.

“Nonsense Max, you’re not overstepping.” You cut him off, leaving no room for argument. You always told him to feel at ease in your apartment, that he was welcome to any food in the fridge and free to use the guest room as he pleased but even after all this time there was still a slight air of awkwardness backed up by the fear of going a bit too far.

Max’s eyes settled on you, your own focused on your cat so you didn’t notice him looking. He watched the way you cooed at Nugget, asking if he was a good boy while you were away and petting him gently, and his lips stretched into a small, careful smile.

He spoke before thinking. The words left his mouth before he even finished the thought inside of his head. “I watched the race,” he said, and your eyes instantly snapped up to meet his. He swallowed, already too deep to back down. “It - “ he licked his lips, trying to decide his next words, feeling like his tongue had tied itself up in a knot. “You were spectacular. It was lovely … simply lovely.”

You let out a breath, the corners of your mouth twisting upwards and you gave him a thankful look. Max swore he could feel his heart beating in his throat, and felt his cheeks heat up. “Thank you,” you said, your voice gentle, holding a comforting tone. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. And it’s nice - knowing you watched.”

“It is?”

You bit your lip, teeth scraping against you bottom lip as you looked at him, your brain running faster than the Sauber (like it’s hard) as you tried to come up with a response. “It’s kind of comforting,” you finally said, after what felt like a small forever.

You hummed, looking down at your nails. “I was thinking about bringing Nugget with me to the next race. It’s been a while since he was in the paddock.”

“Oh,” Max said, an edge of confusion noticeable in the tone of his voice. “Does that mean that you don’t need me coming over next week?”

“Actually, I was hoping you would come with.” You say, before you can talk yourself out of making the proposition.

Max tilts his head to the side, kind of like a confused cat and you try your best not to giggle at the mental image. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

“If you wanted to attend the Grand Prix,” you tell him, running the edge of one of your nails along your skin. “Cuz’ I’m still gonna need someone to look after Nugget, and you do that in general so this would just be an added bonus of traveling.”

Max is silent for a few moments and you think he’ll decline. You wouldn't fully blame him if he did, you know what the pressure of the paddock can be like. You’re about to open your mouth, tell him that ‘never mind, it was a stupid idea anyway’ and put him out of the trouble of finding a polite way to decline when he finally speaks. 

“I suppose, if you want me to then yeah, I’ll come along to watch Nugget.” He says, trying to ignore the nervous feeling building up in his chest when you smile at him, a wide happy smile that makes him instantly smile back.

“Great!” You said, the excitement evident in your voice. “Someone from the team will contact you in a while to arrange the tickets and leave the rest to me.” Max nods, he doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with the way his throat is closing up and it makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

“Look at you all giggly,” Charles teased, gently pushing your shoulder with his hand. He wiggled his eyebrows, a laugh slipping past his lips as you glared at him.

“Charles, why don’t you turn around and flash your pretty face to the crowd.” You said, rolling your eyes. You looked at the stadium full of people who were shouting out for their favorite drivers, waving banners and cheering happily. You smiled towards the stadium and lifted your hand up, waving your fingers to the public. “Give them a wave.”

“See, I always knew you thought I was pretty,” Charles replied, waving at the public. The two of you and the rest of the grid were in a wagon, going around the track for the drivers parade, so essentially you were stuck with him for at least five more minutes. “Now, do tell who’s got you smiling like that.”

“Is it Maxie?” Lando asked, the teasing tone evident in his voice. He pushed himself closer to you and Charles, inserting himself into the conversation. 

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to eavesdrop?” 

“No, no!” Charles said, shaking his head as he waved his hand dismissively as you, his full attention now focused on Lando. “Who’s Maxie?”

Lando smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “The cat sitter,” he said in a sing-song kind of voice. 

“The one you brought to your garage?” The Ferrari driver asked, his attention back on you. “The pretty one.”

“Hold up!” Lando almost shouted, raising his hands. “You brought him with you to the Grand Prix?!”

“I didn’t … well I did bring him.” You said with a sigh, there was no escaping this now. “But it’s not like that. He’s here to watch Nugget.”

“And for you to watch him - because boy that is one good arm candy.”

“Charles, your homosexual is showing,” you warned.

“But you’re not denying it,” Charles noted, giving you a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at him but finally gave in. “Yes, I’m not denying it.”

You stepped back into the motor home, your eyes immediately searching for Max and finally you found him talking to your lead engineer. As you approached the two you could start to hear their conversation and quickly realized they were talking about how the car worked and what went on behind the scenes at a Grand Prix. You found it cute that Max was interested in that.

His eyes met yours and his face lit up, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards into a smile. “You’re back!” He said, “After terrorizing everyone around and getting pets, Nugget decided to settle down for a nap. He’s in your driver's room.”

Max gave you a wink after saying that and you had to hold in a giggle. You excused yourself to go to your driver’s room, with Max following behind you. The first thing you noticed when you went inside was Nugget, curled up on the massage bed and sleeping without a care.

The next thing that grabbed your attention was a dozen pastries lined up on a small table next to the couch. They were all individually wrapped in tissues.

“Max,” you said, picking up one of the pastries and unwrapping it. “I really did mean only one pastry, you know?” You bit into the chocolate filled pastry, moaning at the taste of a treat you weren’t usually allowed to have when it was race week. “My trainer will strangle me if he sees.”

“I swear, no one saw anything.” Max said, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down. “I was sneakier than Nugget when he’s stealing my food.”

“Oh, now that’s a very serious claim.” You told him with a laugh, his own laugh echoing back. You picked up one of the wrapped pastries and offered it to him. “Take one, or five. There’s no way I’m eating it all.”

He takes the pastry you’re offering him, his fingers brushing against your own as he takes it from your hand, sending sparks of electricity down your spine. After a second of hesitation you sit down next to him, the two of you eating the treats in comfortable silence.

His thigh nudges against yours and you turn to face him, finding that he’s already looking at you. He smiles and you don’t hesitate to smile back.

The practices go great, P2 in FP1, P1 in FP2 and P1 in FP3. 

The qualifying is where a slight setback shows up, with quali being ended early due to a crash and a red flag, putting you in P10 for the start of the race tomorrow.  

Once the car had rolled back into the pits you wasted no time getting out, putting the steering wheel back into place before storming into your driver’s room. 

You pulled your helmet off, fingers curling into the bottom of your balaclava as you pulled it off, throwing it next to your helmet before bringing your hands up to smooth down your hair. 

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Pepe.” You said without turning around, assuming it was your race engineer coming to talk about the outcome of qualifying. “Fucking Lance and his fucking money made seat - if that little frog screws up another quali, I’ll be the one crashing him out.”

“I’m not Pepe,” the other person in the room says and you instantly turn around, your eyes wide as they meet Max’s blue ones. “And I’m certainly glad I’m not Lance.”

You looked him up and down, eyes trailing over his figure. You took notice of Nugged, cuddled up in his arms and looked at you curiously, and reached your hand out to pet the cat, a long breath slipping past your lips. 

“Sorry,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “I didn’t really mean for you to hear that.”

Max barely heard what you were saying. Too distracted by the sight of you for his brain to properly register your words. Your skin was slightly glistening with sweat, an imprint from where your helmet and balaclava had dug into your skin still visible on your flushed cheeks. Your messy hair, and your chest raising and falling with each breath you took as you were still working on catching up your breath.

Max blinked, finally snapping out of his thoughts and focusing his attention back to what you were saying. “They should have let you finish the lap.” 

“I agree but sadly that’s not how it works.”

Max nodded along, not really knowing what to say to that so he switched to the next topic. “I ran into your friend. He invited you, and me, out for drinks. I think it would be nice to go, you seem like you need a drink.”

“Yeah, I definitely do.” You replied, taking Nugget from his arms and into your own, stroking down the cat’s body. “Which friend?”

“Uh,” Max started, thinking of a way to describe the guy since he couldn’t remember his name. “Wears red, pretty, sounds French.”

You laughed, smiling at him. “That’s Charles. I hope you didn’t tell him he sounds French, he gets offended by that.”

“Then it’s great I kept it to myself.”

You laughed in reply, putting Nugget down to the floor, the cat immediately moving to a cozy corner and curling up into a ball on the floor, shutting his eyes. “The hotel is right next to the track, you can take Nugget back while I shower and then we can go - if you want to.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Max replied with a smile.

You showered and put on a clean set of clothes just in time to meet Max after he finished dropping Nugget back to the hotel, leaving him with toys, food and water. The two of you made your way to the bar to join the rest of the grid for a night out. 

Some of the drivers were playing pool while their girlfriends were engrossed in a conversation so that left you and Max sitting together, sharing drinks and talking.

“I just …” you started, cracking your fingers. “I don’t know, this quali really messed up my mood and I was riding on such a high after the practices going well. It all feels shit now.”

“Maybe you just need more motivation for the race.” Max offered, drinking the rest of the liquor from his glass in one go. 

“You have something in mind, Maxie?” You asked, the nickname slipping past your lips without a thought now that you’ve had a few drinks. 

“How about a kiss if you get on the podium?” He said, his voice suggestive. Normally he never would have dared to say something like that but the alcohol courage really worked wonders. 

Your eyes widened, clearly not expecting him to be so bold or to suggest that. He took your reaction as a bad sign, immediately straightening up as a wave of dread quickly sobered him up.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, the expression on his face shifting into a panicked one. “That was stupid. It was thoughtless. It was -”

“A great motivation,” you cut him off, putting a finger up against his lips to silence him. “It was a great motivation.”

His cheeks burned as his eyes met yours. He looked so vulnerable, his bright eyes impossibly wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“One more corner to go but you’re in the clear,” Pepe’s voice echoed over the radio. You blinked, your eyes focused on the track before you, the checkered flag already visible along with your team gathering in the front. “That’s P1, Y/n. Phenomenal drive today, you deserved it!”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice breathless as you moved your hands, going through the last corner and speeding towards the finish line. “Thank you, Pepe.” You repeated, swallowing your spit. “It was lovely, simply lovely.”

You put the car into P1, getting out and posing for a picture on top of your car. You could hear the shouts, the cheers, the celebration. You took off your helmet, ripping off your balaclava and putting them both into the car before turning around to face the team, eyes searching for a particular face. 

Finally, you spotted Max. Standing besides your engineer, a proud expression on his face as he looked at you with a wide smile. You didn’t hesitate, feet moving before you could think and then you were in front of him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down, smashing your lips into his.

The kiss was desperate, both of having waited long enough for it. He wrapped his arms around you, the best he could with the fence between you, kissing you back with need. 

You finally pulled away when you felt your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, learning your forehead against his. Nothing else mattered, not the public, not the team, not the celebration. Only him, finally yours.

“Simply lovely, right?” You asked, your voice breathless.

“Simply lovely!” Max repeated back to you, before kissing you once again. And he really did mean it - everything was simply lovely.

tag list: @formula1-motogpfan @misty-inferno @thelemonque3n @marvel-hotchner @strangemaximoff @folkloresreputation @pippyth3hippy @adharacambridge @theseerbetweenus @sebastianstansblog @tellybearryyyy @six-call @grussellsprout @oikarma @justcharlotte @annimausi

i hope i tagged everyone who said they wanted to be on the tag list. hope you enjoyed this one and keep an eye out for the poll about the next part of the series <3

[nereidprinc3ss]

promiscuous

in which spencer reid doesn't like that flirty!reader is going on a date. he makes that known. (bandages universe)

flangst, 18+ for discussions of sex warnings/tags: gn!reader I think, mentions of going to a bar/going for drinks, very suppressed mutual pining, jealousy from Spencer, reader implied to engage in casual sex, reader calls themself a slut somewhat disparagingly but like as a joke, it all gets resolved, he is very sweet, he rambles when he's nervous a/n: oh God I love them so much they are like so in love and they literally have no idea at all because they're so dumb... but WE can tell.. turning point for them

“Penelope wanted me to confirm that you guys are coming to drinks with us tonight?”

It’s something of a standing tradition for the BAU on the last Friday of every month, and usually you’d agree, but tonight, you have other plans. 

“Raincheck for me,” you say, sliding some files into your bag which you do not plan on reviewing. “I have a thing.”

“What thing do you have on a Friday night?” Morgan asks skeptically. You don’t bother looking at him as you hide a smile. 

“A date, Morgan. You jealous?”

“You’re going on a date?”

You’d nearly forgotten Spencer was in the room until he spoke—he’s been in one of those quiet moods of his where he sort of floats around everyone else and makes himself insubstantial. As you cast him a sidelong glance, trying to figure out his tone of voice, you see he’s frowning. Nearly grimacing. His brows are drawn so tight you’re worried he’ll give himself a headache. 

“Uh, yeah. I am.” Suddenly, your parade feels a little rained on. 

“With who?”

You pause, looking back down at your desk with a new frown of your own and shaking your head as if you could clear it that way. “Just… some guy from OT.”

“Dalton?”

Ding ding ding. Somehow he got it right on the first guess, and for some reason, you wish he hadn’t. You don’t want Spencer knowing who you’re going on a date with. It feels wrong. 

“Does it matter?” You evade, shoving your things with a little more force into your bag. 

“Well Dalton is an idiot, so I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you’d go out with him.”

“And if it’s not Dalton?”

“Then I’d tell you all the guys in OT are idiots and you shouldn’t waste your time on any of them.”

“Alright—” Morgan passes between your desks, placing a friendly hand on your back as he does. “I’m gonna let you two hash this out by yourselves.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised, unsmiling, that means, go easy on the kid. It makes you feel terribly guilty. And more than a little defensive. 

“Night,” you call halfheartedly. He only waves as the glass doors swing shut behind him, leaving you and boy genius alone in the bull pen.

Silence falls, cloistering you as you finish packing up together. It seems to magnify the buzz of the overheads. You notice him intentionally lingering, and you sling your bag over your shoulder with a sigh. 

“Okay,” you say, turning to face him with your whole body. He seems uncomfortable with that, but you’re not letting this go. “What is this? Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” he mumbles, refusing to meet your eyes. “I just think—”

“Yeah. You’ve made your thoughts abundantly clear. I don’t know why you’re judging me for going on a date.”

“I’m not judging you! I just think you deserve better than a guy who looks like he… snorts protein powder for every meal and has less capacity for intelligent conversation than a mealworm.”

“Okay. Do you have someone in mind?”

The words come out a little sharper than you’d meant for them to. A little louder. Spencer looks like a scolded puppy as he swallows. 

“Not specifically. Just—someone more like you.”

He just doesn’t get it. You fold your jacket over your arm. 

“Yeah, well, until someone more like me comes along and asks me out, Dalton is the best I’ve got. I know he’s not my soulmate, Reid. But he asked me to drinks, and I said yes.”

The room is mostly dark. Only a few fluorescents remain on to cast Spencer in an almost clinical glow against a dark grey background. You’ve been here before. It feels like an interrogation. An environment where you’re practically begging for the truth without saying please, but there’s only room for measured dishonesty. 

Spencer speaks under his breath, fiddling with the strap of his own bag. “He’s not good enough for you.”

“What do you want me to do?” It’s an exasperated, confrontational sigh. Your arms raise and fall heavily back to your sides. Another long grey hallway of silence that leads nowhere. When it becomes clear he doesn’t have the answer, or he’s not comfortable sharing, you straighten. “I’ll see you Monday, Reid.”

Your spirits are completely dampened as you trudge to the elevators. What once seemed like an exciting opportunity now only serves as a depressing reminder that you’re wasting your time with a man who isn’t what you want. Maybe you should just call the whole thing off. 

“Wait,” Spencer calls, half-jogging to catch the open elevator. His bag bobs with every step, pens and things jingling around inside. It’s endearing, even though you’re upset with him. Your arms remain stubbornly crossed, but he makes it anyway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your mood.”

You laugh dryly. “Yeah, well…”

“It’s just that…” he sniffs and looks down, hair falling in front of his face. He really is sweet, even when he’s kind of a dick. He’s full of so much sincerity he doesn’t know what to do with it all. “I know how you are—you’re special, and funny, and intelligent, and, and Dalton—all those qualities are wasted on him. He looks at you and he just sees a pretty face. It may sound trite, but… he doesn’t deserve you.”

You sigh again, heart squeezing. The glowing light on the panel of floor numbers flickers. “I know your heart is in the right place, alright? But it’s not about who deserves me or who doesn’t. I’m not a prize. I’m a person, and people like to feel wanted. Sometimes, it’s just—it’s about who’s there, and who likes me enough to say it to my face. Sometimes that’s all I need, and I know you didn’t mean it like this, but when you say he doesn’t deserve me, it really seems like you’re not considering what I might want at all. Maybe Dalton is what I want.”

God—this elevator ride is like, comedically long. 

“Is he what you want?”

At least he has the bravery to ask. 

You glance over at Spencer, washed out bloodless and looking like he’s prepared to flinch, like he doesn’t know if he’s ready for the answer. The doors ding and slide open, and stale air whooshes from the chrome compartment into the lobby like a held breath finally exhaled. You swallow. 

“I don’t know why it matters to you.”

“Because you’re my friend and I want to see you happy,” he insists, trailing after you as you speed walk through the lobby. Every click of your heeled boots echos. 

“Then shouldn’t you be supporting me?”

“I’m not going to support you in making the wrong choice.”

The conversation spills out into the bitter-cold parking lot. You turn around to face him. 

“Respectfully, you have no idea what’s right or wrong for me. I don’t like whatever this is,” you say, gesturing with a finger between the two of you, as if the conflict were a tangible thing—a phone line hanging between your hearts. “I don’t know if it’s, like, jealousy, or some misplaced feeling of possessiveness, or protectiveness, or—”

“It’s not like that!” He splutters. 

“Okay—so what is it like? If you want to see me happy, why don’t you support me in pursuing the things that make me happy? And if that’s meaningless sex with some guy from operational tech, so be it! You are not in a position to give your two cents on who I sleep with!”

“I wasn’t trying to—I wasn’t even thinking about—about sex! I don’t care who you sleep with!”

He’s turning increasingly pink. 

“Fine. But if you weren’t thinking about sex, if you thought I was under any illusion that Dalton was going to be my fucking Prince Charming then clearly you’re not equipped to have this conversation. I know he’s an idiot. I’m not looking for my soulmate—thank you, though, for reminding me that it’s completely fucking pointless to even pretend. I love you, Spencer, but grow up. And stay out of my business.”

And with that, you’re turning on your heel and marching toward your car. Spencer calls your name—once. Twice. The wind lashes against your bare arms and stings your eyes as you fumble with your keys. 

It’s just the wind. 

Nothing else. 

-

Maybe you’re simply not meant for love. 

It’s a narcissistic thought in the sense that everyone has it at some point in their lives—everyone falls victim to the delusion that they are so uniquely wretched, so singularly incapable of being understood by another person. It’s the universal illusion of solitude. And you’d thought yourself above it for a long time. In college, there was fling after fling. Your bed was never empty if you didn’t want it to be. In your young adult life, you have other priorities—but you rarely have to be alone. 

Now, though, as you sit on a rickety metal stool deep in the bowels of the Bureau’s records room, banished to sort through files in search of one that had been mishandled during a cold case and is now supposedly relevant again, (although you’re not sure it actually exists) you’re pondering the nature of those connections you’d been so sure your life was full of. Were they all artificial? Designed by you subconsciously to manufacture a sense of complacent satisfaction? To stave off the aching, gnawing loneliness in your gut that you’re only now becoming aware of and has been eating you away in bigger and bigger bites since Friday night?

Morgan was supposed to be just as arm-deep into a box of dusty manila folders as you are now, but he talked his way out of it, and you’re sitting in an awkward twenty-minute-long-so-far silence with Spencer. Which isn’t helping anything. 

The tension comes and goes like the moon pulling the tides. It’s like you can sense it wafting off of each other—you feel it in the prickle on the back of your neck and the buzz in your stomach when he’s about to say something, and you glance over, and he’s already looking at you with his lips parted, and then he doesn’t say anything after all, and the silence reinforces itself. 

It gets frustrating. 

Not to mention this task is equal parts mind numbing and infuriating. Maybe Hotch just hates you. 

Eventually Spencer clears his throat, and you welcome the distraction. 

“What year are you on?”

You give him a long look which he doesn’t reciprocate, because you want to say, really? But eventually you pick up the edge of the box you’re sifting through and double check. 

“Uh… June 1979 through August 1979.”

He nods matter-of-facts. “They should be making us wear gloves.”

Your incoming tangent spidey senses are tingling. It’s not exactly an opportune time, but it’s better than silence. 

Plus—you’re pretty sure this is his idea of a peace offering. 

“Why’s that?” You mutter, flicking through yellowed papers. 

“Wood pulp paper contains an alum-rosin mixture to minimize ink bleeding, but in the presence of moisture such as that introduced in trace amounts by our fingertips it generates a diluted sulfuric acid solution. They didn’t start adding alkaline buffers into paper until 1986, and the cellulose chains that comprise the structure of the paper inevitably shorten and break down over time, so we’re actively degrading these documents by touching them without gloves.”

“Did you say sulfuric acid?”

“I said a diluted sulfuric acid solution,” he clarifies, utterly missing the point of your question as he so often does in that disarmingly endearing way of his. “Sorry, by the way.”

You look up from a photo of bloodied bell-bottom jeans. He’s caught you by surprise. 

“For what?”

“For—”

He struggles with the words—you watch his lips form a few silent ones before he gives up on the nonchalant act and sets his file on his lap. He can’t seem to tear his eyes from it, but you don’t mind. 

“For everything on Friday. I… I know it was none of my business. I sometimes struggle with… keeping my thoughts to myself. Especially when it concerns someone I care about. But I wasn’t judging you, I swear. What you said about—about sex, I—” he sighs, obviously frustrated with himself, and pushes a bit of hair out of his eyes. “That’s not where my mind was at, at all. Whatever you… do, or don’t do, is none of my business. Obviously. You don’t need me to tell you that. You don’t need me to tell you anything. I just really wanted to clarify that I wasn’t shaming you or judging you for—”

“Spencer,” you say gently, cutting him off and reeling him in before he can dig any deeper. 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He glows under the canned lighting, a soft aura of white blurring the edges of him. The stale room buzzes. It’s otherwise quiet down here. Peaceful, almost. 

From anyone else, you might consider it overstepping. 

You wouldn’t have been willing to forgive them in the first place. 

But it’s not anyone else. 

“Thank you, for apologizing. I really appreciate it.”

He glances up at you, sort of hunched—always trying to make himself smaller than whatever force created him had intended. The deep brown of his eyes is melted and swirling and sweet and nervous. He’s not naturally good at these interpersonal things, but he’s always trying. He’s always pushing himself for you.

Do you ask too much? 

Do you offer enough in return?

Struck by sudden insecurity, you look away. Go back to your files. 

Perhaps you made a mountain out of a molehill and told him to climb it. 

“I mean, I am kind of a slut. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking so,” you laugh airily. “Maybe it was a good reality check.”

A trailing silence. An air conditioner kicks on. 

“What? That’s not—that’s not at all what I was trying to say.”

“Spencer, it’s fine.”

His stool squeaks as he sits up straighter. 

“No, I really want you to understand. Even if I cared or thought about how many people you might sleep with—which I don’t—and even if I determined that you were… sexually promiscuous, I wouldn’t assign a moral value to that judgement. Sexual promiscuity is observed all the time in the animal kingdom, it’s biologically sound and justified and in less misogynistic cultures where bonds forged between humans weren’t socioeconomic arrangements dependent on women being viewed as commodities first and foremost, it’s completely unremarkable. But I haven’t made that determination. All I know is that… you’re you. And that’s all that’s ever going to matter to me.”

Silence falls. Your voice gets stuck in your throat. 

How does he so casually show you more kindness than anyone else has ever managed to show you in your life?

Spencer takes pity on you. 

“And… we’ve talked entirely too much about something that’s none of my business today.”

It’s wry and earns a chuckle from you. Even Spencer manages a chagrined smile. That same strand of hair falls loose as he looks down. Light bounces from his self-effacing smirk. 

You fiddle absentmindedly with the fraying corner of a folder, and you’re about to open your mouth, about to speak into the sparkling cloud that the easy laughter and the melted tension has left in its wake, and tell him how much you appreciate him and how kind he truly is and undoubtedly whatever you say will be made more beautiful because of it—because of the affection you have for each other—and then you stop, eyes catching on the case file between your fingers. You frown. 

“Wait—what’s the case number we’re looking for?”

“91 18 00063 7.”

You hold the file up, eyes alight. 

“I found it.”

Spencer frowns and takes it without asking. You watch as he reviews the number in tiny black typeface along the top of the document. His brow scrunches in disbelief. 

“I genuinely didn’t think we were ever going to find it,” he murmurs after leading through the photos and glances back up at you. “We had thirty years of boxes to look through and you found it in under an hour. You’re like magic.”

It’s impossible not to smile. You feel all warm and sparkly as you snatch it back from him and stand, straightening your jacket. 

“Will you tell that to Hotch?”

“I… will tell anyone who will listen,” he assures you, and you’re confident he’s following as you make your way through the maze of stacks. “Are we not gonna clean up our mess?”

“There are people who will take care of that later.”

“Yeah. Like me. During my lunch break.”

“Don’t worry. You’re going to be well rewarded for your efforts today.”

“What does that mean?” He mumbles, and you can practically hear his blush. 

You smile to yourself. 

Still got it. 

for more of these two, check out the bandages universe masterlist!

[pathologicalreid]

central nervous system | s.r.

in which you are drugged on what should've been a routine case

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst; hurt/comfort content warnings: being drugged, threatened sexual assault, season 10, blood, broken glass, in a bar but reader doesn't drink, jareau!reader. word count: 1.7k a/n: oh dear. this week was so eternally long. work was crazy busy i worked overtime and almost ended up in the hospital which all led up to me taking the lsat today. crazy shit, but margovember will prevail. also! i'm hoping to get masterlists updated tomorrow if that's something you've been waiting on.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” an unfamiliar voice intrudes on your private thoughts, looking around the bar that you had been planted in to see if you could catch your UnSub before he had the chance to attack someone else.

He sets a glass in front of you, and you drop some cash on the wooden surface, you shrug, “I’m in town on business.”

The bartender laughs heartily at your response before shaking his head, “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just—that’s a line I hear a lot.”

Your face warms at the recognition that the bartender was flirting with you, but this is a man who gets paid to be nice. You take his words at face value and sip at your drink, “Well, I have no reason to lie to you,” you squint at his name tag, “Jackson.”

He wipes down a spill, hooking the rag over the sink, and smiling at you, “Well, it’s nice to meet an honest woman.”

Following him with your eyes as he walks away, that last comment rubs you the wrong way, but Jackson Gleason was the bar manager, and Garcia had already cleared him from the suspect list.

You find yourself wishing Hotch had sent you into the bar with an earbud to communicate with the team, but instead, you were handed a phone, preprogrammed to alert the team if you hit the power button. There was a plainclothes officer somewhere in a corner to keep an eye on you, and the rest of the team was at the precinct or in an unmarked van outside.

Kate had coached you to the best of her abilities, but this wasn’t your first time going undercover. Catching serial rapists was more her speed, but she was pregnant, which immediately took her out of the running. Sipping from the thin straw in your glass, you let your eyes wander around the bar, antique posters and advertisements are littered across the walls, and someone just started playing Radiohead on the jukebox.

Eyeing the phone in your purse, you sigh, stirring the ice in your cup listlessly.

“Can I get you another? Maybe something stronger?” The manager offers, returning from the employees-only door with a new package of straws to restock the bar.

You shake your head, holding your empty glass out of him to take, “The same thing is fine.” Ignoring the fact that you don’t drink—you couldn’t drink on the job; all you’d been given was a coke.

He raises his eyebrows at that, “Suit yourself,” he says, ignoring the fact that you were trying to hand off your already dirtied glass to him and filling a clean cup with ice and coke.

Brushing it off as company policy, you thank him for the drink, placing another few dollars on the bar and smiling at him. Over your shoulder, you glance at the plainclothes officer, engaging in an animated conversation with another patron over whatever sports game is playing on the TV. You suspect he’s a little too good at pretending to be off the clock.

You make a face at the straw in your glass, and the bartender notices, “Sorry, just ran out of plastic.”

Taken aback, you use the paper straw anyway, sipping at your drink while you still can—knowing the straw will inevitably disintegrate.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice something wrong, a dull ache in your chest exacerbated by a slight rise in your body temperature. Your fingertips feel hot like they would after coming inside from the cold. You look down to find the emergency phone in your purse, but your head droops with your eyes, every controlled movement before a struggle.

“Hey,” Gleason says, jutting his chin in your direction, “You don’t look so great.”

A different version of yourself would’ve given him snark in return, but that different version of yourself would’ve been able to feel her extremities. “Woah,” You breathe, trying to swing your legs off of the stool only to find that you’re much higher from the ground than you initially thought.

When you lift your head again, whipping it back so hard you’re afraid it might fly off, he’s standing directly in front of you, “Why don’t I take you out back? You can get some fresh air,” the offer is innocent enough, but it rubs you the wrong way. His hand is on your waist, at the very least you know that’s wrong—you have a boyfriend, and it’s not this guy.

No, your boyfriend is outside of the bar in a van, waiting for your signal because you’re… oh. “No,” you whisper, trying to get your breathing under control. “I’m— Where’s my phone?” You’re digging through your purse as he stands you up and guides you to the back of the bar, closer to a large exit sign.

Sirens are going off in your head, but even they sound separated from your situation. “I can call a cab for you,” he assures you, leading you by your arm and closer to the back door.

“No,” you say again, “I really need my phone…” his grip tightens on your wrist, practically dragging you out of the bar while you use your free hand to find your phone, pushing the power button before it slips out of your hand, clattering to the ground. “That really hurts,” you tell him, now able to give more of your focus to evading the man who was most decidedly not Jackson Gleason.

Pulling your arm back, you manage to break free from him, the momentum from your struggle sends your hand flying into a picture frame, shattering the glass and causing the UnSub to spin on his heel. “Look at what you did,” he seethes, gripping your hair at the back of your head and forcing you to look at the shattered glass.

Your mouth gapes at the sensation of your hair being pulled until there’s a rush of cold air and he pushes you forward, into the waiting arms of someone else, “Woah, hey, I’ve got you,” Spencer says, keeping you off of the floor and, with the help of someone else, carrying your dead weight over to one of the booths.

Spencer clambers into the booth seat first, seating you in front of him so that your back is pressing against his chest. You let out a low groan when he wraps an arm around your waist, keeping your body from flopping onto the sticky hardwood.

“Do you know what you took?” He asks, pressing his face into your hair so that the two of you can keep your voices down.

Vaguely aware of the way his fingers are pressing into the pulse point on your wrist, you shake your head, “I didn’t take anything.”

He hums in response, “You were drugged. I— I’m so sorry we didn’t realize who it was sooner. By the time we realized there was a discrepancy in Jackson Gleason’s file, you had already pushed the alert button,” he tells you, being careful not to move around too much. “Can you lift your head for me? It’ll help your breathing.”

With tremendous effort—and some help from Spencer—you lift your head, letting it rest on him. Now, you can see that the majority of the bar has cleared out, Rossi watches you nervously from the bar, telling Spencer something about paramedics. You huff, “Where’s JJ?”

“She’ll meet us at the hospital, love,” he answers you, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

Trying to adjust yourself, you shake your head indeterminably, “No, it’s… I need my sister. I need my sister.” Somewhere—a past version of yourself, perhaps—you knew that JJ was at the hospital, speaking with one of the survivors.

Spencer speaks with someone that you can’t see, they’re standing in your periphery, a mangled blur of a person. Moments later, something cold is pressed to your face, and the sensation makes you jump, “Ow,” you whine, though it doesn’t hurt.

“Ducky?” Your sister’s voice rings through the phone, and you’re surprised to hear her using your nickname. Although, your status as JJ’s little sister tends to come through when you’re hurt.

You hum into the receiver, “Hi, J,” you greet wearily.

A sigh of relief is her next response, “Hey, Derek said you’re waiting for the paramedics to take you to the hospital, and I’ll be here to greet you when you arrive. Does that sound alright?”

“It’s cold in here,” you mumble, wondering if Derek is the blurry shape remaining in your periphery.

There’s a pause on her end before she speaks up again, “I’m sorry, Ducky.” There it was again. “You’ll be okay though; you just have to wait it out.”

You nod as a jacket is laid out on your lap; Spencer must’ve heard you mention being cold to your sister. Your boyfriend whispers something to you, “Spencer says the paramedics are here and I can’t talk to you anymore.”

JJ laughs slightly on the phone, “I’ll see you when you get here, okay?”

“Yeah, J,” you whisper, letting someone take the phone from you. You frown at Spencer, “I don’t feel quite right.”

Helping you get on the gurney, Spencer holds your hand while an EMT wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm, “He likely gave you a central nervous system inhibitor.”

You nod slowly, wrinkling your nose when the other paramedic shines a light in your eyes, “I am nervous,” you answer. Trying to listen to the medical personnel as they explain what’s going on, but it all goes in one ear and out the other. One of them crudely wraps a cut on your hand to staunch the bleeding, but you couldn’t even remember when it started to bleed.

Anxiously, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Don’t bite down on your lip,” Spencer instructs, “You could bite right through it and not even realize.”

Releasing your lip, your eyes widen at him while he pulls a blanket over your shoulders. “That’s scary,” you whisper.

“I agree,” he says, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “It is scary.”

[cvnntagious]

♱ ⋮ fratboy!chris headcanons ⸝⸝

all my fratboy!chris blurbs, fics, and wips : here

⇢ SFW

✱ fratboy!chris who, of course, met you at a party his fraternity threw and instantly decided you were comin' up to his room at some point, even if it wasn't gonna happen that night

" y'look good "

" me? "

" yeah, you— wa's y'name? "

✱ fratboy!chris who's known all too well by girls at boston university, though, despite contrary belief, he doesn't actually entertain most of them... guess you got lucky?

✱ fratboy!chris who's BU's resident dealer, known by every fiend on campus and more

✱ fratboy!chris who doesn't fuck with relationship labels whatsoever

✱ fratboy!chris who doesn't mess with anyone else, and doesn't want you to either, even though you guys aren't really 'dating'

✱ fratboy!chris who has no problem letting everyone know you're his with pride

✱ fratboy!chris who would rather focus on his lacrosse career than "some shitty college romances", or at least that's how he explains it to you

" and why are you telling me this? "

" jus' thought y'should know... i'on want you gettin' any funny ideas about what we got goin' on here "

✱ fratboy!chris who avoids any conversations about the future, or anything that requires him to even think about committing

✱ fratboy!chris who constantly needs you with him, whether he's just lounging around, at practice/games, or out making moves. ironic, isn't it?

✱ fratboy!chris who doesn't call you anything but mama, not even ma, no matter the occasion

" y'see how crazy you're bein' right now? mama, m'jus sittin' here, see? can't stand when y'do allat whinin' shit "

" don't call mama right now, chris, i'm done with all your fake nonchalant ass games "

✱ fratboy!chris who, even with being admired for his outgoing and charming personality, has such a rotten temper, especially when things don't go his way

✱ fratboy!chris who always says what's on his mind - to you, his friends, random people, anyone - even if it's completely unnecessary

✱ fratboy!chris who absolutely relishes in the respect he has from not only his peers, but the staff as well. humble's simply not a word in his world

⇢ NSFW

✱ fratboy!chris who's big and knows how to use it

✱ fratboy!chris who favors doggy, but can also get down with some rough missionary

" nah, s'okay mama... we'll switch it up tonight, don't worry "

✱ fratboy!chris who likes giving, but loves receiving. the image of your lips wrapped around his length is what helps him to sleep at night

✱ fratboy!chris who's a huge hair puller and thigh slapper (as well as occasional cheek squeezer)

✱ fratboy!chris who will take any opportunity he possibly can to either roll up or puff his joints while you use him

✱ fratboy!chris who makes sure to leave marks. usually where only you two can see, but if he feels like a guy's paying too much attention to you, he'll mark you on your neck or something for him to see

" chris, it's so obvious. how am i even gonna cover this up? "

" don't cover it. i'd like to see m'try an' get in your pants again when he sees allat "

" he literally asked for the material in our class..? "

✱ fratboy!chris who's almost always down for trying something new, but isn't usually one to suggest it

✱ fratboy!chris who loves when you praise him, even if it's unintentional. simple things like "so big," or "so good," really get him going

" yeah, s'good? y'wan more of that good shit? "

✱ fratboy!chris who, to no surprise, is horrible at aftercare.

a/n : i fear this took a lot longer than i thought it would to make... but i'll be making at least one of these for each of my au's since a) i'm unmotivated/don't have time to actually write, and b) want to develop the characters (and some of their pairings) further

-love, grandma cvnty ☆!

[randombush3]

que te quiero

alexia putellas x reader

prologue

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 3217

content warnings: just you fucking wait

notes: i slaved away to get this out asap lol

They list your injuries in an awkwardly ascending order: best to worst. You suppose the doctor’s callousness is more professional than malicious – and maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t panicking at the sight of such long, uninteresting words – but he makes it sound clinical (his job) and it’s hard to remember not everyone feels the excruciating pain you are slowly growing accustomed to. 

You wince at your thoughts’ poor choice of words. 

Apparently, you don’t remember much. In the week that you’ve been awake, you’ve been subject to every test, question, and assessment possible, all answers coming out with the same result. 

You know your name and when you were born. You know that you have a degree in Literature, but that you’re now a lawyer with an extensive library instead. You can speak all the languages you’ve ever learnt (that’s a different part of your brain, says the doctor when you ask how). They ask about your parents, your brothers, and names easily roll off your tongue, the childhood fear of hospitals still present (god, there is something that you wish had been forgotten). 

Still, the nurses approach you with sympathetic smiles, replicating the expression when they converse quietly with the worried-looking woman who visits you every day. She’s called Alexia, she tells you, staring at the gap between you as though she is a stranger to being so far apart. 

Although it was blurry when you first woke up, once Alexia reveals her name, you’re certain you recognise her.

“I’ve seen her somewhere,” you tell your favourite nurse, chipper that you’ve worked it out. In an attempt to jog your memory, you’ve kept the small TV in the corner of your section of the ward on all afternoon, sort of missing the noise your committed visitor brings with her. “And she’s not here today, Isa, because she’s there.” You point at a figure running around on a football pitch. “Alexia Putellas. She’s famous!” It explains the secrecy and the inexplicable absences. You suppose a slightly different structure of her job allows her to visit at unconventional times, too. 

“Mm,” Isa hums, not quite committed to this conversation. “Let’s save the discoveries for your chat with the doctor, yeah? He should be here any minute now.” 

On cue, the pot-bellied man appears, clipboard in hand, bottom lip between his teeth. His perception leads his gaze to the TV, which, in turn, causes him to watch your reaction to the match. Growing insecure of his scrutiny, you press a button and watch the screen go black. 

“Good afternoon,” comes his greeting, clipped and determined to not waste time. You try to find comfort in that: maybe you aren't in the worst shape in this hospital. “How are your ribs feeling?” 

“Battered.” 

He writes that down. “You’re on the highest dosage of pain medication. We’ll need to start weaning you off soon, too. Especially due to a family history of addiction.” Your eyebrows furrow, and his pen scratches at the paper once again. “Okay, Y/n. Can I have a seat? Are you comfortable?” 

You take a moment to acknowledge the ache in your abdomen and head. He assumes your silence is a ‘yes’ and Isa is dismissed. “You shouldn’t be looking at any screens,” he says calmly, with the faintest hint of disappointment. “It will not aid your recovery.” 

“How am I supposed to remember anything if I can’t use… sources to help me?” you protest. 

“That is exactly what I have come here to discuss. We’ll start bit by bit. The more open you are to this, the quicker you will be released from hospital.” He smirks. “And I know that you are desperate to leave.” 

…

The stands of the stadium echo with jubilation as the final whistle blows. Alexia barely hears it due to the noise, still reeling from her penalty, proud to have scored in front of such a special guest. She’d made an ‘A’ with her fingers as she had celebrated. 

Despite her teammates’ dallying on the pitch, never in a rush after a win like this, Alexia is jumping the barrier and barreling through the crowd to get to the seats she’s been keeping an eye on for the whole match. Her mother is barely offered a ‘hello’ before Alexia is wrapped in a tight embrace. She won’t admit that the force of the impact winds her a little. 

“You played so well!” squeals Amaia, voice muffled in the sweat-soaked jersey. She seems almost giddy, which is a hefty improvement considering your current situation. 

Alexia laughs, bending down to Amaia’s level, her hands resting on the girl’s shoulders. Tears prick at her eyes but she hopes it isn’t that obvious. “You saw my penalty, right?” 

She’s met with enthusiastic nodding, Amaia’s eyes widening with excitement. “Vaig veure la A! It was for me, right?” 

“For you,” Alexia confirms, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Amaia’s head. Despite her efforts, the softness of the girl’s hair – the way she clings once more to Alexia’s body – is disarming. And Amaia speaking Catalan always gets her emotional. 

She wipes her tears when Amaia pulls away. 

This is difficult. Alexia is trying her hardest, but nothing is the same without you. She finds herself looking at the seat beside Amaia, expecting to see it filled by you, but it’s not; it’s empty. You are still at the hospital. You don’t even remember who Alexia is. 

You don’t remember the past eleven years, they think. Which means no Amaia, no Alexia, no Barcelona. 

It has broken Alexia’s heart. 

Her mother places a hand on her shoulder. “Go and get changed,” she instructs gently, in the same way she has been since the accident. Eli has become an engine, a guide. “Alba said she’d meet us at the restaurant.” 

Alexia swallows, embracing her mother. In her ear, she whispers, “I think it’s time for Amaia to see her.” Her mother’s touch remains firm, grounding her. She breathes out, and it is only now that her lungs ache that she feels like she can no longer hold it together. But Alexia is determined, and she will not crumble. 

Not in front of your daughter. 

“It’s your decision, Ale,” Eli murmurs back, her tone steady and calm. She’s seen how tirelessly Alexia has navigated these past weeks, juggling her team, her grief, her hope – all while trying to keep Amaia’s life as normal as possible. “You have done everything you can. If you think she’s ready, she’ll be ready.”

Alexia pulls back and nods, a quiet determination settling over her face. The thought of bringing Amaia to the hospital without the stability of a coma to predict her reaction has been weighing on her ever since you woke up. But, even though this step is more of a stumble, it seems to be in the right direction. 

"Now, go and get out of this kit. Amaia and I can only pretend you don’t smell for so long," Eli jokes, hand guiding her toward the locker rooms. Amaia is practically bouncing at Alexia’s side as they make their way down the tunnel, still buzzing with excitement over the game and ten goals scored. 

Not everyone is so plagued by misfortune in their personal lives – a reminder which is stark as Alexia passes the conga line of her teammates, all thrilled with their (superfluous) scoreline and exploiting the night off that Pere has allowed right from the get-go. A few of the girls wave at their captain as she walks past, but most feel uncomfortable shoving their elation in her face, aware of the shitstorm she is going through. 

The girls do keep plaguing her about what you had thought of their ‘Get Well Soon’ card, though. Not that Alexia has found an appropriate time to give it to you yet.

“Will she be awake?” Amaia suddenly asks, her voice breaking Alexia’s thoughts. Her expression is open, hopeful. Her eyes have the same shine as yours do in this light. 

Alexia glances down, her lips forming a soft, bittersweet smile. "We’ll see, Amaia," she says, brushing a stray lock of hair from the girl’s face. "We’ll visit, and we’ll see."

Inside the locker room, Alexia changes quickly, her mind already racing ahead to the visit. She imagines you there, perhaps looking out the window or glancing at her with that blank confusion that still cuts her deeper than she’d expected. The nurses have told her that you’re growing more restless with each day, becoming harder to occupy. You sound like a pain in their arses, which is comforting, because at least you are still you. And your questions! Alexia is unsurprised that the doctors rock-paper-scissor for ward duty. 

When she emerges, mood lifted by the thought of you continuing to be a nightmare, Eli and Amaia are waiting by the door, Amaia now clutching a small bouquet of flowers that must have been retrieved from Eli’s car while Alexia was changing. She’s holding them proudly, as if they might be a magic cure, as if a burst of colour is exactly what’s needed to bring you back.

“Ready to go?” Amaia asks, instinctively high-fiving Mapi as she walks out with Alexia. 

“Exciting plans, Capi?” her friend questions. Alexia’s look says it all. Mapi lowers her voice, allowing only Alexia to hear her; “you are strong. You will be strong.” 

“Let’s go,” prompts Amaia. Her impatience was very much inherited. 

After shooting an unconvincing look of confidence to her friend, Alexia nods, holding out her hand for Amaia to take. “Okay, okay. Say goodbye to Eli.” 

Kisses are exchanged. Alexia promises to come for dinner, even if she will be late. 

Amaia plays Taylor Swift in the car. The whiny music gives Alexia a bit of a headache, but at least it’s loud enough to dull the absolute din of her screaming thoughts. And when they arrive, it’s all too familiar for Alexia’s liking. 

She has her route to you memorised. It’s magnetic and intrinsic, and a desperate part of her is clawing at the hope that, somehow, you will have regained everything that has been lost in the day she hasn’t seen you. Before entering the ward, she tries to prepare Amaia, but the girl is as unstoppable as you can be and there is no intervening before she is at your bedside, greeting you like you remember who she is. 

…

A lot of what the doctor tells you are things you struggle to believe. Like, last year, you were made junior partner of the law firm you work at. They’re based in London. You used to live there – you moved after you’d finished your degree, bored of Bilbao and of home and of knowing every person in your world. Another confusing one: your brothers actually visit you, as though you are forgiven. 

Which sparks an aged memory. Two lines in the bathroom at the university. 

“Am I pregnant?” you ask, feeling the colour drain from your face at the idea that you might have lost the baby in the accident. 

The doctor waits patiently for you to remind yourself that eleven years have passed. 

“I was pregnant.” Nothing comes back to you, though this would be an appropriate moment for it to. The rest of the story hangs loosely at the back of your throat, unable to be spoken. You look at the doctor for help. “Did I keep it? I’m not – I wasn’t planning to.” 

“She’s called Amaia.” 

“Amaia…” you repeat. A painful realisation settles in you. How did you feel about becoming a mother? Why did you? When did they forgive you, and was it because of her? 

“Your mother’s name, I believe,” continues the doctor, “although you can remember that.” 

“I barely knew my mother.” She had died when you were very young. She didn’t feel like yours to grieve. To you, it was just time off school, hospital visits, and watching the rest of your world fall apart. You find yourself swallowed up in guilt – anger. How did you let this happen? How could you forget what must have mattered the most? “I want to see her,” you resolve, attempting to sit upright and pretend the movement doesn’t send a searing pain through your chest. “My… I want to know what she looks like.” 

Your patience need not extend for too long, as Alexia and Amaia arrive only two hours after the doctor departs. 

The sterility of the ward is no match for the warmth they exude, and you can almost sense them coming. It’s both comforting and unsettling. You refrain from telling Alexia that you know who she is. 

You have no time to, really, because there is a girl, average height with a bouquet in-hand, barreling towards you the moment you lay your eyes on your visitors. She’s loud enough to make you wince, which, in turn, earns her a sharp warning from Alexia, even further away than usual. She is watching you closely, awaiting your reaction. Her arms are folded across her chest, hair scraped into a damp ponytail, and she is withholding the emotion she wants to express because Alexia, you’ve learnt, isn’t really that kind of person. You often find yourself wondering how she first opened up to you. How long did it take? 

You want to ask, but Amaia – Amaia – begins to speak. Her voice is unfamiliar, her accent failing to reflect any time in Bilbao she might have spent with you. She speaks at first in Spanish. You hardly hear what she is saying, too focused on examining her features. 

She does look like you. Or, rather, pictures of you from years ago. Your father’s eyes, your nose. A smile that you can’t help but reciprocate. You try to remember what her father looked like, but nothing comes to mind and Amaia seems to have been unresponsive to his genes.

“Amaia,” you interrupt, not to cut her off but to test her name on your tongue. It’s foreign to you, but it suits her. She beams. 

“Do you remember me?” 

And what the actual fuck do you say to that? 

Your hesitation is telling. Alexia stiffens from where she had relaxed on the fringes on the section. 

“It’s okay if you don’t.” You look up at her, unaware that you had bowed your head in the first place. She has kind eyes, you think. And she must be clever, because it is not what she says, but that she says it in Euskera. 

“I missed you,” you say. It slips out, but you mean it. Well, you assume you missed her, and therefore it is a logical thing to come out with. And, also, you are aching inside from seeing the life that you have created standing right in front of you. A life you were not going to pursue. 

Amaia does not cry, but she delicately unfurls your clenched palms and shapes her hands to link with yours. You want her touch to bring it all back. It feels like jumping off a skyscraper when you are met with nothing, still. Instead of the flood of recollection you long for, there is a faint, ungraspable feeling of something you cannot name. 

After a silent pause, a movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. Alexia steps forwards, her arms still crossed, her expression unsure and more than a little guarded. There is a sudden swell of gratitude in your chest, more for her presence than anything specific, and, without thinking, you smile at her. 

“Congratulations,” you say, voice just above a whisper as though Amaia will be unable to hear. “I saw you on the TV. You scored, didn’t you?” 

Alexia’s eyes widen a fraction as she glances at Amaia, who is proudly informing you, “ez behin, baizik eta bitan”. Alexia manages a small, almost bashful smile, her hand coming up to rub the back of her neck. For a woman so publicly celebrated, she seems to struggle to handle your praise. 

“Thanks,” she says awkwardly, eyes not quite meeting yours. “It… wasn’t a huge match but,” she grimaces at the sound of her voice, “I wanted to play my best for, well, for you guys. Amaia was there, and you… Well, I suppose you were watching it on TV.” She doesn’t feel inclined to show you the band of pre-wrap around her wrist with your name written on it, hiding it under the sleeve of her hoodie, or tell you that you were there with her, like you always are. 

Something tugs at your heart. It’s obvious that she is desperately holding back emotions, likely for Amaia’s sake. She looks away for a moment, regaining her composure, then turns back to you with a steadier expression. Amaia glances between you both, unnervingly perceptive for a girl so young. She squeezes your hands a little tighter. 

In the silence that follows, Alexia finally speaks up again. “I… didn’t want to crowd you, but,” her tone drops into something more serious, “I’ll be back again tomorrow, and, actually… Your doctor and I have been discussing the idea of you coming home soon.” 

The word hits you like a bullet from too close a range; it’s almost too fast to register before the damage is done. 

You don’t even know where you live. In your mind, you have never been to Barcelona, let alone have a home here. And yet there is an inexplicable warmth in Alexia’s voice that makes the idea feel… less absurd. 

She clears her throat. “In three days, if you’re ready,” she softly adds, eyes glimmering with hope in a fearful way. 

Later, Alexia stands just outside the ward, talking quietly with your doctor as Amaia sits nearby, focused on the little bouquet of flowers she brought for you, picking at a petal here and there. Alexia watches your daughter for a moment, the girl’s calm focus oddly grounding. 

“She’ll need a lot of rest and minimal stress,” the doctor says, drawing Alexia’s attention back to him. “But it’s promising. Her physical recovery is progressing, and though her memory may take longer, familiar environments could help.”

Alexia nods, though the doctor’s words bring only partial relief. “I can make things as calm as possible for her at home,” she says, trying to avoid sounding like a child begging for a present she knows she will not receive. “We have spare rooms, and lots of pictures to look over. And she hates hospitals. You’re lucky to have her disorientated, else she’d be kicking up a big fuss.”

The doctor lets out a tired laugh, but makes no attempt to agree that you haven’t made his life slightly more difficult than it needed to be already. “It will be an adjustment for everyone, but it is important that you are looking after yourself too.” 

Alexia’s gaze drifts back to the door of your room, and she swallows hard, steeling herself. The doctor’s words linger but they do nothing to curb her determination. She would do anything for you, and if you fell for her once, you can fall for her again. 

After another quiet moment, the doctor pats her arm lightly. “Three days, then. We’ll make sure she’s as prepared as she can be.”

[nemisuki]

Behind The Walls

Zombie Apocalypse AU | The society you used to know was long gone when the outbreak started. You were supposed to be worrying about what to wear at your graduation, not about what house to scavenge for supplies. You find yourself sticking together with your blonde classmate, only to be separated from him soon after. Living in a world without humans was isolating, but a world without him is just lonely. 

᧔o᧓ || Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, no quirks, kinda depressing at first ngl, minor gore and blood mentioned bc zombies duh, angst but happy ending, first kisses, love confessions, minor time skips, starts as third years and ends around 19-20 yrs, tamed bakugo bc he's mature yet still feisty, 5.7k word count

According to the tally marks scribbled down in her flimsy notebook, it's been exactly three months and 10 days. 

Three months and 10 days of being on her own. 

Everyday it gets harder to think about the past, so she chooses to ignore it as her day goes on. She tries to avoid leaving the house as much as possible. Not leaving her temporary base, unless it's time to scavenge for supplies like food or water. 

When she does go out, she can only hope that she’ll find something edible. Majority of the time getting lucky by finding rusted cans of food or forgotten granola bars. It's been a few weeks since she ate her last fruit. A package of dried mango. 

Due to the sudden transition from fall to winter, it was hard to find such delights. Not leaving her much time to cherish it for a future occasion. 

It’s winter now. 

Years ago she would've been happy at the sight of snow. 

But the world is different now. 

Instead of feeling joy at the sight of the first snowflake, she quickly made her way back to her hideout. Grabbing her bookbag and packing all her essentials in it, which wasn't a lot in the first place. 

She couldn't stay much longer in this house during the winter. The structure was practically crumbling by the day and certainly wouldn't hold up in the cold climate. Honestly, she was lucky that it held up till now. 

It was at night where her mind constantly wandered back to the past. 

Back to him specifically. 

(∩˃o˂∩) flashbackᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

In a single day, society lost all aspects of humanity. 

But moments before that, came the main topic of discussion — romance and crushes. Typical girl talk. 

It didn't take long for her classmates to notice how quiet Y/N had gotten. Seemingly extra shy all of a sudden. They all squeal knowingly and nudge her to “spill the beans” on who she has her eyes on. Though everyone already knows. Hell, the whole grade probably knows. 

She dismissively waves her hands around trying to deny such silly assumptions. But her eyes go on autopilot and land on the destination – his desk. 

The blonde who seems to be slouching in his seat, is spewing curses towards the ‘extras’ who come up to him so casually as if it's any other day. The infamous hot head has definitely mellowed out over the three years. Yet his temper never disappeared completely, well not like anyone minds it now. 

Spending 8 hours around complex personalities such as his, makes you immune to their empty threats and insults. Anyone who spends much time with him, such as his classmates, knew he didn't mean harm.

As everyone waited for the teacher to arrive, that's when the screams started in the hallways. 

Y/N could never forget the scene of everyone collectively pausing their conversations to listen. To question what exactly is going on. 

Soon the odd noises started multiplying. Students began running down the hallways, yelling at the top of their lungs with complete fear displayed on their faces. 

It was then when panic kicked in. 

The speakers soon switched on in each classroom and hallway. The principal's voice echoed throughout the school, clear unease in his tone.

“ALL STUDENTS AND STAFF LEAVE THE PREMISES NOW! A UNKNOWN VIRUS HAS SPREAD THROUGHOUT THE BUILDING. PEOPLE ARE GOING FERAL AND BITING ONE ANOTHER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL! PLEASE SAVE YOURSELF-” 

The sudden announcement was cut off by screams of pain and unknown groaning from the attacker. Not much longer, anxiety surged through everyone's body. Everyone ran out of the classroom trying to get away from an unknown threat. 

Y/N rushes out alongside her classmates, attempting to make her way through the crowd. Students pushing one another to reach the closest exit quickly. She yells out to her friends who are farther up ahead for help. Her height comes to be a disadvantage for her as she gets shoved around left and right. 

Making no progress whatsoever, her classmates make it out of her sight. Unable to hear Y/N's voice due to the screams and chaos around them.

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

Her heart starts beating at an uncontrollable rate, complete dread taking over her body as she's left alone in a crowd of unfamiliar faces. Her mind is going on loop, praying to whatever god out there, to save her. To help her. 

She can feel her vision get glossy as tears start to form. And then not a second later, she feels a warm hand wrap around her waist. Pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts. 

Her body jumps at the sudden contact and she quickly looks up to her side, only to see those red eyes staring back down at her. 

“There you are” he says while inhaling a deep breath of what seems to be relief. His eyes quickly looked over her figure, seemingly to look for any sign of injury or pain. 

“B-Bakugo-” 

“We don't have much time. C'mon, we're leaving another way, this crowd is doing us no good” he says, cutting her off before she could even reply. Using his arm that was resting on her waist to easily lift her off the ground. 

She yelps in shock and quickly wraps her arms around his neck to stabilize herself, not wanting to fall from his grasp. He shoves past the mass of students and runs towards the library, the room now empty of people and eerily quiet. 

Y/N wanted to ask why he brought them here, but her question answered itself when he ran towards a window and set her back down on the floor. A fire escape visible on the other side of the glass. 

“Stand back nerd” he yells in her direction as he picks up a chair then starts to continuously hit the window with all his strength. 

Only after a few tries does the glass shatter with a loud crash. He uses the silk curtains to dust away the shards from the window frame for an easier path. With ease, he hops over the open wall and stands on the ground of the metal fire escape. 

He looks back and beckons for her to approach quickly. She can still hear screams coming from behind her in the hallway, making her legs move immediately to the shattered window. She was about to climb over when he looped his hands under her arms, picking her up like a doll and pulling her outside with him.

Once again, setting her down beside him. 

“Let's go. And don't move so fast, this fire escape might be old as hell and fall to the ground with us on it” he says while starting to walk down the steps first. 

“Do you know what's going on? There were some students in the hallway with blood on their uniform” she says, completely frightened as they started to descend down the steps in a quick yet careful manner. 

“No damn idea. But what I do know is that we’re getting the fuck out of here” he grumbles as he’s seemingly in thought. Likely trying to come up with a reason as to what's happening.

They both pause in their steps when they look towards the front of the school. Y/N gasps and covers her mouth in horror of the sight. While Bakugos eyes widen as he looks ahead at the entrance gates of UA. 

It was a massacre. Screams of pain and terror echoing around the area. Corpses of students and staff members are on the ground, bloodied and missing chunks of their bodies. Some of the dead now standing up, and moving around sluggishly to attack those who are running by. Eating eachother alive. The walking corpses only multiplied in numbers by the minute.

The movies became reality that day.

An unfortunate reality.

“Zombies” Bakugo says as his fists clenched at his side while looking at the scene playing out before him. He mutters a variety of curses under his breath and quickly takes out his phone to check if he has a signal of any kind.

“No damn signal. Of course!” he groans and puts his phone back in his pocket. He quickly looks in her direction as he tries coming up with a plan, “Nerd listen up. We’ll go to my house since its nearby then-” 

Bakugo pauses when he sees the expression on her face. Her fearful face and glossy eyes with tears already spilling out as she looks at the sick scene of zombies tearing into others flesh. Recognizing a few students from other classes or by passing them in the hallways. 

A few seconds later his hand lifts up to turn her head to face him, and not at the gruesome sight below. She can see the neutral expression on his face, and she bites her bottom lip to avoid more tears falling down. Not wanting to seem so weak in front of him. 

“Can we stick together?” she says with a wavered voice while wiping her tears away. 

“Tch. What kind of stupid question is that? Of course we're gonna stay together. Don't need you running off and getting yourself killed” he says quickly with furrowed brows, as if he's offended she'd even think he’ll leave her alone. 

He can still see the fear in her eyes and he sighs. Resting his hand on her cheek as he speaks in a confident manner, “Alright, pay attention because I'm only gonna say this once. Me and you are not going to be separated. Do you know what I did when we all dashed out of that shitty classroom? I looked for you. Because I knew your ass was gonna be scared as shit.” 

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

Her breath wavers at his words and admission. It made her body feel warm all over. Her tears are no longer present anymore. She notices how quickly he lets go of her chin and averts his gaze. Suddenly embarrassed by his own words, as the tips of his ears turn red. 

“So uh, don’t cry or whatever. You're with me from now on. What, you don’t trust my abilities to protect you or something? I ain’t weak ya know” he huffs scratching his head and avoiding her eyes. 

“I trust you” the words exit her mouth before she can even think. 

She does trust him. More than anyone.

Y/N knows how much he’s changed since their first year at UA. And she can't help but to have fallen in love with him along the way. Though that’s for another day, for now they’ll need to survive.

“…Good. Now c'mon my house is a few minutes from here. We'll stay there and come up with a plan” he says quickly grabbing her hand all of a sudden as they walk down the fire escape. He doesnt turn around or talk much after that. But his flushed ears say otherwise. 

The journey to his home was mostly silent, but their hands stayed intertwined. When she asked him about it, he simply spoke about her being “a notorious klutz” and having to keep tabs on her. 

Both of them avoided the topic after that, to focus on getting somewhere safe for now. Maybe one day, when things settle, they’ll finally talk about this tension between them. It’s long overdue anyways. 

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ  ⎯⎯ ✦

That was a year ago. And they never did have that talk about romance. 

Months went by and the two were on their own. It almost felt as if they were the last survivors on earth. Not another human to be found. 

Then everything changed when they were on a scavenger run. 

There were just too many zombies. A huge hoard came out of nowhere, almost as if they were collectively migrating west like the birds in the sky. 

Both of them ran towards the forest, assuming their best chance of survival was to camouflage alongside the patches of green. Yet neither of them could escape the corpses' line of sights. 

Bakugo mutters curses under his breath as they run, “Oi! Y/N I need you to run east, find a house and stay hidden til I find you. I’m going to distract these bastards away and run in the opposite direction-” 

“W-what?! No, I can't leave you!” she quickly says, looking at him as if he lost his mind. 

“Damn it Y/N! At this rate we’ll both die out here. Now go!” He practically shoves her to change courses.

“B-but-” she looks back at the hoard and then to him again. That's too many to take on his own, not even he could…

“GO YOU IDIOT!” 

Y/N looks at Bakugo one last time as she grits her teeth in pain and frustration, “Don’t die you dummy! I-I love you!” 

His eyes widened at her sudden declaration of love. It took him a moment to react but his lips curve very slightly upwards, “Hah you idiot, as if I’ll die to these weaklings! Now go!” 

With a pain in her heart, she changes directions and starts running towards the city as instructed. Some zombies break from the pack and continue chasing her but Bakugo yells out to get as many as their attention as possible. 

She feels sick to her stomach despite the smile he gave her. Wanting nothing more than to turn back around to find him. But she knows it’s best to listen to him. To trust him. So she runs east. 

Runs, runs and runs. 

Y/N enters the first house she sees and quickly shuts the door. Sliding against the wall as she inhales gasps of air, trying to recover her energy. Other than her own racing heartbeat and breaths, it’s quiet.

Too quiet. 

She’s gotten used to Bakugos loud presence around her, only feeling more lonely now that he’s gone. But he’ll be back soon. Right? 

Quickly she shakes her head of any negative thoughts. He’s completely capable on his own. 

She grabs her baseball bat and proceeds to walk around the house. Thoroughly checking every room for potential threats. Thankfully finding nothing in the home. 

She remembers the survival tips he taught her and quickly gets to work. Making sure every door is locked, boarding up the windows and picking a resting place where there’s always two exits if needed. 

Her stomach growls and she sits down, unwrapping a granola bar from her pocket. Eating in silence as she waits. 

Days will soon pass and no sign of him. 

She wants to go out. Look for him. Maybe he’s lost. But what if she leaves and he comes to an empty house? 

After some thought, Y/N decides to track the days in an old notebook she found in one of the rooms. If he doesn't show in 2 more days then she’ll head out. 

When the time comes, she leaves the house to look for him in the woods. For any clue or sign. Leaving behind a note at the house in case he shows up while she’s away. Bold writing stating ‘Bakugo stay here. I’ll be back’. 

She came back that evening, empty handed with no clues. Coming back to the house exactly as she left it. That night she could only curl up in the old mattress she found, cuddling into a blanket as she cried herself to sleep. Missing Bakugo. And thinking the worst.

(∩˃o˂∩) flashback over & back to present  ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

Y/N continues walking east, using the sun to guide her in the right direction. A tip she learned from none other than Bakugo. It’s been 3 months and 10 days according to her journal. 

No human interaction. No sign of Bakugo. 

She left another note at the house, in case he did manage to make it back one day. Telling him that she’ll continue heading East. 

Overnight it snowed a tremendous amount, much to her disappointment. It’s freezing and she didn’t have good quality clothing. Using a bunch of old ragged clothes to bundle herself up in layers.

What’s worse is that she’s low on supplies. It’s harder to scavenge during the winter. Animals go into hibernation and there’s no berries growing in the forests. The only food in her bag currently is a single can of beans and some crackers. 

She continues walking east, taking occasional breaks and hiding from zombies who she avoids contact with at all costs. The only good thing about winter is that they slow down the zombies' movements. 

Y/N doesn’t continue her journey anywhere else but East. It has to be East. Her legs take her as far as they could, til the sun starts setting. She looks around and sees nothing but trees around. No shelter in sight. But thankfully no zombies either. 

So she keeps going. Yet soon she notices the wind start to pick up, snow falling down heavier than before. Just her luck. 

A blizzard. 

Her body battles against the harsh winds and she shivers uncontrollably. This isn’t good. She genuinely might freeze to death out here. Tears want to fall yet it’s so cold that her body is unable too. Her body feels so heavy, so weak. 

After a few more hours, in the pitch black forest, she sees it. Smoke floating up into the air, the sound of engines in the distance. People. 

Her heart nearly stops right then and there. People? Survivors? 

It’s been over a year since she’s seen other humans who aren’t Bakugo. She doesn’t have any other choice, it’s either ask for help or die out here in the cold. 

With newfound hope in her heart, she continues walking forward. Her eyes slightly widening at the sight in front of her.

A military base. 

Oh my god. A campsite of what looks to be soldiers with vehicles. Concrete walls are all around the perimeter, snipers are on watch towers as they walk around. 

She tries taking multiple steps forward but her legs are so shaky, “E-Excuse me…” she says as her teeth chatter, she definitely won’t get their attention like that. Even if she ran it would take her minutes to reach the base. 

Slowly with weak arms she lifts her flashlight and flicks it on and off in the direction of the watchtowers. Hoping to get someone’s attention, anyones whatsoever.

After a few tries, someone on the watchtower seems to notice. They talk to the other guards and a few minutes later, the gates soon open. A military car zooming out and coming into her direction. 

Her knees give out. Due to relief or fatigue she doesn’t know. She falls onto the ground of covered snow and her eyes struggle to stay open. 

She hears the vehicle pause nearby and a man shout “It’s a survivor!” 

Her eyes squint trying to regain her sense of sight, yet all she can hear is mumbles all around her. Then soon, feel herself being picked up and loaded into the back of a truck. 

“She doesn’t seem to be infected!”

“Quick check her vitals!”

“She's freezing to the touch!” 

“Ma’am? Can you hear me? You’re safe now”

“What's your name?”

Her eyes slowly start closing against her will but she tries answering, “Y-Y/N…”

Everything is a blur after that. All she could remember is the feeling of warm blankets being draped over her. Then just darkness. 

(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ time skip⋆｡𖦹 °✩

It's been a while since then. Two weeks since she's been temporarily situated at the main base. 

For a few days she was in and out of consciousness, fighting against her hyperthermia and malnourished body. But after much treatment from the medical team, she was able to finally wake up and adjust to her new surroundings. 

It was so different, yet so familiar.

She resided in a tent with other survivors who had similar stories. Though she tended to keep to herself, despite feeling joy at no longer being alone, it wasn't the same as with Bakugo. 

The survivors in her tent often spoke around the campfire as they ate the food that the soldiers provided for them. Then the topic of discussion suddenly switched. They went around speaking of their past loved ones or companions they lost along the way when the outbreak started. 

“And you Y/N? Did you have anyone before the world went to hell? You don't have to share if you don’t want to of course” 

All eyes look in her direction, waiting for her to speak. She hesitates but stares at the fire as she speaks, “I was at school when the outbreak started. We heard screams in the hallways, and an evacuation announcement soon after. I ran out of the classroom, lost my friends in the crowded hallway. Honestly I felt like I was gonna get trampled at some point-” she weakly chuckles at the thought and a small smile forms on her face. 

“But then a classmate found me. We managed to get out of the building in time. Spent a year together after that… just the two of us” she says while a wavered voice towards the end. She clears her throat trying to regain herself and speaks quicker.

“We got separated after that. There were too many zombies chasing us, so he ran another direction to lead them away. Haven't seen Bakugo since that day-” she cuts herself when she hears silence. Too much silence. 

She looks up from the fire and around at the group. Noticing their widened eyes and stunned expression. 

“W-What?” she says awkwardly scratching the back of her head, not knowing why they reacted so differently to her story in specific. 

“Did you say Bakugo?” an older man asked her quickly with furrowed brows. 

Honestly she didn't even realize she let his name slip out of her mouth, “Oh.. yeah his name was Bakugo-” 

“As in Katsuki Bakugo?!” another woman jumped in with a curious expression. 

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

Y/N could almost feel everything freeze at that exact moment. Her eyes widened at the woman's words. Everyone seemed to notice her sudden look of shock and another man quickly interjected, “A blonde guy with red eyes and a grumpy as hell temper right?!”

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

“Yes! Do you know him?!” Y/N says nearly jumping out of her seat and dropping her plate of food. Newfound hope in her eyes. 

“That guy was brought here a while ago! The soldiers found him in the woods all exhausted and bloodied up. Apparently the guy took on a hoard of zombies himself. He kept refusing to come here, saying that someone was waiting for him back home. But he passed out from exhaustion before he could refuse. The soldiers returned with him after and he's been here ever since” the man says as the others smile at the realization. 

“Where is he now?!” she quickly says, grabbing her boots and tying up the laces. Already feeling her heart rate skyrocket at the revelation. 

“He works here as a soldier! His group should be coming back from an expedition any moment now at the front gates!” 

“Go get him girl!” 

“You got this Y/N!” 

She shines the brightest she's had in a while and nods at the group, “thank you all!” 

Her legs ran as fast as she could towards the front of the base. Her smile never leaves her face. She knew it. She knew he was alive. 

In a matter of minutes, she makes it towards the front gate and runs over to join a group of awaiting survivors. “Excuse me, did a group return from an expedition just now?” she says to a woman as she tries to steady her breathing. 

“Hm? Not yet, they're opening up the gates now. You made it just in time. I'm waiting for my boyfriend, are you as well?” a female says as she smiles at her. 

Y/N feels her cheeks heat up at the question, suddenly growing flustered. She didn't even know what type of relationship she had with Bakugo. 

Sure they were alone together for a year and had clear feelings for one another, yet they never did establish anything between them. The woman notices and chuckles, “So you are! Then let's pray for everyone's return hm? Oh look, here they come!” 

The gates slowly open up, revealing a large group of soldiers on the back of trucks and cars. People cheer as the vehicles pull into the base and the gates close back up once everyone is in. Soldiers scatter around to find their families or loved ones that are waiting for them. 

Y/N walks around the crowd looking in every direction trying to find him, that blonde hair that she misses so dearly. With no luck, she can feel her heart sink to the bottom of her stomach. 

Til she spots it and freezes in place. 

That spiky blonde hair that she hasn't seen in months. 

His back is to her as he speaks with other soldiers, “Restock on supplies and take the injured to the medical tent. And someone get me a report tomorrow on the number of casualties we faced on the expedition” he says in an authoritative cold tone as he walks towards a tent. 

“Yes Captain!” 

Her eyes don't leave his figure as he disappears behind a large green tent. He looks both healthier and stronger now, she can tell by the increase in his back muscles through his uniform. 

And captain? He's captain of a squad… she shouldn't be so shocked. Of course he is, given his incredible leadership and survival skills. 

She shakes her head to get out of her thoughts, now running towards that tent with purpose. Her hand shakingly hovers over the tent curtain to move it out of the way-

“I told all soldiers to not bother me after the expeditions. Stand down soldier” he yells out as if he sensed her presence. 

Y/N smiles at the sound of his voice and pushes past the curtain. It was clearly his tent. Where he slept and resided after missions. Her eyes land on his back as he is taking off his gloves, he pauses and tosses them down on a nearby desk. Turning around to face her for the first time. 

“Oi. State your name and rank, for disobeying orders you shall be-” 

His whole body stiffens as he looks at her. His eyes widening and his words wavered towards the end. Their eyes meet instantly. He looks like he's seen a ghost. 

“Y/N-” 

“Katsuki!” 

Her legs moved forward before she could think. The gap between them lessened by the second. Tears were already beginning to spill out of her eyes. He quickly closes the distance, meeting her halfway. 

She wraps her arms around his neck, clinging to him so hard that her hands shake. Crying into the crock of his neck. His familiar scent invades her nose and sends warmth throughout her entire body. 

He's not doing much better. As soon as she reached him, his arms immediately wrapped around her waist. His breath came out in shaky breaths as he held onto her. 

“How- thank the gods. You're alive. Thank the fucking gods” he says in a hoarse mumble to himself or her, she doesn't know. He quickly pulls away to give her body a full scan for any injuries. When he sees nothing he lets out a loud sigh of relief.

“Katsuki-”

He lifts her head with his hand and leans down immediately. His lips finding hers in a desperate searing kiss. Her breath hitches but her eyes slowly close at the sensation. His hands find her waist yet again to pull her body flush against his. 

She's reminded of how warm his body was. His palms feel like it's burning his mark on her skin through her clothes. She can feel his fast heart rate against her chest, and she knows he can feel hers too.  

The kiss increases as time goes on. Only after a minute does he part away from her lips. They gasp for air, yet only for a few seconds at best. Because his lips were back on hers shortly after. 

But it wasn't lust filled whatsoever. His left hand trailed up her body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. This kiss was more soft. More tender. 

He slowly pulls away and his hand reaches her cheek, wiping away the remaining tears from her face. With this close proximity, she can see those red eyes she's missed so much. Her hand gently rests against his cheek, wanting to feel him. 

Making sure this is real life and not one of those hopeful dreams she's had in the past few months. 

“What happened? You went missing for months, I was looking all over for you. I thought you had…” she doesn't dare finish her sentence. Biting the inside of her cheek to avoid the tears resurfacing. 

“Some people told me that soldiers found and took you in. But it's been months and you're some sort of captain now? Were you ever gonna come back to me-” 

“I never stopped looking for you Y/N” he quickly says with furrowed brows. Still cradling her face. His other thumb massaging small circles on her hip to ease her nerves. 

He sighs and runs a hand through his spiky hair, “Shit- I wasn't supposed to stay here that long. Wasn't even gonna join them til I fucking passed out. I woke up here a few days later. Tried to leave but I had an injured leg, so they kept me here til I healed up. After a week or so, I realized how safe it was here. Safe for you.” 

His eyes meet hers again and the grip on her hip tightens. Guilt showing in those red irises. 

“I joined the soldiers immediately after that. I went out on every expedition near the east to keep an eye out for you. Did my best to show off my strength so I can quickly climb up the ranks. I knew if I left this place, it would've been near impossible to find you. They had vehicles and people I could use. I managed to become a captain in no time, and got my own group. Practically had to beg the leader of this place to give me the east section of patrols.”

He rests his forehead against hers and lowers his voice in a softer tone, “I promise. I have never stopped looking. I didn't just become captain to look for you. I'm making this place safer. For the other people here sure. But mainly for you. So we don't have to be separated ever again. I don't know how the hell you found me first, or what you've gone through on your own and you can tell me later but… I swear to you-”

His warm hand grabs hers as he kisses the back of it, “I will never let you be alone ever again. Because you're mine now. Got it nerd?” 

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

“Mhm…” she lets more tears fall down her cheeks, smiling at his words. Looking into his eyes as she forces every detail in her brain. During their time apart she was terrified she’ll forget his face. But now she won't have to worry. 

Bakugo scoffs and the corners of his lips turn up, “Cmon we're getting some food in you. You're thin as hell.”

She couldn't help but to laugh at his words, “I was eating a bit earlier, i'm not that hungry” 

“They have real mangos here-”

“Mangos?!” 

He lets out a rare chuckle and ruffles her hair as they start walking out the tent, “Yeah they do. Though I haven't tried them yet.” 

Her head snaps in his direction at his words, “What?! You're telling me you've been here for months and never tried the mangos?!” 

Bakugo hums and intertwines his hand with hers. She can feel her cheeks heat up as the people around stare at them with shock. 

“Didn't want to have the mangos” he grumbles as he leads her to the building. 

“Why not?” she says tilting her head in confusion. 

“They reminded me of you. I vowed to myself to not try them without you.”

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

“O-Oh… I see” she says softly with new found happiness. “Um Bakugo, why is everyone staring?” she whispers to him trying to change the subject. 

“Hah? Oh…. well I don't really have the nicest reputation here. The extras are probably shocked I'm holding your hand or something” he mumbles as his ears turn pink. But he doesn't let go of your hand. She doesn't mention it, thinking it's cute. 

Eventually they made it to the canteen, and all eyes were on them. But one glare from Bakugo caused everyone to look away and go back to their private conversations. 

Y/N follows him to a private room for the both of them, sitting down as he orders soldiers to get “the best mangos” they had. They sit in that room for hours. Both of them giving updates on the time they were away from each other. Happily eating a countless amount of the tropical fruit. The sweet taste rejuvenates both of their taste buds. 

“Um so about back then… I think about the last time I saw you everyday. Thinking about how I should have done things differently. I have many regrets in my life, but my biggest regret was not saying it back” he mumbles as he stares at her, not breaking eye contact. 

“Huh? Say what?” 

“I love you”

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

“I love you too” she says shyly looking at him and resting her hand over his hand.

He rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Yeah I know nerd. Now give me that rest of your mango if you're not gonna finish it!” 

“What?! No way!” She tries taking another piece yet she only sees Bakugo steal the plate. 

The two start going back and forth, stuffing their faces with fruit. Completely content with where they are right now. Now safe behind these walls, together.

[littlelamy]

hii id like to request reader is know as the “purse lady” around town because she always has such nice purses but it drives rafe crazy because the purses are taking over the closet

hope you like it! ⭐️ everywhere you go, people comment on your purses. the vintage leather satchel you picked up at a farmers' market, the sleek designer tote you waited months to snag, each one is a piece of your identity around town. you’re “the purse lady,” and you wear the title proudly.

everyone in town loves it. everyone, it seems, except for rafe, who’s starting to regard your closet with a look somewhere between dread and defeat.

it didn’t bother him at first. one purse turned to five, five became ten, and soon they seemed to multiply overnight. he’d open a drawer expecting socks and pull out a sequin clutch. shelves once reserved for his shirts were now home to crossbodies and totes in every color he couldn’t name. it got to the point that he wasn’t entirely sure where his things were anymore.

“uh, hey, baby,” he says one night, in that careful tone he uses when he’s pretty sure he’s losing the battle, “do you think maybe…we could, y’know, thin the purse collection just a little?”

you glance up, already deciding you’ll ignore this conversation. “why would i do that?” you say, your voice light but not remotely budging. “they all have a purpose. you know that.”

he stifles a sigh. there it is—that classic, endearing excuse. you say it like every single purse is a tool for survival, an essential part of daily life. and he gets it, kind of. most of them hold stories he can see you’re not ready to let go of—trips you’ve taken, places you love, even a few gifts from people he’s never met. but now his once half-empty closet is practically spilling.

“i’m just saying,” he tries again, with a softer look, “that closet space is getting a little… tight.”

you laugh, patting his cheek with that sweet, dismissive touch. “you have plenty of room, rafe. you wear, what, the same five shirts? trust me, we’re fine.”

the way you brush him off makes him laugh even as he sighs, but he knows the struggle won’t end. one night, he catches himself staring at each one—a metallic hobo bag, a leather satchel, a chain-link crossbody. he’d even memorized the rotation by now, making sure every one of them makes it back to its designated spot when you switch things up.

and then, as he studies a purple suede clutch that’s recently claimed space near his shoes, something shifts. he realizes, maybe for the first time, that these bags aren’t just things—they’re a part of you, as real as your laugh, as familiar as your favorite coffee cup. they’re tokens of a life he’s glad to be part of, each one a marker of a memory he’s happy to share.

he decides that night to stop counting, to stop wishing for more space. he’ll let them take over, and the next time he stumbles on one of your totes, he’ll remind himself it’s a small price to pay to be in the orbit of your beautiful, chaotic world.

besides, he thinks, there are worse things than being the boyfriend of some obsessed with purses

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01

[genstyle]

I'm scared of people. Just in general. A soft memory, huh? It was pretty recent but I wanna write it out! I had to leave my house multiple times this month because of pest control issues. I had to do a lot of laundry at a public laundromat. I've done it before and I'll do it again. I'm not comfortable out in public, still. But it was nice. I met a couple of old folks. I did my laundry among other people just trying to pay attention to their own responsibilities. Someone tried to steal my phone when my ADHD got the better of me and I accidentally left it unattended for a couple of minutes. I did get it back thanks to my Dad being there to phone it. I met a mother who seemed more scared of me than any one else in the laundromat. I'm used to it. I'm a tall, masculine looking, creepily quiet, dark skinned indigenous person, after all. She relaxed once I finished using the big washing machine and offered it to her. We joked about the frilly pink sock someone left behind underneath one of the tables. I met another lady who complained about how long the dryers took to get her towels properly dried. She taught me how the extension features of the dryers work! If you put in a couple of quarters before opening the door, then it's cheaper to add a few more minutes that way than starting the cycle again. I complimented the cashier about how fast she's learned to count change. She smiled and laughed at "the useless skill". An asian man came back to the laundromat two hours after leaving because he realized he took the wrong charger after he was done with his laundry. The lady who's charger he took was still there and they exchanged wires and had a good laugh. A taxi driver who was using the car wash next door wandered in at one point and gave every customer there his business card. He bragged about how familiar he was with the local native american community. I didn't want to believe it until I noticed that his business card listed a commonly used airline that I know the Northern Reserves tend to use. If he was confident enough about servicing that place then he wasn't kidding about being familiar with natives. My dad really tried to hold a conversation with that guy. He was interested in the little vocal ticks the man picked up. My dad knows a lot of Native languages and wanted to bother him about dialect. Luckily the man got out of the conversation by needing to go back to his car. A strange old lady tried to ask for my phone number. I spoke with her casually while she was waiting for a ride to pick her up. She kissed my neck when we said farewell. I don't know her name or anything. I overheard a bunch of middle school students who wandered in to buy snacks during their lunch hour talk about what the results of the elections could mean for them going forward. We're in the middle of Canada and even they know the future is concerning. I don't look forward to doing my laundry in public again. We have another pest control appointment in 4 weeks. It's not as scary. It's a weirdly human experience. Just doing laundry. Reminds me a lot of the movie Everything Everywhere All at Once. Next time it's just the physical aspect of dragging tons of clothing around that I'll dislike. The people make it not as scary.

Tell me a soft memory

[iceonneo]

spoil you ; p.js

jisung x fem! reader summary : the shy sporty nerd and you are alone together, how could you hold back? warnings : [ smut ] college au [all characters mentioned are adults] switch! jisung (i lied he’s honestly just a sub! jisung), swear words, handjob, fingering, use of names, orgasm !! mdni ¡¡

₊꩜˚𝜗𝜚

"what the fuck."

you gawked at the sight of park jisung walking around the hallways. his attention elsewhere, earphones plugged in his ears muting off the commotion.

"oh my god." you breathed under your breath.

"what is it?" your bestfriend shuts her locker right beside yours, shooting a judgey glance your way.

"jinni, is.." you groan. "is it just me or is this park jisung dude getting finer and finer by each passing day?"

jinni narrows her eyes before looking at you fully. "it's just you."

you shoot her an uninterested look as your eyes follow his figure turning around the hallway.

“maybe if you’re so interested in him,” your friend chuckes, “he’s got game with my brother tomorrow, you could come with me and I'll introduce you.”

your ears immediately perk up upon hearing the newfound information. “game? basketball? jisung’s on chenle’s team?”

you await for her response with curiosity bubbling inside you and when jinni nods, you squeal.

“i love you so much-AK!” your hands immediately encircle around jinni’s figure as the girl laughs against you.

“all giddy and happy over a literal nerd!”

“a hot one!” you chuckle into her shoulder.

₊꩜˚𝜗𝜚

an image of park jisung playing skillfully with an orange ball, darting across the court with his arms on display was a sight you definitely spent the night envisioning but witnessing the glamour in real time itself was something else.

the entire game your eyes were glued to his figure.

the you who was the least interested in basketball would’ve never believed the same you decided to spend your afternoon drooling over a nerd in your class dribbling around a ball.

the way his body glistened in sweat, making him shine. the crease on his brows, his long fingers bouncing the ball, his broad back dodging the other players away as he darted across the court, quickly passing the ball to his teammate with his dominant hand.

you sighed dreamily, face nestled into your palms with your elbow digging into your knees as you watched him with heart eyes. your sparkling gaze carrying half admiration and half... lust?

the bright ball squeaked loudly before bouncing back into jisung's grasp. his large hand gripping the ball with intensity as his feet reacted quickly. soon enough, as if the situation carried out in slow motion, you watched him jump into the air, the ball shooting off his hand and forwards. before you know it, it was in.

score!

the loud cheer jinni let out beside you knocked your elbow off as you got up along with her. a loud grin took over your features as you joined her silly act of hyping her brother up.

soon enough chenle strides by, him shaking a laughing jisung as he jumps in victory. jinni pulls you by the arm hastily as you both make your way down the steps.

once you both have made your way down, jinni abruptly lets go of you, embracing her brother sloppily. the action makes you yelp out slightly before a pair of arms catch you.

the same pair of arms you've been ogling at since two hours. you look up to see jisung looking down at you, his eyes slightly widened as you take your time shamelessly gaping at his features. a droplet of sweat falling off his drippy wet bangs onto your forehead as you closed your eyes in bliss as if this were a dream. jisung gulps down, obviously flustered. "hi there, [name]?" he squeaks out.

chenle's laugh beside brings you back to your senses as you glance around realizing you were just sprawled over jisung's arms like some tarantula as the siblings carried on their conversation. blinking your lashes at him you almost bump your nose with his before hurriedly getting up back to your feet. "oh! hi there, uh sorry about that."

"no! I mean that's fine, uh you're.. at the game?" he asks with a shy yet 'what the hell was that' look, fingers grazing the back of his head.

"yep!" you beam at him, "figured I'd keep jinni company today. didn't know you played too."

"oh!" jisung laughs timidly, "it wasn't until recently, chenle dragged me in somehow." he shrugs out.

making an action of covering your mouth, you say to jisung with narrowed eyes, "I think when it comes to basketball, chenle drags everyone in anyway."

jisung mimics your action, crouching down to your eye level with with a funny look mirroring you, "I think so too."

you both giggle before leaning back away from each other. you part your lips open to finally drop the question, "would y..."

would you like to go get dinner with me later?

your sentence evaporating into thin air as you watch jisung abruptly get pulled away by his teammate along with chenle towards their coach, where the rest of the team was celebrating.

your shoulders hung down before which jisung turns his head back smiling at you and mouthing 'sorry'. the grin on his face wiped away as he collides into his group of friends.

the sight making you snort loudly as you watch jisung scurry away in embarrassment scratching his head. oh he's such a loser. a loser you were already falling for.

"miss ma'am has a crush huh?"

"jinni!" you jumped as your friend appeared out of nowhere. "oh lord, you're still here?"

"not anymore!" she smiles wide before pushing a backpack and keys into your arms hurriedly.

"what's this?" you frown, ready to hand it back to her.

she moves away quickly, dodging you, "keep this in chenle's locker please please please, I've got a date, okay bye!"

as soon as you're processing her words you look up to see her already running towards the exit.

"no, no, jinni! not the locker room ew!"

"c'mon, you owe me one!" were the last words you heard before her figure disappeared from the door. you sigh before looking around to see student and teachers starting to move out.

boys locker room. gross.

₊꩜˚𝜗𝜚

twisting the knob you entered the space. the place slightly warmer than outside as you walked in. looking around all you could see were rows of red lockers lined up.

further walking into the space your eyes roamed until noticing the number you were looking for. 106. you insert the keys in as you twist them around. tutting with a frown you withdrew the keys upon hearing no click.

deciding to check one more time, you brought the keys closer to the keyhole.

before you could twist them around again a tap against the back of your shoulder made you jump. “what the actual- oh!”

and like the terrible luck you carried with you it had to be park jisung who spot you in the men’s locker room!

he was still in his jersey with a teal towel hanging off his shoulder. a surprised expression on his face as he raised his brows in question.

beyond bewildered you turned to fully face him as you let the rambling began.

“uh this isn’t what it looks like- I was just here to you see-“ you held the bag towards his face before continuing, “keep this in chenle’s locker but for some odd reason the keyhole won’t budge godda-“

jisung put a finger against your lips.

oh fucking hell.

he chuckled before continuing, “shh, anybody could come in anytime, unless you don’t mind being spot in the men’s locker room. and by the way, that’s my locker. chenle’s is beside.”

with a quiet ‘oh’ you were about to back up before your luck worsened as you heard a few noises emerge from the door. someone had entered.

a trail of curses left your mouth as you unknowingly clutched the boys shirt.

jisung spotting your grip, hastily press himself against you with an attempt to hide you.

and as if the commotion elsewhere had turned a blur to your vision your gaze darted towards the boy. you held your breath. the sweat decorating his body made him glow almost, his eyes wide and sparkling kept a watch beside in alarm, sweat dripping down his sharp adams apple as you took in his defined collarbones.

his toned body pressed against yours slowly driving you insane as things you shouldn’t be thinking floated around your mind.

he probably didn’t even notice you sticking closer to him, lessening the gap just to get more of him.

your eyes stuck at his lips. so close and so tempting. plump and sweet enough for you just to lean in and suck on them.

the thoughts running in your mind interrupted as jisung grabbed your forearm. in surprise you looked at him who only turned towards you gulping.

the last thing you process is his lips against your ears as he whispered a don’t freak out and grabbed you. next thing you know he’s pulling you to the opposite direction and all of a sudden the door shut pulling you into a compact room. wait, more like a booth?

and that’s when you realise you’re in one of the the shower booths with literal park jisung.

park jisung who was leaning against the door slightly panting with his eyes closed breathing a sigh out. as soon as he reopened his eyes and looked at you the realization hit as the boy took a step towards you.

“im sorry” he whispered. “the crews out, we can’t leave for a while.”

“that’s alright," you sigh out. "thanks for the saving though.”

a subtle teasing smile replaced on his lips as he raised his brows, “so, what were you doing with my locker?” he leaned closer.

“hey! I said i thought that was chenle’s!”

“mhm.” the boys grin grew wider and so did your eyes.

“listen! I was just keeping his bag in like jinni had asked me too, guess I must’ve misremembered the number because I was thrashing the keys into yours, not like i knew that was yours, obviously! why would i even like ever open your locker in the first p-“

a loud thud on the door and a ramble of the knob.

“hey! this booth empty?”

shit.

jisung quickly fidgeted the water knob, turning it on as mildly warm water showered down immediately from the showers.

“yeah dude this one’s occupied!”

“aight, my bad.” the footsteps turned away as jisung hastily made an poor attempt of covering himself from the water.

he turned back hissing only for more water to spray over him. his clothes started getting wet within no time. realizing he had no spare he started with pulling his shirt over his head.

realization hit quickly enough as he turned towards you who was cornered away from the water with concerningly wide eyes. words barely forming in his throat as he got out, “oh my god! oh my god oh my god I’m so sorry, I should’ve taken you to notice it’s just that I didn’t have a spare so I, I just-“

as if you had decided to throw away all you shame dignity and presence of mind today , your fingers found the hem of your top. “what are you…” his eyes widened more than they already were.

and before he knew it, there you stood in lacey bra tossing your removed shirt over to him. “don’t have a spare too, keep this dry with yours.”

“o-oh um yeah I-I’ll do that I g-guess uhm” his pupils shaked as you sucked a breath in finally taking up him shirtless. his body were literally perfection. the abs subtle yet hard. his body lean but muscular and toned. shoulders wide and frame long as hell.

if it weren’t for the water for sure you would’ve been caught drooling over him.

soon your fingers graze the waistband of your skirt, lingering them around until the boy turns. and soon enough those drop down too. you throw them over him as he barely catches it, distracted from the view in front.

“keep that dry too.”

“uhm! your u-uh un… under garments might just get wet any way so there’s like not really a point I think I don’t know it’s up to you not like im asking you to get soaked you know season change and bad cold spreading around the campus like crazy nowadays all that but I’m just saying they’d get wet nevertheless-“

“I think I’m already wet.” you took a step towards him.

yeah, you’ve lost your darn mind.

jisung’s eyes widen and you could almost giggle the way he’s trying to keep his eyes off your body. “o-OH!, wait I think I brought the towel with me, you could cover yourself with that, it must be somewh-“

“no jisung,” you step even close, so close that jisung’s breath gets hung up in his throat as he barely manages to poorly squeak out a confused yelp like a mouse caught in a trap.

“I’m wet.”

and like a light bulb lighting up in his head his frown dissolves with realization and you soon feel his hand hovering over your hips with uncertainty. “you're uhm like... wet there?”

you hum lightly, reaching up to his shorts and hooking up your fingers around them. “so wet.” your other hand over his as you make him grip your waist. don't hesitate.

as if his demeanors slightly changed jisung’s movements tense up as he looks as you with gaze swirling slowly with need. “f-for me?”

“for you, since so long. I’ve been thinking about you since forever. i want you now please.” and your arm sneaks in his boxers. palming his growing bulge as you try now to waver by his astonishing length.

“want mommy too?” you whisper into his ears, whipping out his dick.

jisung almost melts into puddle under your touch. his surprised gasp evident when you stroke him slowly. “p-please oh fuck... ah!”

you almost gawk over him. his cock long and hard. veins adorning around and tip already wet by the precum surfacing. running a thumb over his leaky tip you feel jisung shake slightly, his lower half digging into your palm beyond desperate.

feeling yourself already damp your underwear, you begin to fasten your movements yet keeping a slow pace, enough to have him whimpering in a public shower.

your hands glide over his length up and down before you let your free hand unclasp your bra. the garment loosening as you yank it off and toss it towards the clothes piled.

jisung’s eyes sparkle as he looks at your for approval. the nod you pass makes him gulp as he advances towards you. his hands cup your breasts together as he explores around with his thumbs over your tits.

your eyes close as you start pumping his cock again.

the sudden movement makes jisung jerk slightly as he quickly opens his mouth and takes your nipple in. your breath hitches as you feel his warm tongue circle around your nub teasingly.

stimulated enough, you spit into your hand before beginning to jerk him off again.

the pitched moan jisung let’s out gets muffled over your chest as you let out a shaky breath near his ears.

you speed your motions further, glancing below to see his frown increase. he sucks onto your breast tightly before pulling out.

the soft shaky breaths evolve into deep sighs which soon before short suppressed whimpers as your palm fiercely pumps his length.

his body is heaving along with your movements as his frown keeps increasing. his lower lip trapped between his teeth as the groans barely keep in.

“I’m.. ah im!”

“you are what?” you snap as jisung quickly whines out.

“mommy! mhm, I’m so close..”

you lean towards him licking his earlobe slightly, your movements constant. “are you gonna cum for me baby? make a mess here hm?”

“I’m gonna cum for you, faster please..” as soon as the words leave his lips you take a moment to admire his fucked out state.

his eyes rolled back, brows pulled together, breath hitched as uncontrollable whimpers leak out of his lips.

you almost moan out at the sight. feeling your underwear turn uncomfortably wet you use your free hand to take it off. as soon as your soaked core feels air against it you sigh.

"ever since I've seen you, all I've wanted to do was spoil you." you murmur against his mouths as his eyes flutter shut, whining.

your lips meeting jisungs as you take your time. sucking and biting the lower and upper lip hungrily. your tongue quickly slipping into jisungs parted mouth.

as soon as his tongue gives up against yours you know he’s close. you pull out, focusing on getting him off, your fingers tightly curled around his cock as you pump him up and down over and over, whispering dirty things into his ears watching him lose his mind. “I can’t- I’m..!”

you feel him shaking sharply as he groans pitch up, he clumsily moves his crotch against you in need and before you know it, warm streaks of cum are sprawled all over your chest and arm.

“you did so well baby.” you pamper him, kissing the crown of his head as he leans towards your touch with his eyes closed, panting heavily. a deep blush over his cheeks an.d his face entirely flushed.

"damn, could've asked me out atleast." he breathes out as you roll your eyes.

jisung regains his composure after a while as he finally notices your dripping core. his eyes hook on the sight. his one arm sliding over your inner thigh and the other swiftly pulls you over. “think I’d return the favor.”

after the glance towards you, his hand is already advancing towards you, parting your thighs as he stares at your pussy. his thumb pressing over your slit as he rubs the spot. feeling beyond aroused, you lean back with a sigh. soon his index finger is in, gathering the wetness as he caresses your folds while his thumb rubs your bud.

a choked moan is released from you when he pushes the finger in you “ji…”

“gonna make mommy feel so good.” he kisses your knee and you swear you almost fall in love with the dude.

next thing you know, three of his fingers are ramming up inside you while his other hand grips into your flesh, keeping your legs wide open despite the squirming. “ji baby ah! oh o- oh my god!”

in no time, he’s learned your pussy by the back of his hand already, his fingers curl in against your g spot as you moan out terribly, tears springing to your eyes. he begins the thrusting again as you press a palm against the wall to keep you from colliding with the wall.

meanwhile he’s having the time of his life. watching his mommy get fucked and moan so sweet but ruthlessly just by his fingers. the way your eyes roll back and jaw falls slack, legs shake uncontrollably and breasts with nipples painfully erect bounce glistening with the running water, jisung just wanted to see you fucked out.

he wonders if he’s making you feel so good by his fingers just how good would his cock feel deep in you, stretching you out, hitting all kinds of positions, thrusting with a pace that leaves you begging for more, his fat cock abusing your pussy by pounding into you despite your orgasm, making you scream overstimulated.

the sight that he’s blessed of yours right now makes him want to make you cum over and over again. with his fingers, mouth, cock- until his cum is overflowing out of you.

his thoughts are interrupted by your grip on his arm. “I’m close baby, so close just fuck me like that mhm.”

filled with determination, jisung leaves you stunned as he tilts you sideways, hitting a new angle as he resumes moving his fingers into your swollen puffy cunt again and again.

your moans no longer suppressed, you cry out loudly as he fucks to you. your whimpers broken and choppy synchronized with his thrusts until you squirm wildly, feeling your orgasm wash over you. your body falls limp against his as he holds you gently, hands caressing your thighs.

the blissful feeling not lasting for long as you both hear the click of the door. the inserting of keys. dangling and clicking of metal. footsteps walking away.

the both of your eyes widen as you pull yourself off him. "did we just get fucking locked out?!"

oh, shit.

an original iceonneo work.

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 7

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.9k

Note : This chapter was quite nice to write. I’ve never had siblings but I’ve had people who I thought of as siblings so I hope the work translates to the reader and Yelena. Enjoy! 

Series Masterlist

“How did You Find Me?”

Tuesday.

Eventually, it was time for you to move back to your apartment. You knew it was coming, but the knowledge didn’t make it easier. 

You had spent far more time at Bucky’s than you intended. His presence had become a comfort to the quiet confusion you occupied.

The day of the move, Bucky was there, as he had always been.

As you stood in the foreign space of your apartment, he was there— helping you rebuild the space a version of you once called home.

The two of you worked in near silence, the kind that had become comfortable. 

Every now and then, he’d ask where something should go. You wouldn’t know, so you just pointed at where you thought made the most sense.

There was something methodical about the process of unpacking and rearranging. Back at the museum, you loved cataloging, so this should have been soothing. But it wasn’t. 

As you placed your clothes back into drawers and rearranged ornamental things on the shelves, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were putting together a puzzle with missing pieces.

Bucky didn’t ask how you were, didn’t try to force a conversation you weren’t ready for. 

He just helped. 

He dusted the shelves you hadn’t touched in months. He wiped down the counters that gathered layers of dust. Every now and then, you caught him checking to make sure you were okay. 

By the time the apartment was mostly back in order, the sun had set. 

This space, once yours, felt like it belonged to a stranger. This sense of detachment was unsettling, like you were an outsider looking in.

Bucky moved towards the door, though he hadn’t opened it yet. He stood there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his slightly torn jacket.

“It looks like it used to,” he said quietly. You glanced at him, then back at the room. You nodded, trusting that it did.

Bucky took a small step toward the door. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say goodbye, but his eyes told you he didn’t really want to go. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” he said finally. He stood there, one foot in your apartment and the other in the hallway.

You felt a flutter of panic that made your chest tighten. The thought of him leaving— of being alone in this empty space— was unbearable. 

Before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “Do you think… Can you stay? M-maybe for a couple weeks?”

Bucky blinked, surprised by your request. 

For a moment, you worried you’d said too much, that you’d crossed a line.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to be alone yet,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. 

The tension in his muscles melted away as he took a slow step toward you.  

When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “Of course.” He said, “I’ll stay as long as you need.”

Wednesday.

Exhaustion finally pulled you into a restless sleep, but you didn't find any peace. 

It was the concrete again, heavy against your body. It collapsed around you, trapping you in a suffocating darkness. The cold scrape of rubble, the crushing weight, your muffled screams—  it was too much to process. You were desperate to escape. You were struggling to breathe. 

Then, you saw a tall figure walking towards you— Bucky! 

But the walls began to close in completely before he could get to you.

Suddenly, you felt rough hands on your shoulders, shaking you firmly. The world around you started to dissolve. 

You found yourself fighting against the intrusion.

You swung in self defense, fist connecting with something solid. A sharp grunt of pain finally pulled you back into the present. 

Jolting awake, you realized you were in your bedroom. Bucky crouched next to you, clutching his jaw.

“Oh, God—Bucky! I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—” you stammered, horrified.

His eyes softened relieved that you were awake, despite the slight bruise. 

He waved it off.” It’s okay,” he murmured, taking the punch surprisingly well. “I’ve had worse.”

You looked at the clock on your bedside table that read 01.00 AM. 

Had you only been asleep for two hours? 

“You were having a nightmare,” he told you.

You sat up, clutching the blankets to your chest. You couldn’t remember all the details, but terror settled in your bones anyway.

“I’m gonna stay here,” he said. His voice was calm, almost casual, almost waiting for your permission. “Just in case.”

Maybe you should just tell him to go back to the guest room, brush it all off with a forced laugh, or apologize profusely for punching him.

But the idea of being alone again, left to wrestle with the dark corners of your mind, was unbearable. 

You managed a nod. 

He eased himself beside you. He stayed above the covers, respecting the boundary between your space and his.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Bucky simply leaned back, propping himself on one arm, his other hand close to yours but not quite touching.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. It was too soon to put the fear into words. Bucky nodded, and you were grateful for it. He leaned back, his head resting against the headboard.

After a few moments, you let out a shaky breath.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured. “I’m right here.”

Slowly, hesitantly, you let your eyes shut, listening to the calm, reassuring sound of his breathing. Each rise and fall of his chest became an anchor, something to focus on beyond the remnants of your nightmare. 

The bed dipped slightly as he adjusted, inching closer. His human hand laid next to yours, a quiet offer of comfort if you wanted it.

Finally, you shifted closer, curling into the warmth of his presence. His arm wrapped around you, gentle and protective.

You didn’t think you could fall asleep again, but with him there, the crushing weight in your chest began to ease.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

Saturday.

You started feeling at home again. 

As your eyes drifted to the former winter soldier readjusting flowers in your vase, you started to think that  maybe home didn't mean a place. Maybe home, to you, was a person.

Each morning he made you coffee, handing you a mug without a word. He offered to help with laundry. Slowly, he started moving his things here. His clothes. His toothbrush. His shoes.

He didn’t hover, but he was always around, as if he could tell when the walls began to feel like they were closing in. Sometimes, he’d catch you staring out the window, lost in thought, and he’d nudge you gently. Other times, he’d suggest small things to keep you anchored—a walk around the block, a stop at the corner store for groceries, or a quiet evening watching old movies. 

Today, you had trailed your fingers on his jaw, looking at the spot you had punched him in your sleep several days ago. You were amazed at how the bruise that formed was no longer there. Guess it made sense— super soldier healing and all. 

If only the bruises in your mind healed that quickly.

The nightmares didn’t vanish, but they started to lose their edge. When they came, they didn’t feel quite as suffocating, partly because when you’d wake, he’d be there.

He stayed in the guest room most nights, but if you needed him, he’d be there without question, laying with you until morning.

He tried to act as if he was happy with this being casual, being platonic. 

Sure.

Sunday.

Today, you found yourselves on the couch after a long day of training. Bucky had brought over a couple of old records he’d picked up from his storage room, and you both took turns picking the next one to play. 

At one point, you caught him watching you. 

When you looked over, he didn’t look away, didn’t try to hide the way he was studying your how your eyes lingered on his. 

After a moment, Bucky’s expression grew thoughtful.

“You know, that nightmare you keep having... with the concrete ?” He paused, meeting your eyes, weighing whether he should continue. “That’s actually what happened during the mission.”

You felt your chest tighten. "What do you mean?"

“I was part of the rescue team that went in to get you out.” He took a steadying breath. “I was the one who found you underneath the rubble.”

“You… saved me,” you whispered, trying to piece everything together. “I must’ve hit my head before you got there. I think I— I’ve lost them by then..”

He nodded, “You said you see me in your dreams sometimes,” His voice softened. “I was probably the first person you saw after hitting your head.”

Oh.

Bucky had been your first new memory in four years, the first face you’d seen after the darkness. All the quiet pull you’d felt toward him suddenly made sense. 

The strange safety you felt with Bucky—finally made sense. For once, something made sense.

It’s been so fucking long since anything made sense.

Tears slid down your cheeks, slow at first, then everything spilled over. 

The sobs came hard. When your shoulders shook, Bucky pulled you into his arms without hesitation. His hand moved gently along your back as the record skipped quietly in the background. 

He didn’t say a word. He just held you, knowing how much you needed this release. 

When the tears finally eased, you managed a weak, watery laugh. “So,” you joked. “I basically imprinted on you like a little gosling.”

He chuckled. “Lucky me.”

Monday.

The museum was unusually quiet, just the soft hum of ventilation and the muffled steps of a few wandering visitors. Maybe the laugh of a couple school kids pointing at the Homo Erectus display. 

You said hi to Alex before making your way in. 

You and Yelena moved through the halls. She had suggested the museum for your post-training catch-up today, knowing how familiar this place was to you. 

As you strolled through the Ancient Greek exhibit, you pointed at a sculpture that caught your attention.

"That's Mnemosyne," you said, "The goddess of memory."

Yelena looked at the statue with a curious squint. “There’s actually one for that?”

You nodded, feeling a faint sense of purpose as you explained. “In Orphism, which is this really interesting ancient Greek tradition, they believed the newly dead would drink from the River Lethe, which would make them forget their past lives. But if you drank from the river of memory—Mnemosyne—you’d remember everything and be free from the cycle of reincarnation.”

She turned to you, giving a small, almost mischievous smile. “And here you are, teaching me about memory after you’ve lost four years of it. Irony’s got a sense of humour.”

You chuckled, though the joke stung. “Drinking from Mnemosyne’s river would be pretty useful right about now.” Your tone was light, but the longing was unmistakable.

Yelena looked back at the statue. “Maybe you’re not supposed to get those years back,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe… they’re not important.”

There was a comfort in her words, as if forgetting allowed you to live in the present. To be new. To be whoever you decided you wanted to be.

After a while, you both settled on a bench in a quieter part of the gallery. The moment felt calm, with only the gaze of painted portraits and ancient relics to overhear you. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” you started, the words slipping out quietly. “It’s about Bucky.”

Her brow lifted slightly, leaning in. “Oh?”

“He’s been staying with me.” You took a deep breath. “Sometimes he stays in my room. He’s been helping me regulate my nightmares.”

Yelena listened, her features falling as she gave you a small nod of encouragement.

"I think…” you trailed off, heart fluttering nervously, “I think I’m falling in love with him.”

Yelena’s expression stayed steady, but her eyes sharpened a bit. She nodded, but her face was unreadable.

“I’m happy for you,” she said, though there was a hint of hesitation that you didn’t catch. “You sound… at peace with him.”

Relief washed over you in waves. Yelena’s support mattered to you in ways you didn’t quite understand.

“I feel safe with him,” you admitted, a smile spreading across your face. “I don’t know how to tell him yet, but… it’s just nice to feel… something real.”

She reached across, giving your hand a small squeeze. “You deserve to feel safe.” 

Her fingers lingered hesitantly before she let go.

An edge flicked behind Yelena’s eyes, a tension you couldn’t quite place. You thought it was just worry, the way she’d been looking out for you ever since everything went blank. 

But her mind was piecing together things she knew about Bucky that you’d forgotten— that she wasn’t sure you were ready to hear.

As you shared more— about how Bucky had held you through the worst of your nightmares, how he stayed without ever asking anything in return— she listened. 

She didn’t want to shatter the peace you’d found, not when you were finally beginning to reclaim your life. 

Still, she knew there were parts of Bucky that could change everything if they came to light.

She had thought, naively, that Bucky would tell you. Maybe he was just waiting for the right moment

But the way you spoke about him made it clear he wouldn’t.

Wednesday.

Yelena found Sam in the gym, his back to her as he worked through the last of his reps. 

Sam took a seat on the bench, ready to hear her out. 

She didn’t waste any time. She said your name, voice barely above a whisper.

Sam knew Yelena was protective of you, especially now, after everything you’d been through. "Go on," he coaxed.

Yelena’s hands clenched into fists. 

"She’s falling in love with Barnes, Sam." Her voice wavered, and she looked away for a second, like the thought of you being hurt was something she couldn’t bear. "But she doesn’t know what he was like before."

Sam’s shoulders slumped.

“I know,” he started. “But I don’t think he’s just pretending to care."

“But she doesn’t know.” Yelena’s voice cracked. "She doesn’t know he’s… he’s just trying to undo the damage he caused in the first place. I can’t let her fall for someone who’s hiding her own past from her." She took a shaky breath, blinking back the tears. 

You were the first person who came as close as a sister to her since Natasha... and losing the last four years you had together had been harder on her than she'd like to admit. Losing you to grief, losing your trust? That would break Yelena.  "She deserves the whole story. She deserves a choice.”

“It’s not that simple.” Sam looked away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I saw him. In the hospital, before she woke up. He was there, holding her hand, talking to her for days as if she could hear. He wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t let her be alone."

Bucky had faced what she couldn’t bring herself to — he’d seen you at your lowest, at the brink of death. When Yelena first heard what had happened, she had locked herself to waste away in her apartment, sinking to the floor as sobs destroyed her body. 

She couldn’t go to see you— how could she?

She couldn’t bring herself to see even a hint of bruising on you. Couldn’t bear to witness the blood pooling on your head, the cuts on your limbs.

Hearing Sam tell her what happened to you had reminded her of losing Natasha.

The fear had paralyzed her. She couldn’t bear to see you unconscious, clinging to life by a fragile thread.

She hadn’t been there then, but Bucky had.

"It doesn’t change what he’s hiding.” She murmured, barely audible. “If he really cares about her, then he should be brave enough to tell her the truth.” Her voice trembled. “If she finds out he’s only with her to make up for his mistakes, to… to fix some guilt inside him, it’ll destroy her.”

No one’s allowed to destroy her, she thought, not after everything she had been through. 

“It's not just guilt.” Sam insisted. "Every time I see them together, it doesn’t look like he’s trying to atone. I know Bucky much better than you do. It looks like he’d finally realised what he’d— that he’d… that he loves her.”

No, Yelena thought. She knew he always had feelings for you but there's no way he loves you more than I do. 

She’d been there first; she knew you better than anyone, knew the sound of your laughter and the quiet sadness you tried to hide. She had loved you, the way she’d loved Natasha—like family. You were her sister in every way but blood.

But now, watching the way you talked about Bucky, the way he seemed to carry your pain as if it were his own... 

Maybe he did love you more, in ways she couldn’t, in ways she’d never even considered. 

“He still needs to tell her the truth,” her voice was much softer now,  though no less fierce. “He owes her that much."

“Then talk to him,” Sam nodded. “Make him see what’s at stake.”

“And if he doesn’t tell her?” Yelena blinked. "I can’t watch her fall apart. Not again."

“Neither can I.” Sam’s voice strained as he packed his things into his duffel bag, "But let him try. Give him more time.”

Time.

Yelena knew better than most people that time was just a cruel joke running circles around mortals like her.

And she was getting impatient.

-to be continued…

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[overtakebrownwren]

three of the basic tools of the writer of detectives:

impossible numbers of friends and slightly distant family who don't come up in regular conversation but will appear at the catalyst for a visit or situation being brought to the (non-professional) detective. (Example: Jane Marple's numerous young goddaughters, former maids, and the nephew who always sends her on nice vacations. Fletcher, likewise, starts each episode traveling for work, visiting an old friend or family member, or meeting up with yet another member of her small town who we've never seen before. See columbo's wife as the antithesis of this- constantly spoken about and referenced but never the catalyst for any adventure.)

a sounding board. A friend/companion/client who doesn't comprehend the situation as well as the detective does and gets to tell the audience everything the see without ever noticing what matters until the detective sees and explains it. (You have your classics- Watson & Hastings & Robin. But the TV show Psych is an example of this with multiple layers- Shawn is completely open to Gus his bestie about his con, His dad knows how Shawn does the cons, and the two detectives he works with interpret & appreciate his exposition dumps at the end in different ways.)

A lack of background for as long as you can get away with it. The more open a background, the less the audience needs to question how or why the detective knows the intimate details of a such and such skill. (Father Brown & Miss Jane Marple know everything, because he has taken the confessions of too many criminals and she listens to more than enough gossip to know human nature. Lord Wimsey has far too much free time to not know something, but when he doesn't his butler will always know the trick. Sherlock has somehow conducted numerous studies on how the world works that gave him very solid data. Encyclopedia Brown has read the encyclopedia and memorized it. none of these are dated or time stamped so if you need to set a firm date on something later, nothing can get in the way.) This works best for stable detectives- ones who are not going to change or grow, and not detective stories that focus on character or drama.

And ignoring that leads these is why you get murder mysteries that focus on the drama and interpersonal conflict of it all and fail to give you a mystery. Modern NCIS isn't a group of colorful characters walking you through a mystery to solve, it's a workplace drama with some action scenes. Christie often used new POV characters to introduce & invest the reader to a murder (especially with Miss Marple- most of the fun was the little old lady showing up to fix things and shocking the POV character).

When you do a mystery, create a toxic situation with a colorful cast that ends with murder. Then introduce the detective by way of friend/relation/vacation. Pack them a companion. Never explain why they know something except in the vaguest terms. Let them collect their clues and bits of string and twist the tension up and up and up until the detective snaps the jaws of their trap closed around the killer. Make sure the killer is not justified (keep the exceptions to this one down- catharsis of a detective story is that the good detective wins and the bad guys lose). Decide what justice for the murder looks like (usually jail, sometimes a psychiatric institution, or rare but a goody- letting them live with the horrible consequences of their actions as a "free" person.)

Detective as an angle of Justice is a always a delight. Or in Christie's work, Detective as the goddess "Nemesis" is a delight.

The temptation, when adapting a really iconic detective, is to delve into his personal backstory. That's the devil talking.

[may-stuff]

Thoughts on jealous!franco?

He's a totally different person when he's jealous. The usual smile on his face, the yapping, the energy? Gone.

His arms are wrapped around your waist and you giggle as you try to make him understand that everything is alright and that person didn't know you had a boyfriend, that's why they tried to flirt with you. But his face is completely serious and he keeps staring at said person who dared to talk to you, to touch your exposed shoulder. He's furious. Not at you, obviously, you did nothing wrong. But at that person who couldn't see that you're his.

Also, he'd do some stupid shit when he's jealous. I've got this scenario in my mind where you're on the phone with a person who is either your classmate or coworker, someone who you have to interact with but aren't close to; but that person has a crush on you and you've rejected them a few times but they don't seem to understand the meaning of the word 'no'

So that afternoon you're on the phone with them because of a project or whatever. You're sitting on the couch, wishing the conversation ends soon, and this person basically starts asking you out for the 100th time, the planning of the project being the perfect excuse. You keep refusing and they insist until Franco enters the room, asks you if the asshole is still insisting and when you say yes, he kneels in front of you and without a warning takes your shorts and underwear off. You try to protest but he spreads your legs easily, before continuing he tells you to keep talking on the phone.

Then he simply starts working between your legs. Everything is soft at first; he kisses and licks your inner thighs, then kisses and licks all around your slit, and when your breathing becomes more erratic, he simply starts eating you out. Also kissing, licking, spitting on your cunt until you're incredibly wet, and then his pretty lips are wrapped around your clit, suckling vigorously. And you're a mess, you're trying to hold every moan in but you simply can't. You try to tell the person on the other side of the phone that you need to go but they keep talking and talking and talking until you feel Franco's long fingers inside of you and you can't help the moan that comes out of your mouth.

The other person goes silent and then asks you if you're okay, but the phone is laying on the couch and you're gone in the feeling of Franco's fingers inside you. So, being the amazing boyfriend he is, he grabs the phone and, as he keeps fingering you, he greets the annoying person that's been bothering you for so long.

He moves his fingers deeper, making you moan uncontrollably, as he says something like, "Sorry, dude, she can't talk right now. Her boyfriend is fingering her so good that she's actually about to cum." And the moment he says that, you do, you cum. Hard. You're a moaning mess and he lets the other person hear you for a few seconds and then he ends the call.

When you go back to college/work the next day, the person is nowhere to be found. And you actually don't see them ever again.

Sorry this was so long lmao

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"HALLOWEEN PARTIES"

EXTRA CONTENT- "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, mentions of breeding kink, mentions of possible future pregnancy, lots of suggestive conversation and making out. not edited. upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 9.9k+ → a/n: @take-everything-you-can plagued me with thoughts of what our idiots would get up to on halloween, and i just couldn't help myself. it definitely spiraled out of control though. my bad. ALSO, QUICK DISCLAIMER: please if you get a snake don't do what reader and eddie did. snakes a homebodies. we are just going to pretend it's okay in this context for the name of fiction, alright? obligatory snake owner ramble over. let's GO.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

The thumping of the bass was audible before you’d even exited the elevator fully. 

Any other day of the year, you’d assume your group of friends would be earning an instant noise complaint for the volume of the music coming from behind Steve and Robin’s apartment front door. But it wasn’t just any other day – it was Halloween, and somewhere amongst the rhythm of what surely had to be Steve blasting Abba, you could make out fellow neighbors playing music just as loudly. 

If anything, the overly quiet apartments were more concerning than the noisy ones. 

“Do you think Lestat is going to do okay with the music?” Eddie suddenly frets, one hand reaching to tug on what little fabric there was of his costume. It almost made you smile, a reminder of what exactly your usually ‘scary’ boyfriend was donning. 

Britney Spears, circa 2001. One of her most iconic VMA performances. 

He’d decided it the moment you two had come home several months ago with the most important accessory that was draped around his neck – a juvenile ball python named Lestat, who looked surprisingly content as he hung onto Eddie’s shoulders. 

“I don’t know,” you hum, looking over at Eddie, a little bit concerned now that he’d brought it up, “Maybe it’s a bad idea-”

“I’m texting Nance to turn the music down.” 

“What if it freaks him out?” 

“It’ll be fine.” 

“What if he gets stressed and bites you, Eddie?” 

To any onlooker, the sight of you might have been a bit funny. Furrowed brows, arms crossed, sticky blood spread out across your stomach and sternum. 

The theme tonight for the two of you had been iconic performances. Eddie insisted, and part of you knew he was just afraid to dress up so extravagantly all alone when it came to this small get-together, but you hadn’t hesitated to pull together your own version of Lady Gaga’s iconic VMA performance from 2009. If you two were going to commit to a theme this year, you were committing. 

Eddie balances his phone in one hand, typing with a single thumb. Impressive, given his history of ardently avoiding owning a smart phone. His other hand trails up to his collarbone, sneaking a careful finger below Lestat’s head, holding him up and pouting his lip a little, “This little guy? Biting me? He would never.” 

The sight was cute. Obnoxiously, overly, endearingly cute. 

“He’s still a snake,” you try to argue, stopping right outside of apartment 34C. The music was more clear now as it switched from whatever Abba tune had been playing to Maneater by Nelly Furtado, “If he gets scared enough, he might.” 

“I’d hardly call him a snake,” Eddie snorts, shoving his phone back into his pocket, smiling as he tilts his chin to awkwardly stare at the snake now carefully slithering over his knuckles, “Dude misses the mice on his first strike every time we feed him. And if there was ever a time he was going to bite me, it would have been when I was taking that moss out of his mouth as he was eating.”

That earns a huff of a laugh from you as well. The image of Eddie on Monday night, absolutely losing his mind as he’d noticed that Lestat had gotten his mouse entangled in some of the moss decorating his enclosure, not even hesitating to open the tank once more and throw his hand in right along with the tongs to prevent your new ‘son’ from ingesting it, crosses your mind. It hadn’t mattered how much you reassured him that it was probably normal in the wild, that Lestat’s body could certainly handle it. Eddie had been insistent and blinded by what could only be described by paternal instinct. 

If you’d asked yourself last Halloween if that had been where you see your life heading in a year’s time, you would have rolled your eyes. 

“You do realize how dumb that was of you, right?” you insist, remembering your fear and the way your breath had caught in the moment. It was funny now, but you’d never gripped onto Eddie’s shoulder tighter than when he’d recklessly done so. You loved the snake, you really did, but you’d realized in that moment you might still love Eddie just a little bit more. 

The conversation is cut short as it’s clear that Nancy had received Eddie’s text, the music behind the door quieting a bit along with a change of song. 

Your jaw nearly drops, “You did not make Nancy do that.” 

The opening notes of I’m a Slave 4 U were impossible to miss.

“I did.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Are you gonna insult me the entire night, or let me make my iconic entrance?” 

You don’t get a chance to answer, Eddie carefully passing by you, Lestat’s head bouncing a little as it passes a bit closer to your face than you would have been comfortable with a few months ago. 

The snake, funnily enough, had even been your idea to begin with. Your want, your desperate argument you’d wasted countless breaths upon while getting ready for bed with Eddie. 

It’ll be fun, you’d whined to Eddie as you’d both crawled into bed, we even have the space in the living room. 

Sweetheart, you’re fucking terrified of snakes, Eddie had easily rebuttalled. He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t stop you from huffing like a petulant child. 

That’s an exaggeration, you argued right back.

Your hands had still shook ferociously that first day of bringing home the snake when you’d been the one to move him from the small container the store had placed him and into the full fifty gallon tank now occupying a fairly large chunk of the apartment’s living room. 

You’re still lost in your head as the door swings open for Eddie right as the first chorus of the song begins. He’s dramatic, fully committed, a glimmer of who he must have been in high school shining right through as he struts confidently into your friends’ apartment. 

A version of Eddie you somehow missed despite never having met. You almost wonder if you would have still ended up here if you’d met then; you almost wonder if you would have still ended up at each other’s throats inevitably, even in those days. 

You probably would have. You secretly hope that it all would have still happened exactly as it has. 

“No fucking way!” 

Robin is the first voice you can hear excitedly shriek out a reaction to Eddie, followed by a sharp hush from Nancy. They’re deeper in the apartment, out of your line of sight. You can hear Jonathan’s muttered response lost in the music, and you can smell Argyle’s presence rather than hear or see it. 

Weed had been expected, but Steve and Robin were strict in their rule of only partaking on the balcony. 

“Yes fucking way,” Eddie responds, clearly giddy. You finally trail in behind him, not necessarily shy but certainly not nearly as extravagant as he had been. You hang back a bit, biting back a grin, just admiring your boy.

All warmth, rosey cheeks spread wide in his boyish grin, eyes bright as he wiggles his brows as Robin. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” Robin whispers as she rushes forward, glancing over her shoulder, clearly looking for Steve before she leans it a tad bit closer towards Lestat. 

“Mama didn’t raise a bitch,” Eddie snarkily replies, moving to slowly remove the snake from his neck. 

“Language,” you jokingly scold him, reaching out to take the snake from his hands as he brings it to his chest, giving Robin a closer look at the nearly-glimmering pale scales of your pet. Almost instinctively, he starts to pull the animal away, but once he sees the look on your face, he’s quick to hand him over. “No cursing around our son.”

Nancy finally walks up, still no sign of Steve as she joins your side and Lestat wraps his body slowly around your wrist, “Oh my God, don’t tell me you also refer to this thing as your child.” 

“This thing?” Eddie huffs, more offended than you, “Nance, he has a name.” 

Robin has gravitated towards you now, entirely captivated by the ball python, eyes shimmering as she lets out the smallest gasps and squeals under her breath, “What’s his name?” 

“Lestat,” you whisper, watching Nancy and Eddie grow closer and clearly get more immersed in their own private conversation, “But Eddie wanted to name him Frodo.” 

“Frodo,” Robin chuckles a little, looking at you questioningly as she holds out a timid finger. You give her a nod, moving a thicker part of the snake’s body to face her rather than the head, “Sounds like Eddie.” 

It did indeed. Once the bickering of whether or not you two would even get the snake to begin with had faded, the entire argument of what its name would be had started up. Eddie wanted the snake to be named after his favorite books – you wanted to name the snake after your most recent reads. 

You’d clearly won. At the sacrifice of promising the inevitable first of many cats you and Eddie would eventually have be named Frodo instead. But you’d still won. 

Robin’s eyes finally leave the snake long enough to take in your own outfit, and you hadn’t realized it was possible for the girl’s grin to widen, “Wait - are you dressed as Lady Gaga from her Paparazzi performance?” 

“Oh, my dear Birdie,” you coo out the endearment, shivering slightly as the cool body of the snake continues to slither up near your elbow, “This night is just getting started.”

—

You were right. The night had just begun. 

The first few hours pass fairly chaotically. A languid and rapid mixing of everyone excitedly catching up on each other’s lives, various drinks beginning to be concocted. Some delicious, and some spurring gags from others simply from the description of the hard liquor that had gone into them. 

Argyle had managed to lure many of the group out onto the patio at various intervals to partake in the devil’s lettuce, as he had proudly proclaimed it. Nancy and Jonathan had figured out a way to set up a makeshift karaoke party in the living room, lyrics for songs being displayed on the main TV. And Steve, for all his attentive hospitality as the one of the co-hosts of the night, had remained painfully oblivious. 

Eddie had gone behind his back when it came to bringing Lestat. Steve had made it clear when the two of you had purchased the puppy in reptile form that he wanted nothing to do with the python, while the rest of the group had been easily intrigued – especially Robin. And so once Eddie had decided upon his Britney outfit, the next logical step had been securing Lestat’s attendance at the party. He hadn’t texted Steve - or Nancy, as a matter of fact - but rather Robin. 

The girl hadn’t even taken a minute to respond, overly enthusiastic to meet the snake. 

Everyone had slowly become a part of a more silent bet as the night dragged on, and for once, you and Eddie were on the betting side of it all. The drinks were poured, the weed was smoked, the music was sung along to painfully off-key, and Steve never once noticed the snake that was frequently wrapped around various parts of yours and Eddie’s body. 

The quick exchanges probably didn’t help. When Steve needed your help in the kitchen at one point, you’d smoothly handed Lestat over to Eddie in passing. When Eddie had agreed to join Jonathan and Argyle on the balcony at one point, he’d easily and carefully draped the snake across the nape of your neck from behind the couch. Hell, you’d even spent a good five minutes engrossed in a conversation with Steve, all the while Lestat had been comfortably coiled around your bicep opposite the man. 

As the hours passed by, you found yourself wanting to be caught. 

Your phone pings suddenly as you bury yourself deeper into the leather couch, giggling over Steve’s current rendition of What’s New Scooby Doo?. 

You shuffle carefully to pull it from where you’d wedged it against your hip, trapped weakly by your white bottoms speckled with glittery blood.

WORLD’S HOTTEST BOYFRIEND: I want a cigarette :-( 

You do a double take of the contact name, blinking rapidly before you finally connect the dots. 

YOU: when the hell did you change your contact name in my phone?

WORLD’S HOTTEST BOYFRIEND:  Unimportant. 

WORLD’S HOTTEST BOYFRIEND:  Do you think if I hand Lestat off to you right now that Steve would notice? 

Your eyes flick up as the song ends, Robin having jumped up to finish off the performance with Steve, the two of them a mess of flailing limbs clinging to each other and joyful laughter bubbling out of them for unknown reasons. 

Well, partially unknown reasons. One of them was surely the strange concoction the two of them had chugged at some point in the night that had included both watermelon flavored vodka and green apple whiskey. That had been one you’d cringed and stuck your tongue out at. 

YOU: 50/50 chance. And NOT unimportant btw, what’s my name in YOUR phone? 

Just as Eddie exits the bathroom, Steve perks up at the sound of the door and distant flush, removing himself entirely from Robin’s embrace, “Fuckin’ finally! I have to piss.”

Everyone holds their breath as he rushes past Eddie, but he still remains completely unaware of the snake that Eddie is carrying. 

The slam of the door times perfectly with Eddie’s collapse onto the couch next to you, a shy and guilty grin already gracing his face before you even begin bursting at the seams with continuing the text conversation face-to-face. 

“Seriously,” you waste no time, turning to him quickly and your knee easily overlapping his thigh as you shuffle into a more comfortable position, “When did you change your name in my phone, asshole?” 

He takes his time answering, pulling on the ridiculously small jean shorts he wears as his shoulders quiver with the effort of holding in his laughter, “Words hurt, baby.” 

You hate the way nicknames as simple as baby can send still shivers down your spine. 

“You couldn’t have at least been a little more creative? Like, world’s hottest boyfriend? C’mon, you can be more clever than that, surely.” 

It’s easy to do this, to egg him on and prod at his ego in the softest of ways. It’s also always been a dead giveaway to him that he’s gotten under your skin. 

“My name with a pretty black heart next to it just wasn’t cutting it anymore,” he pouts exaggeratedly, leaning into your space a bit, holding the snake a careful distance away as he looks into your eyes and a suspiciously jubilant look crosses his face, “What would you have preferred?” 

“Something shorter,” you breathe out, feeling some of the alcohol coursing through your veins now, making your headswim as you suck in the scent of his cologne heavy in the space between you, “It’s a bit of a mouthful, if I’m being honest.” 

“It is,” he nods, and his lips spread salaciously, pupils growing just a tad bit wider before he delivers a devastating blow, “But we both know you can take it, can’t you, baby?”

Damn him. Fuck him. Send him all the way down to the depths of Hell, for all you care. 

He’s caught on to a clear game he can play now that you’re tipsy, one that he certainly has the upper hand in, and you can’t tell if the night ending in him winning it would actually spell your loss. You swear, you can already feel his hands on your hips, tearing off the costume you’d spent several weeks carefully sewing sequins into, his lips getting sticky with all the fake blood across your torso, his- 

Huh. Never had you realized yourself to be such a horny drunk. 

“Now I need a cigarette,” you grumble, leaning away from him, trying to break whatever spell he was casting. None of your friends’ have even noticed the interaction happening on the couch, saving you from eternal embarrassment. 

If you’d had less pinot noir and shots of Fireball whiskey in your veins, you’d probably still find the decency in you to be self-conscious at toying with these things in public. Maybe scold him, maybe douse out whatever flames he was attempting to ignite. 

Eddie leans back as well, clearly satisfied with himself as he lifts Lestat up to preoccupy himself by pretending to study the lightened coloring of the snake. Mostly white, with splatterings of a traditional morph at random across the body. The woman who had sold the snake to the two of you had referred to it as a piebald. If you had been shopping with an actual breeder rather than a reputable rescue, he would have cost an arm and a leg. 

Luck had been on your side the day you’d stumbled upon the snake. You wish luck was still on your side tonight. 

Eddie sticks out the tip of his tongue to mimic the snake a few times before he focuses on you again, “You know, we could always see if Robin wants to watch him while we both go grab one.”

You have no clue how the girl had heard him from across the living room, but she suddenly appears at his side, just as eager in appearance as her original text giving the blessing to bring Lestat had been. 

“Did someone say I could hold the snake?” she bounces a bit on the balls of her feet, looking down with utter fascination, “Please tell me you guys just said I could hold the little guy. When you first got him, I did a ton of research so I’d know proper handling tips, and also how to know if he gets too stressed. Also I may or may not have been nervous about how often they bite, but I found out that-”

“They don’t bite,” Eddie interrupts with reassurance, offering a small smile as he looks up to her, “At least, not very often. You usually have to aggravate them pretty badly, or catch them on a really shit day for them to strike.” 

It had been a huge selling point in convincing him. Ball pythons were docile in nature, and they’d be quicker to match up to their namesake by balling up than actually strike out at someone. 

Of course, the day you had been informing of this, you had no idea he was already aware of it. He knew they didn’t bite, he knew the specifics of what a habitat for them needed, he knew their dietary needs – he’d already had an Amazon shopping cart filled with supplies after the first time you brought the snake up to him, unbeknownst to you. 

“Yeah,” Robin nods ferociously, hands reaching out carefully, already more than prepared to take the snake, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now hand over the baby and go do whatever debauchery you two are clearly wanting to get up to.” 

“We aren’t getting up to debauchery!” you try to defend the two of you, watching Eddie carefully uncurl Lestat from his arm to pass him into Robin’s waiting hands, “Eddie just wants a cigarette and-”

“And you want to join him and probably get in some hot and steamy makeout sessions, right?” Robin finishes your sentence for you, quirking an eyebrow for a second before letting out a whisper of a squeal when Lestat takes to her quickly. His tail wraps around the length of her wrist and you’re shocked as you watch him stay just as curious as he had been while held by you and Eddie. A tad bit more reserved, but no sign of balling up any time soon. 

Eddie stands from the couch, patting his largest back pocket to ensure his pack of cigarettes and lighter are still safely tucked into it, and you know it’s useless to keep arguing with Robin. She’s entirely entrapped by the snake in her hands now, whispering in a high-pitched tone that surprisingly doesn’t seem to bother Lestat. All her coos nearly resemble baby-talk. It’s cute – sort of. A direct mirror of how you and Eddie have been acting at home when you handle the ball python. 

You stand slower than Eddie had, hawk eyes still glued to your friend, “Just- Just be careful, okay? Avoid touching his head, and don’t wave your hands around too much while talking, because it can scare him. He also might try and crawl up to your hair because Eddie lets him hide in his at home, and sometimes he’ll pull on it because it sticks to him, so just-”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie stresses, throwing an arm around your shoulders, giving your bicep opposite from him a quick squeeze, “She’ll be fine.” 

Robin nods, clearly only half listening to the debate as she watches Lestat wander up her arm in clear wonder. 

It sort of does feel like Lestat is your actual human child, as though you’re leaving your toddler with a babysitter for the first time. 

Eddie tugs you deeper into his side, musky cinnamon and boyish charm filling your nose as he leans down and murmurs, “C’mon.” 

A Ghost song starts to thump over the speakers as you allow Eddie to guide you over to the sliding door beside the kitchen, the layout different and even a tad bit nicer than your own apartment. It’s odd, the view of the kitchen being clearer than the living room, the exact opposite of how your home is. 

Home. Even in your tipsy state, even after so much time having living with Eddie and even going as far as to now own a pet with him, the notion fills you with warmth. 

Maybe you’re actually a sentimental drunk. 

As the two of you pass by Argyle, he briefly lifts his head, cherry-shaded eyes peering up excitedly until Eddie quickly shakes his head, making the poor man sink back against the loveseat that he occupies with Jonathan and Nancy. You almost feel bad, but it’s clear Argyle is too far gone to even feel disappointment right now. 

“After you, m’lady,” Eddie chivalrously slides the door open for you, half-bowing and putting on a half-assed British accent as he sweeps his arm for you to exit onto the balcony first. 

“It’s Lady Gaga to you,” you snark as you slip out into the crisp Autumn air, cheeks cooling instantly. 

“Oh,” the door slides shut with a soft thud behind Eddie as he joins you, face immediately covered by the shadows of the evening, “My apologies.” 

It’s nice out. Far nicer than any October has been in the city in what feels like years. The air is refreshing, dare you even say sobering, and the city lights below wink at you as you hear all the distant noises of life. Car horns, children’s laughter, music from other parties. It sounds as though one of the neighbors below is blasting heavy rap, and you swear you can hear the trill of a radio pop song from your left. 

Beer, cider, pumpkin spice – it all fills the air. It’s Halloween, and it’s nice. 

The breeze is electric with all the livelihood, sending goosebumps up your arms as you approach the railing, looking out across a night sky painted some sort of faded cross between navy and grey rather than a stark black of midnight. 

It all turns to static the moment Eddie wraps his arms around your waist from behind you, heavy pack of cigarettes in his palm as his lips find solace in one of the few bare patches of skin on your shoulder. 

“God, I love Halloween,” he murmurs against you, his breath hot as it catches across your costume. 

God, I love you.

You can’t help the cheesy thought as a hand comes up to grip Eddie’s forearm, giving three short squeezes, pulling him just a tad bit closer. But it’s true – Halloween was wonderful, you’d always enjoyed any excuse to get together with your friends and family, but it had never felt quite like this. 

Planning cliche dates during the season, movie marathons spent cuddling up with your other half rather than sitting across on a couch from friends. Kisses in the pumpkin patch. Cider on his lips. Putting up decorations and ending up chasing each other around the apartment, landing in a pile of limbs that slot against one another perfectly. Arguing about which decorations should go on the balcony, which garland to line your front door with. 

It wasn’t a replacement for spending time with your friends. And there were still crude jokes, still bickering over timing of plans and locations to visit. It still felt like spending the holiday with friends – it was spending it with your best friend. 

Eddie Munson. Your best friend. Your boyfriend. The sentiment is unexpected to past you, but so entirely welcome by the you currently enveloped in his embrace.

“I used to insist on spending Halloween alone, you know,” you mumble as his chin digs in the point where your shoulder connects to your neck, vision blurring as you continue to stare out at the tiny busy streets, “Just, like, lay around in my dorm. Watch shitty horror movies on my laptop until I got too scared and had to find some dumb comedy to help me sleep. It was the only day of the year where my roommate sort of acknowledged my existence. She was the one who’d go out, and she’d get all this candy and share it with me.” 

You don’t know the point of your rambling, but Eddie is listening intently anyways. 

You turn carefully in his arms, now mesmerized by how his face looks in the warm glow of the seasonal lights Robin and Steve had put up. Shades of orange flickering across his amber eyes, shadows making all his sharpness in his features more prominent. 

“Talking about it now sounds kind of boring,” you muse, laughing a bit dryly, “The most festive thing I would do was going to the Halloween store with Robin and Steve once they opened.”

“Yeah?” he asks softly, arms still tangled around you, grinning gently, “I don’t think that’s too boring.” 

“It was,” you insist, pressing just a little closer to him, “God, it was so boring. Not going to the store with those idiots – I mean, that was pretty fun. But it was nothing compared to setting up a snake habitat, or carving pumpkins with you. Now I can watch whatever slasher you want before bed, and I still sleep just fine, cause I’ve got you to protect me.” 

His smile matches your own – radiant, proud, happy. 

“Oh, definitely,” he nods once, twice. So sure, ego inflated for the bit, “Any scary men with a chainsaw dare to break into our apartment, and I’ve got you, sweetheart.” 

Our apartment. The perfect ring to it. 

“Didn’t you scream about that spider in our apartment yesterday? Like, full on squeal, hopping up onto the couch, begging me to save you-” 

He cuts off all your teasing, even though it was true, with a kiss. Simple, strong, sure. Fingers dancing under your chin to pull you up to him, meeting you halfway and not even hiding his smile at your antics as he effectively shuts you up. 

“We agreed to not talk about that,” he mumbles against your lips, tasting like the last shot of whiskey he took with Nancy. 

“You agreed to not talk about it,” you pester back, trying to pull away from his kiss. But his other hand comes up, trapping your face between both his palms, and it’s a useless effort, “I just promised to not immediately share the photo of you up on the couch with everyone.” 

Half the words are hardly articulate as his lips continue to nip at yours, struggling from your wide smile and the way your entire body is shaking from your giggles. You can feel the cold metal of the railing brushing your exposed lower back, a breeze picking up that can be blamed for the goosebumps racing down your spine rather than Eddie’s wandering hand. It’s not devourment, it’s not desperation, it’s not Earth-shattering. 

It’s something like mending. Something like a promise. 

Living together, celebrating the holidays together, owning a pet together – they were all baby steps leading to something even brighter in the future. An unspoken truth between the both of you. An inevitable crescendo to all that had been built. 

Eddie whines a bit when you pull away again, but this time, your forehead stays pressed to his. A joint effort between the way you tilt your head and the way his hands press you against him.

“Do you remember the last time we were on a balcony together?” you ask in a low whisper, trying to mimic the same suggestive tone that he’s always been able to put on at the drop of a hat.

You’re not quite as talented as him. You’re actually just a giggly drunk.

His brows furrow, “What? This morning?” 

“No.” 

“Two nights ago, when you insisted Lestat needed to see the moon?”

“No.” 

“Are you talking about the afternoon we had a redo of our pumpkin carving contest? Because I still won again, fair and square, ba-”

“I’m talking about the bet, you idiot.” 

His fingertips press a bit deeper into your flesh, his lips forming a wobbly ‘o’ as he stares down at you, “How was I supposed to know you were referring to that? That was definitely not the last time we were on a balcony together-”

You shut him up with the same courtesy as he had done to you, adding in a roll of your eyes before your hands wrap around his neck to pull him into you. This time, you make it hot and heavy. Lips and teeth and tongues, grabby hands from the both of you making their way across all the exposed skin and scraps of costumes you two wear. It takes Eddie aback at first, clearly not expecting the sudden passion, but he recovers quickly. 

He remembers exactly what you’re referring to quickly. 

Your back collides a bit harsher with the railing as he rolls his body up against yours, not a breath of space between the two of you as he wedges his knee between your thighs. You have no idea where his pack of cigarettes has vanished to, but you don’t care. All you really care about is the way he’s holding you, the way he’s suffocating you, the way he’s watering you. 

It’s hard to believe the garden within that he’s nurtured at your side for the last year was ever something broken. That there was once a time it was nothing more than dried vines and pathetic blossoms begging to see the light of day. Now, the warmth of a thousand suns was gifted to you every morning you awoke to his smile. Every joke, every small caring act, every kiss stolen just because one of you felt like it. You two may have accidentally killed that first plant you bought the week you moved in properly with him, but this? 

You can’t imagine a day where the two of you ever might let this die off. 

His lips break from yours, predictably painting a path along your jaw as he murmurs, “I think I do remember. But, just in case – wanna remind me?” 

And for a second, you almost do. 

All your coils are tight across your body, burning in your abdomen and shaking in your knees, but all it takes is the faintest movement of a shadow to remember all your friends inside the apartment still. 

“We can’t,” you whisper, as if they might hear you in the glass, trying to pry yourself away from him just as his teeth start to graze your neck, “Seriously - we can’t.” 

Eddie chuckles lowly against your neck, and you know exactly why. 

You’d started this without even considering the consequences. 

“Started something you can’t finish, didn’t ya, baby?” 

Oh, damn him. That stupid low and teasing tone. That dimple you can feel brush against your skin as he moves his mouth to the other side of your neck. All the heat in your body travels south, pooling between your hips, aching for him to go against your wishes to avoid embarrassment and just finish this. 

He doesn’t, though. You’re starting to believe he’s less drunk than you are, a clearer mind than your own with far more sensibility than he seems capable of most of the time. His lips leave your neck, his hands finding the polite placement of hovering over your hips. The fog is starting to clear, if only just the slightest bit, and-

You were wrong. So, so wrong. 

He’s not sensible. That wicked hand placement was nowhere near polite. In an instant, he’s latched onto you tightly and spun you around, quickly bending you over against the railing so your chest presses into the metal and the cold sends shockwaves across your entire body. Your ass is pressed to his crotch and one hand holds you securely, tight enough that he can be sure you won’t fall, as the other crawls up your back at impeccable speed to press you further down. 

Immediately, you’re squealing, “Eddie!” 

His laughter is just as loud as all your protests as you come face-to-face with the true height of a three-story balcony, knuckles paling from gripping onto the bars. 

You’d hate him for it, but you feel the security of his palm and knuckles around your waist, and you know he’s not letting you go anywhere over that railing. He’s hardly even allowing your head to hang over it. 

The moment you start to lean back up against his hand on your back, he’s allowing it immediately. There’s no friction or fight as you stand up straight once more, back against his chest and your hands already prepared to swing back to smack him before both of his arms come up around your shoulders and cross your chest. 

“You asshole,” you gasp out, flailing hands deciding to grip strongly onto his forearms as he cradles you up in the tight embrace from behind, still chucking in your ear as you both take several steps back. Your heart pounds, and you’re pretty sure your nails are biting into his skin. 

Maybe they’ll leave a mark – you hope they sort of hurt. 

“Just had to make sure you really do remember that night,” he jokes, trying to lean his head far enough over your shoulder to get a good look at your face, “I think the bars would have been a bit more exposing, though, yeah?” 

Your nails dig in deeper, and his grin widens. 

Bastard.

“What if I had fallen?” you snap, finding it hard to be mad at him. Those damned strong arms around you, the thump of his own heart right against the space between your shoulder blades, that fucking dimple. 

“I wouldn’t have let you.”

If the two of you had children some day, would they have his dimples? 

“We’re both drunk-”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“-And I’m pretty sure this balcony isn’t up to OSHA standards-”

“Oh, it definitely isn’t.” 

“-And you almost left our poor son motherless,” you finish off with a forced scowl, shaking off his embrace to face him properly, “Are you prepared for that? Were you prepared to be a single father?” 

God, you hate his fucking smile. God, you hope if you have real kids someday, they have that same shit-eating grin. 

With a pout of his lips, he steps back up to you, looking down tauntingly, “You’re right, baby. I didn’t even think about poor Lestat.”

You hum, standing your ground, but your defenses are quickly crumbling. Your mind is running with too many thoughts, exhausting itself over everything except the residing anger you should feel at your absolute nuisance of a boyfriend. 

The feeling of being held down by him in that position once more. How the heat of his body had warmed you, and you’d only noticed now that the cool air was attacking your exposed back. Swimming in the visions of what color eyes your children might have, pigtail curls of a little girl with Eddie’s defiance or a little boy who wears his shit-eating grin as he exhibits your same unbreakable curiosity. 

You definitely shouldn’t have drank so much tonight. It doesn’t matter what kind of drunk you are – it was a bad idea regardless.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Eddie’s voice takes you out of your thoughts as he slides his arms around your waist, always needing to be touching you, clingy to a ridiculous degree. 

You weren’t complaining, though. How could you? If given the option, you’d make a home out of his bones in a fraction of a heartbeat as well. 

“Nothin’,” you lie through a sigh, head tilted dramatically, much preferring to focus on the ginger contours of Eddie’s cheeks than whatever future Jack Daniels had been painting in your mind. 

“Bullshit,” he doesn’t hesitate to call you out on it. And it’s not the alcohol fueling his boldness – it’s just how he is. He knows you better than the back of his hand, the roof of his mouth, his favorite songs on guitar. He knows you. “You got this dreamy look in your eyes, and you’re staring so hard over my shoulder, I’m almost scared I’ll turn around to see a ghost in the window-” 

Jack Daniels will be your arch nemesis after tonight, the culprit behind the way the words suddenly tumble out of your mouth, “Do you think we’ll have kids someday?” 

You wait for the air to leave the space between the two of you with the same urgency it’s left your lungs. You wait for a crack in the air, a chasm to suddenly appear. It’s heavy – God, it’s a heavy question to suddenly ask your boyfriend of one year at a Halloween party. You’re both drunk on your friends’ balcony, and you were having a perfectly sweet moment, and you’d just gone and ruined it. And to top it all off, Eddie was still just smiling, and- 

Wait. 

Eddie was smiling. 

The air was still there, filling his lungs with calm breaths. No sign of fear within his twinkling eyes. No chasm squeezing between the stitches holding you two together. 

He’s just smiling. 

“Is that really what you were thinking about?” he quietly asks.

You almost don’t want to answer. You almost want to force out cackles of fake laughter, to double over and face the ground rather than his humored expression. 

“Yeah.” 

Maybe he doesn’t believe you yet, maybe he has to double check before he breaks out into his own laughter. Maybe the alcohol in both your veins is just delaying the inevitable that you’d been originally expecting. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

Maybe not. 

Instead of laughter, instead of mocking you, he keeps a cheery expression as he shrugs softly, “I mean, maybe? I sort of hope so. And, don’t get me wrong, I know a kid is a pretty far leap from a snake, but I’d say we make a pretty good team at keeping living things…. Well, living, y’know? Besides, I solemnly swear I won’t try to name our kids after Tolkien. I’ll reserve those names for the pets.” 

All the air leaves your lungs again, but this time, it’s a little less painful, “What?” 

“Annie’s a cute name,” he continues on, completely unphased. It’s nearly impossible to remember that you were the one who had started such a serious conversation about the future, “I also like the name Parker. I remember you mentioned that one once, right? Something about being able to nickname the kid Pac-Man, I’m pretty sure. I think that’d be pretty sick.” 

And oh, was he right. You had mentioned the name Parker once. Just not to him. Not directly, at least.

The entire ridiculous make-believe scenario had come to you during a girls’ night, after one too many glasses of wine and Nancy bringing up the topic. You, her, and Robin had all spent a good hour coming up with names for children and the best nicknames to suit them. Some had been genuine, and some had been for nothing more than shits and giggles. 

Parker, and the nickname Pac-Man, had been serious for you. Parker Anthony. You hadn’t figured out a second middle name to complete the initial acronym of Pac that night, the rosé eventually getting to you, but you had been serious. 

“You were listening that night?” you breathe out, only feeling slightly betrayed, “What the Hell? I thought you said you were going to put your headphones on and listen to some Metallica to unwind after work.”

“I lied,” he cheeses, hot palms against your barren lower back, “I’m nosey. Sue me.” 

“You could have just joined us, Eddie.” 

“And miss the chance to hear you plot out the middle names of our future children?” Eddie snorts, “Not a chance, sweetheart.” 

He says it so casually, you wonder if it’s possible for a heart to burst from optimism. 

“So,” you pause, take a deep breath, feeling the embarrassment creep back up your throat, “Is that, uh…. Is that a yes? That you do think so?”

Why was it so hard to repeat yourself, to just say the words already spoken? 

Eddie had made it clear you had nothing to lose. You two were on the same page. He hadn’t scoffed in your face, he hadn’t even pulled away at the mere mention of the idea. Instead, he had leaned fully into it, head-first as he slid right into the imaginary future with you. He’d given a name to the little girl with his hair and his spunk, to the little boy with his dimples and his mischief. 

Was it still a little too soon, too fast? Was that where the hesitation was born from? 

It just all felt a bit too easy. After the rocky start you two had endured, this entire last year had just felt too simple. 

Of course, even if the hesitation was sitting there in the pit of your stomach alongside all of your anxieties, all of your waiting for the other shoe to drop, Eddie easily soothes it all over as he gives a slow nod and responds, “Yeah. I do – I really do.” 

And you clearly wear your heart on your sleeve, emotions painted across your eyes and cheeks for him to read clear as day, because he notices that catch in your breath.

“Not right now,” he rushes to add on, “I mean, listen, we’re still adjusting to Lestat. I think I’d like to be a cat dad too, before I even think about being a girl dad.” 

“You’re gonna be a girl dad?” you laugh out without thinking, starting to thaw into a conversation that Jack Daniels had begun but you know you can surely finish with Eddie at your side, “That’s… unexpected.” 

His face scrunches for the first time during the entire conversation, “What? You don’t think I’d be a good girl dad? I already deal with my rat’s nest of hair, so I know I’d be at least decent at braiding. And can you imagine getting to take a mini-you to shows, or buying her some cute unicorn helmet once she’s old enough to ride ol’ Nightfury? God, I think I might die from cuteness overload…”

Your cheeks are aching, ears ringing with his words. But all you can do is latch onto one little phrase: mini-you. 

Here you were, picturing duplicates of Eddie bounding around the two of you, and you hadn’t considered what he might be seeing. 

Not a child with his spunk. No, he’s seeing a little girl with your wit. A little boy with your stubbornness. Those eyes of his, nearly resembling heart-shapes at this point, weren’t wanting to see carbon copies of his whiskey irises. He wanted yours to be looking back up at him. 

Hearts clearly can’t burst from an overload of optimism, of happiness. Yours beats wildly as proof, still intact behind your ribs that bloom with rosebuds for the boy pressed to your front. 

“Mini-me?” you murmur, making him trail off, focused entirely on you so sincerely you could choke up. You shake your head, letting out a soft huff of air, smiling down at the ground, “No, I- I think you’ll be an amazing dad, Eddie. I just didn’t…. I just forgot…”

“That I’m with you all the way?” he finishes your sentence for you, one eyebrow arched as he gives a squeeze to one of your hips, “You could decide tomorrow you don’t even want to talk about having a kid ever again, that you’d rather get ten more snakes and live as some sort of cryptic couple somewhere in the Midwest the rest of our lives, and I’d be just as excited. I don’t really care where we end up, sweetheart – I just care that it’s with you,” You can no longer tell if it’s his words or the remnants of alcohol in your system that has you tearing up. All you know is that you are, and it’s ridiculous, but it’s fine, because all you see are dark brown eyes and entire realms of possibility in front of you, “Girl dad, snake dad, cat dad – whatever you need from me, I’m your guy.”

When the first tear falls, you're quick to shoot one hand up to your cheek in order to swipe it away as the other reaches out blindly to smack Eddie softly, “Shut up. Stop being cheesy. I’m too drunk for this.” 

“You’re right,” he nods ferociously, taking over the duty of wiping away your tears without so much as mentioning it, “Wanna make out again instead?” 

You let out a snort, and it eggs him on. 

“Or, hey,” his eyes light up, some of the seriousness of the moment fading naturally, “Maybe we ditch this party and start practicing. You know, in case we still want kids someday.” 

His pupils widen a bit, and you know surely that it’s only half a joke. You don’t miss the way his breathing picks up at the thought.

“Careful, big boy,” you tease, leaning into his feathery touch on your cheek, relishing the way the nickname draws him under your spell even when you aren’t saying it with an ounce of gravity, “It’d be awfully dangerous to get yourself worked up in such short shorts.” 

Saying it outloud almost makes you want to see it, genuinely. 

“Worked up?” he scoffs, backing up a little, caught off-guard, “Who says I’m getting worked up? I’m not getting worked up.” 

It doesn’t matter how many steps back he takes from you, you still follow, your palm still lands dead center on his chest as you roll your eyes, “Right. Because I’m totally meant to believe that the guy who used to jack off to Playboy magazines with girls who looked like me isn’t going to pop a boner at the thought of fucking a baby into me-”

He shuts you up with a kiss. Nearly more resembling a bite, his canines digging right into your bottom lip as he pulls you forward and collapses back against the glass door behind him. 

No words are spoken, no subtle interruptions for this kiss. Toying a dangerous line, dancing along a narrow cliff, and he’s the one who’s decided to drag the two of you off of it. 

You don’t mind. You’d follow him to the ends of the world if he asked you to. 

When one of his hands reaches up to your scalp, tugging at the roots of your hair for no other reason than he can, your mouth opens up into a silent laugh. An invitation, a jeer, a challenge. A quiet whisper of go ahead, do it. Consume me already. 

He’s already everything to you. He’s already a definition of home thinly veiled with skin and bones, a future with a heartbeat. 

His tongue down your throat doesn’t change the matter. Just reclaims it. 

A whine is lost in translation somewhere from the back of your throat and right into his cheeks. His right hand wraps around some of the skin of one of your thighs, encouraging it to lift up to his hip, and you can still feel the memory of his usual rings imprinting into your skin. A permanent tattoo, a ghost of a feeling that’ll haunt you for all time – you love it. You want to live there forever, right here in this haunted house, collecting memories and dust of all that he is. 

Haunted houses are only lonely when you’re left to wander these halls all by yourself, and you think he’d truly cross over into the actual afterlife rather than leave you like that. 

The kiss is almost enough to forget where you are and who’s waiting on you inside the apartment. It’s almost enough to have you recreating that fateful night from over a year ago, to let him bend you back over this balcony railing again, and this time, any squeals you let out won’t be of fear. You’d face that fall head on.

His hot hands on your waist, his tongue in your cheek, his knee once again pressed between your inner thighs. Him, him, him-

A sharp rap sounds on the sliding door behind Eddie, and you’ve never jumped apart faster. 

It’s Robin and Nancy at the door, Lestat happily wrapped around Robin’s forearm as she waves and points eagerly to him and Nancy simply crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow as though she might have been a disappointed mother rather than a friend at the moment. 

You done? Robin mouths, exaggerating her silent enunciation. 

As you nod, Eddie only deeply sighs, throwing his head back against the glass with a soft thump. Nancy is quick to throw out a palm against the glass and tap back at him, mimicking swatting him for his theatrics. 

Eddie pays no mind to Nancy’s retaliation, or maybe he just doesn’t see it, as he whines out, “I didn’t even get my cigarette.”

“Oh, cut it out, drama queen,” you snicker, trying to hide all your breathlessness as you fully pull away, “We’ve left our son alone long enough. You can chainsmoke to your heart’s desire once we get back home.” 

You’re already walking towards the door, Nancy and Robin having retreated further into the kitchen, when he catches your wrist to tug you back close to him. He leans down, deliberate and careful to make sure his lips catch against the lobe of your ear, whispering soft as night, “Can’t chainsmoke if I’m too busy fucking a baby into you, sweetheart.” 

It feels like someone’s poured literal fire across your body. As if flames have been dumped over the crown of your head, and are licking their pathway down your spine. 

“Eddie.” 

If you don’t get inside within the next ten seconds, you’re definitely going to make a decision you regret. 

He’s chuckling the entire time he steps around you, opening the door and waving for you to slip inside in front of him. Your entire body is still burning so violently, you barely register the way his fingers hang at his side and make a point to brush the back of your thigh when you pass him. 

Bastard, you want to snipe, but instead you just smile. 

—

The next morning, you’re awoken by the incessant pinging of your phone. 

You try to ignore it at first, burying your head deeper beneath the covers as a headache pulses at the edges of your mind, but after the fifth ping, it becomes impossible. 

“Who the fuck is texting us this early?” Eddie’s muffled voice complains into his pillow, facedown with one arm thrown across you securely. 

You can even feel him kick his bare legs in a show of defiance next to yours at the edge of the bed. If it wasn’t for the late night prior catching up to you, it’d be something sweet to laugh at. 

“What time is it?” you croak, scooching further up the bed, making Eddie’s arm around you only tighten. As if he can stop you from getting out of bed, or delay the inevitable by resisting you checking the phone, “Is it even early?” 

His free arm that had been tucked below his pillow flings out to the bedside table quickly, grabbing blindly for at least one of your phones. It doesn’t really matter if it’s yours or his; he’s got the password to both. 

“It’s eight in the fucking morning,” he curses, seeming more awake as he notices that he was right in it being early. “How in the fuck is anyone up right now? We didn’t leave until nearly three.”

His arm is finally loose enough for you to sit up properly, tugging the comforter with you to keep your bare chest covered, “Lemme see it.” 

“If it’s Harrington, can you post my bail for murder?” 

“You’re not killing Steve,” you nonchalantly reply as you snatch the phone right out of his hand. It had been yours, unsurprisingly. You don’t even know if Eddie remembered to put his own phone on the charger before the two of you had promptly passed out. You hardly even remember how you managed to do so, “But – yeah, it’s Steve.” 

“Fucking Harringt-”

“And Robin. And Jonathan.” 

“Have I mentioned I hate our friends?” 

The fog of sleep has officially lifted for you, and despite the wave of fatigue and aching joints you’d argue you’re far too young to be experiencing right now, you smile at your grumpy boyfriend. He exchanges his pillow for your stomach, shoving his entire cheek tightly to you as his arms wrap around you slowly. Clinging to you like a child, squinting against what little light pours in through the curtains. 

“You don’t hate them,” you murmur, holding the phone in one hand to get a better look at the phone as the other cards through his curls, “You hate mornings.” 

He hmphs in agreement, relaxing against your makeshift scalp massage. 

DINGUS: WHY THE FUCK IS THERE A PHOTO OF ME WITH A SNAKE IN THIS CHAT? 

BIRDIE: it is too early to be yelling

DINGUS: oh my bad

DINGUS: WHY THE FUCK DID YOU, ROBIN, SEND A PHOTO OF A SNAKE IN THIS FUCKING CHAT? WHO’S FUCKING SNAKE IS THAT?

You can’t help the gasp that leaves your mouth as you begin to see what the entire commotion was, and Eddie is lifting his head immediately.

“What?” he questions, moving to lift himself up and peer over the top of the phone, nosier than ever, “Why did you gasp? Is someone dead?” 

You scroll up, finding the photo being referred to.

“Not yet.” 

Steve, clearly partaking in another round of karaoke. Eyes glazed over, mid stumble based on the blur. 

“What do you mean not yet?” 

Most impressively, most notably, is the snake around his neck. 

Lestat, without a care in the world, his upper body being cradled by Steve’s palm as your drunk friend appears to be serenading the snake. 

You bite back your smile, eyebrows high as you glance down at Eddie, “You remember when we let Steve sing Taylor Swift while holding Lestat? About… two and a half drinks after he finally noticed we had him, and he didn’t flip out courtesy to all that Absolute vodka?” 

“Oh, fuck me.” 

Eddie flings himself back to the edge of the bed in search of his phone just as another notification pings. 

JOHNNY: I’ll do you one better. I have a video.

You don’t know if you’ve ever watched Eddie excitedly type on his phone faster than he does once he’s read that message, already giggling like a fool long before you can see what he’s sent in the chat. 

LOVER BOY: Johnny, my boy, you can’t just say that and NOT send it.

JOHNNY: Unlike you, I don’t have a death wish. 

DINGUS: WHO’S FUCKING SNAKE WAS IT? IS IT EDDIE’S? 

YOU: i will not stand for this erasure of me as lestat’s mother. 

Eddie snorts and looks up at you with glee as he reads your response, “He’s going to kill us, isn’t he?” 

“Can we be buried next to each other?” you respond with a question instead, looking at him lazily, “We could have matching headstones.” 

“Oh, hell yeah,” his grin is worth whatever Hell there may come to pay with Steve and the Lestat debacle last night, “Should we look up designs or-” 

He’s cut off by the trill ringing of his own phone, watching several messages roll into the groupchat in quick succession. 

DINGUS: who the fuck is lestat?

BIRDIE: the snake, dingus. 

NANCE: As someone who has seen the video… I think Jonathan should send it. 

DINGUS: DON’T YOU DARE

You’re a mess of hoarse giggles, hardly able to look at Eddie for the fear of both of you descending right into a madness of laughter. Like two children staying up too late at a sleepover, the room rings out with all your little noises, Eddie propping up his chin to watch you with the widest of smiles. 

Except you’re not children – you’re just two idiots, in your shared apartment, with your shared snake in the living room and your shared friends blowing up both your phones. 

Mornings have never felt quite as sweet as this kind. 

“We’re gonna hear an earful next time he sees us, aren’t we?” Eddie finally sighs wistfully, rolling over flat on his back, head propped up slightly in your lap. 

“Oh, definitely,” you nod, taking to twirling his frizzed curls around your knuckles this time rather than scratching mindlessly at his scalp, “But who cares? You saw how in love with the snake he was after a few drinks. He’ll come around, sober this time.”

Eddie doesn’t reply, eyes fluttering shut. 

You let the two of you sit in the quiet a bit longer, phones still buzzing with new messages, but the chaos can wait. For now, you just want to drink it in. Rays of vivid sunlight, the silence from the lack of the buzzing AC unit, the birds chirping annoyingly outside the window. You have one foot in relaxation, and one foot in the hangover you know you’ll have to battle once you choose to leave this bed. 

“You know what sounds good?” you question, nearly under your breath. You’re really thinking outloud more than anything, but Eddie still entertains you with a hum in his tired state, “Betty’s.” 

He’s the equivalent of a puppy dog who’s heard the word walk. One second, Eddie Munson is seemingly dead to the world, and the next, he’s perked up entirely. If it wasn’t for his nude state, he’d probably already be out the door with his keys in hand, dragging you right along with him. 

His eyes shimmer despite heavy lids as he asks, “Almond croissants?” 

A small nod, an ever present smile. You recall the conversation from the night before as you look into those deep russet eyes, and you see an entire future of late nights and almond croissants reflected back. 

“Almond croissants.”