#you don't even know how i like to take my COFFEE

[cuteandhughesy]

Met You At The Right Time, This Is What It Feels Like | Quinn Hughes (Headcanons)

summary: falling in love with quinn through your shared years at college (umich!quinn x reader)

[word count] 3.3k

warnings: NSFW! university relationship | kissing | mentions of drinking and partying | smut | loosing virginity | mentions of p in v intercourse | mature themes and dialogue | read at your own discretion

a/n: based off this request! this was so fucking fun and cute to write and now I want quinn as my boyfriend ! so hope you all feel the same

🎵 feels like by gracie abrams

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ღ bf! quinn hughes who you first met at the rink. one of your good friends was dating another one of the wolverines and asked you to accompany her to his game.

quinn had spotted you during the warm-ups. your smile wide and amused as you watched all the athletes warm up in their own routines. you were joking with chloe—your friend—while her boyfriend tossed you both pucks over the glass. quinn almost passed out when you glanced his way—sending him a sweet, reserved grin. he forced himself to smile back, and when that made you blush and look away, quinn knew that he had to know you.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who asked his teammate about you as soon as the game finished—a victory for the wolverines, thankfully. he attempted to sound nonchalant and uninterested, but his teammate knew quinn too well. he wrapped quinn up in a firm, annoying side huge and gave him a nugie, all while saying 'does huggy bear have a crush on y/n?'

quinn thought the name suited you perfectly. thankfully quinn doesn’t need to ask again before his teammate is getting your number from chloe.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who texted you the following night. at first you were confused—a random number sending you a message with no identification other than a simple 'hey, is this y/n?' curious and intrigued, you responded immediately; 'this is she. who's this?'

quinn's response was immediate, 'shit, sorry. it's quinn hughes.'

and of course that made you giggle into your palm, feet kicking like you're an oversized excited child. because quinn fucking hughes was texting you. quinn hughes, the cutie who sits two rows back from you in kinesiology class. quinn hughes who was stupid good at hockey and was looking at you during warmups the day before.

you don't even care how he got your number (he told you regardless though, obviously), all you cared about was him wanting to text you in the first place.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who after a week and a million shared text messages later, you run into at a local coffee shop—where you merely miss spilling your entire iced chai down the front of his light coloured hockey hoodie.

he freezes and stutters at the sight of your flushed face, and his nerves only build when he sees that you're not nervous to talk to him. quinn quickly realizes he has some sort of infatuation with you, and before he can sike himself out he asks you on a date.

quinn asks in the middle of your scentence, but you don't even care. he's cute—he's dorky. 'would you wanna get dinner together sometime? like maybe thursday, if you're free?'

you are so free.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who picks you up at your dorm room before your first date. he lives off campus with his friends, and he borrowed his roommates car to come and get you. he brings you flowers—which you put in an empty orange juice bottle that you filled with water—and hugs you at the door. it’s kinda awkward and so perfectly quinn.

he lets his hand hover your lower back as you walk to the car, and of course he opens the door for you. quinn lets you play your music in the car, and he lets you talk his ear off—he can’t help but admire how comfortable you are around him. he thinks you’re like sunshine.

quinn takes you to a local italian restaurant, where you order chicken alfredo and he orders spaghetti bolognese. the conversation flows between you easily, and by the time desert rolls around, you’re sharing a lava cake—your respective spoons swiping at each others while playfully fighting for the same bites.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who after bringing you back to your dorm, grabs your wrist before you can walk in. your roommate isn’t home yet, and you can smell the peonies quinn brought that you left in the jug by the door.

you blink at him curiously, because you’ve already shared your pleasant goodbyes and made plans to see each other again. ‘you okay?’

quinn’s palm is sweaty where it wraps around you. he’s nervous, and he swallows roughly—eyes darting around your blushing face like he can’t get enough. ‘can I kiss you?’

your answer is pushing up to your toes and wrapping you arms around his neck. that’s when quinn leans down, kissing you timidly but also firmly. he’s never felt lips softer than yours, and you’ve never had a kiss turn your stomach inside out the way quinn’s did.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who asks you on a second date, and then a third, and then a fourth. each date is accompanied by a kiss, and another kiss—until all it feels like you’re doing is giggling and kissing like teenagers.

he’s a gentleman, and never makes advances that you aren’t comfortable with. quinn brings you to the beach for sunsets, kissing you under the glow of the setting sun. he takes you to the movies and to a local pottery class—sneaking kisses anytime your eyes meet.

he asks you to be his girlfriend on your fourth date while you’re both still in the car, hands twitching against his pants nervously. you’ve never smiled bigger, and you squeal in excitement, leaning over the centre console and kissing him.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who has never had a serious girlfriend before, only stupid month or so situationships and meaningless hookups. so now that he’s got you, an actual girlfriend, he’s enamoured by all the little ‘girlfriend’ things you do.

quinn goes feral when you wear his clothes. the sight of you waking up in his cozy bed, blinking tiredly while his shirt rides up your body, revealing your underwear…quinn just about dies.

you cook dinner for him, and you always tickle his back when he’s falling asleep. you want to watch all his favourite movies, and you want to learn about hockey—which leads to him teaching you how to skate, where you inevitably fall and bring him down with you.

you’re the perfect girlfriend. and even though quinn stresses he doesn’t need you to fold his laundry or pick up his shampoo when you notice he’s out, he appreciates it more than he could ever express.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who always is getting you flowers. whether it’s a pre-made bouquet from the grocery store, an arrangement he picked out at the florist, or a bunch of wild flowers from the park beside his house, quinn is giving you flowers.

when he’s at the grocery store he always picks up your favourite ben & jerry’s ice cream, as well as your favourite drink. quinn always makes sure you have water before he gets in bed himself, because you’ll be upset if you don’t, and he lets you tuck your feet under his legs because they’re always cold.

quinn is the sweetest boy you’ve ever known and he is constantly making sure you’re content before anything else.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who takes your virginity. you’ve only had one boyfriend and that was back in highschool—the farthest you’d gone with him was kissing and a little groping. when you tell quinn that you’re a virgin, he’s a little nervous—especially because he’s already hovering over you, painfully hard while your bare tits are starring at him. the only reason he’s nervous is because he wants you to be comfortable and sure. he wants it to be perfect for you.

but when you assure him in a breathy whisper, your small nimble fingers reaching out and squeezing his dick, quinn can’t hold himself back any longer. he fucks you soft and sweet, bucking into you at a pace that has your breath hitching. quinn checks on you through the whole thing, scattering kisses along your face and neck while you’re moaning in pleasure.

it’s perfect for you, and that makes it perfect for quinn.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who plays a little extra hard when you’re in the crowd. there’s something so special about having you watching him in the stands during his games, cheering him on and jumping up and down with excitement. quinn swears he can hear you over the crowd, and that always pushes him a little bit more.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who always makes sure to comfort you when you’re stressed—and vice versa.

you often get overwhelmed with your school work. you’re very smart and have a jam packed schedule, and a lot of the time if you want to spend time with quinn, you’re bringing your textbooks and laptop so you can get some work done. quinn hates the way you sigh shakily when you reach a difficult question. you’re tired and done with school, and most of the time it makes you emotional.

when you begin to cry quinn darts to you, wrapping you in a hug while you sob into his shoulder. he rubs your back soothingly, squeezing your arms and sides comfortingly. he whispers words of reassurance in your ear until you’ve calmed down, and when you inevitably get back to work, quinn helps you. even though he has no fucking clue what you’re working on, the effort makes you melt.

quinn is always the most stressed when he’s dealing with an injury or illness—because that puts a pause on hockey. you know how much hockey means to your boyfriend, and seeing him so broken about not being able to play just wrecks you. in times like that, it’s the little things you do that help quinn feel better.

making him food and making sure he’s stocked up on drinks and getting his electrolytes. massaging his shoulders and giving him head scratches. if he’s injured you make sure he’s got everything in reach so he doesn’t have to move, and if he’s sick you make sure you’re in reach, because all quinn ever wants is you.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who isn’t a huge party guy. he prefers staying in—watching movies and hockey highlights until he’s falling asleep, preferably with you tucked into his side.

you’ve always been more outgoing than quinn, and mingling is one of your favourite things to do. so every now and then when you go out, quinn joins you. he loves watching you in your element—dancing with your friends and talking to anyone who will listen. and when you’re wrapping yourself around quinn, blinking and pouting up at him all pretty asking him to dance with you, quinn never declines.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who has a few lovey dovey nicknames for you—lovey being one of them. there’s a few more common terms of endearment like babe, baby and beautiful that often slip from his lips like second nature. they’re the safest ones, the nicknames he’ll call you around his friends and yours like it’s no big deal. but then there’s the nicknames he reserves for when it’s just you both—honey, his girly, and your personal favourite: lovey.

your nicknames for quinn are simple—usually just babe or baby. but on the odd occasion when everything feels really soft and intimate, you’ll can him bubba.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who’s love language is words of affirmation. he didn’t realize it until after he met you that it was his love language, but anytime you praise him or reassure him, quinn’s stomach swoops and his heart flutters excitedly. he’s obsessed with the way you speak to him, and he’ll never get tired of it.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who knows your love language is physical touch. you love being close to quinn. if you’re not sitting next to him, you’re sitting on him—trying to get as close as possible at any means necessary. you love wrapping your hands around his arm, and throwing your leg over his hips when you’re in bed together.

quinn can be a bit awkward when it comes to physical contact, especially in public, and you understand and respect that. so when you’re out together and he kisses your cheek or wraps you in a hug, it makes it just that much sweeter.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who may not always go out to parties with you, but will always drop you off and pick you up if you need a ride. it could be a local bar or a random sticky frat house, quinn will be there if you need him.

he’s the most patient human in the world. guiding you to the car while you babble about nonsense—completely hammered. quinn pulls over if you feel sick, even if you has to pull over 15 times in a 5 minute ride. he helps you shower if you’re sticky, and he puts you in pyjamas before you get in bed—no matter who’s place you’re at. quinn makes you chug water and take advil, and he makes sure you’re sleeping on your side incase you get sick.

and he doesn’t even mind doing it either. as long as you’re safe and okay, quinn will do whatever he needs to.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who says I love you first. you’ve been dating for 6 months, and spring is blooming in michigan. it’s the first really warm day of march, and he’s taken you to the pier for a afternoon date.

you walk the pier and have shitty boardwalk food—laughing, kissing and talking about anything and everything. dates like this are always your favourite. just you, quinn and the comforting atmosphere.

you had been mid talking about the book you were reading, a book that was making you angry because you claimed the plot was ‘stupid’. you were telling quinn about the main character, hands moving animatedly as you talked when quinn just said it.

‘I love you so much, y/n’ he said quitley. but you heard it, and your previous ramble comes to a halt. you blinked once, and then again, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. and then tears begin forming in your eyes, and quinn smiles. ‘don’t cry lovey’ he said, pulling you into his chest.

but of course you continue to cry, holding onto quinn like your life depended on it. and when you look up at him and say it back, lashes all wet and nose running, quinn thinks you’ve never looked prettier.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who has to be almost sneaky when it comes to having sex with you. you live in a dorm room with a roommate, and he lives in a house with four other teammates. quinn doesn’t have his own car, and neither do you. having sex is like trying to curate a spy mission.

you have to plan times you’ll be alone, which is usually in your dorm room between 5 p.m and 6:30 p.m while you’re roommate is in a clinical lab. that’s always the best sex with quinn because he doesn’t have to hold back. he holds you against the mattress with his body, and there’s a pillow shoved under your hips while he slips in from behind. quinn pounds you into the mattress until it’s creaks, and he has to cover your mouth to muffle your moans. after all, it’s still a dorm room and you have neighbours.

but there are times when you’re both too impatient and horny. his roommates are scattered through his house, half downstairs and the other only a room over. quinn’s simple and innocent kisses soon turn more heated, and before either of you can think logically, you’re exposing only the essentials so quinn can slip into your heat while he holds your legs open.

your moans are muffled with his lips, and he shoves a pillow between the wall and headboard to not give away what you’re doing.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who gets really stressed once scouts starts checking him out for the upcoming draft. you notice in the way his shoulders are tighter, and he starts to get a little distant.

of course it hurts your feelings, but you understand the pressure he’s feeling. so like the sweet girlfriend quinn knows you to be, you reassure him. you’re not too pushy, and you’re not overwhelming. you kiss him gently and whisper your confidence in him when it’s just the two of you, facing each other in bed—nothing but the moonlight illuminating you.

it helps him more than you’ll ever know.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who is a silent jealous type. he knows you’re social, and he also knows that guys love that. when you’re at parties and mingling your little heart out, lots of guys will try and make advances on you.

you ooze confidence, and your smile is so fucking pretty that quinn almost understands these guys. but you’re his girlfriend, and the sight of these boys trying to touch you and flirt with you makes his blood boil.

of course you don’t entertain them, but that doesn’t stop the jealousy that stirs within your boyfriend. you can always tell when quinn is feeling jealous because his body gets tense and he pouts like a little boy. it doesn’t matter where you are—could be the beach and strangers are checking out your body, or a grocery store and a man compliments your smile, quinn always has the same jealous reaction. and that’s no reaction at all expect that frown.

when you see it you’re instantly moving, wrapping yourself around quinn and giving his pulse point a little kiss. and when you murmur that you love him, quinn always cracks.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who even when you’re fighting, never raises his voice at you. it doesn’t matter how frustrated he is, or how pointless your argument is, quinn would never yell. most of the time is just makes you angrier, because why can’t he just put you in your place—especially when you know you’re being annoying and stupid. but quinn always just tries to problem solve in a calm, soothing voice.

but don’t worry, he puts you in your place in other ways ;)

ღ bf! quinn hughes who asks you to stay with him for a few weeks in the summer at the lake house before the draft.

if quinn wasn’t in love with you already, seeing you with his family would’ve had him falling. you always cook breakfast with ellen in the morning, the two of you giggling and chatting like you’ve known each other for ears. you go golfing with quinn and his dad, and even though you suck at it, jim has nothing but praise and encouragement for you.

jack and luke tease you like you’re their sister. they push you into the pool and steal your fries when you’re not looking, which always makes you laugh. you blend in with his family so well, quinn can’t do anything but smile and admire it all as it unfolds.

you sit with quinn during bonfires and movie nights on the couch, sharing quick kisses when you both think nobody is watching—news flash, somebody is always watching, which usually ends with his mom cooing or his brothers teasing. you and quinn both wake up a little extra early, stifling moans as quinn pushes into your heat in the uninterrupted hours of the morning. you swim like kids, go grocery shopping with his brothers, dance in the moonlight as taylor swift songs, make out on the boat when everyone else stays back. it’s perfect. its simply just you and quinn.

ღ bf! quinn hughes who you sit beside at the nhl draft. he’s nervous, your hand clutched in his clammy one while his thumb runs over your knuckles absentmindedly. just before the draft starts, you squeeze his hand three times, a silent I love you. and quinn squeezes back.

his name gets called and you feel like crying. he hugs his parents first, and then quinn turns to you, a smile on his face while your eyes begin to go misty. he kisses you, in front of the cameras and the crowd because he knows you’re going to be together for the rest of your lives, and the nhl might as well get used to you now, because you’re not going anywhere.

[linoxpudding]

Spaces Between Us - Yang Jeongin

summary: a year later, after the breakup- you run into your ex again, and old feelings start to resurface

pairing: yang jeongin x reader (exes)

genre: angst, fluff, drama

fic type: written + text

P.S this is PART 3 of "prioritizing his girl bsf" au, so please read jeongin's portion in-

PART 1 and PART 2 for context!

a/n: so innie's storyline felt a bit incomplete, but @mrsminseochoi planted such a brilliant idea in my mind that gave it the closure it needed, as soon I read her comment, I just had to write it! @mrsminseochoi you're a genius! ♡

Masterlist

~°~

A few months after the breakup, you get an unexpected message request. It’s from Gina.

For a moment, you just stare at your screen, debating whether to open it. Your heart pounds in your chest—what could she possibly have to say now?

Curiosity wins. With a deep breath, you tap the notification.

Your grip on your phone tightens. Your stomach twists. You knew Jeongin didn’t mean to hurt you, but reading Gina’s confession makes your chest ache all over again.

You imagine Jeongin, the man who once held your heart so gently, now crumbling behind closed doors. The thought alone sends a sharp pang through you.

But it doesn’t fix what happened. It doesn’t erase the heartbreak. But it does give you some sense of closure. You were right all along.

You don’t reply and just block Gina. There’s nothing left to say.

A year later....

Life moves on. You moved on. You focused on yourself, your career, your happiness. You keep telling yourself you're over Jeongin. That you've healed.

But fate has other plans.

It happened on a rainy evening. You enter a quiet café, shaking the cold off your coat as you wait for your drink. And then—

"Y/N?"

The voice freezes you in place. It’s soft, disbelieving, and achingly familiar.

You turn, and your eyes land on him.

Jeongin stands a few feet away, his dark eyes wide with something you can’t quite name. He looks different—his hair is slightly longer, his face sharper, but his expression… it’s the same.

It’s the way he used to look at you. Like you were his entire world.

"I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again," he softly says approaching you.

"Yeah… It’s been a while," you reply nervously.

He steps closer, hesitant. "Can we talk?"

You don't know why you nod. Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s something deeper. But soon, you’re sitting across from each other, the air between you both thick with unspoken words.

"You look good. I mean… you always did. But you look happier. Are you?" He asks with a hint of curiosity.

You pause. You like to think you're happy. But seeing him again, the memories flooding back, makes you realize you never fully stopped missing him.

"I am. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard," you said.

Jeongin’s face twists in pain. "I know. And I hate myself for what I put you through. You were right about Gina."

Your breath catches. "She reached out to me."

His eyes widen. "She did?"

You nod. "Told me how she planned it all. How she wanted me out of the picture. That you never meant to hurt me."

Jeongin exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N… I never stopped loving you. Even when I tried, I couldn’t. I lost you because I was stupid, and it’s the worst mistake I’ll ever make."

Tears prick your eyes. You want to be angry. You were angry for so long. But looking at him now, hearing the raw emotion in his voice, something in your heart shifts.

"You really hurt me, Jeongin."

Jeongin sighed, "I know. And if I could take it all back, I would."

Silence lingers between you both, filled with the sound of rain tapping against the windows.

Jeongin hesitates for a moment before asking, voice barely above a whisper, "are you...are you seeing someone else?"

You blink at the unexpected question. His fingers clench slightly against the table, his knuckles turning white. He looks like he’s bracing himself for an answer he doesn’t want to hear.

You exhale, playing with the rim of your coffee cup before replying, "Just a few dates here and there. Nothing serious."

Jeongin visibly stiffens. His jaw tightens, and he looks away for a second, exhaling through his nose, "Oh."

A small, bitter smile plays on your lips. "Jeongin, you don’t have the right to be jealous."

"I know," he sighs, rubbing his face. "I just hate the thought of someone else making you smile the way I used to."

You swallow hard. Every logical part of you tells you to walk away, to protect your heart. But your heart has never listened to logic when it comes to Jeongin.

Slowly, you reach across the table, your fingers brushing his. His breath stutters.

"I don’t know if we can ever be what we were," you confess.

"Then let’s be something new. Something better," he replies quickly, his hands tightening around you.

He looks at you like he’s afraid to move, like he’s afraid to hope.

As you’re sitting across from him, the space between you suddenly feels too large. Every part of you aches to close that gap, to feel his presence closer. Without thinking, you stand up, your movements almost trembling with anticipation. He watches, frozen, as you slide into the seat next to him. The air between you shifts, the tension thickening, and without a word, you lean in, unable to hold back any longer.

Jeongin’s eyes flutter shut as your lips meet, the kiss slow and deep, filled with everything you two never got to say. Regret, longing, love—it’s all there, crashing over you both like a wave.

When you pull away, Jeongin rests his forehead against yours, breathing shakily.

"I love you. I never stopped loving you," he says, his voice cracked slightly.

Your lips curve into a small, bittersweet smile.

"Then let’s see where this takes us," you reply.

Maybe love deserves a second chance.

[loveisallyouneed1125]

Bucky rubs a hand down his face, exhaling. He doesn’t know why he feels like this, because you’d taken to simply texting him the location these days, and then banging on his door.

The day just started and Bucky is already done with her shit lol

Bucky full-body recoils and it takes everything in him not to launch his fucking knife at the window.

Bucky is fighting everything in him to not absolutely loose his mind.

He contemplates ignoring you again, but experience has taught him that only makes things worse.

Five minutes later, he’s stomping down the stairs.

Bucky's telling himself he's going along with it but he's not going to be happy about it 😂

Bucky yanks open the car door and slides into the passenger seat.

Wordlessly, he shoves a coffee in your direction.

You blink at it. “How do you know my coffee order?”

Bucky grunts. “Do you want it or not?”

You take it, narrowing your eyes as you watch him chug it like it’s water. “Coffee doesn’t even work on you. Why do you drink it?”

He pauses mid-sip.

Instant regret. That's what Bucky feels right now. At this very moment.

The guy snaps his fingers. "You're the one on that show. Love Island, aren’t ya?"

Bucky’s entire soul exits his body.

He blinks. Once. Twice.

He processes the words and does not fucking understand them.

The guy nods, like he’s just cracked a case. “Yeah. My girlfriend fucking hates you, bro.”

Bucky opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

You, on the other hand, look like this is the greatest single living moment of your life. “Oh my god, Barnes.”

Bucky looks to the sky for help. None arrives.

“What the fuck is a Love Island?”

The guy crosses his arms. “Deny it all you want, man. But we all saw what you did to Lulu.”

“I was literally a prisoner of war for seventy years.”

I LOVE THIS SERIES SO MUCH.

LITERALLY LOL WHILE READING THIS.

Bucky probably wishes he was on an island right now.

Bucky leans toward you. "You owe me five bucks."

"What?"

"I bet you earlier that he was going to say ‘seekers of truth’ within the first two minutes."

You peer at him. "I don't remember making that bet."

“We absolutely did.”

“You’re just trying to get back the five bucks you spent on the cloak.”

Let's be honest here. That wasn't even Bucky's money. It was Steve's 👀

unsolved (ix)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, groups of people that believe in the paranormal

A/N: im sorry i disappeared i am employed now and also i am depressed. anyway pls lemme know what u guys think i love reading comments and screaming and everything you have to say MWAH. next one is a big one boys

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky wakes up to a weary, bone-deep sense of dread.

Not the kind of dread that means a sniper is lurking outside his window. No, this is a very specific kind of dread that sets in suddenly, altogether at once.

He knows exactly what it means. 

You are about to ruin his day.

His eyes flicker open, adjusting to the light filtering through his windows. 

The floor is quiet. Too quiet, almost. 

Alpine is curled on the windowsill, tail flicking idly. But he finds her staring at him already with mild judgment, as if she knows exactly what’s about to happen.

Bucky rubs a hand down his face, exhaling. He doesn’t know why he feels like this, because you’d taken to simply texting him the location these days, and then banging on his door. 

It was routine. He’d come to expect it. Like it, even, the way someone likes mundane sounds such as the buzz of the microwave heating up their lunch everyday. 

Except there’s a sudden, loud slam against his window.

Alpine launches off the windowsill, scrambling away with a hiss. 

Bucky is out of bed before his brain catches up. Years of instinct launch him into motion as he grips the knife under his pillow, pivots toward the sound– 

And sees you.

Hovering. Three stories up.

Waving.

Bucky full-body recoils and it takes everything in him not to launch his fucking knife at the window. 

He glares at you, barely awake, trying to process the absolute absurdity of this moment.

You tap your wrist like a watch, mouthing, "Video shoot."

Bucky turns around and launches a pillow at the window, furiously mouthing back, “I hope you fall.”

You grin.

His furiousness turns to raging annoyance at best. Which, in turn, makes him angry again. 

Just as he’s about to throw something heavier, FRIDAY dims the window until you fade from view. He doesn’t know who FRIDAY is protecting. 

Bucky collapses back onto his mattress.

He contemplates ignoring you again, but experience has taught him that only makes things worse.

Five minutes later, he’s stomping down the stairs. 

Bucky yanks open the car door and slides into the passenger seat.

Wordlessly, he shoves a coffee in your direction.

You blink at it. “How do you know my coffee order?”

Bucky grunts. “Do you want it or not?”

You take it, narrowing your eyes as you watch him chug it like it’s water. “Coffee doesn’t even work on you. Why do you drink it?”

He pauses mid-sip.

You tilt your head. "Do you even like the taste?"

Bucky slowly stares at the coffee like it personally wronged him, because no, he’s coming to realise that didn’t really like it. 

“…No,” he allows slowly. 

“Then why are you drinking it?”

His grip tightens around the cup. He doesn’t have a good answer, so he doesn’t look at you.

“Bought it,” he grumbles. ‘M gonna drink it.” 

“Sunken cost fallacy, right there,” you hum. “You bought it, so now you have to suffer through it. That’s a weird thing you do, y'know.”

Bucky exhales sharply, already done with this conversation. “It’s just coffee.”

“It’s just coffee,” you agree, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “And you just can’t let yourself pick something else. You a glutton for punishment?”

He scowls, taking another sip of the stupid beverage he didnt expect to be having a crisis over in the evening. 

"Whole world of warm drinks out there, Barnes. You ever tried chai? A matcha? You could be a matcha guy."

"No."

"You could be drinking hot chocolate. I think you'd like that. Marshmallows and everything.”

Bucky grips his cup harder.

"Hell, even warm lemonade would be a better choice."

Bucky scrunches his nose at the thought of warm lemonade and chugs his coffee out of spite.

You shake your head. “Whatever. Drink your hot bean water then.”

Silence stretches. The car hums down the highway. The weight of whatever he’s been avoiding lingers in the air between you.

Only five minutes later does it occur to him to ask.

“Where are we going?”

You shoot him a wide smile. “To make you some friends.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “I have friends.”

“You have Sam. And Steve.”

“Sam and Steve are enough.”

“Sam and Steve are legally obligated to be your friends.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “That’s not how friendship works.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Is this another haunted house? ‘Cause if it is, I'm staying in the car."

"No haunted house."

"Then what?"

You drum your fingers on the wheel. "We're going to check out the fastest-growing paranormal club in the city."

Bucky exhales through his nose, mentally preparing himself. 

"What’s the scam?" he deadpans.

"No scam." You pause. "Well, maybe a little scam. But I’m choosing to believe in the inherent goodness of humanity."

Bucky glances at you. “What kind of scam?”

“Maybe you’ll find yourself today, y’know? Maybe you’ll even be a treasured member of this club.” 

Bucky leans all the way back in his seat, shutting his eyes before he has an aneurysm. 

The location is exactly as sketchy as Bucky expected.

Which, to be clear, is very. 

A run-down community center at the edge of the city, sandwiched between a failing laundromat and a storage facility that definitely has bodies in it. 

The parking lot has three cars, two of which are missing doors. The third is a white van with no plates.

Bucky stares at it. “I’m staying in the car.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You can get your organs harvested. I’m not in the mood for that today.”

“We are not getting our organs harvested.” 

“We are about to walk into a situation that requires a white van with no plates.”

You tap the steering wheel. “You’re focusing on the wrong details.”

“Oh? What fuckin’ details should I be focusing on?”

You refuse to make eye contact. “I will not be taking questions at this time.”

A sign by the door says:

WELCOME, SEEKERS OF THE TRUTH.

Bucky points at it. “What the fuck is that?”

“They’re just seekers, Buck.” You unbuckle. “They’re seeking. Let them seek.”

“That’s not what that means.”

“They have over five hundred members in their Facebook group.”

Bucky rubs a hand down his face. “The Boogeyman fan club has eight thousand, so what?”

“Okay, but to be fair— Boogeyman’s hot.”

Bucky stares at you.

You stare back, unblinking.

“Do you want me to respond to that?”

“Only if you agree.”

Bucky inhales slowly, counting to ten.

Still, he gets out of the car. Because he always does.

The guy at the door looks exactly like someone who would be enthusiastic about this kind of thing. Whatever it was. 

Late twenties, cargo pants, black t-shirt, and… a cape. He stands in the doorway like he’s personally responsible for deciding who gets to know the truth.

Bucky is already exhausted.

You, however, are delighted.

“Hi!” you chirp, walking up to him. “We’re The Gra–”

Instead, the guy squints. “Hold on. I know you. You’re from TV.”

“Uh, yeah, he is–” you glance at Bucky, who glares at you for throwing him under the bus, but it’s not like you had been set up for interviews just yet or had any major public saves like the Battle of Earth. You operated on a scale similar to Spiderman until now. The Avengers were really just your first big corporate job. 

“No, I recognise you,” he looks pointedly at Bucky, before narrowing his eyes. “You got no reason to be out here–”

A few years ago Bucky’s shoulders would have tensed immediately, already bracing for the inevitable Winter Soldier comment.  

“Hey now,” you force a smile onto your face. 

“--showing your face in public,” the guy continues, gearing up. 

“Okay,” Bucky says, because he’s dealt with enough of public vitriol to really have it faze him anymore.

You prepare to take a step in front of him, body stiff. “Now let’s not get–”

“After breaking her heart like that? Shame on you.”

Bucky blinks. You also blink, steps halting.

“I’m sorry, whose heart?” he asks, looking between you and the guy.

The guy snaps his fingers.  "You're the one on that show. Love Island, aren’t ya?”

Bucky’s entire soul exits his body.

He blinks. Once. Twice. 

He processes the words and does not fucking understand them.

The guy nods, like he’s just cracked a case. “Yeah. My girlfriend fucking hates you, bro.”

Bucky opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

You, on the other hand, look like this is the greatest single living moment of your life. “Oh my god, Barnes.”

Bucky looks to the sky for help. None arrives.

“What the fuck is a Love Island?”

The guy crosses his arms. “Deny it all you want, man. But we all saw what you did to Lulu.”

“I was literally a prisoner of war for seventy years.”  

“And yet,” you say, eyes twinkling with evil delight, “you still had time to emotionally devastate a woman named Lulu on national television.”

Bucky turns to you, betrayed. “Who the fuck is Lulu?”

The guy shakes his head in disappointment. “Shame on you, man.”

You clap the guy on the shoulder. “You’re so right– what’s your name? Troy? You’re so right, Troy. Bucky here thinks just because he has a pretty face and a rockin’ bod, he can break hearts without consequences.”

“What the fuck is a Love Island?” Bucky asks in despair. 

“Ashamed of what gave you your fame?” You click your roof to the top of your mouth. “People would do anything for the opportunity to be shirtless on a beach for three months–”

“Someone tell me what the fuck a Love Island is.” Bucky drags a palm across his face.

“It’s not you? Oh.” Troy deflates, glancing at you instead. “Are you the one from Love Island then?”

“I wish.” You pull your lips into a straight line. “Some people just aren’t grateful for the chance they’re given.”

“Oh wait. I recognise you, you're from that ghost show.” He brightens up again, wagging his finger at you. “My niece loves you.”

You nudge Bucky in excitement at the news, as if you hadn’t induced fifteen years worth of self-hatred into him twenty seconds ago. “Tell your niece she's got great taste.”

He nods briefly. “So, what are you doing here?” 

“We heard this is the fastest-growing paranormal group in the city. Just wanted to check it out.”

The guy perks up immediately. “Oh yeah! The Ghost’s energy is real strong tonight. Dennis said he’s been slamming Monster Energy all day, so the vibes are there, man.”

Bucky’s expression does not change. “Who is Dennis?”

“Our medium.”

You nod sagely. “Of course.”

“He’s got a newsletter. You wanna subscribe?”

“Gee, I sure do,” Bucky says dryly.

You elbow him. “We wanted to join the club first.”

“Alright,” he chirps. “I’m sure Dennis won't mind. Meeting starts in ten minutes. You can grab your cloaks by the door and head on in.”

Bucky stops. “Cloaks?”

“Yeah, it's imperative to the Ghost that we dress the same.”

“Absolutely fucking–” 

“Don't worry about him, he's only upset that he didn't get to bring his own cloak,” you interject immediately. “It came free with his coffin and some sunscreen.”

Bucky steps on your foot. You give him a small kick.

“Alright, well, you can have ours. It’s usually five bucks each but I’ll let it slide if you sign something for my niece,” Troy says. “If you're filming, please keep the flash off.”

“You got it, boss,” you salute.

The guy shrugs. “Meeting starts in ten. You can drink from the chalice and head on in.”

Bucky immediately locks onto that second part. “The what?”

The guy pulls out a black goblet filled with dark red liquid.

Bucky immediately takes a step back.

The guy holds it out. “It’s the Ghost’s essence. Dennis prepares it before every meeting.”

Bucky and you stare at it.

You lean in, sniffing inconspicuously. “What ingredients are in the Ghost’s… essence?” 

The guy shrugs. “Dunno. Dennis just goes into a room, talks to the Ghost for a bit, and comes back with this. It’s different every time.”

Bucky’s stare is flat. “Oh yeah. That’s normal.”

“Here, try.”

Bucky does not move. “I’m allergic.”

“To what?”

“Yes.”

The guy frowns. “You haven’t even tasted it–”

“I’m allergic,” Bucky repeats. “Real bad. Death and everything.”

You nod solemnly. “I already had some.”

The guy blinks. “You did?”

“Yep, just couldn't help myself. Found some around here and I felt the Ghost really call to me.” You beam rather convincingly. 

“I think it’s calling to you again, you should try some more,” Bucky tells you.

“Nope. Had plenty. Gotta save some for the others,” you say loudly, kicking his foot again. “It was great, though. Ghost tastes great– I mean, got great taste.”

“Well in that case, here’s your cloak and you can head on in,” he smiles at you before turning to Bucky. “You’ll have to pay, though.”

Bucky’s face scrunches. “I’m in the fuckin’ show too.”

“So you are from Lo–”

“I was not on Love Island,” he declares definitely.

“Right,” he drags, like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Five bucks.”

Bucky stares at him. Troy smiles right back.

Bucky grumbles, relenting as he reaches out into his pocket to shell out five dollars.

Bucky had taken the mandatory black cloak with all the enthusiasm of someone being handed a parking ticket.

You, on the other hand, are already swirling yours around your shoulders like you’re about to perform a monologue.

“Personally, I’m not too fond of the silhouette, but it’s fine for a last-minute fit, I guess.” You adjust the hood, pulling it low over your eyes before striking a pose. “Do you think I look cute?”

Bucky blinks. He wasn’t expecting the question. His brain short-circuits almost immediately. 

You tilt your head, waiting.

He cannot figure out what to say, so he simply lets out a grunt. It’s extremely embarrassing. 

"I'll take that as a yes."  

Bucky makes a face. 

Instead, he moves to something else entirely. Flips his cloak over his shoulders, tying it into a perfect, military-precise knot in two seconds flat. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, that was fast.”

“It’s a knot. Not rocket science.”

You step in closer, reaching out to tug lightly at the strings of his cloak. “Did you go full Boy Scout at some point? Or was that just, like, a super useful skill in your assassin era?”

Bucky does not move. “Are you done?”

You grin. “Nope. I like being all up in your space. You’re even hotter up close.” 

He immediately steps back.

“Coward.”

“Don’t want you ruining my knot.” Bucky tugs it tighter, then glares down at your very haphazardly tied cloak. “Jesus. That’s a disaster.”

"I was going for a more casual look."

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Give it.”

“Oh, so now you want to touch me?”

Bucky freezes for half a second, until you laugh and then it turns into a half-hearted glare. 

Then, without reacting, he reaches out and untangles your mess of a knot with infuriating ease.

You watch him carefully as he ties it. He’s surprisingly gentle, fingers working quickly.

“You’re being very careful.”

“You’ll find a way to strangle yourself otherwise.”

“Is this your version of caring?”

Bucky ignores you.

“Oh, it is.”

“Just– shut up. Five minutes. I’ll pay you.”

Bucky steps back, hands off. The knot is perfect. He gives it a quick tug to test it, then nods.

You stare at him.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You grin, pulling the hood over your head. “I just think it’s adorable that you want me to live.”

Bucky mutters something unintelligible under his breath and gestures toward the meeting hall. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The room is set up like a middle school talent show.

Rows of metal chairs, some folding, some clearly stolen from a diner, all arranged in a rows in front of a small, elevated stage. The stage itself is haphazardly draped with black fabric, trying to give the illusion of magic but mostly looking like a supermarket Halloween clearance aisle.

There is, for some fucking reason, a fog machine in the corner, already hissing out an unnecessary amount of smoke. The whole room smells faintly of lavender essential oils and burnt plastic.

"I gotta say, I expected more," you hum, adjusting your cloak as you scan the room.

“Like what?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Maybe some candles? You’d think they’d at least have, like, a bowl of blood or something.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “Not everything has to fuckin’ theatrical all the time. Just ‘cause you’re floating around 23 hours of the day, scaring the shit out of everyone.” 

You grin. “Oh, so you do think my theatrics are effective.”

Bucky realizes his mistake immediately. “That is not what I said.”

"No, no, I heard it," you smirk, nudging his shoulder as you lean in slightly. "You're saying that my supernatural entrance at your window was extremely well-executed."

Bucky glares at you. “I am saying nothing.”

"You're saying I have a flair for the dramatic. That my execution is flawless. That you—"

Bucky reaches over and yanks your hood over your face.

"Mmph—" You flail immediately, dragging it back. "Rude."

Bucky hides a smile to himself but doesn’t say anything.

You narrow your eyes. “You know, you should consider a little showmanship yourself.”

"No."

"I mean, look at you," you gesture vaguely at him, ignoring him. "You've got the sexy ex-assassin, current caveman aesthetic locked down. I’m imagining a trench coat. Maybe a few monologues in the rain. You’d be unstoppable.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do I have to do to get you to shut up?”

“Put your tulips on my tulips–”

He gets up and moves one seat over, away from you and the heat blossoming on his face. 

You follow right behind him with a grin, satisfied.

Mercifully, something your attention is drawn to the people entering the room before you notice his face flushing. 

The crowd is a mix of true believers and people who are clearly just here for the novelty of it. Some attendees look fully committed, hoods drawn, faces solemn. Others are whispering and pulling out their phones, probably posting about this on some platform.

You, however, are too busy fiddling with your cloak.

"This fabric is trash," you mutter, pulling at it. "What is this, polyester? It’s so staticky."

"That’s the real issue here," Bucky mutters.

"It is when I keep getting shocked," you say, rubbing your wrist where the fabric clings.

Bucky watches you for half a second too long when you tug at it with annoyance, brows pulled together.

Maybe he should’ve been honest earlier when you asked how he thought you looked. 

Instead, he clears his throat and looks away.

More people take seats. 

The atmosphere changes suddenly when a man in his late thirties walks up to the podium. 

He wears a deep purple cloak, slightly different from the ones given at the door. His hair is combed neatly back, his expression calm and composed.

He raises a hand. The murmurs in the room die down almost immediately.

You lean toward Bucky slightly. "Okay, so we have our medium."

Bucky doesn’t respond, but his jaw shifts slightly.

The man smiles. "Welcome, seekers of truth."

A few people nod reverently.

Bucky leans toward you. "You owe me five bucks."

"What?"

"I bet you earlier that he was going to say ‘seekers of truth’ within the first two minutes."

You peer at him. "I don't remember making that bet."

“We absolutely did.”

“You’re just trying to get back the five bucks you spent on the cloak.”

On stage, Dennis continues.

"Tonight is special," he says smoothly. "The Ghost’s energy is stronger than ever."

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky leans in again. "If I start screaming, do you think they'll kick me out?"

"Fuck around and find out, babygirl."

Instead of responding, he reaches over and yanks the knot he had tied securely for you loose. 

You glare at it. Then at him.

"If you wanted to take my clothes off, you could have just asked," you whisper. “At least buy me dinner first.” 

 "I hate you."

"You don't."

"I’ve never hated anyone more."

"You don't," you say, tapping his knee lightly. "You like my company, even if it causes you physical pain. That’s why it sucks even worse for you."

Bucky makes a sound that is a little too like a growl. 

The speaker, oblivious, raises his hands again.

Then, with a slow, practiced movement, he turns back toward the stage.

The room settles. The tension shifts.

Bucky doesn’t like it.

Not because it’s weird, exactly– he’s been in weirder places. But because he knows a performance when he sees one.

Dennis moves deliberately. Every step, every gesture, designed for impact.

And then, in a voice as smooth as a radio host’s, he speaks.

"The Ghost moves among us tonight," he says, pacing slowly across the stage. "I felt it earlier. A shift in the air. A whisper."

Bucky leans toward you.

"Did the Ghost also tell him to crank the fog machine to maximum?"

You bite back a grin. "It adds ambiance."

"It adds a fucking fire hazard."

You both glance toward the corner of the room, where the mist machine continues pumping out thick, curling fog.

It’s a lot, and smells faintly chemical and like no fog Bucky has ever smelt before. It spills along the floor, reaching all the way to the back row of seats.

Dennis stops, tilting his head.

"The energy here is special," he murmurs. "Do you feel it?"

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky does not murmur.

Instead, he tunes in, watching the room, the way people react. Watching the way Dennis pauses just long enough to let silence work in his favour.

It's polished. Which means it’s bullshit.

You’re half-listening, half-scanning the room. Not just in the way you usually soak in information, but in a subtler way. Like you’re looking for something.

Bucky notices. He wonders if he should ask. 

Dennis closes his eyes briefly, as if receiving a message.

"Some of you are new," he says suddenly, his voice shifting slightly. "Some of you have never been here before. You’ve been drawn here. Led here. Perhaps by curiosity, or fate, or something deeper. Whatever the reason, you are here now."

And then Dennis gestures to the audience.

A few nods in the audience. Someone exhales softly, like they’re already halfway into a trance.

Dennis begins to pace. Slow, measured steps, his fingers twitching slightly as if he’s channeling something.

"The spirit has whispered to me once again." His voice lowers. "I have seen visions."

A murmur spreads through the audience.

Dennis stops. Closes his eyes for effect.

"Dark visions. Visions of the Great Ghost of Nickasta’s past."

Dennis opens his eyes, gaze sweeping the room. "Tonight, we will consult with– is someone filming?"

Every head snaps around, straight toward you and Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t move.

You blink. Then, very slowly, you look down at the camera in your hands.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.” You raise your hand slightly, like a student in class. “We're new. The Graveyard Shift here to witness the—”

You dig around in your pocket, pulling out a folded-up flyer, squinting at it in the dark.

"—transformative power of communicating with ghosts."

You fold it back up and look at him expectantly.

Dennis’ smile tightens. "Recording is not encouraged." 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

Dennis stares at him. With just a touch too much hesitation, he says “It disturbs the Ghost from reaching full power.”

Bucky’s head cranes.

"Keep that thing on," he tells you as if you had any plans of shutting it off, before raising his voice. "Why not? Don't you wanna get your message out there? Help people?"

Dennis' clasped hands remain tight.

"It is not my message," he says smoothly. "It is the Ghost’s. I am merely a vessel."

Bucky’s lips press together. "Great. Free publicity for the Ghost."

"Yeah, we're doing pretty well on YouTube," you add, twirling the camera slightly in your hands. "Could be doing better on Instagram, but this guy refuses to go live."

Bucky glares. “It’s not gonna happen. Let it go.”

Dennis’ jaw tightens slightly. His gaze does another quick sweep of the room.

Then, finally– 

"No." He plasters on a tight smile. "You may continue. But know this—some things cannot be captured by a device so primitive as a camera."

"I’ll take that risk." Bucky leans back in his chair, smug, before adding under his breath to you, "He’s definitely scamming."

You snort. "Give him a chance."

"I gave him five bucks."

"And you got a very hot cloak out of it, which your shoulders look incredible in."

Bucky glares ahead.

"What visions were you having?" someone in the crowd shouts, following it up with a strange laugh. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. 

Dennis claps his hands together, a smooth pivot away from the interruption.

"Ah, yes, the visions!" he announces, voice swelling with importance. "The Ghost has revealed to me a story of great suffering! Of betrayal! Of a spirit trapped! A mighty beast who could not be contained!"

A few people in the crowd gasp, others burst into tiny giggles. Bucky wonders if others were here for the shits and laughs too. 

"How big?" someone in the crowd shouts.

Dennis' eyes light up. He lifts his arms wide, stretching as far as he can.

"He was... huge!" he exclaims, pacing the stage, cloak billowing slightly behind him. "Larger than life itself! And he was trapped, my friends."

A few people gasp softly.

Dennis cries out, "Trapped in chains by the very people who claimed to ‘love’ him!"

Bucky’s face remains blank.

"His mighty beast was strong, yes, but he was misunderstood. He wanted to be free, to live among the people in peace. But no! They took him, they made him fight, and then they... they trapped him!"

Dennis throws himself against the table, inhaling deeply like he’s just been hit by divine revelation. "They made him climb a tall tower!"

He wonders if it actually hurt the guy, all the throwing himself around that he was doing. 

"They paraded him for all to see, mocking him!"

Bucky's eyes close briefly, as if in pain. "Okay."

Mist grows stronger around the room, almost like he’s stuck in a room with a bunch of vapers.

His nose scrunches up immediately, eyes stinging lightly as he blinks.

“What the hell is that smell,” he blows the air in front of him.

“Chemical, with undernotes of sweetness,” you note. “Is that what the Ghost smells like or is it a creative interpretation?”

“It's gonna give me a migraine.”

“Breathe through your mouth, then,” you say, raising the camera up and zooming into Dennis doing… whatever.

Bucky just shrugs the stupid cloak off his shoulders and ties it around his face in a makeshift balaclava.

“I feel it,” Dennis announces, throwing his hands in the air. “It is here.”

“What is?” the crowd cries.

“My migraine,” Bucky answers.

You shove at his knee with yours.

Someone stumbles to their feet. “The beast... the spirit... it’s... it's all so beautiful!”

People around him burst into giggles.

“I can feel it, it’s... inside me!” someone in the front laughs loud enough to drown out the music.

“Yes! Yes! The Ghost is in all of you!” Dennis shouts, pointing. “We are all like the beast, misunderstood and bound by chains, but we must rise above it all—

“I am rising,” the same cloak guy from earlier chuckles, knocking the chair behind him to the ground as he stands up. “I see the Ghost.”

“Oh,” you comment, looking around to see everyone with their hands up in the air.

Bucky's arms stay firmly crossed over his chest as he sits slumped in his miserable little chair, staring at the crowd around him around him.

“Everyone's doing something,” you observe through all the loud laughter.

“I can see that,” he says, noticing that your knee continues to brush against his after you shoved at him before coming to a rest. His throat constricts in a way that makes talking a little more difficult.

He pulls the stupid cloth tighter around his face because whatever the smell was, it clearly was giving him a physical reaction.

“I’m having FOMO.”  

“By all means, do not let them make you feel that way,” Bucky grumbles, in what he thought was a tone dropping with sarcasm.

“You're right,” you say, dumping the camera on him before standing up with your hands in the air.

Great. Now he was responsible for this thing too.

“They tried to tear him down from his tower,” Dennis shouts.

“Who?” you shout back like it’s a fucking improv show.

“The Witch! The righteous witch, walking along her path of gold!”

“What?” you stop immediately. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It’s the pink lady from Wizard of Oz,” Bucky says casually.

You turn to him, eyebrow raised.

“His great beast is King Kong. Tower, beast, misunderstood, made to fight,” Bucky replies. “Nick and Asta are characters from The Thin Man.”

You lean toward him. "What?"

“He’s bastardizing movies from the 20s.”

You squint toward Dennis, who is still in full Shakespearan mode.

"Can you feel the injustice, my children?" Dennis exclaims. "Can you see the Ghost at work?"

You grin. "Are you telling me you sat through movies in the ‘20s?"

"I was alive in the ‘20s, what the fuck else was I supposed to do?"

Dennis continues, "We are all on a journey, a journey just like those travelers in the great dust storm– oh yes, yes, the spirit shows me! We must keep pushing forward, even when the sand storm rages!"

Bucky grimaces immediately. "Grapes of Wrath."

"What?" 

"Saw it when it was released. Thought it was boring as fuck."

You try to stifle a laugh. "You look so young, sometimes I forget you were childhood friends with Adam and Eve."

Bucky glares at you. 

Dennis throws his arms out. "Another! Another in the room with us! This mechanical Titan with a heart of gold! They saw him as just a machine, but no, no! He was so much more! The spirit showed me! He was a reflection of the true power within us all—"

"Metropolis," he mutters. “Thea von Harbou's novel."

“Bucky, you fucking nerd.” You tap his shoulder, grinning. “Look at you, busting scams and quoting movies made during the dawn of time. Do you know how hot you are?”

“What?”

“I said, are you single? I’m asking for a friend.”

“Uh huh,” he replies, when the mist pumps into the room.

“I’m the friend.”

“Got that,” he replies, focusing on literally anything else.

Dennis continues without missing a beat. "But wait! Not all of you have followed the spirit’s true path!"

The room goes quiet. Dennis' eyes scan the crowd before he points suddenly.

"You! Yes, you!"

For a second, Bucky thinks he’s pointing at him.

"You betrayed the spirit, didn’t you? You–"

You poke Bucky. "Did you betray the spirit?"

"Only when I felt like it," he mutters.

However, the man in the row ahead of you suddenly lets out a panicked noise.

"I– I needed to go to the bathroom so bad!" he cries. "The line to the club was so long, and the bouncers weren’t letting anyone in, so I just cut ahead–"

Dennis gasps. A few others in the room let out soft, horrified whispers, as if the man had committed a felony. 

"No!" Dennis shouts, pointing like he’s passing divine judgment.

The poor guy visibly withers in his seat.

"You have broken the trust of the divine!" Dennis booms. "You must atone!"

The man trembles. "W-what should I do?"

Bucky mutters under his breath. "Is everyone here on drugs?"

Dennis softens slightly, his voice taking on a careful, patronizing tone.

"The spirit demands retribution," he says. "But the Ghost is merciful. And today, so very generous. For a small donation, you will have the chance to cleanse yourself from the darkness."

Bucky watches the guy scramble for his wallet. "Is he selling forgiveness?"

The man hands over thirty bucks.

"This is literally how the Church split,” he mumbles.

You suppress a laugh. "Did it affect your Sunday plans?"

Bucky shoots you a dry look. "I was born in 1917. The Church split four hundred years before that."

"Oh, right." You nod seriously. "I just assumed you were there when Martin Luther nailed his stuff to the door."

Bucky exhales, pressing the heel of his palm into his temples.

The fog thickens.

Dennis' voice rises. "Everyone quiet! The Ghost is speaking!"

You turn to Bucky. "The Ghost is speaking, Buck."

Bucky groans. "You mean till now he’s been freestyling?"

Dennis throws his hands up toward the ceiling. "I feel it! It is here!"

Bucky’s nose twitches. The smell is stronger now, almost becoming hard to see through– 

A split second later, you both realize.

Your eyes widen. "Is that–?"

"Nitrous oxide," Bucky confirms, standing up.

"Pumping laughing gas into the room, are you fucking kidding me?" you curse. “We need to air this place out.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Bucky turns sharply, scanning the room. He watches as shoulders slump, as people laugh for no reason. A guy near the front sways slightly, blinking like he’s forgotten where he is.

Someone else lets out a dazed giggle.

Bucky’s focus zeroes in on the mist machine, still hissing. There are small metal canisters stacked neatly beside it, refilling the room.

Bucky crosses the room in four steps.

Dennis barely has time to turn and register the movement before Bucky grabs one of the small pressurized canisters, gripping it in one hand.

"Hey! What are you—"

Bucky doesn’t answer, instead throwing it straight through the window.

The glass explodes outward, scattering onto the pavement outside.

A rush of cold air floods in.

The sound shocks the room, pulling some people out of their haze. Others are still too fogged up to react.

Dennis' face twists in outrage. "What the fuck?!”

"Show’s over," he mutters, chucking the second one too.

It slams into the glass and tumbles outside, hissing as it empties into the night.

Dennis looks like he might actually explode. "You’re ruining–"

"You can talk to the great Ghost through your one phone call in jail," Bucky interrupts, brushing glass off his sleeve.

Dennis lets out a furious noise, grabbing the stupid silver chalice from the table beside him and hurls it directly at Bucky’s head.

Bucky barely tilts his head to the side but finds that there’s really no need.

The chalice stops midair. Hangs there. Slowly floats back to the table, settling back into place.

Dennis' rage turns into something closer to panic.

"Let’s not get pissy now," you remark, voice syrupy sweet.

"Fuck you," Dennis snarls.

And then, in an act of desperation, he grabs a knife from the altar.

It’s cheap plastic. It’s definitely a prop. This guy was fuckin’ nuts.

Still, he lifts it like he’s going to lunge at Bucky.

Except his own cloak yanks tight around his arms.

Dennis lets out a choked sound as it wraps, pulling his limbs against his sides.

The curtain behind him rips off its hooks, swirling around him.

In seconds, he’s bound to the chair behind him, like some kind of villain in a medieval play.

The room stares.

You smile, pleasantly.

"Enough," you say, voice cooler than it should be.

Dennis glares daggers at you.

Bucky glances at you, mouth twitching slightly. 

Only then do you notice silence has fallen. 

You look at the crowd, only to find them watching you.

Someone in the back lets out a horrified whisper. 

"The spirit is here."

The crowd erupts.

"Where?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"The Ghost!" someone screams. "It's you!"

You blink. "Oh, me?"

They nod fervently.

A few drop to their knees.

You process this for a moment. Then grin like you just won the lottery.

"Oh, right. Yeah. Of course it’s me." You lift your arms slightly. "Hey, y’all." 

The crowd gasps. 

“Guide us.”

Bucky groans. "Some fuckin’ role model you’ve got there."

You pretend not to hear him. Instead, you do what you’ve seen Wanda do a million times, even though it really did nothing for you. 

You lift your hands slightly. Let your feet rise just a little off the floor. 

The room erupts in gasps.

"Fuck’s sake," Bucky mutters, dropping his head into his hands.

You clear your throat. "Yes, it is I. Spirit of Stick Blasta."

"Nickasta," Bucky corrects.

"Nickasta," you confirm. "I have traveled a long time to be here."

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty millennia."

Bucky watches as you fake-peek through your half-closed eyes.

"I have some wisdom to share," you announce.

The crowd leans forward.

Bucky leans back.

"First!" you bellow. "Do not listen to anyone who stands on stage and says they've got a spirit moving through them. They're lying."

"But you’re doing that," Bucky heckles.

"Except me. I’m legit," you add quickly.

Bucky watches as you subtly flip him off with one of your raised hands.

"Second!" you continue. "Do not pay people for forgiveness."

You pause. "Unless that person’s name is Prosecutor and you’re bored of how long the case is being—"

"Next one," Bucky interrupts loudly.

You wave a hand dismissively.

"Third…" You falter. "I don’t know. Does anyone have suggestions?"

The crowd stares.

Bucky facepalms.

"Right. No suggestions." You clap your hands together. "Meeting adjourned."

The room is silent.

Then, someone whispers, "What… what do we do now?”

You land lightly on the floor again, brushing nonexistent dust off your cloak.

"For realsies, though, I suggest you get any money you paid this guy back. And then sue him into oblivion.” 

Dennis makes furious muffled noises from under the curtain still binding him.

You glance at him.

With zero effort, Dennis gets dragged backward, vanishing backstage.

The crowd stares.

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Everyone out," Bucky orders.

The crowd obeys instantly.

Still dazed, still giggling from the leftover gas, they shuffle toward the exits.

Bucky looks at you. "Are you fine?"

You ignore him. 

Instead, you call after the crowd, "And call someone to pick you up!"

They nod vaguely.

"I already called the paramedics, they'll be here in a minute!" you shout. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

Bucky’s expression tightens.

"Are you fine?" he repeats.

You wave it off. "Oh yeah. It takes way more substances to get me high. All this was covered under the Leviathan Weapon of Mass Destruction starter kit.  What about you?"

"Me too." Bucky shrugs. After a pause, he clears his throat. "You didn’t have to tie him up."

"He was annoying,” you say flippantly. 

"I wasn’t actually in danger."

"I know."

"It was probably grape juice."

"I know."

"I didn’t need help."

"I know."

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. "What’s your play here?"

"My play?" You scoff. "I know this emo lone wolf thing is something you’ve been cultivating carefully for years, but sometimes, people can do things for you and have it not be a play."

Bucky stares. "Like what?"

"Like-- I don’t know– trying to protect you even if you don’t need it." You turn on your heel, hopping down from the stage. "Or like checking to see if you’re still breathing when you’re lying face down on the table."

Bucky does not respond, feeling his fingers get all fidgety. 

 “C’mon,” you tell him, halfway out the door. “We’ve got some explaining to do.”

He clears his throat, rolls his shoulders back and starts behind you.

“We’ve got all the footage. So that should be good." You turn to eye him. "But you know what’ll really help our case? You keeping that cloak on.” 

Bucky groans, yanking at the fabric that hung across his neck like a bath towel. "I’m gonna set this thing on fire."

"You won’t. You are the cloak now.""

"I will."

“You’re still wearing it. I think you actually like it.”

Bucky grinds his teeth. "I’m leaving."

"In the cloak?"

"Shut up."

"I think it makes you look distinguished."

Bucky storms toward the exit.

You follow, grinning the whole way.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

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[wlwsoccerfics]

The ACL Chaos Roommates(KerstinCasparijXRuthBrownXJillRoordXCasparijReader)

Warnings: mentions of adhd, mental health, ACL injuries.

Summary: both you and your girlfriend Jill have done your ACL in the exact same Game. Only Like 20 minutes apart from one another so you and Jill move in with Kerstin and Ruth.

You and Jill both sat on the couch. She had her right knee resting on a pillow and while you had your left knee resting on a pillow. Holding hands with one another.

"you two manage to be adorable even while being injured!" Kerstin stated. You chuckle a bit.

"well our love keeps growing day by day!" You explained.

"i agree! It's been three years but i won't ever stop Loving her!"Jill stated. Ruth smiled as she walked over with your pain meds and two bottles of water.

"okay Love birds, time for your daily dose of pain meds!" She said. Handing you a bottle of water each.

"thanks Ruth!" You said with a small smile.

"yeah thanks Ruth!" Jill replied with a smile. You both take your pain meds before relaxing again.

"i have Physio come in today in around an hour to see how well surgery went and what i can and can't do." You told them. Biting down on your bottom lip. You were quite nervous. jill already had her visit from Physio Yesterday and she would start working with him in two days.

"you are worried. I can tell!" Kerstin stated.

"yeah i am! I mean this sucks! Not only will it take months to recover but we were supposed to plan our wedding for this year as well. But i don't plan on limping down the aisle!" You replied and sighed sadly.

"liefje, het komt goed!(love, it will be okay!)" Jill told you.

"Je weet dat ik niet iemand ben die heel geduldig is als het om mezelf gaat!(you know I am not someone that is very patient when it comes to myself!)" You answered.

"Je moet stoppen met jezelf onder druk te zetten.(you need to stop putting pressure on yourself.)" Your sister said, sighing softly.

"she is right. It's not good for your healing process to put so much pressure on yourself!" Ruth agreed with your sister. No surprise there.

"they are right, y/n!" Jill answered. Squeezing your hand gently. You squeeze her hand back.

"i know, i am sorry i will try to be patient with myself and the process. we can figure the wedding stuff out later!" You said softly. Kerstin smiled softly.

"that's a much better attitude right there, little sis!" She told you.

"i agree with Kerstin!" Your fiancee replied.

"okay, okay! I got it i need to work on my patience! Altough resting isn't in my blood! ADHD wants me to be active and not sit around an bore myself to death!" You stated and laughed a bit.

"which reminds me, did you take your meds?" Jill asked. You looked at her and then at your sister and Ruth.

"Uh No! I am sorry! I will take it now!" You told them and grabbed it from the Coffee table. Reading the Label to make sure it was yours cause you weren't the only one with adhd in this House. You quickly swallowed the pill with water.

"good Job!" Kerstin let you know.

"thanks!" You replied.

The Physio came in and looked at your wound from surgery. It was still quite swollen so you couldn't try much movement today. Only checking if you could wiggle your toes and little things like that. Jill's knee was healing alot better and you were thankful for that and happy for her. But also didn't like that you were behind on this. He would come Check on you in two more days before he was gonna start working with jill.

The three tried to cheer you up after hearing you needed to wait a bit longer but there was no use, you put on some Headphones and closed your eyes. Wanting to escape your reality in that moment. Not ready to talk. But still wanting to hold jill's Hand. So that's what you did. She gave yours a gentle squeeze every now and then. They waited until you were ready to talk. Which you were around 20 minutes later.

"i am ready to talk now. Sorry that i had to pull myself away for a bit. I needed to collect my thoughts and Feelings!" You told them.

"it's fine Love!" Jill said softly.

"yeah don't apologize for this! It's great that you can voice your needs!" Ruth answered.

"i agree! You used to let people Walk all over you and struggle with voicing your feelings! So i am proud of you for doing that now, little sis!" Kerstin told you. You smiled a little. It was funny when she called you little sis. You were twins after all. Not identical though. But she wasn't wrong. You were 15 minutes Younger then Kerstin was.

"thanks guys! You really are the best! I am really Happy for you Babe and Hope your recovery goes fast and well! I just hate that i always seem to be taking longer. It took me longer to start talking when we were Kids. Same with walking." You admitted.

"i hear you, y/n, i get why this Is frustrating! But this isn't a competition!" Kerstin said softly.

"you are right it isn't! It's still frustrating!" You replied.

"we are in this together ,Babe! Doesn't matter if i am starting Physio earlier! See it that way, you know what's coming because of me starting earlier!" Your fiancee told you.

"okay that's a good point you got there!" You admitted.

Two days later Jill went to the training grounds for therapy. And you joined her. You also got the go now. But still had to be more careful then Jill. Which was fine though. You were just happy you could start with getting back onto your feet.

[bellaxgiornata]

Because I've been sick almost nonstop since September, I decided to make headcanons this morning for all of our men about when they're sick that absolutely nobody asked for. So below the cut are some of my thoughts on how Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Jax Teller, and Michael Kinsella would act/react to feeling under the weather and being taken care of.

Matt Murdock

Matt would never admit to being sick when he first started coming down with something. Doesn't matter how many times you called him out on it, he would play it off like he's just fine. "Sweetheart, you know I don't get sick."

Despite your protests, he'd still throw on the Devil suit and go out at night running around on the rooftops trying to keep Hell's Kitchen safe, even if he's got a runny nose and the beginning of a sore throat - and his Devil voice would be even more painful to put on because of that.

But in the morning when Matt woke up, he'd be a miserable mess. He would become a full on baby Capuchin monkey, wrapping himself around you in bed in search of comfort almost immediately. And when he'd hear you open your mouth to tell him "I told you so," he'd stop you with his nasally, "Don't even say it, sweetheart" before he buried his face against your neck and groaned in agony.

And he would be in agony because of his heightened senses, but he'd also be a bit disoriented when he really came down with something. The illness symptoms would mess with him - head/sinus congestion would throw off his sense of smell, taste, and hearing, all things he's used to using in order to navigate the world around him. On top of all of that, sore throats would feel like he was genuinely swallowing glass, and while he's already used to his whole body constantly being in pain from what he puts it through, the whole body ache from illness would just be another thing to make him desperate for comfort.

Matt is so used to no one caring for him since he's always the one looking out for the whole of Hell's Kitchen, that you'd most likely see a few genuine tears shed as you brought him glasses of water and medicine throughout the day (that he would make the most ridiculous faces at the flavor of). And you'd be subjected to repeated thank you's murmured against your skin because he'd be clinging to you wherever you went in the apartment for the duration of his illness.

Frank Castle

It would always be difficult to tell when Frank was coming down with something because the man would never admit to it. He'd still be waking up at the ass crack of dawn making a pot of coffee and going about his day like usual without giving a single thing away that let you know that he wasn't feeling good. So you'd have to learn the signs yourself - extra tissues suddenly filling the garbage, the sight of him wearing hoodies around the house when you know he already runs hot, showers that last just a few minutes longer than usual as if he was using the steam to clear up his congestion.

He'd deny it vehemently if you called him out on coming down with something, getting a deep furrow between his brows and that particular tone to his voice that always gave him away because it was just too sharp. "I'm not goddamn sick, honey. Stop fussin' over me, would ya?"

And he absolutely would hate it if you fussed over him. Trying to get him to take some medicine? "Don't need that shit. Told you I'm fine, alright?" Trying to take his temperature? You'd have to fight him to put the damn thing in his mouth for at least five minutes first and he'd be grumbling the whole time (and you'd have to keep reminding him to keep his mouth shut so you could get an accurate reading). Telling him to stay in bed or on the couch to rest for the day? You'd catch him out of the corner of your eye carrying a tool box through the house and have to do a double take and tell him to go sit down. "Tired of sitting down, doll, I've been doing it all damn day! "It's been twenty minutes, Frank! GO LAY BACK DOWN!" Bringing him tea with some honey and lemon in it to soothe his throat? "The hell is this shit? You know I only drink black coffee."

Frank is used to just powering through illness because of his time in the marines. His mentality is that he's got a job to do and he's going to do it, he doesn't want to sit around all day taking medicine and sleeping, he wants to be up and taking care of you and things around the house and something so small like being sick isn't going to stop him from doing exactly that.

Jax Teller

Even sick with a cold, Jax would still be stubborn as hell. He'd wake up in the morning and roll out of bed before hopping in the shower with every intention of going to the clubhouse to deal with business for the day like nothing was wrong. Except he'd be moving slower than normal and communicating in strictly grunts and grumbles instead of his usual "Mornin', baby" sleepily and affectionately muttered against the back of your neck which you usually always either heard in bed as he's spooning you when you woke, while you're making the morning coffee in the kitchen, or as you're getting dressed for the day.

The only way you'd get Jax to stay home, take care of himself, and relax would be to out-logic him. "You know I gotta go in, darlin'. The guys need me, I've got shit to run. Can't just take a goddamn sick day, SAMCRO ain't like that." "And what happens when all of the patched members get sick, hmm? Or when all the girls at Diosa or Redwoody get sick and they can't film or fuck? Then what, Jackson? Chibs and Bobby can handle things today."

Jax would absolutely hate having to make the call to tell the guys he was taking a day at home because he's sick. He'd be sitting out on the back porch talking on the phone with a cigarette in his hand, rolling his eyes in irritation as they called him a pussy. But instead of some insult in return, you'd overhear him snap back with "Gotta problem with it? Then I'd like to see you take it up with my ol' lady, brother." And you'd know damn well that would have the guys quieting down because they knew better than to mess with you when it came to Jax's wellbeing.

Despite the fight he'd put up in the morning, Jax would actually love a whole day sitting around at home with you fussing over him. He'd be sprawled out on the couch with a lazy little grin on his lips as you brought him glasses of water, medicine, and soup all day. He'd chuckle warmly and always give you a "I'm fine, darlin', really," but deep down he'd be so goddamned pleased to have your constant attention. And he'd find any excuse to grab you and force you down on the couch to cuddle with him, sighing softly when your fingers gently carded through his hair as he held you close. But you can damn well bet that even sick, he wouldn't miss the opportunity to slide his hand down to palm you over your pants at some point, chuckling when you shot out a "You're sick, Jackson!" and responding with "Never too sick for that, baby."

Michael Kinsella

Michael would be the literal suffer in silence type. You'd know he was sick - he wouldn't deny it if you asked because he'd never lie to you - but he also wouldn't ask for any help. He'd still get up and try to do the laundry and dishes even when you tried to shoo him away to his bed. "M'fine, pet. Don't wanna leave ya to do everythin' fer me 'cause I'm comin' down with somethin'. S'no big deal, really."

He's not used to having someone wanting to fuss over him and care for him because no one in his family ever really has besides Birdy. Trying to take his temperature, bringing him soup that you made, and making sure he's taking medicine around the clock would have him feeling awkward, which would result in him always trying to brush you away because he feels like he's just adding to your list of chores for the day. And if there's anything Michael would hate, it's feeling like he's a burden, so you'd have to repeatedly reassure him that caring for him when he's sick is normal.

Michael would try to avoid you throughout the day as much as possible because he'd be worried about getting you sick, so much so that it would drive you nuts. "Sofa is fine, love. Don't wanna get my germs in the bedroom sleepin' in there." "Shouldn't be tryin' to kiss me, pet. Don't want ya catchin' what I have." "Ya shouldn't be sittin' out here with me watchin' television. I'd feel like shite if ya got sick 'cause of me, pet."

The Kinsellas would still be calling him while he was trying to rest at home and every time you heard the phone ring, you'd feel compelled to pull it out of his hands and tell them to leave him alone for the day. Because you know even sick, Michael would pull himself together to go help with whatever was asked of him for his family. But you would delight in telling them off for his sake - especially if it was Amanda.

[ssentimentals]

Hihi, i love your writing and wanted to make a request during the last prompt list but was too chicken to do so🫣

If it's okay, could you do prompt 15. Soulmates with woozi?💜

Thanks you💜

hihi dearest, oh nooo please, never hesitate to request anything when i do prompt list, i'd be so happy to write your request! thank you for requesting this time though 💜

prompt soulmates

usually the string can be barely seen and jihoon doesn't even feel it half of a time. it stayed light gray color for the most of his life and he even forgot about it for quite some time, but then he enrolled into this new internship program and the string's color changed to prominent red in a week. having soulmates is not a common thing in this world, but jihoon knew very well the meaning behind a color change - his soulmate was close. wrapped neatly around his pinky, the string of fate usually held barely any weight but in last few days everything changed - he started to feel it, especially tiny tugs now and then. it's... jihoon is not sure how to react. he always considered himself lucky for having a soulmate when half of the world doesn't, but the more time passed with no signs of the string ever awakening, he sort of.. forgot. felt disappointed and let down. and now that it's glaringly red he's simply at loss. there's a whole myriad of emotions inside: anticipation, hope, fear, excitement, anxiety. whenever he looks down at his hand now he sees the string of fate so clearly, it blows his mind that sometime soon he's going to meet his soulmate.

'i'll go get coffee,' jihoon mumbles quietly enough to not disturb anyone at the open space. soulmates are nice and whatnot, but excel files are kicking his ass more than he'd like to admit. 'anyone wants something?'

several people voice out their drinks of choice and jihoon hurriedly rushes to cafeteria on the 1st floor, praying that by the time he comes back that excel sheet will just solve itself. he stands in the queue when he feels a firm tug on his pinky finger. the string almost glows, pulses and to jihoon's utter shock it starts to appear more and more. it always used to be just a small little thing wrapped around his finger but now he watches it transform into an actual string, glowing red and seemingly...going somewhere.

'next! what's your order?'

jihoon abondons his place in the queue, following the string instead. with a hammering heart he lets it lead him through the crowd, he side-steps people, feeling his palms getting sweaty from the nerves. is this actually happening? is he about to-

'oh my god, i'm so sorry!'

in his dreams, jihoon is very smooth. he maybe says a joke, maybe goes for a cheesy pick-up line, does whatever it takes to appear cool and friendly. in reality though he bumps into you full-force and stammers his apologies in a very not cool fashion.

'no-no, it's alright, i wasn't looking-' he pauses, noticing how red string connects your pinkies. it's glowing too. 'oh.'

in his dreams, jihoon knows what to do. he maybe goes for a handshake or a hug, maybe he suggests taking this somewhere else. in reality though he stares wide-eyed at the beautiful girl in front of him and his head is blank. it's not an earth-shattering moment of meeting you, because you already feel safe, familiar, easy, his. but he is not sure how he can say this without sounding like a total creep.

'it's well overdue,' you say, saving him from awkward silence. you're blushing slightly and jihoon can't keep his eyes off you. 'meeting you, i mean. i kind of thought it'd never happen.'

'yeah..' he agrees and quickly shoots his hand out to shield you from few guys who don't look where they're going. 'but it did.'

'it did.' you echo, looking at him like you can't believe he's real. frankly, jihoon doesn't believe you're real either. 'um, i-'

'can i get your number?' jihoon asks, grimacing at how not smooth that was. 'so we can- i mean i wanted to-' he reaches out, unsure. he wants to touch you, hug you, prove to himself that you're not a figment of his imagination. 'can i also..hold your hand? shit, sorry, that's probably so-'

you shut him up by taking his hand in yours. the fact that you did not disappear and that your palm is warm and dry against his cold and sweaty one makes him sigh in relief. 'i'm sorry that it's sweaty, i'm just nervous,' he mutters. he kind of doesn't want to let go of your hand now.

'it's alright,' you assure him and don't let his hand go. 'can you give me your phone? i will save my number.'

you don't let go while you do that. you hold his hand securely and jihoon wonders if you also feel like him. if he also feels for you like he is your person. jihoon hopes he does. and even if not - he is determined to take his time and make sure that at one point you will think of him that way. today or tomorrow or after few months or even years.

a/n: hopefully you liked it, let me know! <3 - nini

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my other seventeen works are here

[cacospirit]

The Coddled Griffon Case

Davrin: Hey Lucanis, do you… have a minute?

Lucanis: Oh, Davrin, I… sure 

Davrin: I know we haven’t… always seen eye to eye, like, maybe I called you an abomination…

Lucanis: You did, among other things

Davrin: …and maybe I suggested that we should kill you because you’re a demon…

Lucanis: You made a strong case for it. Several times. 

Davrin: …but at the end of the day, I think we are both men that can set our differences aside when it comes to doing what’s best for the team

Lucanis: Davrin… where are you going with this

Davrin: Look… someone has been sneaking Assan extra treats

Lucanis: what 

Davrin: I know, I know! It doesn’t seem like a big deal but… it’s not good for his training! We can’t have him think he can just cozy up to anyone and get rewarded for it

Lucanis: I… sure. I will take your word for it

Davrin: And look, I’m not trying to come after anyone with torch and pitchfork here, I just… need to know who it is, so we can discuss it, as adults

Lucanis: An admirable goal 

Davrin: Right? But the thing is… no one wants to admit to it! I know it’s not any of the ones sleeping at the back of lighthouse, it’s someone out here with us. And first I figured… if it was you I probably wouldn’t have noticed in the first place

Lucanis: I like to do things discretely, it’s true

Davrin: So I talked with everyone else, and we both know that Bellara and Harding can’t tell a lie to save their life, so… it has to be Neve! But talking to her is just pointless because she’s not giving away anything, she’s like a fortress!

Lucanis: She has a certain composure 

Davrin: So… I can’t really accuse her of anything without evidence, and I know she’s not dumb enough to let me catch her in the act, but… she probably wouldn’t be looking out for you 

Lucanis: You want me to spy on Neve for you?

Davrin: It sounds bad when you put it like that

Lucanis: …would you like to put it another way?

Davrin: I would like to do that yea, I just don’t know how to

Lucanis: I feel like that should tell you something 

Davrin: Lucanis... I know that you are an honorable man, that is willing to make the hard choices for the sake of family. And we here… at the Lighthouse… we are like a family. You, me, Assan… Neve, Rook…. even that weird crab-head ghost, we’re all in this together

Lucanis: ..The Caretaker? 

Davrin: Exactly! We should all strive to be the caretakers of each other’s problems 

Lucanis: You know what... sure 

Davrin: And I know Caterina taught you that sometimes you have to be tough one the ones you love if you want them to survive

Lucanis: I’m... not really sure that applies here

Davrin: I think it does. 

Lucanis: Well  

Davrin: And look, I’m no trying to tell you what do to here, because... I trust you to do the right thing. And I don’t want to influence your decision too much but… I’d owe you one, all right? I gotta go, but just… think about it ok? No pressure!

Lucanis: I don’t think… ! *sigh* 

Lucanis: Mierda… I need a cup of coffee after this

// 

Lucanis: The griffon has too much treats…. Has… everyone finally lost their minds… or have I finally lost my mind. 

Spite: You say it like it can’t be both 

Lucanis: Spite. Rhetorical question. We’ve talked about this. 

Neve: Hey Lucanis! Do you mind if I sit down, or am I interrupting something?

Lucanis: Oh I was just… you know what, never mind. Please, Neve, go ahead 

Neve: So Davrin finally caved in 

Lucanis: He… what?

Neve: Honestly, I love that for you. You’ve come so far in your friendship that he’s willing to trust you with his dirty work 

Lucanis: Neve I… I don’t know what you’re talking about

Neve: Of course you don't. But even if you didn't know what I say that I know I still know what you'd know from what I know that he knows 

Lucanis: Neve, please, I haven't had my coffee yet

Neve: Davrin’s been trying to figure out who’s been sneaking Assan extra treats, he knows it’s one of us out here in the courtyard, but out of all the people he’s talked to no one seems to know anything, isn’t that just curious

Lucanis: It’s not the word I’d use but sure 

Neve: Of course, Bel and Lace are as opaque with their intentions as a sheet of glass, and by all reason if it was you he probably wouldn’t have found out in the first place 

Lucanis: I’m glad my talents are getting widely recognized 

Neve: Which really only leaves me, and I can’t deny that I do make for pretty convincing prime suspect for this case

Lucanis: Someone gave snacks to a bird, I hardly think this should be called a case 

Neve: But as sure as he probably is that it’s me, he can’t come accusing me of anything without evidence, because that would make him look irrational, and we can’t have that.

Lucanis: Neve, there is not a single part of this that seems rational to me

Neve: He knows he’s not gonna catch me all by himself, so what can a lone warden do but rally his troupe. He needs eyes out here in the yard, and sure Lace would be pretty handy at the task, but she’d be oh so morally conflicted about it. And even if he managed to convince Bel she would still be pretty useless. Which leaves… you

Lucanis: I wish the only way I had been left, was out of this   

Neve: I just had to keep an eye out for when he’d inevitably come crawling to you. He got the right idea about talking to you when I’m not around, but… he wasn’t exactly discrete in the way he went about it. Sometimes the way you hide something reveals more about the thing you’re hiding than if you never tried to hide it in the first place, you know what I mean?

Lucanis: I don’t think I know what anything means anymore 

Neve: Now he can’t exactly give you a contract, because he’s above that, so he has to try to convince you the comradely way. Which means, right now you are conflicted about what to do

Lucanis: Neve I'm conflicted about what to think 

Neve: Must have felt great for him to finally overcome that hurdle, being able to ask you for help. But… he did take his sweet time with, guess he had to swallow a lot of pride to get there. Which is… really fortunate for me because it’s given me plenty of time to… indulge, in other things

Lucanis: I feel like I’m not going to like where this is going 

Neve: What was the name of supplier for your fancy coffee? Eligio Mancini? Lives at the upper end of the Treviso east district

Lucanis: Yes that’s… how did you.. 

Neve: Such a great product, or so I’ve been told, I'm not really privy to it. But as it happens I do know a Tevinter noble that is just crazy about the stuff, so naturally I just had to provide them a sample. And what would you know, they loved it. Probably so much that they’d buy out the entire stock… if I gave them the name of the supplier

Lucanis: Neve are you…

Neve: Am I what?

Lucanis: …are you blackmailing me?

Neve: Am I? I’m not playing the board, I’m just pointing out where the pieces are 

Lucanis: Maker help me…

Neve: Oh The Maker can’t save you from me, you know that

Lucanis: That is definitely sacrilege… but also not inaccurate 

Neve: Well, this has been… very informative Lucanis. I gotta go but please… don’t make any decision you will regret later

Lucanis: See you tonight?

Neve: Oh for sure, love you

Lucanis: Love you, bye

[asthedeathoflight]

Like you / Like me

Hi guys. Today I was reading Metal From Heaven by August Clarke and was suddenly seized by like I don't know some kind of fucking spirit. So I went home and I wrote this in essentially one sitting, with a break for dinner in the middle in which I was still kind of writing it on my phone.

CWs for this fic for depiction of a panic attack from a POV character, and also the fact that it is rated M for lesbiaM.

~ ~ ~

People wonder - aloud, even - at how it was that Ajax had come to join the Warriors. If it was in a moment of violence, or bravado. Ajax tolerates the younger girls’ wild speculation and knows the truth will never live up to the legend. The place where everybody gets it wrong is that they expect her to have joined the Warriors as Ajax. Ajax is a Warrior. Ajax has always been a Warrior. Ajax has always been a Warrior. But she didn’t come to the crew as Ajax. There was a girl, once upon a time, who Ajax remembers now in fits and starts, and the story of how she became a Warrior isn’t worth telling to anyone who wasn’t there. And almost everyone who was there is gone. 

The girl who would one day be Ajax became a Warrior in a tense, quiet conversation in which she did not speak at all. She stood near a wall in the tiny, dingy office above a butcher shop and stared sightlessly past where the woman who had maybe always been Cleon spoke with steel in her voice and fire in her eyes. Ajax could never look at her when she was like that. Cleon like that was like the sun, like something that was too much of what Ajax was meant to look at, so much of what Ajax had been made for that she was poisoned by it. 

Cleon was leaning over the desk to speak urgently to the woman behind it, quiet like the ocean was quiet, like she knew her power and didn’t care if you heard her coming. 

Something changed in their conversation. The woman Cleon was speaking to sat back in her chair, scraping a hand along her jaw thoughtfully. She wasn’t safe to look at either. She was rough-hewn like a boulder or an unpaved road, and her shoulders and hands were broad and square. She had a moth-eaten wool cap pulled over her dreads, even inside - no use paying for heat in a building where most of the inhabitants would spoil at room temperature. Her name was Daedalus, and looking at her made Ajax feel a little bit like throwing up, like the spinning feeling of having taken a hit before the pain came. 

So Ajax looked at the wall past them, where it was yellow with smoke residue near the ceiling, and tried to hear their words without understanding them. She had always been shit at not saying everything she felt with just her face, and Ajax wasn’t sure how she was feeling at the moment, so she couldn’t afford to give any of it away. 

Cleon continued intently for a few moments, leaning her weight on the desk for just a second, and then Daedalus nodded slowly. Cleon rocked back on her heels, breathing out like the venting of a steam engine; like wheels spinning slowly to a stop. “Okay, great,” she said, and Ajax had lost whatever rare focus was allowing her to let the conversation slip over her without sticking. 

“Okay,” Daedalus echoed, more gruffly. “You better have meant all that shit. I don’t take kindly to exaggeration.”

Cleon nodded fervently, and Ajax made a mental note to have her explain the bargain she had made on Ajax’s behalf. Oh, Ajax was sure she worded it for both of them, but Ajax was faster and stronger than her. She would shoulder most of it. Cleon didn’t have a choice about that. 

The door to the little office swung open, and a woman stepped in without waiting for any acknowledgement from Daedalus. She was wearing a threadbare bathrobe and a silky little slip of a nightgown and carrying two mugs of coffee. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said with a jazz singer’s husky contralto. 

 As she entered the office she passed through Ajax’s eye line and caught her eye for a moment. She winked. Not safe to look at. Ajax moved her head to look up at the buzzing, flickering overhead light instead. 

“You’ve got perfect timing as always, Twitch,” Daedalus rumbled. “We were just finishing up.”

“How’s the latest litter of strays?” Twitch asked. 

Ajax blinked at the light, and the imprint of it glowed blue-green on her eyelids. It hurt just a little bit. She let the discomfort swallow up any other sensation. 

“Eager,” Daedalus replied.

“Aw,” Twitch cooed. “Patriotic. Cute.”

Ajax could hear that Cleon was smiling when she spoke. She could almost see that smile, cheerful and happy to help and unimpeachably angelic. Her Girl Scout smile. “Just doing business, ma’am.”

“Only one kind of business here in Coney, girl. Don’t go forgettin’ that.”

“Of course not,” Cleon said, a little bit sharper. A little bit more cat-with-the-cream. “Sir.”

Ajax failed to duck away from the chill that ran through her. Her body came back online all at once, without her permission. She dropped her gaze from the light down to the room, barely seeing anything except what she needed to - the door, Cleon’s back, the skeptical upward tilt of Daedalus’s eyebrow. 

Cleon’s hands were clasped behind her in parade rest. Her fingers twitched once in the moment of silence, but Ajax couldn’t imagine it had shown on her face. A heartbeat of silence in the room, and then Daedalus threw her head back and laughed. 

“Christ,” she said, chuckling, “You’re something else. Okay, run along. We’ll be in touch.”

And in the release of the imminent-danger feeling in her body, Ajax became aware that she had missed something. Daedalus, not just a facial expression and proximity to an exit. She sprawled back in her chair comfortably, mug of steaming coffee in one hand. Twitch had come around to stand on her other side , both hands around her mug, standing in the corner formed between Daedalus’s body and the chair and the desk. Daedalus’s other arm was hooked comfortably around her waist beneath the bathrobe, fingers splayed over her hip.

Daedalus and Cleon finished having some kind of silent exchange Ajax wasn’t privy to, and then Daedalus turned to Twitch in a way which plainly signaled the end of Ajax and Cleon’s relevance to the conversation. As Cleon was turning to her so they could go, Twitch leaned down and kissed Daedalus on her still crookedly-smiling mouth. Casual, easy, like parents on TV. 

Ajax wasn’t frozen. Frozen implied an external force that she could strain against. It was just that, suddenly, there was nothing for her to move. She was dropped into cold water. There was no relationship between Ajax and any moving part of her body. Cleon noticed her not leaving. She rolled her eyes and grabbed Ajax by the hand and tugged her towards the door. Whatever had been left in the shell of Ajax that she had abruptly vacated followed obediently behind her, down the stairs and out to the street and back to their apartment. She could feel Cleon’s fingers between her own more like pressure than warmth. 

Cleon fumbled with their keys one-handed when they got to their door and Ajax watched her without seeing, without being able to just goddamned move and let her go so she could open the door. Cleon exhaled in relief as she dragged Ajax across the threshold and shut the door. Her inhale bubbled up and over in her until she was giggling uncontrollably as she bent over to unlace her boots. Ajax stared at her mutely, the ice water slowly draining from her. 

“Holy shit,” Cleon whispered to herself as she straightened up. “Holy shit!” she said again, louder, gleeful. “Holy shit, we did it!”

She stomped her feet and rubbed her hands together a little bit like it was cold, like she did when she was excited. She kicked her boots off to land vaguely next to the coat hook and took a few steps further into their apartment before she noticed that Ajax still hadn’t moved. She turned back to her, still grinning - vicious, giddy, victorious. Whatever she saw on Ajax’s face made her stop. 

What had she seen on Ajax’s face? This was the problem with being Ajax, a problem she had inherited from the girl she was before. Anyone looking at her could tell how she was feeling, but Ajax’s perspective was all wrong. She couldn’t see herself. She didn’t know. 

Cleon’s eyebrows drew together in concern. “Hey,” she said, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Something was wrong? Yes, yes, Ajax realized, something was wrong. The cold water was gone from her and she could feel the raw ache of ice on her insides, a feeling that could have been fear or anger. But oh, how Ajax’s body loved anger. 

“Did you know?” Ajax’s voice was hoarse to her own ears. Not hoarse like Twitch or Daedalus, with time or cigarettes, but hoarse like it was after she’d broken in a moment of weakness and started to scream. 

“Know?” Cleon still looked a little confused, like she wasn’t sure what was going on. Like maybe they were still kids, and Ajax had just skinned her knee. 

“Becca, did you know?” Was it still Becca, then? In their apartment that afternoon, Ajax doesn’t know what to call either of them. They would climb out of that time-between when Daedalus finally called, Cleon leaving Beck Waters in a closet like an old coat and Ajax leaving the girl whose name she sometimes no longer knows in a grave. 

“Is this because of me?” she had demanded, and the vice grip of the glacier had caught her around the ribs. “Because I'm not -” She'd choked on the words, then. “I'm not like that. I'm not like them.”

Realization came to Cleon like dawn, like pity, and in the futility of that moment Ajax had never hated anyone other than herself so much. 

“Ajax,” Cleon says in her memory, and her lips make a different shape. The sound scraped across her in that moment and she shook with the sudden collapse of all her failures, with the sudden snap of a lie. 

“Nooo,” Ajax had said, a lost and animal sound. Where was anger when she needed it? “No, no, no.”

She couldn’t breathe in. She raised her arms to ward off the blow that would not come, forgot the years since she had been small enough for anyone to hit her from above. She couldn’t hear Cleon’s soft footsteps over the sound of her failure to breathe. She put her arms over her face, instead, to protect herself from having to see. 

She felt Cleon’s hands on her shoulders, felt how they were steady over the shaking thing she could hardly recognize as herself. 

“If this is about - I’m sorry - I didn’t mean it, it was a mistake, please -” Ajax could hear herself speaking, beginning unforgivably to dissolve into sobs. “Please, I didn’t mean it, I’m not like them.”

And the lie scorched her throat on the way out. 

The world melted around her and she felt Cleon’s hands on her face, her careful soft fingers wiping away the tears that were spilling from her like blood from a wound. Ajax felt that kindness in her like venom, like briar in her airways. Her chest heaved and no air came in. Cleon tried to draw her in, to press Ajax’s face to her shoulder, but Ajax could only see Daedalus’s broad bicep tucked comfortably into the curve of Twitch’s back. 

She struggled in Cleon’s arms, shoved and fought against the encroaching gentleness without any of the strength she had clawed from her body. She was small and weak and helpless, and the last time she had allowed herself to be overtaken by the softness and heat of Cleon’s body she had nearly ruined them both. 

“Please, please,” she begged, “I can’t. I can’t - I can’t-”

Cleon’s thumb traced little circles along her temple and the wanting jolted through Ajax as a pain too big for her body, rising and falling in waves as it kicked and screamed to be heard. 

“You have to breathe,” Cleon said. As Ajax’s vision refocused on her she looked stricken, looked like it was her heart threatening to collapse into a black hole. There were tears wavering at the corners of her eyes. “Please, for me, you have to breathe.”

And Ajax’s only hope for salvation was some kind of self-immolation but she was too wicked and bruised for martyrdom and she could never deny Cleon anything, not even to save her. 

She breathed rabbit-fast and shallow and broke to pieces as Cleon put a hand on her chest, over her heart. The pain was nothing in the face of how completely Cleon held her then, how utterly at her mercy Ajax was. Even the wanting she surrendered to breathing as Cleon breathed, their foreheads pressed together. For a moment between the person she was and who she would become, Ajax forgot what it meant to fight altogether. 

When Ajax went limp in her arms like shaken prey, Cleon exhaled a shaky breath. “God,” she said, and she sounded like she might cry. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Ajax protested, and she felt like a child who was just barely learning how to speak. “No, I’m sorry,” she reminded Cleon.

But Cleon hardly seemed to hear her. “God, I should have known, I should’ve been stronger, I’m so sorry.”

Bathed in the soft light of having given in, Ajax could only sit up enough to look Cleon in the eyes - they were on the floor? When had they started sitting on the floor? “This is all my fault,” she said gently. “It wasn’t you, it was me. And it was a mistake. You said you believed me.”

She put her hand on Cleon’s jaw in unconscious mimicry of Cleon’s earlier gesture. She could feel the kickdrum of Cleon’s heart. 

Cleon winced, like the words were an accusation she couldn’t deflect. “I should’ve been stronger for you,” she murmured, almost to herself, “I shouldn’t have let you carry it alone, shouldn’t have let you think -”

Very carefully, Cleon reached up and moved Ajax’s hand away from her face. She pressed her thumb into the center of Ajax’s palm, and her hand spasmed under the pressure even as Cleon held her fast. 

Cleon closed her eyes and took one deep breath in and out. When she looked at Ajax again, the specter of the scared girl begging her to breathe was gone. “I’m like that,” she said calmly. Resolutely. “I’m like them.”

The words were just noise. Ajax couldn’t make them make sense. 

Cleon must have seen it on her face, must have known she was beyond words right then. Or maybe she saw the breaking dawn in her of a new kind of desire. Ajax had always been a cage-creature, accustomed to the weight of slamming doors in the face of wantings for freedom. The feeling of wanting something right across from her, something she could have, was alien. She hardly could have recognized it for what it was. But some ancestral monster woken in her body must have known, because when Cleon leaned in, Ajax was already reaching for her to drag her closer. 

For a moment, Ajax was a totally new kind of animal, an animal that had never been anywhere or anyone except here, shoved up against the doorframe with another body on top of her, breathing in another body’s air. 

“I thought I’d die,” Cleon whispered into her mouth, “God, baby, I thought I was gonna die if I never got to do this again.”

Ajax wasn’t totally sure the imminent threat to her mortality had passed. She arched up into the weight of Cleon above her until Cleon kissed her again. 

Cleon kept wanting to pull back to talk, and Ajax kept feeling like she would suffocate if Cleon wasn’t kissing her, so they worked out a kind of compromise where Cleon kissed her in between every other word and Ajax tried really hard to comprehend language. 

“I’m so sorry,” Cleon said, breathless and with a giddiness that belied her words. “I’m sorry, I was stupid, I was waiting for you.”

Cleon laughed at Ajax’s expression of consternation as she tried and failed to parse this new sentence. She kissed Ajax on the nose, and then the temple. She settled herself higher in Ajax’s lap, with her cheek pressed to the top of Ajax’s head. “I thought you needed more time, I thought - I thought this would help, I thought knowing we weren’t alone would help.” 

Time. That was the thing that was forcing Ajax to experience the interminable interludes between Cleon’s mouth being on hers. Ajax hardly needed more of it. She made an impatient noise. 

Cleon laughed again and put a hand in Ajax’s hair to drag her head to an angle where Cleon could kiss her again. That was another sensation that Ajax could not consciously understand but which the ancestral monster of her body understood intimately. The first time, Cleon had felt like a wilderness, swallowing her in newness and uncertainty until she had gotten lost and pulled back in horror at what she had done. 

On the floor of their apartment, Cleon handed her back the memories of a life she had forgotten, the trembling and hunger that Ajax suddenly couldn’t believe she’d ever been able to turn away from. 

Ajax was unsteady as a lamb as Cleon guided her to her feet and lured her one step at a time across their apartment. She navigated the doorknob to her bedroom from behind her with one hand still gripped in Ajax’s braids, which was good because Ajax wasn't sure she could have managed it even facing the door. 

When Cleon’s calves hit the edge of her bedframe she kicked out her foot and tripped Ajax and spun her around in a move that temporarily jostled the circuits of Ajax’s brain long enough for her to have her first coherent thought in what felt like hours, which was that she needed Cleon to teach it to her. This momentary clarity was immediately derailed by the thought that teaching it to her would probably involve Cleon demonstrating it on her again. Maybe even more than once. 

And then her back hit the mattress and Cleon was pressing her down into the bed that had been Cleon’s that morning and became theirs long before Ajax’s brain managed to come back online. 

~ ~ ~

Ajax came to herself in pieces that week and the weeks that followed, not like recovery but like new construction. She stood in the wreckage of the girl, the smoking ruin of someone she was already forgetting how she’d ever pretended to be. 

Twitch was smoking behind the counter when Ajax finally went back. She flicked ash to the ground and smirked. “Little lamb,” she drawled, “I almost don’t recognize you.”

And that was a kind of mercy, a kind of allowance for becoming something new. Ajax hoped nobody who had ever known her before would ever recognize her again. 

Ajax grinned and held out her hand. “I don’t think we’ve properly met.”

Twitch put her hand in Ajax’s, long fingers just brushing Ajax’s palm, and Ajax remembered the twinkle in her eyes, the knowing wink. Bold as anything, bold as the person she would one day be and was already becoming, Ajax brought Twitch’s hand to her mouth and kissed the backs of her knuckles. Her skin was cool and smooth and smeared with just a little bit of blood. 

Twitch’s smirk broke into a smile. “So,” she said, “I hear you’re calling yourself Ajax now.”

Ajax’s grin broke wider like a break in the clouds. Ajax could care less if anyone recognized her, because she finally did. 

~ ~ ~

This fic is dedicated to @alexihollis and her fic where Ajax has internalized homophobia. That fic is foundational to my understanding of Ajax as a character and it was the blueprint for this fic.

[deaddovediner]

Weirdo (!basement era Gerard Way x reader !fem)

warnings/triggers: Gagging, Oral sex (male receiving), Exaggerated writing, Degrading, Swallowing, Just overall filth and when I say filth I mean it- this is disgusting.

word count: 2066

Dead Dove Do Not Eat!

You never would have thought about Gerard if it weren't for Mikey, not too long ago, a few days before, Mikey asked you to come and hang out with him since y'all were best friends. But he forgot to mention that he's actually busy and not home. He didn't even text you or anything, so as you normally would have, you knocked on the Way house's door three times and waited for Mikey to open the door; but to your surprise it was Gerard that opened the door. Mikey's weirdo older brother who lived in the basement room underneath the house.

He was a freak, you never saw him, he was always in that basement doing God knows what, you only saw him when he was making coffee in the kitchen while you and Mikey gossiped; and not even that was a pleasant encounter.

"So? Where's Mikey? We were supposed to hang out today..." You asked Gerard, standing in the doorway.

"He- He's busy today, he went  to grab something from the store but, um he also said that he needed to do some business..." Gerard scratched the back of his head awkwardly and stepped aside from the door. "If you um- wanna spend the time uh, until he's back, I got some new comics, if you'd uhm want to- take a look at them." He avoids eye contact and for a second you thought he almost looks cute, if it weren't for his stink. 

Either way, you step inside the already familiar house and put your bag on a chair nearby, then you turn back to him.

"I mean- sure. I already walked this far why not. I'm not really a comic fan but, some of them are cool." You tried your best to sound interested even though you weren't, Gee was the last person on Earth you would want to be stuck with. However you didn't wanted to walk back to your house, so you figured that you'll stay some time and then go home, Mikey will be hearing about this later.

"They're in my room- You can uh come check them out in there." He gestures vaguely towards the basement door and stairs, and you catch a small blush on his cheeks. You can't help but frown a bit at that, you never liked him and he's a nerd, but as long as there is nothing else to do you guess it'll be fine.

"Okay? I guess- you lead the way." You let Gerard go back into the basement, and you're a few stairs behind him when the stench hits you. It's a mix between body odor, cigarettes and junk food. You try your best to hide the small gag, your body reacted to this monstrosity but you have to keep it at bay. 'It will be okay, I'll just have to bear it for some time, until I have enough courage to walk back home. It will be fine-' Your thoughts keep you occupied for some peaceful seconds as you finally arrived to the man cave that is.

"Sorry for the mess- I wasn't expecting uhm, visitors. They are somewhere here- I just got them yesterday; one of the new editions." He walks to a table that's full of empty but dirty dishes and papers, comics, magazines. While he's searching for the comic, you dare take a look around the room. It had a worn-out couch and an old television with a console and some games, there was Final Fantasy X-2 and some other RPG games you never heard of.

There are action figures almost everywhere and posters lined the walls, a real nerd's wet dream is this room. 

"Look, if you can't find them in this mess I don't blame you- I'm sure we can pass time in other ways. How about we play something? Do you know truth or dare?" He looked up from where he was, still searching for the comics, he seriously looked pathetic. His hair greasy and disheveled, his clothes messy with some darker spots of who knows what. He straightened himself and leaned back against the table trying to look cool, you almost huffed a laugh at the poor attempt of trying to look cool.

"Yeah, I know how to play it. I only played it once though- and that wasn't the very best either; but if you want to, then I guess uh, it's fine." The awkwardness of him makes this very entertaining to watch and you can't help but smile just a tiny bit at his pathetic try to win you over. So you figured why not make this interesting.

"Okay, I'll let you go first. I choose truth." You take a seat at the worn-out couch and wait for Gerard to come up with a question. He walks over to the couch and takes place opposite you with a fair distance between the two of you.

"What's your favorite comic? If you have one-" Now at that, you couldn't hold it in anymore so you chuckled and thought about it. He is so innocent yet very weird and disgusting you can't really compare to anyone or anything.

"I only read a few comics, but I'll say the OG Batman comics. My turn, truth or dare?" You have a sick plan, that if your calculations guessed correctly Gerard will like. You sit up on the couch, hugging your legs.

He takes a few moments to think about what he'll choose, "Truth." his eyes lock with yours as you contemplate what to ask.

"Have you ever been blown off?" You smirk satisfactory taking over you at the blunt question. You can see his surprise at your straightforwardness, a blush creeping up to his cheeks and ears, he even looks away in what seems like embarrassment.

"I- I haven't. No-" He still doesn't meet your gaze, but you're sure he can feel your eyes bore a hole through him as he confesses. "W- Why?" He softly turns back to you and looks at you with such a shyness you've never seen. You can't help but think about giving him one just out of pity, and you might actually just do that.

You snuggle closer to him on the couch, only so much though. He seems to notice your slight movement and he looks away.

"You wanna know how it feels like, don't you?" You ask in a teasing tone and with that smirk on your face he knows all too well why you're aksing this.

"Um- I, uh guess- um ye- yeah..." The blush he has is getting out of control and it just makes you move a tad bit closer again, like a predator, slowly approaching her prey. You don't even care about how disgusting he is but get turned on by his lack of hygiene. You knew that this was sick, that you shouldn't like this, that he's a weirdo, a freak. Yet you couldn't keep those naughty thoughts away locked in that dark place in your mind; they were escaping with every milisecond that passed.

"I'm bored of the truth or dare-" You moved closer again, "I want to play something else, or well- with something." you bit down on your lip, and found yourself next to him, he's siting sideways facing you, and you can see his bulge underneath the sweatpants.

"Wha- What are you doing?" You place a hand on his chest, pushing at him softly so he'll lean back into the couch. You just shake your head softly. He closes his eyes, probably just this soft touch is too much for him, your other hand trails to his waistband and you link two fingers in, just teaing him.

"Shhh- lean back and enjoy, I know you'll love it you weirdo." You whisper in his ear then plant a soft wet kiss under his ear. His skin tastes like sweat and bitter, he most likely haven't showered in a few days. The soft noises he does makes you smile, and it's cute how he grabbed a pillow to cover himself with, but you pull at his waistband as the one hand on his chest goes to grab his and pull it away with the pillow.

"Don't cover yourself you freak- Let me send you to heaven." You look back at him, somehow with lust, it seems impossible that you're really about to do this, however the idea of you giving this nasty freak his first blow job makes your skin all tingly. He complies and even though his eyes are closed he doesn't stop you from getting off the couch to kneel before him.

"Open your eyes Gerard, look at me..." You pull down his sweatpants in one smooth move and his boxer is now revealed to you, his hardened dick poking at the fabric, it looks painful so you remove it for him springing his dick free. He's not small but not huge either, just about the middle, average size.

"Ohm my- God!" He mutters under a breath when he opens his eyes, you lock gazes and you lick your lips before running a single finger along his size, he shivers under the soft touch with the smallest moan. 

"You're so disgusting, you know that? You don't even deserve this-" You curl a hand around him and stroke him softly, some pre-cum already drooling down from him. "You're such a creep- you like it when someone degrades you, hm?" You continue to stroke him softly and he buckles his hips to create more fraction. 

He can't form words so he just nods and leans his head back, letting out a long moan. You take that as invitation and so you put a hand on his thigh for balance then you lick up his dick. He tastes horrible, straight up disgusting and it makes you drool. With soft kisses you trail up his cock and when you reach the top, you take him in your mouth your tongue darting out to slide against his sensitive skin. You almost gag at the even worse taste and you can't help but whimper against his dick. It's like the more disgusting he is the more you enjoy, which is weird but also hot.

His hand sneaks into my hair, and you can feel the hesitation in his touch, but at last he grabbes your head by your hair and guides you to take him deeper. You look up at him as you deep-throat him, you gag around him but not because of his size, it's the taste that makes you gag yet it makes you moan at the same time. 

"Ugh~ I- I'm gonna, I'm gonna cum-" Gerard stutters out between moans and you can feel his dick pump in your mouth, so you slurp against him and lick around his cock plus adding a bit of teeth it makes the magic happen and he cums into your mouth. The cum tastes even worse, bitter and way more sticky then it should be, but you swallow, you swallow every single drop of his semen. With a loud pop you take him out of your mouth and clean up around your jaw, you swipe of the excess saliva with your T-shirt. Then after a big sigh you smile up to him.

"How was it? How was it to see the popular girl kneeling before you? With your dick in her mouth, hm? How was it to see your little brother's best friend lick you like a lollipop? Did you enjoy it? I know you did you nasty pig- You were moaning like a little bitch, it was cute." You stand from the floor as he tucks himself back into his boxer then his pants.

"It... It was amazing-" He looks away, seems like the awkwardness never left and he's back to his abnormal gross weirdo self. "I- uhm, thanks." He scratches the back of his head then looks back at you, you're still standing in front of him.

"Y'know, your cum tastes really bad- you should totally check it out or something, this is definetly not healthy, let it be from anything... Either way, I loved it-" With a soft turn you go to the stairs that lead to the house and you look back at him. "And don't thank me, loser. You're still really gross and I don't like you. If you DARE to tell this to anybody- I'll rip your head off." And so you left the basement, texted Mikey you're not going to wait for him and walked back home.

[elliecore4eva]

Future Snippets of Ellie & Sunshine!Reader

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Sunshine! Joels Daughter! Reader

1. Morning Routines (or Lack Thereof)

Ellie wakes up to your weight half on top of her, your face buried in her neck. She can feel your slow, even breathing, the warmth of your body wrapped around her like a human-sized blanket.

She should get up. Should.

But then you make the softest little noise in your sleep, curling in closer.

Ellie?

Yeah, she's never moving again.

Joel finds you both like that an hour later when he stops by, knocking once before letting himself in like he pays rent.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, crossing his arms as Ellie blinks up at him sleepily. "How the hell do you ever get anything done?"

"I don't," Ellie mutters, wrapping her arms tighter around you. "She's too comfy."

Joel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You’re hopeless."

2. Tipsy Bison Teasing (Again)

"Okay, but seriously?" Jesse leans forward, a familiar grin creeping onto his face. "How does it feel, knowing your entire reputation is ruined?"

Ellie glares. "I never had a reputation."

"Oh, you did," Dina corrects. "Broody, intimidating, sometimes an asshole? Now you just follow her around like a lost puppy."

Frank, sipping his drink, nods solemnly. "Tragic, really."

Bill just grunts in agreement.

Ellie leans into you, tucking her face against your shoulder.

"At least my girlfriend likes me," she mutters.

You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I do."

Jesse groans dramatically. "Ugh. Disgusting. Get a room."

Ellie smirks. "Gladly."

3. The Town’s Favorite Person

You have a way of making everyone feel special.

You check in on Maria, helping her with whatever town duties she’s juggling. You make small gifts for the kids in town, little hand-sewn patches for their jackets, bracelets, or sometimes just fresh-baked cookies.

Even Bill, gruff and eternally skeptical, has warmed up to you.

"Damn kid," he mutters one day, watching as you hand a freshly baked pie to one of the older folks in town. "How the hell do you have time for all this?"

"I like taking care of people," you shrug. "And it makes them happy."

Bill just grunts. But later, Ellie finds a fully upgraded rifle sitting outside your shared place, courtesy of Bill.

"No one better touch a damn hair on her head," he mutters when Ellie thanks him.

Ellie just smirks. "Trust me, man. I’d burn the whole town down first."

4. The Proposal (Sort Of?)

It’s not planned. Not even a little.

Ellie is just watching you one evening, sitting across from her on the porch, laughing at something Joel said.

And it just hits her.

Like a fucking freight train.

She wants forever.

"Marry me."

You blink, mid-laugh. "What?"

Ellie freezes.

Joel chokes on his coffee. "What the fuck?"

Bill mutters something about kids these days having no sense of timing.

Frank looks delighted.

You? You just smile.

"Yeah, okay."

Ellie stares.

"Wait. Really?"

"Guess you’ll have to wait and see."

Ellie groans, dropping her face into her hands. "You're actually evil."

"Yeah, but I’m your evil."

Ellie looks up, grinning. "Damn right you are."

Joel shakes his head. "You're both insufferable."

Bill just grunts in agreement.

Frank wipes away a fake tear. "Young love. So tragic, so beautiful—"

Ellie throws a pillow at him.

5. "Our Favorite Girl"

Ellie leans against the counter at the Tipsy Bison, arms crossed, waiting.

"Let’s go see our favorite girl," she mutters under her breath.

She doesn’t notice Bill and Frank at the bar, both of them pausing mid-conversation.

Frank slowly raises an eyebrow. "Did you just say ‘our’ favorite girl?"

Bill grunts. "Knew it. She’s got the whole damn town wrapped around her finger."

Ellie blinks. "Wait. No, I meant—"

Frank smirks. "No, no, keep going. Tell us how you’re completely whipped."

Ellie groans, burying her face in her hands. "Why do I even talk in public?"

6. The Rainstorm

It starts as a light drizzle. Nothing bad, nothing worth stopping for.

Then it turns into a full-blown downpour.

You and Ellie sprint toward your house, laughing, soaked to the bone.

As soon as you’re inside, you shiver, rubbing your arms.

Without a word, Ellie pulls off her hoodie and tugs it over your head. It’s warm, a little big on you, and smells just like her.

You blink up at her, grinning. "You’re gonna get cold."

Ellie shrugs. "Doesn’t matter. You looked colder."

You step closer, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"You’re a softie," you whisper.

Ellie rolls her eyes. "Shut up."

But she’s smiling.

7. “I’d Burn the Whole World for You”

Ellie isn’t the jealous type. Not really.

But when some new guy in town starts hovering a little too close to you at the market, laughing too hard at your jokes?

Ellie stands at your side in an instant, slipping a casual arm around your waist.

"Hey, babe," she says, loud enough for him to hear. "You ready to go?"

The guy blinks, then immediately looks away. "Oh—uh, yeah. Yeah, of course."

You arch an eyebrow. "Babe?"

Ellie shrugs, smirking. "What? It’s true."

You laugh, bumping her shoulder. "You’re ridiculous."

Ellie grins, kissing your temple. "Yeah, but I’m your ridiculous."

From a few feet away, Joel watches, shaking his head.

"Damn kid," he mutters. "Whipped beyond saving."

Bill grunts. "Good. Keeps her out of trouble."

Frank laughs.

8. Late-Night Confessions

The stars are bright above Jackson, the sky endless and quiet.

You and Ellie sit on the porch, a thick blanket draped over both of you. Your head rests against her shoulder, and for a long while, neither of you speak.

Then, Ellie clears her throat.

"You know I still—" she hesitates, then sighs. "I still think about that night."

You know exactly what she means. The Tipsy Bison. The words she said.

Your fingers trace patterns on the back of her hand. "I know."

Ellie tilts her head toward you. "I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for it."

You shift, turning to face her. "I forgave you, Ellie."

She shakes her head, frustrated. "Yeah, but—"

You lift her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "No buts. You’re allowed to move forward."

Ellie’s eyes soften. She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours. "I love you."

"I know." You smile. "Now stop sulking and come inside before Joel thinks you’re proposing out here."

From inside, Joel’s gruff voice calls out. "If you are, at least do it right!"

Ellie groans, burying her face in your neck. "I hate this town."

You laugh, tugging her inside.

9. A Morning with Family

The smell of coffee and bacon fills the house.

Joel is at the stove, grumbling as he flips pancakes.

You sit at the table, still groggy from sleep. Ellie, half-asleep, rests her head on your shoulder.

Joel glances over. "You two gonna eat, or you just sittin’ there like a pair of lovesick fools?"

Ellie grunts. "S’too early for this, old man."

Joel snorts. "Too early for breakfast? What the hell do you kids run on?"

You smile sleepily, nudging Ellie. "Pancakes sound good."

Ellie sighs, dramatic as ever, but sits up. "Fine. But only 'cause you said so."

Joel hides his smirk as he sets a plate in front of you.

Bill and Frank arrive soon after, bringing fresh bread and a bottle of honey.

"Figured you two should eat something real," Bill mutters, setting the loaf on the table.

Frank smiles. "Besides, I like seeing her happy."

Ellie glances at you, her heart twisting in her chest.

Because for the first time in a long while, you are.

10. “You’re Stuck With Me”

The sun is just starting to set, casting a warm glow over Jackson.

You and Ellie sit on the edge of the watchtower, legs dangling, watching the sky turn soft shades of pink and orange.

Ellie’s quiet tonight. Not in a bad way—just comfortable.

After a while, she speaks. "You ever think about leaving?"

You blink, turning to her. "Leaving Jackson?"

Ellie nods. "Not for good. Just… seeing what’s out there. Maybe taking a trip, just you and me."

You tilt your head, considering. The idea is tempting. "Where would we go?"

Ellie shrugs. "Dunno. Maybe Wyoming. Or back to Colorado. I heard there’s an old music store in Denver that’s still kinda intact."

You smile. "You just wanna see if they have any old guitars."

Ellie grins, bumping your shoulder. "Maybe. But I’d go anywhere, as long as it’s with you."

Your heart warms.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "You don’t have to take me anywhere, Ellie. I’m not going anywhere."

Ellie watches you for a long moment, then smirks.

"Damn. So I’m stuck with you, huh?"

You laugh, nudging her playfully. "Yeah, pretty much."

Ellie shakes her head, but her smile is full of something deep and unwavering.

"Good," she murmurs.

11. Bill and Frank’s (Unsolicited) Advice

It happens at their house.

Ellie’s sitting on their porch, sulking into a cup of coffee.

Bill sits beside her, arms crossed. Frank leans against the railing, watching with mild amusement.

"Alright," Bill grunts. "Out with it. What’s your problem?"

Ellie sighs. "Nothing, man. Just… thinking."

"Thinking’s dangerous for people like you," Bill mutters.

Frank snickers. "She’s brooding. It’s about her girl, isn’t it?"

Ellie glares. "I don’t brood."

Bill just stares.

Ellie groans, running a hand down her face. "Fine. Whatever. Yeah, it’s about her. It’s always about her."

Frank’s smile softens. "That’s a good thing, you know."

Bill grunts. "Not if she keeps sittin’ here mopin’ instead of just doin’ something about it."

Ellie blinks. "I—what? I have done something about it!"

"Yeah?" Bill raises an eyebrow. "Then why are you still sittin’ here like a kicked puppy?"

Ellie grumbles under her breath.

Frank laughs. "Look, kid. If she forgave you, then let yourself be happy. Don’t waste time waiting for the other shoe to drop. Just… be good to her."

Bill nods. "And don’t fuck it up again."

Ellie snorts. "Yeah. Got it."

But deep down, she knows—she won’t.

12. A Home, Not Just a House

It’s late. The house is quiet, save for the sound of rain tapping against the window.

Ellie lies awake, staring at the ceiling. Then, slowly, she turns—and there you are.

Asleep, peaceful, curled up under the blankets.

Ellie’s heart clenches.

She reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"I love you," she whispers.

You stir slightly, eyes barely opening. "Mmm?"

Ellie freezes. "Go back to sleep."

You blink sleepily at her, then smile. Soft. Safe. Home.

"Love you too," you mumble, before nuzzling into her warmth.

Ellie lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

For the first time in a long while, everything feels exactly as it should be.

13. The First Argument (And How They Fix It)

It happens over something stupid.

Ellie forgets to tell you she’s going out on patrol. You wake up to an empty house, her side of the bed cold, and panic sets in.

By the time she gets back, soaked from the rain, tired, and completely unaware of your frustration, you’re pacing the kitchen, arms crossed tight.

"Where the hell were you?" Your voice is sharp, edged with worry.

Ellie blinks. "Uh… patrol?"

"You didn’t tell me."

Ellie furrows her brow, setting down her damp jacket. "Didn’t think I had to. I go all the time."

"Yeah, and usually you say something before you leave."

Ellie scoffs. "Jesus, I didn’t realize I had to check in like a fucking kid."

You flinch. It’s subtle, but Ellie sees it—and immediately regrets it.

You shake your head, stepping back. "That’s not what this is about."

Ellie sighs, rubbing a hand down her face. "Look, I was already late to meet Jesse, and I didn’t wanna wake you. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal."

"Ellie, I woke up and you were gone. No note, nothing. You know what my first thought was? That something happened. That maybe you—" You swallow hard. "That maybe I lost you."

Ellie’s stomach drops.

She’s so used to thinking about protecting you, keeping you safe, that it never really hit her how much you worry about her too.

She steps closer, hands hovering near your arms but not touching, not yet.

"Baby." Her voice is softer now. "I’m sorry."

You look away, jaw tight. "You scared me."

14. The Interventions Begin

Ellie hates herself for this.

The air is still tense when there’s a knock at the door. Before either of you can react, it swings open, and Jesse steps in, soaked from the same rain as Ellie.

"Oh, good. She’s alive. Thought I was gonna have to find her body on your floor." Jesse pauses, taking in the atmosphere. "Whoa. You two fighting? That’s rare."

"Not helping," Ellie mutters.

"You forgot to tell her, didn't you?" Jesse shakes his head, sighing. "Ellie, man, how are you still making rookie mistakes?"

Ellie glares. "Can you go?"

"Oh, hell no." Jesse grins. "I’m staying for this. Go on, continue. I love a good domestic dispute."

Ellie shoots him a look of pure exhaustion, and you cross your arms. "Jesse, get out."

"Fine, fine." He throws his hands up, backing toward the door. "But if you two break up, I got dibs on her."

Ellie nearly lunges at him.

"Kidding! Kidding!" Jesse laughs, shutting the door behind him.

Ellie turns back to you, guilt creeping up her spine all over again.

"I promise—I won’t do that again. I’ll always tell you."

You hesitate, but finally nod.

15. Bill and Frank Give Their (Unsolicited) Advice

Later that evening, you’re at Bill and Frank’s place. You’re still a little distant, curling into Frank’s side on the couch while he rubs your back. Bill is pacing in the kitchen, arms crossed.

"She didn't tell you where she was going?" Bill repeats, his voice sharp.

You shake your head. "Not a word."

Bill scowls. "Oh, she's an idiot."

"Bill," Frank warns gently.

"No, no, I'm serious." Bill gestures wildly. "That girl would riot if you left the house without telling her where you were going. She’d have the whole town on red alert looking for you."

"Yeah, well," you mumble, "she thinks I’m overreacting."

Frank sighs, squeezing your shoulder. "She’s just being dumb, sweetheart. She doesn’t like feeling like she messed up."

Bill scoffs. "Well, she did."

Frank shakes his head. "You love her, though, don’t you?"

Your lips press together. Then, finally: "Yeah. Of course I do."

Bill groans. "Then I guess you have to forgive her. Eventually."

Frank smirks, nudging you. "Make her suffer a little first, though. Just for fun."

That actually makes you laugh.

16. The (Proper) Apology

By the time you get home, Ellie is waiting on the porch, hands in her hoodie pockets, looking like a kicked puppy.

As soon as she sees you, she springs up.

"Baby," she blurts, talking too fast. "Listen, I was a dumbass. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t important enough to tell. You’re literally—fuck, you’re the most important thing in my life, okay? I hate that I made you feel otherwise."

Your arms stay crossed.

Ellie rubs the back of her neck, shifting nervously. "I went to talk to Joel, and he said if I ever do it again, he’s gonna ‘knock some goddamn sense into me.’"

You almost smile at that.

"And Bill and Frank?" Ellie grimaces. "Bill called me an idiot about ten times. Frank told me to grovel. So, here I am. Groveling."

She suddenly drops to her knees.

You stare. "Ellie—"

"I beg for your forgiveness, oh love of my life," Ellie declares dramatically. "Smite me not, for I am but a humble fool."

You try to stay mad. You really do. But she looks so ridiculous, soaking wet, on her knees in front of you, pleading like a medieval knight.

Your lips twitch.

Ellie sees it. "Ah-ha! You’re smiling!"

You roll your eyes, sighing. "You’re lucky I love you."

Ellie grins, springing up. "Yeah?"

You shake your head, pretending to be exasperated. "Yeah."

Ellie cups your face, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. "I love you more."

You pretend to consider. "Mm. Debatable."

Ellie groans. "Oh, come on—"

You laugh, pulling her inside, shutting the door behind you.

(She never forgets to tell you again.)

17. When It’s Your Fault (And How You Fix It)

It’s bound to happen eventually.

You and Ellie don’t fight often, but when you do, it’s usually her messing up—her being thoughtless, her forgetting to tell you something, her running her mouth.

But this time?

It’s on you.

18. The Mistake

It’s late when Ellie comes home from patrol, soaked, exhausted, and clearly having had a rough day.

You’re supposed to be home, waiting for her. That’s the plan. That’s always the plan.

Instead?

You’re not there.

She checks everywhere. Your house. The stables. The Tipsy Bison. Nowhere.

And just as worry is sinking into her bones—

"Hey, have you seen—"

"Oh, your girl?" Jesse cuts in, amused. "She’s at Bill and Frank’s. Didn’t she tell you?"

Ellie stops cold. "What?"

"Yeah, I saw her heading over earlier. Thought you knew."

Ellie frowns.

You didn’t tell her.

After everything you just fought about a few weeks ago—**after she promised she’d always tell you where she was going—**you just… forgot?

And oh, does it piss her off.

19. The Fallout

You’re sitting at Bill and Frank’s when the door slams open.

Ellie steps inside, dripping wet, pissed off, eyes locked on you.

"Ellie—"

"Really?" Her voice is sharp. "Really, Bunny?"

You blink. "What?"

She laughs dryly. "Oh, don’t ‘what’ me. You know what."

Bill and Frank exchange looks.

"Do we need to leave?" Frank asks, already standing.

"No," Ellie snaps. "Actually, stay. Maybe you two would like to hear how my girlfriend completely ignored our last fight and pulled the same shit on me."

You stiffen. "Ellie, come on, it’s not the same—"

"Not the same?" She scoffs. "You lost your mind when I forgot to tell you I was leaving. You said you panicked. You said it scared you. But when it’s me worrying? Oh, that doesn’t matter, right?"

Your stomach twists.

You didn’t mean to do it. You just got caught up in talking to Frank and completely forgot. But the way Ellie is looking at you?

Like you let her down?

It hurts.

20. Bill and Frank Weigh In (Again)

"Okay, I’m stepping in," Bill interrupts. "Ellie, sit down before you pass out."

Ellie glares, but she does.

Frank leans forward. "Sweetheart," he says to you gently. "You really didn’t tell her?"

You shake your head, feeling small. "I forgot."

"You forgot?" Bill snorts. "You almost took her head off when she forgot."

You wince. "I know."

Frank rubs your shoulder. "You didn’t mean to, but Ellie’s allowed to be upset."

You nod, glancing at her. "I know."

Ellie exhales, scrubbing a hand over her face. Her anger is fading, but the hurt is still there.

Frank nudges Bill. "We should give them space."

"I was enjoying this," Bill grumbles, but he stands anyway.

Before they go, Bill leans toward you. "Apologize. Properly."

Then they’re gone, leaving just you and Ellie.

21. The (Proper) Apology

You sigh, looking at Ellie. "I really am sorry."

Ellie crosses her arms. "Then why’d you do it?"

"I wasn’t thinking. I was talking to Frank, and I just… forgot." You shake your head. "It’s not an excuse, but I swear, it wasn’t intentional."

Ellie exhales, her frustration starting to thaw. "I just—fuck, Bunny. The second I realized you weren’t home, my heart fucking dropped. I thought something happened. Thought I lost you."

You pause.

That’s exactly how you felt when she forgot to tell you.

Your chest tightens. You stand, moving toward her.

"I’m sorry," you say softly. "I hate that I made you feel like that."

Ellie finally uncrosses her arms. "Just—just don’t do it again, okay?"

You nod, stepping closer. "I won’t."

She sighs, pulling you in. "We good?"

You wrap your arms around her. "We’re good."

Ellie kisses your forehead, grumbling, "Next time, I’m putting a tracker on you."

You laugh, hugging her tighter.

(And you never forget to tell her again.)

22. Making It Up to Her (A.K.A. The Cutest Date Night Ever)

A simple apology isn't enough—not for you.

You want Ellie to know how sorry you are. You want to show her just how much she means to you.

So, you come up with a plan.

23. The Setup

It takes a full day of preparation.

You rope in Dina and Jesse first, mostly because Dina loves this kind of thing and Jesse is just along for the ride.

"A date night?" Dina smirks, arms crossed. "To make up for your screw-up?"

"She’s pulling a ‘grand romantic gesture,’" Jesse teases.

You huff. "I just want to do something nice for her."

Dina grins. "Then let’s do this."

Next, you visit Maria and Tommy—because you need a place to set it up.

Maria listens, nodding slowly. "So, let me get this straight—you want to set up some fancy-ass date for Ellie?"

You nod.

Maria exchanges a glance with Tommy, then shrugs. "Alright, let’s make it happen."

Finally, you head to Bill and Frank.

Frank is instantly on board. "Oh, this is adorable. Let’s plan a menu."

Bill, as expected, is grumpy about it. "Why the hell are we all getting involved in their date?"

"Because it’s cute," Frank insists.

"It’s dumb," Bill mutters, but you see the small smirk he’s trying to hide.

24. The Date Night

When Ellie arrives, she’s confused as hell.

"Bunny, what the—"

You grab her hand, grinning. "Just trust me, okay?"

She raises a brow but follows.

The setup is perfect.

Fairy lights drape the wooden beams of the barn. Candles flicker. The table is set with a full dinner—one that you helped Frank cook.

And watching from afar?

Dina, Jesse, Joel, Bill, Frank, Maria, and Tommy.

They’re all hiding behind barrels, fences, and window frames—watching like it’s a damn movie.

"Oh my god," Ellie breathes, looking around. "Babe, did you do all this?"

You nod. "Wanted to make it up to you."

Ellie stares at you—really looks at you.

Then, she smirks.

"You know," she teases, "this is kinda whipped behavior."

From their hiding spot, Jesse stifles a laugh. "She admits it!"

Bill groans. "Jesus Christ."

Joel snorts. "I coulda told you that years ago."

Ellie ignores them, cupping your face. "I love you."

You beam. "Love you more."

She kisses you, slow and sweet.

And from behind you, a chorus of voices yell—

"Finally!"

"Get a room!"

"We set all this up for one kiss?!"

You both laugh, and Ellie pulls you closer.

Tonight?

Yeah.

She’s never loved you more.

25. The Date – Ellie Sees How Sorry You Really Are

Ellie watches you all night.

Not in a casual, playful way. Not in the way she usually does, where she’s smirking like she just won the lottery because she gets to call you hers.

Tonight, she watches you like she’s seeing you for the first time.

And what she sees?

You’re nervous.

Your fingers fidget with the edge of the tablecloth, smoothing and re-smoothing a wrinkle that isn’t even there. You keep glancing at her, then away, like you’re scared of something.

Ellie’s heart tightens.

She realizes—this isn’t just a date to you.

It’s an apology. A real one.

Not because she demanded it. Not because you were afraid she’d leave.

But because you love her that much.

She sets down her fork.

"Babe."

You freeze mid-cut, staring at her.

"Come here."

You blink, confused. "What?"

She just holds out her arms. "Come here."

You hesitate, but eventually, you get up and sit on her lap, your arms around her neck.

Ellie breathes you in.

"You know I forgive you, right?" she murmurs.

You nod against her. "I just—I wanted to do something nice. To make it up to you."

Ellie chuckles softly, pulling back to look at you.

"You didn’t have to do all this, Bunny."

"I wanted to," you insist.

Ellie searches your face. "You always do that. Try to make everything better, even when I don’t ask you to."

Your voice is small. "Because I love you."

That does it.

Ellie tilts your chin up, kisses you slow and deep, and lets herself fall all over again.

Behind you, someone—probably **Jesse—**snickers, "Okay, yeah, this is cute, but is anyone actually gonna eat?"

Dina throws a roll at him.

Bill groans. "For the love of—just marry her already."

Frank grins. "Give them time."

Ellie just presses her forehead to yours.

"Let’s eat, yeah?"

And this time, you smile for real.

Ellie recovers quickly, a slow, cocky smirk pulling at her lips as she leans back in her chair, arms still wrapped around your waist.

She tilts her head at you, eyes soft but teasing.

"Oh, I’ve thought about it," she says smoothly, her voice low and certain. "And when I do it, it’s gonna be perfect. Just gotta make sure our favorite girl here is ready to be stuck with me forever."

You feel your face heat up instantly.

Dina lets out a dramatic gasp. Jesse fake wipes a tear.

Bill just grunts, unimpressed. "Took you long enough to say it."

Frank beams. "Oh, she’s a goner."

Ellie just grins against your cheek, whispering so only you can hear: "Whenever you want me, Bunny. You just say the word."

You grin, eyes locked onto Ellie’s as you lean in just a little, voice dropping into something sweet and dangerous all at once.

"Oh, baby… you really think I’m not already planning how I’m gonna say yes?"

Ellie’s smirk drops. Her breath catches.

Across the table, Joel chokes so hard on his drink that Tommy has to slap his back.

"Jesus Christ, kid!" Joel wheezes.

Tommy, still coughing, gapes at you. "The hell kinda smooth talkin’ was that?!"

Dina and Jesse erupt into laughter, absolutely losing their minds.

Frank? Frank just leans back with a satisfied smile. "Told you. Goner."

Bill shakes his head, grumbling as he takes a sip of his drink. "You two are gonna make me sick."

Ellie?

Ellie just stares at you, like she’s about two seconds away from dragging you out of there and proving just how much of a goner she really is.

Ellie finally blinks, her face so red it nearly matches the Tipsy Bison’s lantern lights. She leans in closer, voice low, teasing but just a little breathless.

"That right, Bunny?" she murmurs, thumb brushing your jaw. "You already got your answer, huh? Should I be worried, or should I be flattered?"

You pretend to think, tilting your head. "Mmm… depends. You planning on making it worth my while?"

Ellie groans, dropping her head against your shoulder, laughing through her flustered state. "You’re gonna kill me, I swear."

Joel, still recovering, wipes his mouth aggressively. "I’m gonna need a damn drink to deal with this."

Tommy nods. "Two."

Dina and Jesse are howling, Jesse literally clutching his stomach.

Frank just sips his drink, grinning. "Oh, she’s got you whipped, alright."

Ellie lifts her head, smirking now, because for the first time in her life—she doesn’t mind hearing it.

"Damn right, I am."

As a new writer on Tumblr, I really appreciate feedback! Please know I love receiving follows, comments, reblogs and likes! it makes me happy knowing my work is appreciated.

[bewitched-bullet]

The most unholist of breads made me do it, officer, I swear

[icewindandboringhorror]

On average, what is the total MONTHLY amount that you spend on dining out*?

*(This doesn't only count going out to restaurants, but also stuff like picking up fast food to bring home, getting a coffee on the way to work, getting a premade sandwich from a grocery store deli during lunch, buying a quick snack from a convenience store or food cart whilst walking somewhere, ordering a pizza or any other food to be delivered to your home, etc.)

*(If you often dine out in groups/as a household: calculate and divide the costs so that you get a Per Person average. This is for YOU individually, NOT the total household/group costs)

(I'm sure polls similar to this have been made before (very common topic), I just haven't personally seen one that I can remember, so, I was curious to do my own! I was discussing this with a group of people today and it was very interesting to see how widely the number varied between individuals. :0c )

(Reblog for bigger sample size if you can, and feel free to explain your answer in tags if there's anything extra to add!)

[keeps-ache]

buttered noodles 💫💛🍜

[found--family]

they couldn't let cesar and jesse return bc they would've taken one look at dean and cas interacting and known they had it bad for each other

[bogkeep]

first week back at school and ahhhhhh everything is a little overwhelming currently

- my living space is full of boxes i have simply not had the energy to unpack at all.... hopefully this weekend (but i have also been invited to a Social Event so WE SHALL SEE)

- this school year is going to have So Much Important Stuff happening inbetween the many weeks of practice placement

- such as The Academic Text

- AND i need to finish the big project i was supposed to have finished ages ago

- our teacher this year speaks swedish with a very thick french accent and i speak norwegian with a dialect, we really struggle to understand one another but maybe hopefully that will change over time.... please...........

- i'm stressed about Stupid Bureaucracy Stuff

- and im so so sleepytired :(((

- and it's too humid and warm for comfort :(((((

AT LEAST I HAVE CUTE SOCKS

purchased in a distraught jetlag haze and subsidized by my travel insurance. they're my favourites now

[tardis--dreams]

Some of those doctors make hating oat milk their entire personality. I hate them. Cannot pretend to find them funny or like i give a shit. Fucking pretentious assholes