#staggering scribbles

[staggeringbeast]

tweel hcs yayyyy!!!!

[kiwinatorwaffles]

hey now, you're all all star! ⭐

friendly fire against my friend @ladycreator!!

[kabr0ztrousers]

What about a fem waitress/teacher/nurse/other service centered job that is being haunted by a horny exhibitionist ghost that will only touch them in public.

Bonus points if reader gets lured (either fed up with the torment or too cockdrunk to care) into releasing all of the ghost's friends for a ghost orgy

Kabr0z Writes Episode 39: Haunting

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: ghosts; public use; noncon; free use; creampie; group sex; possession; pregnancy mention

A/N: Back to requests today, and back to ghosts too, which I'm sure is welcome news to some of you

As always, if you have any requests for any situations, kinks, or revisits then please drop me a DM asking for what you want and I'll most likely write it sooner or later

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The café was always a little haunted, the odd thing moving here or there, the occasional flickering of the lights, unexplained cold spots, nothing major. That was, of course, until Othello turned up.

You weren't sure what was happening at first, it was a normal shift waiting tables, taking orders, business as usual. You bent over to clean a table when a hand cupped your ass. When you turned to confront whoever touched you, nobody was there. You shrugged and carried on working, maybe you imagined it? A couple of hours later you were working the cash register and felt something squeezing your tits, pinching the nipples through your bra. That's when you realised this was probably a ghost.

You shook yourself. Whoever it is, they're probably not going to be around long, and it's hardly the first time someone's been a bit handsy with you. You do work hospitality after all.

You ran off a little of the receipt paper and jotted down your question: "Who are you?"

Setting the pen and paper aside, you got back to it. You even got a few minutes of reprieve as well before spectral hands started stroking your waist, one unclasping your bra as you walked back behind the counter. In a neat copperplate hand, the spirit had answered your question. Its name was Othello.

There wasn't time to dwell on it, the lunchtime rush was about to start.

Your first couple of tables were fine. It's amazing how quickly you adapt to the roving hands of the unqiet dead when you have to. The next one was a little trickier.

The hands started off squeezing your ass, but one slid around your front and pressed up against your pussy. You felt your skin redden as you started to trip over your words. The men on the table looked quizzically at you, but didn't say anything. The other hand started feeling your cunt too, spectral fingers parting the lips of your pussy as more lazily toyed with your clit. You dropped your pen, crouching to pick it up. Your reward was for two fingers to push inside, immediately aiming for your g-spot as the the ghost continued to abuse your clit.

You bit your tongue to stifle a yelp, only half-succeeding. The men were definitely staring at you now as you half-waddled away from their table, conscious of the arousal dripping from you, soaking your underwear and running down your leg.

You scribbled another message "knock it off, asshole" putting down the paper and walking away.

The fingers came back almost immediately. You felt a hand trace two letters on your back. "No"

The rest of the rush was a stagger, taking every measure of your composure not to give in to the insistent hands rubbing your cunt, pushing fingers into you, toying constantly with your clit. You lasted most of the way through, only one table left before you could lock the door, take a break and recover yourself. A couple of men who work in a nearby office block, one blonde, one dark haired.

You took their order, face burning up and voice quivering. You could hear a wet stirring sound coming from your cunt and smell yourself, the way they were looking at you made you think they could too. Pushing the thought to the back of your mind, you turned to ring up their order. Othello tripped you, sending you sprawling. Your concentration lapsed a moment, letting a moan escape your lips and your back arch, showing your soaked panties to the two men.

You heard them get up before you scurried away into a back room, locking the door behind you. A semi-transparent figure hung there, glowing softly in the dark room.

"What's the big idea?" You spat at the ghost "Who knows what they would've done?"

"I wanted to get you alone" His voice sounded like he was at the bottom of a deep, dry well "Look in the box"

You looked where he was pointing, the lost and found box. On the top, nested on a hoodie someone had left a month ago, was a heart-shaped silver locket. You picked it up, the smooth metal much colder on your skin than it should be

"Open it" Othello's excited voice called to you from just over your shoulder

You unfastened the clasp, the locket fell open. A faintly-glowing cloud poured from it, flowing into Othello and forming two more spectres beside him. All three of them were much more visible now: three men, each around six feet tall. One reached out and opened the door behind you as another pushed you out. The light of the café made them hard to see, but their hands were solid as they manhandled you to a table. The office workers stared at you as the ghosts bent you over the table, pulling your soaked underwear to one side and hiking up your skirt.

The first ghost lined himself up with your cunt and forced his cock inside. Their laughter filled the room as he mercilessly pounded you, each thrust forcing a yelp out of you.

You could hear the other men walking over, moving slowly as the ghost fucked you, clearly not sure what they were seeing. They stood behind you, watching as the first ghost reached his orgasm, pumping his load into you before stepping aside for the next.

The second ghost wasn't any gentler, forcing himself into you using the first one's cum as lube, pressing his fingers into your clit and rubbing you to an orgasm around him as he buried himself in you. The office workers walked around the table to where your head lay, the edge rubbing on your cheek bone.

They got their cocks out and forced your mouth open, taking turns fucking your face and groping the sides of your tits as the ghosts held you down. The second ghost finished in you and the third took his place as the two men kept your mouth busy. This ghost took his time, running his hands over your waist and your hips, feeling every inch of your skin as he rutted into you. The office workers were getting close, you could taste the precum flowing out of them as they alternated thrusting down your throat. The dark haired one held you down. You gagged as he filled your mouth with cum, thrusting down into you for good measure, despite already being balls-deep. You gasped for breath when he pulled out, only for the blonde one to do the same, roughly fucking your throat until he pulled out and painted your face with it, slathering you with a mix of spit and semen. They put themselves away and left before the ghost and finished, making sure to be gone before you could get up.

You felt the ghost start throbbing inside you, pulsing his cum into your punished womb, mingling with his friends.

They left you on the table when they'd finished. Your legs shaking, tears and cum in your eyes. Othello pulled you up from the table, holding you from behind as another placed the locket around your neck.

You felt as though you were watching a film. You could still see everything, hear, touch, taste, but your movements weren't yours any more. You watched as you removed the stained and sodden knickers from between your legs. Your body moved unbidden, leaving the café and locking the door behind you. Your lungs filled with the outside air as you watched yourself walk down the street

"Don't worry" Othello's voice sounded in your head "We'll give your body back, just maybe a little more pregnant"

#######################################

A/N: Not sure how well this one turned out, but there's certainly room to expand this if needed.

Once again, any requests will probably be written, so if you want something: drop me an ask or a DM and I'll do what I can!

[pathologicalreid]

Heyy dunno if this is something you’d consider writing but I just saw an edit of Spencer and it made me realize we don’t really go into how he essentially relapsed when he was drugged in Mexico and now I need to see this in writing I don’t necessarily have a prompt but something along the lines of just having a convo with him or comforting him? 🫶🏼

the ninth step | S.R.

spencer works to make amends after mexico, and he's starting with you

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst; hurt/comfort content warnings: drug use, narcotics anonymous, spoilers for 2x15 "revelations", spoilers for 12x13 "spencer", substance use disorder, fiancee!reader, the ninth step is amends, a lot of crying, only a little proofread word count: 1.11k a/n: you say no prompt and i say free reign!!! i think about spencer in mexico all the time so thank you sooo much for this request!

The only time anyone could find Spencer Reid in a church was when he was in a meeting.

As usual, you waited out front on one of the benches, leaning your elbow on the iron armrest as you kept your notebook balanced on your thigh, scribbling notes down as you waited for Spencer to come out and meet you.

Members of his group left the church in staggered variations of people, some left together to get coffee after, some left alone, and one didn’t leave at all. A few of them acknowledged you as they passed, but no one mentioned your fiancé.

Once your car was the last one remaining in the parking lot, you slipped your notebook into your bag before hauling it over your shoulder and standing up. Wiping off the back of your jeans, you walked through the front doors, noting the way the stained-glass windows refracted the remaining sunlight on the linoleum floor.

Knowing the pathway, you walked over to the meeting room, a space reserved for youth groups, Sunday school, and Narcotics Anonymous meetings. With the space vacated, the only sound was the tapping of your shoes as you passed through the doorway, and just as you had assumed, Spencer was the only person remaining in the windowless room.

He didn’t move as you approached him, sticking your hands in your jeans pockets as you silently assessed the despondent look on his face. “How are you?” You asked softly, tilting your head to the side.

“I’m just sitting,” he mumbled, it wouldn’t have been intelligible if you didn’t have years of practice understanding him and his mumbles. His old NA group had disbanded years ago, and you were glad to find this one close to your apartment.

Nodding understandingly, you took one more step closer to him, “Can I sit with you?”

Brown eyes flickered up at you just then as he seemingly considered your offer, “Yeah.”

Looking around, you hooked your ankle around the leg of an empty, gray folding chair and dragged it across the floor until it was next to Spencer.  Setting your bag on the floor, you took your seat.

For a while, you sat in silence. For a while, that was enough.

After a couple of minutes, your silence was broken when Spencer finally moved, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, and your chest ached when slowly, his shoulders started to shake.

Getting out of your chair, you crouched in front of him, keeping your hands resting on your knees as you looked up at him, “Can I get you anything?” You asked, keeping your voice level as emotion threatened to take over.

You had known that today wasn’t going to be a good day from the moment Spencer asked you to drive him to the meeting. He asked you to take him because he was afraid that he wouldn’t make it there on his own, and at the time, you hadn’t even dared to consider the implications of what that meant for him.

Spencer’s hands fell to his lap, and you eyed him carefully as he took a deep breath. His eyes were bloodshot and watery as he looked at you just as intently – there was a dam built between the two of you, and there had been since he came home.

Things had changed. That much was clear to you ever since he came home to you and said the word out loud. A word that had seemed foreign in your household until it became a reality. You continuously had to remind yourself that you weren’t in this situation because of a decision he had made, you were here before of a choice that someone else had made for him.

It churned your stomach to see him knocked back down to day one. Six months later, you were here, in this denominational building, silently pleading with him to say something to you.

Holding your breath, Spencer reached his hands out, taking both of yours in his, “I’m so sorry.”

Your shoulders drooped. We don’t have to do this here, you wanted to tell him, but that’s not what he needed right now. Gently, you squeezed his hands in a comforting gesture, “I know you are, baby.”

“We…” he whispered, “Our lives should look a lot different right now.” He said, moving a finger and tapping the engagement ring on your left hand.

A previously planned wedding day had come and gone, Spencer had been in Millburn, and you spent the day on the couch in Emily’s office.

Refusing to disconnect your hands, Spencer wiped his face on his arm, the motion bringing a minuscule smile to your face. “I shouldn’t have gone to Mexico. I should’ve been more honest with you about where I had been going and what I was doing, and I know that now.”

You looked up at him, maintaining eye contact with him. He was trying to make amends with you.

“I know that there’s no amount of apologizing or groveling that can fully make up for everything you’ve lost because of me, but for as long as you keep having me, I’ll spend all of my days trying to make up for all of this,” he lamented, keeping his clammy hands clasped around yours. “Actions speak louder than words, that’s true, especially with amends, and… I’m trying.”

Spencer followed the NA handbook to the very finest minutiae, he stayed away from anything that his substance use disorder could cling onto, and as his voice broke and tears made pathways on his cheeks, you wanted to tell him that you saw him. You noticed every effort he made, but all you could do was cry in time with him.

Disconnecting your hands, he reached out and wiped away your tears before cupping both of your cheeks in his hands, “I’m never going to stop trying for you, Y/N.”

Your lips parted as you wandered the depths of your mind for something adequate to tell him, but nothing came out.

“All of the sacrifices that you’ve made in the name of the life that I messed up, I see them all. I think about them all the time and if there’s ever anything you need from me, just tell me, okay?” He implored, lifting your chin and gently guiding you up, pulling you toward him until you were sat with your legs perpendicular on his lap.

You let loose a shaky sigh, leaning your head and settling it on his shoulder, “Thank you,” you whispered, closing your eyes as he wrapped his arms around your torso, keeping you close to him.

[sunskisser]

STRICTLY BUSINESS — BUCKY BARNES

⭑ congressman!bucky x stripper!reader — wc 2.8k

⭑ summary: you're bucky's informant, strictly a business partner. nothing more, right?

⭑ cw: not nsfw but a few mentions of the word sex, fluff, hurt/comfort, bucky is a gentleman

This is louder than what he’s used to, much louder.

Neon signs and posters of sex icons lined the graffitied walls, air reeking of smoke, weed, and booze. Groups of drunkards staggered this way and that, and Bucky skilfully swerved to avoid getting into fights he didn’t have time for.

Poppy music blasted from clubs and bars, a harsh contrast to the sounds of throwing up and making out — dirty people being dirty all over the streets.

Bucky kept his vision focussed straight ahead, taking it all in from his peripherals. He looked sort of strange in his suit, like an animal out of its natural habitat — he was surrounded by people in skimpy skirts and shiny tights. But he’s done this far too many times to care.

The door to the strip club creaked as Bucky pushed it open. It was darker here than it was outside, the only source of illumination being the disco lights gliding around in time with the sensual music.

A performance was ongoing, some woman in a tight corset and sparkling panties moving around the stage seductively. It seemed these were her final pieces of clothing; dollar bills lay all over the stage, a mini skirt and top discarded. Bucky didn’t spare the scene a glance.

He approaches the counter, handing the receptionist the small wad of cash. “My usual room.”

She nods mindlessly, taking the money and computing it. Bucky doesn’t wait for her to lead him there, turning on his heel and making his way to the private rooms at the far end of the club.

He thinks he’s done a pretty great job of convincing the staff of his credibility so far. In this club, he’s just a depressed widow desperate for sex. And they believe he’s a regular of your room, either because: a. he’s stupidly fallen in love with you, or b. you’re the only one who fulfills his desires. Either way, the managers don’t care — to them, he’s just a horny man helping in paying their bills.

Bucky knocks on your door, hearing your quiet grunt as an invitation as he turns the knob. Cold air hits him as soon as he enters the small room, the small disco ball above glinting with light.

His eyes land on you immediately, casually sprawled out on the bright red cushioning lining the circumference of the room. Your glance up at him. “Hey, handsome,” you grin.

Bucky can never tell with you. You’re surprisingly nice for a business deal, funny and flirty and incredibly lovely. Maybe you’re trying to seduce him, but that isn’t something you’d do, he thinks. He’d like to think he knows you well enough for that.

You’d been Bucky’s informant for a couple of months now, a pair of eyes and ears on the inside. He’d gotten a tip about Valentina some time ago, and had been on her trail. Everybody knew of this area, this club — especially Valentina’s men, who were regular customers. Bucky paid you to get whatever information you could and convey it to him on his weekly visits.

“Hi,” he mutters, unintentionally softening. He clears his throat, taking a seat a comfortable distance away before unbuttoning his suit. “What have you got for me?”

He can’t help but notice how you wince as you sit up. He won’t mention it, doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But he can’t deny the pang of concern that shoots through him, seeing you exhale through gritted teeth. Yet, you still have that stupid smile plastered on your face.

You hand him a file. “This is all I got,” you explain as he looks over pages of your hand-written scribbles, bits and pieces of information you’d managed to pick up. “She’s planning something with all the misfits that work for her, I think. Probably trying to get rid of them.”

Bucky hums in acknowledgment. He’s only half-listening, eyes flitting up to you every two seconds as he flips through the pages. He’s observant; he notices the subtle way your palm is splayed over your thigh, the short breaths escaping your lips. You look pained.

He knows he’s not supposed to care. 

“Strictly business,” you’d grinned with a wink when he first asked you for help. “I’m not giving you any services, handsome. Zero, nil, nada.”

“Strictly business,” he’d agreed, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Don’t worry. I’d never want your… ‘services.’”

You pouted teasingly. “Why not? Not pretty enough?”

All he’d responded with was an eye-roll, clearly meaning to say, ‘you know that’s not true.’

But he couldn’t help but care, worry about you. He couldn’t pretend not to know what happened behind these doors; legal services and illegal intercourse. The thought made something in his heart twinge. He knew how dangerous your job was, how much more danger you put yourself in just for him.

Bucky could hide behind nonchalance, peel off a layer and you’d find concern — but most of all, he felt anger. Anger on your behalf. Anger that you could sit here, looking so beautiful in all your pretty clothes and glowing makeup and softness, and all those perverts could think of was to pleasure you — or worse — themselves. 

Anger that he couldn’t be the one to hold you, to curl you up in his arms and never let you go. He couldn’t trace your lips, your sweet smile. Those lovely eyes which crinkled at the corners when you laughed, that heavenly body which deserved to be worshipped; not used and thrown away like a sex toy. Bucky couldn’t love you the way you deserved.

You arch an eyebrow as you catch him staring. 

“What?” you tilt your head to the side playfully. “Something wrong with how I look today?”

“Of course not,” he murmurs, eyes trailing over you from head to toe. Not hungry, not ravenous. Concerned, trying to spot where you’d been hurting. He sees it again — the way you hide the same area on your thigh, almost self-consciously.

“You’re hurt,” Bucky says bluntly, gaze moving upwards to meet yours. He tries to hide the worry in his tone, for both his sake and yours.

A flash of surprise flits across your face for a second, before you’re back to your usual collected self. 

“I’m fine,” you say airily. It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.

“Y/n.” He sighs, unconvinced. “You don’t have to hide it.” He reaches out like he means to touch you, then retracts immediately when he realises what he’s doing. He can’t.

You pretend not to notice. “I said I’m fine,” you reply curtly, smile still present but significantly smaller. “I’m all good.”

“You’re not. You’re in pain.”

“I’m not in pain, Congressman Barnes,” you reply sharply, sucking in a stilted breath. Bucky bristles. 

You swallow. “Sorry,” you mutter before he can respond. You rub your eyes, deflating. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped, I’m sorry. But you can’t… you can’t do this.”

He frowns. “Do what?”

“This,” you gesture between the both of you, almost apologetic. You hesitate, swallow. “You can’t… pretend to care. It’s not going to get you anywhere. I’m not —“ you inhale, blurt out what you’ve been thinking all this while, “ — I’m not gonna have sex with you, or whatever you want me to do. I can’t.”

Your voice cracks at that last syllable, and Bucky’s heart breaks with it. You don’t have to say it, it’s written all over your face, it’s in your glossy eyes — you feel hurt, betrayed. You think that the one man who’s never seen you as an object has changed his mind.

Bucky’s face contorts almost sadly, an ache tugging on his heartstrings. “Is that what you think this is about? You think I’m asking ‘cos I want your services?”

“Don’t you?”

“No,” he murmurs immediately, tone a colour of fond upset. He reaches out to smooth his palm over your forearm. When you don’t pull away, he presses his thumb into your skin, his way of reassurance. “No, that’s not what this is about. I’m asking because I’m worried about you, doll.”

“So you don’t just wanna have sex with me?” you ask again dumbly, head tilted in confusion.

Bucky can’t help but to indulge you. You poor, lovely girl, so used to being taken advantage of that you can’t fathom what it means to be cared for, to be loved by a man. Maybe loved is too strong a word, but seeing the look on your face right now, Bucky thinks he might just be in love with you.

He shakes his head, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “No, I’m not doing this to have sex with you.”

You blink, perplexed. It’s almost like you’re struggling to believe it. You take a deep inhale, letting it out through pursed lips. Bucky watches you do it a couple more times before looking at him.

He doesn’t push you, doesn’t snap. He just waits for you to speak, looking at you — through you with those soft, dark eyes.

“Wow,” you mumble after a moment, expression a mix of awe and relief as your eyes lock on his, visibly softening. Your heart’s a riot. “Wow, um… okay,” you say again stupidly. “Okay, I really didn’t think so. I’m sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head, chest hurting with affection. “Nothing to apologise for, doll.” He moves his palm down to your hand, letting your fingers fill the spaces between his. “Where are you hurt?”

The softness of his voice makes you want to melt into the plush couch. Your other hand brushes over the purplish-black bruise on your thigh, eyes flitting down to it. “Here.”

“Can I have a look?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. It’s hard to say no when he’s asking you so genuinely, so nicely.

Bucky kneels down beside you, hand leaving yours as his fingers move to hover over the bruise. Your skin misses his touch already.

It was strange, a suited congressman kneeling in front of a stripper. You think it might make a great poster.

He traces the injury with his index finger, frowning when you wince. For a moment, he doesn’t say a thing, he just observes it.

The suspense gets to you. Bucky can feel you tense up under his touch, anxious. He pats your other knee through the fabric of your fishnets.

“What happened?” he asks gently, a hint of concern and protectiveness in his tone. His gaze is still fixed on your bruise, like it’s physically hurting him to see you injured. “Who did this to you?”

You grimace, feeling your cheeks start to heat up. “No one.”

Bucky looks up at you with pinched brows and upturned lips. There’s the slightest bit of rage in the way he’s looking at you — though you know it’s not towards you, but for you. You’re suddenly acutely aware of how stupid you’re going to sound.

You let out a small, sheepish laugh, and his expression lets up a little. “It happened a couple hours ago. I, um… I rammed into the table by accident, during a performance. I wasn’t looking.”

Bucky looks at you like he’s trying to figure you, or what you said, out, eyebrows furrowing even more. His eyes narrow contemplatively. “Seriously?” When you nod shyly, he sighs, shaking his head and relaxing slightly. 

“You’re stupid,” he scolds, but it's lathered in fondness.

“I know,” you grin. “Sorry, handsome.”

“You’re sure no one hurt you?” He sounds just about ready to go punch anyone who did. You don’t think he’s realised that he’s mindlessly rubbing your knee, affection seeping even from his touch. You hope it doesn’t show on your face how it’s making you feel.

“I’m sure,” you agree softly. Bucky sighs again for good measure, exasperation almost audible.

You swear he’s trying not to smile. “Tell me you at least know where the first aid kit is.”

You bend forwards and reach under the sofa, fingers pressing the cushion to find the hidden drawer. You pull it open and take the first aid kit out before sitting back up, closing the drawer with your foot. “Here you go.”

Bucky nods in thanks, shifting so he’s kneeling more directly in front of you. You press your thighs together, suddenly self-conscious, but all he’s looking at is the bruise.

His elbows rest on the couch on either side of your thigh, one hand holding your leg in place as the other dabs antiseptic over it. His fingers press into your skin, gentle even when he’s not trying to be.

You watch quietly as Bucky disinfects the wound, muttering an apology every time you wince. His palm slides under your thigh to hold it up as he wraps the bandage around it. He feels warm, so warm, soft, and every lovely word you can think of, and he’s holding your thigh like that. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod stupidly. “Mhm, totally okay.” You don’t anyone’s ever held you with this much love since the day you were born.

“Bucky?”

“Hm?” he murmurs, looking up as he finishes securing the dressing. “Yeah?”

You think you’d like to drown in his gaze. You clear your throat, straightening up from where you’ve unconsciously been leaning closer to him. Your mouth opens and closes a few times, brain short-circuiting. 

You settle on, “Thank you.”

Bucky softens, the corners of his eyes crinkling a bit when he smiles. A strand of his slicked back hair falls forward onto his face, and you suddenly can’t stop thinking about brushing it back into place. “It’s nothing, doll. I’m just… glad you’re okay. Glad no one hurt you.”

He gives your thigh one last friendly squeeze before pulling his hands away, and you hate how much you wish he didn’t.

You nod dumbly. “Okay, handsome.”

You’d always used it teasingly, a placeholder because calling him Bucky had somehow felt far too intimate, too much familiarity for simply a business partner. Was that even what you were now?

Bucky’s smile turns more sly, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, but he won’t do anything about it. He’s waiting for you to initiate, because he knows how you feel. He’d never do anything you wouldn’t want him to.

Maybe this is all in your head, maybe you really are nothing but an informant to him. But you don’t think he’d be looking up at you like this if he didn’t like you, even the slightest bit, so you decide to take your chances.

The tension is so thick you could bite into it. You reach out, hesitating before brushing the stray strand off Bucky’s forehead. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst.

You’re about to pull away when his fingers wrap around your wrist. Gentle, yet tugging, almost like he can’t help himself. He’s gazing up at you inquiringly, kindly. “Can I kiss you?”

You still. This isn’t something you’re used to, though you know you deserve to be. You’re used to men throwing you around, used to pretending like you enjoy being touched by disgusting men with disgusting thoughts. This is different, you think. This is Bucky, the only man who’s ever acted like one, and he’s asking for consent to kiss you. You honestly wish he’d just do it already.

“Yeah,” you breathe softly, nodding. “Yeah.”

Bucky pulls you down gently by your wrist, his other hand moving up to cradle the nape of your neck. He kisses you, then, in a way that makes your knees buckle. If you weren’t already sitting, you’d be on the ground just about now. 

His lips are forgiving. Tender, like all he wants to do is take his time with you.

Bucky pulls away after a moment. His face is still achingly close to yours, and he looks almost like he’s trying to stop himself from kissing you again. You can feel his warm breath fanning over your skin.

“Was that okay?”

You crack a smile. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Yeah, Bucky, it was okay. It was, um…” you clear your throat, pretending to think. “I’d say it was like a 6 out of 10.”

“A 6 out of 10, huh?” he muses quietly, thumb starting to rub lines over your inner wrist. “That’s all?”

“That’s all,” you agree, smile widening. 

Bucky chuckles. “Okay, then, if it was that average, I’m assuming you don’t want any more.” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “A one-time thing, then.”

“Hey!” you laugh. “That’s not fair. It’s a whole lot better than all the kisses I get in this place.”

“Then you should’ve rated it higher, doll,” he teases, but he’s already moving forward to kiss you again, and so are you. “That’s on you.”

So much for strictly business.

[ririright]

Hayden Christensen Husband! AU

⁠♡ Romantic Headcannons ⁠♡

❤︎ He leaves little love notes… in really weird places. Tucked inside her sock drawer, under a coffee mug, or scribbled on the whiteboard that says “Feed the chickens.” One time show found a note in her purse that read “You’re the Padme to my Anakin”

❤︎ He gets completely flustered when she dresses up. He’ll freeze mid-step, forget whatever he was saying, and awkwardly mutter something like, “uh—you look, y’know… wow.” And then five minutes later, he’ll circle back like: “I didn’t say that right earlier. You look really wow.”

❤︎ He gives her his hoodies on purpose, then pretends to be surprised when she wears them. “Oh—that’s where that went! Huh. Well… guess it looks better on you anyway.”(He never actually lost it. He left it on her side of the bed.)

❤︎ He gets hyper-specific with compliments. Not just “you’re beautiful,” but: “You do that scrunchy nose thing when you laugh and it, uh, like—wrecks me. Completely.” Or “The way you make pancakes is, like… spiritual.”

❤︎ He dramatically fake-dies when she kisses him unexpectedly. Full-on clutches his chest, staggers back, collapses onto the couch like a Shakespearean hero. Then peeks at her from one eye and whispers: “Again?”

❤︎ He slow-dances with her in the kitchen while breakfast is burning. If a song he loves comes on—even if the eggs are sizzling too hard—he’ll grab her by the waist and start swaying. “Let it burn. I’ve got more eggs. I don’t got more of this.”

❤︎ He calls her his “end scene.” When he’s feeling extra mushy, he’ll say things like:“You’re it, y’know? The end of the story. The scene I always wanted to get to.”

❤︎ He will absolutely narrate her beauty in a fake documentary voice. “Here we observe the elusive goddess in her natural habitat… stunning. Powerful. Slightly dangerous before coffee.”

[the-insouciant-scientist]

And here we go!

Here's a little digitally-colored doodle that I'm treating as cover art for a fic I'm working on! The first chapter of it should be up soon if all goes well 🥀

[nineteenninety-six]

Could you write abbot x daughter when daughters childhood best friend dies during pittfest and like she was there but fine without a scratch which makes it all worse for her which leads to her on the roof cause she knows her dad and the hospital , and she goes up just brushes part there alone after hearing time of death and like Jack finds her and he’s approaching like she’s a scared animal and she hasn’t even realised she’s on the wrong side cause she’s sobbing

Okay love you thank you!!!

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ Roof Ledge

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Daughter!Reader

TW: mentions of Pittfest. mentions of suicide of the shooter. death. etc

AN: Sorry I did change it slightly but I hope you like it regardles. Also this is short so I apologize.

Your ears ring as you hear the doctor call time of death, scribbling it on the wrist chart before stepping away and hurrying toward another critical patient.

You only get one last glimpse of your friend's face before a sheet is pulled over them and then moved away. Once they've disappeared out of your sight, the ringing faded and the noise of the hectic emergency department floods your ears and overwhelms you. Your legs tremble as you search for a place where you could get some fresh air, you turn to the ambulance bay before remembering that it's being used as a triage spot along with the countless vehicles arriving from Pittfest. Then you remember about your fathers favourite place in the hospital, the roof.

You stumble out of the emergency department knocking into people as you try to rush towards the elevator. Once you stagger into it, you mash the buttons for the top floor and fall into a crouch, unable to support your own weight anymore.

Tears and sobs escaped you as you cried into your hands and the t-shirt you were wearing quickly became soaked with tears as you tried to wipe your tears to no avail.

The fresh cool air greeted you when you stepped out onto the roof and it calmed you slightly. The chill breeze cooled you down and the fresh air helped you regulate your panicked breathing.

Automatically, your feet take you to the edge where your dad frequently visits and you slip underneath the safety rail and sit down, your legs dangling off of the hospital.

Your tears of sadness turned into tears of anger. You were so angry, so so angry. You just lost a friend, a friend you had known your entire life and now they were gone- dead and she wasn't the only one.

No doubt there were more people who died at the hospital but there were countless more that died at Pittfest on the field. Some instantly, some who couldn't get medical attention in time, some who were crushed in the rush to escape...just so many lives lost needlessly.

You were so lost in your head that you didn't hear the roof door open until your father called out your name.

He stood halfway across the roof, his hands held up as if he was dealing with a wild animal.

"Hey kid" Your dads voice was soft, "I heard what happened... Do you wanna talk to me?"

You only sob in response, the sound echoing around the empty roof.

"C'mon kid, step away from the edge for me please." Your dad begged, "Come talk to me over here"

"It's not fair! Why her at all people?!"

"You're right, it's not fair." Your dad agrees. "She didn't deserve it nor did anyone else who died."

"A- and I-" You gasp and stutter, "I'm fine! I didn't even sprain my ankle, I'm fine and she's gone."

Your dad joins you on the edge after realising that you were not moving anytime soon. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, "I'm sorry kid, I really am."

"Do you have to tell her parents?" You whimper.

Your dad shakes his head, "No. Robby will do that."

"They'll never forgive me" A fresh set of tears streamed down your face, "I' m the reason she's gone."

"You are not the reason" Your dad corrects, "The person-the man who did this, is the only one responsible. Not you, not me, only them."

"Do they know who did it? If they found him"

"They found him, he killed himself", Your dad scoffs and shakes his head, "He killed a swathe of people and killed himself…"

You scoff, "Fuck him, fuck this, fuck everything."

Your father doesn't say anything and there's a few minutes of silence as the two of you watch over the Pittsburgh skyline, listening as the cars drive past nearby and sirens in the distance.

"Do you want to see her? Say goodbye?" Your dad breaks the silence.

"Can I?" You hiccup.

"Yeah c'mon, let's step away from the ledge." Your dad stands up, offering his hand out for you to pull himself up with.

Your legs almost give up beneath you as you stand up but your father easily supports you as you walk over to the door and return to the hospital.

"You're alright kid, you'll survive this. It may feel like you're drowning right now but we will take it one day at a time."

[skeltnwrites]

Summary: You are there for Steve when he has to face his fear of needles. | 1.1k

TW: needles, medical anxiety, panic attacks, bf steve

A/N: this is based on true events 🥲 also you cannot convince me he doesn't have anxiety about this after rewatching that scene where he is literally stabbed in the neck with a needle

This is the first time Steve’s ever let you drive his car. Not because he doesn’t trust you with it but because he’s happy to be your chauffeur for as long as you let him. He’s always one to refuse when you offer, to grab the keys before you even think about it. He’s a gentleman at heart, even if part of him just likes to drive. But today is different. 

Steve’s practically buzzing in the passenger seat, snapping his foot against the floor mat like a rubberband and tapping his fingers where they are crossed over his arm. And he’s silent, which is weird because he’s always been the type of nervous to not be able to shut up. 

You wrap a hand around his knee, thumb caressing denim. He doesn’t acknowledge it like he normally would, gaze trained on the windshield. His eyes are glazed over like he’s somewhere else entirely. You have to call his name twice before he hums. 

“Wanna get ice cream after?” 

You barely catch his nod.

You’re grasping for anything to get him out of his head but he refuses to talk to you regardless of topic. He’s been more obliging during arguments. 

It’s not surprising that he’s anxious today, you expected it. He’s always been hesitant about doctors and only goes if he absolutely has to. But lately, this hesitation has transformed more into refusal, regardless of reason. This appointment specifically, a checkup and routine bloodwork, has been an ongoing battle with Steve for months. After his dad had a health scare, it was recommended Steve be seen to rule out anything preemptively. You’d given Steve every opportunity to schedule it himself like he claimed he would, but weeks turned into months of procrastination so you eventually phoned the doctor's office. 

Steve stalls in the parking lot. You’d turned the car off nearly ten minutes ago but he’s had to fix his hair twice, retie his shoes, and he even pretended to search for something in the glove box. You’ve been patient, but with only two minutes left until his appointment, you circle around to his side, gently guiding him out of the car. Before he can protest or claim he forgot something, you quickly lock the door behind him.

“Name?” The middle-aged woman at the front desk asks. 

“Steve,” his voice shakes so he clears his throat.  

She pops the wad of gum she was blowing, bemused at your boyfriend. “Steve…?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees.

You swipe a hand across his back, finishing, “Harrington. Steven Harrington.” 

She turns to her computer and begins typing lazily. 

“Oh,” he nods. 

She hands him a clipboard and pen, “Fill this out.”

You lean over the arm of his chair as he writes. His hands tremble around the pen and he stops to scribble out where he wrote his birthday incorrectly. You offer to do it for him but he declines. 

“Steven?” A nurse calls from the other side of the room where she’s propped a door open with her foot. You’re thankful for the short wait so Steve didn’t torture himself for long in the lobby. 

Steve doesn’t move so you squeeze the hand you’re holding, “Ready?”

He neglects to answer you but stands. You release his hand, collecting the clipboard and your things. Steve turns around, frowning and wide-eyed. “Are you coming?” 

“Yeah, baby. Do you want me to?”

He nods as you pass him his papers.

The nurse guides you down the hall, obtaining Steve’s height and weight before reaching a small room smelling of antiseptics. She takes his blood pressure, listens to his heartbeat, and jots down notes on the clipboard throughout. Steve’s breathing shallowly and staring at the floor as she works, focused on holding it together. 

When she leaves to grab the phlebotomist, Steve lets out a staggered exhale and whispers, “I really hate this.” His eyes join yours for the first time that morning, all warm and honeyed. 

You climb onto the paper sheet beside him, sealing his palm between both of yours. “I know, babe. You’re doing so good. Almost done.” 

He cranes over until his forehead meets your neck, eyelashes tickling your skin. You lean into him, planting a kiss on the nearest strip of skin. 

There’s a knock before the door swings open. A new face in the same scrubs. This one is all smiles, however, and chatting up a storm before she even sets her things down. 

Steve sprawls up slowly, eyeing the woman’s caddy as she rambles. 

She familiarizes herself with his chart before getting to work– washing her hands, ripping open the needle packaging, brushing a disinfectant wipe across his skin. It's all happening so fast. Steve’s breath picks up and his eyes dart away to the bland wall beside him. The nurse notices but doesn’t address his fear. She instead tries to distract him, asking him about how you guys met. 

A few words will find his tongue before he’s cut off by a series of gasps. He’s trying so hard to speak but his thoughts keep spilling out in a scrambled mess and that terrifies him even more. It terrifies you too– you’ve never seen him so scared. 

Steve gets a glimpse of the long needle near his arm and flinches away from her fingers. You’re pressing his face into the slope of your neck with your free hand because he keeps trying to watch what she’s doing.

“I need you to stay still, okay, hun? I’ll be so quick, I promise,” the nurse encourages. 

But as soon as her grip on his arm tightens, locking it against the table, he’s losing it. Fat tears are dribbling down his red cheeks and falling onto his lap where you’re clutching his hand. His chest convulses with shallow, uneven breaths, his muscles tensing under the strain of trying to keep his arm still. The needle slides in, and for a moment, his whole body stiffens, but she successfully finds the vein with a single poke and starts draining the blood into a vial.

Gradually, his breath starts to even out as he realizes the worst is behind him. Your fingers weave through his hairline and soothing words are whispered into his skin. A few final hiccups escape into your tear-stained collar.

“All done,” she’s patching him up with a cotton pad and tape and even you’re surprised at how quick it was. 

Steve tilts in your embrace to see the damage, unleashing a shuddered sigh. The nurse smiles at him and he offers a wobbly one back. 

Over a bowl of his favorite ice cream, he hesitantly opens up about his fear, recounting his traumatic experience with a Russian doctor. His words are thick with the weight of the painful memory and anxiety lingers through the tremble in his voice. No matter how many questions you have or how much you wish you could take away the experience, you know the best thing you can do is listen and praise him for his bravery.

[pricesgirl]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

Arcane High school AU Jinx x female!reader

1

Jinx

"You got the stuff?"

"Yes, dumbass, when do I not?" My hand dives into my pocket. Out comes the 5g of Mary Jane.

"Now this? This is quality. High-end." I waggle the bag. "Don't waste it. Got it?"

Today's buyer nods. He's a boy, tall enough, with the kind of face that might make him passable to get with. He's definitely, probably, bought the weed hoping to get into some druggie girl's pants.

"$20." I hold my hand out.

Cue the grumbling. Expletives.

But hey, there it is—the crisp twenty, right in my palm.

"Pleasure doing business with ya!" I grin, pocketing the money as the boy walks away with a newfound swagger in his step.

Dealing’s not hard—not for me, at least. Dear old Dad supplies the goods: weed, ecstasy, coke, sometimes mushrooms. I supply the school. Easy. Weed’s the favorite, though. Always weed.

Then—ugh. That sound.

Click. Click.

Mary Janes.

I grimace.

And there she is. Little Miss Expert Saboteur. Brows furrowed. Lips tight. Clipboard ready.

"Ah, toots." I peel myself off the wall, sauntering over. "Come to ruin my fun again?"

"Dealing contraband is forbidden on school grounds," Y/N has to push the words out It looks like it hurts her to even utter the word contraband.

I clutch my chest, gasp. "Oh no! A crime! A horrific, terrible crime!" I stagger back, mocking it up real big. "Lock me away forever, toots!"

Nothing. Not even a smirk.

She scribbles on that stupid clipboard, eyes all slitty.

"Ohhh, I see how it is," I sneer, stepping closer. "Writing me up, huh?"

"Knock it off, Jinx," she snaps.

I raise my hands. Innocent. Halo practically glowing. "What? I didn’t mean to offend Little Miss Brown Nose."

Clipboard. Thrown. Smack.

And she’s off. Stiff-backed. Nose high.

I pick up the clipboard. Flip it open.

"Jinx, dealing pot on school grounds again. Issue: week detention."

I snort. Same old crap. She’s such a kiss ass.

Me and her? History. Friends once. Used to be. Past tense. Before she became this tight-ass snob. Okay, fine—maybe part of it’s on me. Messed-up kid. Scary. Whatever. But the kicker? Silco takes me in, and just like that—childhood, fairy tales, besties—splat.

I chuck the clipboard into the trash and light it up.

Flick. Flame.

The fire snaps to life, chomping through her pathetic little notes like it’s starving.

I watch, arms folded, leaning back, enjoying the show. A grin creeps onto my face, sharp and hungry.

The flames crackle, roaring as they climb up the sides of the trash can. The heat bites at my skin, but I don't flinch.

And then—BOOM.

The trash can goes off like a cheap firecracker, bursting with a loud pop. I grin at the sight.

Her precious clipboard? Allllll gone.

"Oopsie,"

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

Y/N

Gosh, gosh, gosh!

She just has to mess up everything all the time. And she just had to keep the clipboard, god knows what shes done to it, probably discovered a way to it into some kind of powder to snort.

And why on earth did she have to taint the school with her sketchy little deals, is it that hard to refrain from drug dealing on school property, apparently for Jinx its a severe struggle.

Gosh and to think i'd once associated myself with her, well... she was different then, less... deranged. She was Powder, but anyone with half a braincell could see the foundations of Jinx, the outbursts, the meltdowns... it was only a matter of time before she cracked... i just wished it was later rather than sooner i just wanted more time.

I slam the locker shut, hard enough to make it rattle. Ugh, why was I even thinking about her? Like, seriously, what is wrong with me? A fixation? Gross. Absolutely disgusting. I yank at the buttons on my shirt, finally grabbing my cheerleading top and shimmying into it.

"Whats going on with you today?" Mel nudges me making me jump. “You missed Caitlyn’s romantic musings. Again. Which as trivial as they are you seem to love.”

Caitlyn huffs, "They're not trivial... just why cupcake why does she persist with that damn name, but that's beside the point... what's going on with you, you've been blanking out."

"No, no, I'm fine, probably PMSing is all." I deflect leaning against the locker.

Mel, Caitlyn, and I have been tight since freshman year. Well, me and Caitlyn long before that. Her parents—the Kirammans—are, like, dripping in generational wealth. Private tutors, fancy everything, the whole deal. Then, because Caitlyn absolutely insisted, they finally caved and let her go to public school.

After the whole disaster with Pow—no, Jinx—we kind of just... found each other. Both of us needed normal, and we’ve been best friends ever since.

Mel's a senior, a year above us, but when we showed up at Piltover Community three years ago, she just... adopted us to put it simply. She’s a Medarda—her family owns part of the trust that funds the school. Everyone kisses her feet. Head of student council, Model UN, you name it.

Cheerleading practice goes by without anymore qualms until... Water’s spraying from the celling everywhere, that damn beeping piercing everyone's ears — the fire alarm. It’s not a drill. Cait and I would've been told, Mel would've given us the heads up.

But I know exactly who it is. Blue braids trailing behind a certain figure slipping out of the gym. She spots me instantly, turns around, and—the audacity—winks at me.

Jinx

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hey this is my first fanfiction on Tumblr, hope you like it :) please like and reblog!

[misseviehyde]

BULLY BREW

Carol knew her daughter would be furious if she went in her room, but she'd told Alice to clean it six times now and she was still waiting. So long as her daughter was living under her roof, Carol expected her to at least be reasonable about such things and besides - her best stock pot had gone missing alongside a load of camping equipment. She wanted to know what her daughter was up to.

Carol knew that Alice was currently having a hard time at school, but that didn't give her a pass on keeping her room clean. Alice had come to the attention of some of the popular girls and was currently being bullied, but she refused to tell anyone about it and had screamed at her Mom that she didn't need help as she had her own solution.

Carol was struggling to see what that might be. As far as she and George, Alice's Dad could see, their daughter just spent all her time dressed in black and reading musty old books. Carol had offered to go the teachers but Alice had screamed at her not to.

Alice was what Carol's generation had called a 'goth' and her daughter liked to wear black makeup, dressing in black Victorian looking outfits and boots. She also had an obsession with 'magic' and claimed she was learning to be a witch.

Entering her daughters room, Carol winced. It was so dark and gloomy in here. Heavy metal and anime posters covered the walls and the room looked like a bomb site with clothes everywhere. Ripping open the curtains to let in some light Carol tutted as she saw her prized cook pot on top of a camp burner. A thick liquid was bubbling away.

She couldn't believe her daughter had left this on. She could have burned the house down!

Walking over Carol could see the liquid was thick and pink. Next to the pot her daughter had scribbled a load of notes. They sounded like the ravings of a mad woman.

Operation Revenge:

1. Make Bully Brew

2. Drink and become Alpha Bully

3. Get payback on EVERYONE

Carol tutted and turned off the heat causing the brew to stop boiling and bubbling. She looked down at it curiously and decided to give it a sniff. It was cooling rapidly... faster than any normal liquid would. In moments it would be cool to the touch and a velvety smooth pink liquid would be all that remained.

She breathed deep. It smelt good. Really good.

The fumes from the bully brew filled her head and she groaned involuntarily. She breathed deep and her skin tingled and her heart pounded. What... what was this feeling?

Staggering backwards, Carol's head span. She walked to the mirror and gasped. Her face looked younger and her skin tighter. It was like the fumes from the brew had been de-aging her and making her younger. Could it be real?

Curiosity swelled in Carol's mind. If a few sniffs of the brew could do this, what would drinking it do? A sudden hunger grew in her. A desire to drink down all the brew and feel its power fill her.

She knew she shouldn't. But she wanted to so badly. She NEEDED it.

Fuck it... why not?

With a wild grin on her face, Carol ran over to the pot and like some greedy child, began scooping the thick brew into her mouth using her hands. She moaned as she sucked down the delicious pink goo and overspill ran down her face.

"Ohhhhhh fuckkkkkk mmmmmmppphhh."

Carol grabbed the pot and lifting it up poured the pink slime over her face. She gulped and gulped as the excess dripped down onto her aging body, soaking into her clothes and skin. Slime ran into her hair and dripped down over her chest soaking her tits. She screamed in pleasure as she emptied the entire pot over herself and swallowed as much as she could, the rest coating her body and absorbing into her skin.

The empty pot clattered to the floor as Carol moaned and convulsed. Her face was a mask of ecstasy and insane pleasure as she grabbed her tits and squeezed them hard, rubbing the slime into her body.

"Mmmmm more... I need MMMMOOOORE! Fuckkkk it feels soooo good!"

Carol's arms shot out and she howled in pleasure, pushing her chest out. Bones popped and cracked as her aging body snapped back into perfect shape and her skin tightened up.

Her sagging tits firmed up to be young and perfect, the nipples hard as she groaned in pleasure. Thick white teenage bitch nails shot out from each finger as her neglected body hair burned away to leave every limb smooth and flawless.

Her body tanned and bronzed and her hair lightened, becoming blonder as her kind maternal features became cold and bitchy. Carol giggled and wiggled her fingers enjoying the feeling of the claws on her fingers and the feelings of dominant bitchy power thrilling through her transformed body.

"Fuck yesssss."

Her voice was now younger, brattier and meaner. She looked down and saw her dowdy Mom clothing soaked with the brew was also changing. It was tightening and altering in style to become a sexy little green one piece that left plenty of flesh on show.

Carol lifted a finger to her mouth and licked away the last drops of bully brew.

The entire cauldron was now empty, every single drop had been absorbed into Carol. Strutting over to the mirror she preened in front of it, enjoying how fucking sexy she looked. She was Alice's age now, but far prettier.

Her body pulsed with bitchy energy.

Walking over to Alice's wardrobe, Carol put her hand on the wooden door and watched as energy radiated from her hand and drained into the wardrobe.

It began to change, the clothes inside altering too, as Alice's room began to alter and shift. The excess energy from the bully brew bled out of Carol into her surroundings. Alice's room disintegrated and was instead replaced by a bitchy looking boudoir.

Carol looked around and knew that this was HER room now. The cupboards were full of designer clothes and this was her domain. She picked up her adult mobile phone and watched it transform into a bratty teenage bitches... the numbers inside and apps changing to reflect her new status as a popular bully.

Everything she touched was changing and becoming evil and bratty. It was kind of hot. Inside her head Carol's mental landscape was altering. It felt good to be a mean evil little bitch. New hungers were rising in her. She looked around Alice's former room and smirked. "Much tidier. This room is so much better as mine."

Something was happening inside her. Carol could feel her memories started to fade. She was still her, but she was struggling to remember her life as a Mom. She knew that she had been transformed by the bully brew, and it was now giving her a new bitchy life as a wicked teenage slut. She embraced it. It felt so good to give into these new emotions.

Fear, dominance, power. This was what she ached to have. She wanted people to shiver when they saw her. She wanted everyone to fucking worship her. She was Alpha now.

"Carol is fucking dead," smirked the hot teenage bitch as she took a selfie and admired how good she looked. "From now on there is only Niamh."

As she said it, she knew it was right.

Blonde hair, tanned skin, bitchy attitude. Niamh felt fucking good.

Suddenly the door to the room flew open and Alice gasped as she walked inside. "No! Not the Bully Brew. Oh my God, you drank the whole thing. You're only supposed to take a small amount. Mom - what have you done? The effects will be permanent!"

"Mom?" smirked Niamh. "I'm not your Mom anymore you pathetic loser. I'm your hot step-sister and you are my nerdy little step-bro. Don't you remember Arthur?"

Before Alice could react Niamh was on her. Pinning her down to the ground, the stronger girl laughed as the bitchy energy inside her washed over Alice and began to change her.

"Mmmmh you're such a small cocked pathetic incel Arthur. Can you feel yourself getting weaker? You love being my simp."

"Nooooooo!" screamed Alice, but it was too late as she transformed to her new sisters whims. Her breasts shrank and her dick grew and an infatuation for her more successful step-sister grew.

Arthur moaned as all knowledge of magic and the bully brew was driven from his mind. His shy little face crumpled into a servile expression of fear as he bowed his head and nervously adjusted his emo fringe. He was a weak pathetic loser with a porn addiction.

Niamh released her 'brother' pleased with his transformation. The excess energy within her was nearly drained now. She needed only alter George to make him her new Daddy and the rest of reality was already snapping into place.

No one remembered Carol anymore, only Niamh had ever existed.

"Being a bully is so much better than being a Mom. I won't make the same mistakes I did as Carol," gloated Niamh as she tried on her different clothes.

She giggled as she thought of Arthur jerking off in his bedroom and how he would never know why he was obsessed with thoughts of being a girl. She would enjoy turning him into a sissy loser.

The bully brew had done it's work well and this new bitch was ready to rock.

[staggeringbeast]

whatever. go, my seiflo.

[okasuka]

Damian wayne x Reader scrambleee !

The first bell of the day rang loud and clear through Gotham Academy’s towering halls. Y/N adjusted her glasses, clutching her worn leather sketchbook to her chest as she navigated the throng of students. Her tan skin and short, wavy hair with its signature red streak stood out amidst the sea of uniforms, though not always for the right reasons.

She found her assigned classroom just in time, slipping into the second-to-last seat in the middle row. Sliding into the chair, she sighed in relief—until she noticed the boy sitting next to her.

Damian Wayne.

He was unmistakable. His sharp green eyes and immaculate posture radiated an air of quiet confidence, and the way he carried himself made it clear he wasn’t to be trifled with. Y/N had heard whispers about him during her first week at Gotham Academy—son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, brilliant yet aloof, and rumored to have a dark streak.

As she opened her sketchbook, Damian glanced her way, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned back to his notes.

“Good morning,” he said abruptly, his voice smooth but disinterested.

Y/N blinked, startled by his greeting. “Oh, uh… morning.”

There was an awkward pause before Damian returned to scribbling in his notebook. Y/N peeked at his page—several detailed sketches of a bird mid-flight.

“You’re good at drawing,” she blurted out, immediately regretting it.

Damian arched a brow, but there was no trace of mockery in his expression. “So are you.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “How do you know?”

“I saw you sketching in the courtyard yesterday,” he said simply, then turned back to his work.

Between first and second period, Y/N wandered through the hallway, still thinking about the strange conversation she’d had with Damian. She was so preoccupied that she didn’t notice the group of girls blocking her path until it was too late.

“Well, if it isn’t the new girl,” one of them sneered. Her blond hair was styled in perfect curls, and she looked at Y/N like she was something unpleasant stuck to her shoe.

Y/N tightened her grip on her sketchbook. “Excuse me.”

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” another girl asked, smirking.

Y/N tried to step around them, but the first girl snatched her sketchbook out of her hands.

“Hey!” Y/N protested, reaching for it.

The girl held it out of reach, flipping through the pages. “What’s this? Drawings? Wow, you must think you’re so talented.”

Y/N’s hands curled into fists as the group laughed.

“Glasses, tan skin, weird red streak in your hair—what are you, a cartoon character?” the blond girl taunted, shoving the sketchbook into Y/N’s chest hard enough to make her stumble.

“Give it back,” Y/N demanded, her voice trembling with anger.

“Oh, what are you going to do?” the girl mocked. “Draw us to death?”

Y/N didn’t think. Her blood was boiling, her knuckles itching for release. She swung her fist, connecting with the girl’s face in a satisfying crunch.

The blond girl staggered back, clutching her nose as blood trickled between her fingers. “You’re crazy!” she shrieked.

The hallway went silent, every student turning to stare. Y/N’s chest heaved as she realized what she’d done.

“Y/N.”

Her head snapped toward the voice. Damian Wayne stood a few feet away, his eyes locked on her with an unreadable expression.

“Come with me,” he said curtly, holding out his hand.

Y/N didn’t argue. She followed Damian down the hall, away from the gawking students. They didn’t stop until they reached the gymnasium, where he led her under the bleachers.

Once they were hidden, Y/N slumped against a support beam, her bloodied knuckles stinging. “Great. Now I’m definitely getting expelled.”

Damian crossed his arms, studying her. “Why didn’t you just walk away?”

“Because she deserved it,” Y/N snapped, glaring at him.

He tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “You didn’t hesitate. Most people would.”

“Yeah, well, most people don’t get harassed for existing,” Y/N muttered, wiping at her knuckles with the edge of her sleeve.

Damian pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “You should clean that before it gets infected.”

Y/N hesitated, then took the handkerchief. “Thanks.”

There was a long silence as she dabbed at her knuckles, the tension in her shoulders slowly easing.

“You’re not what I expected,” Damian said suddenly.

She glanced up at him, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t back down,” he said, a hint of admiration in his tone. “Most people here are too afraid to stand up for themselves.”

“Well, maybe someone should,” Y/N said.

Damian’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Maybe.”

By the time third period rolled around, Y/N felt like she’d been through a war. She slid into her seat, grateful to have a moment to breathe.

Damian appeared a moment later, sitting beside her as if nothing had happened.

“So,” he said quietly, “are you always this impulsive?”

Y/N shot him a sideways glance. “Are you always this nosy?”

He smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Touché.”

The teacher began the lesson, but Y/N found it hard to focus. Every so often, she’d glance at Damian, only to find him already looking at her. Each time, her cheeks grew warmer, and she quickly turned back to her notes.

During a lull in the lecture, Damian leaned over, his voice low. “If you’re worried about what happened earlier, don’t be. The school won’t do anything.”

Y/N frowned. “How do you know?”

He shrugged. “Let’s just say I have… influence.”

Lunch came and went, and by the time the final bell rang, Y/N was exhausted. She was gathering her things when Damian appeared beside her desk.

“Come on,” he said, his tone brisk.

“Where are we going?” she asked, stuffing her sketchbook into her bag.

“To the manor,” he said.

She blinked. “Wait, what?”

“To the manor,” Damian repeated, already heading for the door. “You’re coming with me.”

Y/N stared after him, completely bewildered. “Why would I—”

“You’ll like it,” he said over his shoulder, cutting her off. “Besides, you owe me for cleaning up your mess earlier.”

She scoffed, jogging to catch up with him. “I didn’t ask you to clean anything up.”

“You didn’t have to,” Damian said, glancing at her with a smirk.

Y/N sighed, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Fine. But if this is some kind of trap, I’m kicking you in the shin.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he replied dryly, leading her out of the school.

The Ride to Wayne Manor

A sleek black car waited at the curb, its engine idling softly. Y/N froze when she saw the man standing beside it—a tall, stern-looking figure in a tailored suit.

“Is that—”

“Alfred,” Damian said, cutting her off.

Alfred opened the door with a polite nod. “Miss Y/N, I presume?”

Y/N blinked, clutching her bag tightly. “Uh… yeah. That’s me.”

“Welcome,” Alfred said warmly, gesturing for her to get in.

She hesitated, glancing at Damian. “You weren’t kidding about the influence thing, huh?”

“I don’t kid,” he said, climbing into the car.

With a deep breath, Y/N slid in after him, feeling out of place in the luxurious interior. Alfred shut the door and got behind the wheel, steering the car smoothly into traffic.

“So,” Y/N said after a few minutes, “are you going to tell me why I’m being abducted by the Wayne family chauffeur?”

Damian smirked. “It’s not an abduction. You agreed to come.”

“Under duress,” she muttered, crossing her arms.

“You’ll understand when we get there,” he said cryptically.

Y/N sighed, leaning back against the plush seat. Whatever she’d gotten herself into, there was no backing out now.

Arriving at the Manor

Y/N’s jaw dropped as the car pulled up to the sprawling estate. Wayne Manor loomed above them, its Gothic architecture both intimidating and awe-inspiring.

“Holy…” she trailed off, stepping out of the car and taking it all in.

“Come on,” Damian said, already heading for the front door.

Y/N followed him inside, her eyes darting around the grand foyer. Everything about the place screamed old money, from the polished marble floors to the intricate chandeliers.

“This place is insane,” she murmured.

“Wait until you see the training room,” Damian said, his tone nonchalant.

“The training room?”

He smirked. “You’ll see.”

A Sudden Sparring Match

The training room was massive, filled with mats, equipment, and weapons that looked both ancient and high-tech. Y/N’s eyes widened as she took it all in.

“Are you a superhero or something?” she joked, only half-serious.

Damian’s expression didn’t change. “Something like that.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You’re not serious.”

He didn’t respond, pulling off his blazer and rolling up his sleeves. “Let’s spar.”

“What?” she asked, taken aback.

“You said you can fight,” Damian said, stepping onto the mat. “Prove it.”

Y/N hesitated, then set her bag down and joined him on the mat. “You’re not going to go easy on me, are you?”

“Would you want me to?”

She smirked. “Not a chance.”

They squared off, and Y/N was the first to move, throwing a quick jab toward his midsection. Damian dodged effortlessly, countering with a sweep that she barely avoided.

“You’re fast,” he remarked, circling her.

“And you’re annoying,” she shot back, lunging at him again.

They traded blows, the sound of their movements echoing through the room. Y/N managed to hold her own, landing a few hits despite Damian’s obvious skill.

“You’re not bad,” he admitted, a faint smirk on his lips.

“Thanks,” she said, panting slightly. “You’re not too shabby yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not too shabby?”

Before she could respond, Damian feinted left, then swept her legs out from under her. She landed on her back with a gasp, and he pinned her arms above her head.

“Got you,” he said smugly, leaning over her.

Y/N glared up at him, her cheeks flushing. “This doesn’t count. You cheated.”

“How?”

“You distracted me,” she said, squirming beneath him.

Damian’s smirk widened, but his expression softened as their eyes met. The tension between them was palpable, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, with a sudden burst of strength, Y/N twisted her body, flipping him onto his back. She pinned his wrists to the mat, leaning over him with a triumphant grin.

“Got you back,” she said, her face inches from his.

Damian’s green eyes widened, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Not bad,” he muttered, his voice quieter now.

They stayed like that for a moment, the air between them charged. Then, Y/N realized how close they were and quickly let go, sitting back on her heels.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, her face burning.

Damian sat up, brushing himself off. “You’re not exactly what I expected.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re full of surprises.”

The End of the Day

After sparring, Damian gave Y/N a brief tour of the manor, though she couldn’t focus much after their encounter on the mat.

As they walked through the halls, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “So… does anyone else know about this whole sparring thing, or is it just your secret hobby?”

He smirked. “Depends. Are you going to tell anyone?”

“Who would believe me?” she said with a laugh.

When it was time for her to leave, Damian walked her to the front door.

“Thanks for… everything,” Y/N said, feeling oddly shy.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his gaze steady. “Don’t let those girls at school get to you.”

“I won’t,” she promised, her heart skipping a beat at the softness in his tone.

As she stepped outside, Y/N glanced back at him. “See you tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” Damian said, his lips curving into a rare smile.

Y/N returned the smile, her heart feeling lighter than it had in days.

The Next Morning at Gotham Academy

Y/N walked into the school with a strange mixture of dread and anticipation. The events of the previous day still weighed heavily on her, but the thought of seeing Damian again made her heart race.

She adjusted her glasses as she reached her locker, trying to ignore the lingering stares from the students who had witnessed the hallway altercation.

“Y/N.”

She turned to find Damian standing there, his presence commanding as always.

“Oh. Hi,” she said, caught off guard by how quickly he’d found her.

“Hi,” he said simply, then glanced at her bandaged knuckles. “How’s your hand?”

She held it up, flexing her fingers. “Better, thanks to Alfred’s magic handkerchief.”

Damian’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Good. You’ll need it.”

“For what?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Sparring,” he replied, as though it were obvious.

Y/N laughed. “We just sparred yesterday.”

“And?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“And I’m sore,” she admitted, leaning against her locker.

“Excuses,” Damian said, smirking.

Before Y/N could respond, a familiar voice rang out behind her.

“Hey, loser!”

She turned to see the same blond girl from the day before, her nose bandaged and her face twisted with anger.

“Oh, great,” Y/N muttered.

“You think you’re tough, huh?” the girl sneered, stepping closer.

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but Damian stepped in front of her, his posture rigid and his gaze icy.

“She doesn’t need to think,” Damian said coldly. “She is.”

The girl faltered under his glare but quickly regained her composure. “Oh, so now you’re her bodyguard? How pathetic.”

Damian took a step forward, his voice low and dangerous. “You should leave before you embarrass yourself further.”

The girl’s bravado crumbled, and she turned on her heel, storming off with a huff.

Y/N stared at Damian, equal parts impressed and amused. “Do you always have to be so intense?”

“It gets results,” he said with a shrug.

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Thanks.”

Sparring Redux

Later that day, Damian led Y/N back to the training room at Wayne Manor. This time, she was more prepared—or so she thought.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, tying her sneakers as Damian adjusted the straps on his gloves.

“Positive,” he said, tossing her a pair of gloves. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Y/N grinned, slipping on the gloves. “Oh, it’s on.”

They squared off again, the tension between them crackling like electricity. Y/N moved first, aiming a quick jab at Damian’s shoulder. He dodged easily, countering with a feint that nearly tripped her up.

“You’re holding back,” he said, smirking.

“Am not,” she shot back, lunging at him.

They exchanged blows, their movements growing faster and more fluid as they fell into a rhythm. Despite his obvious skill, Damian didn’t overpower her—instead, he seemed to be testing her, pushing her to her limits.

“You’re getting better,” he remarked, dodging a punch that came dangerously close to his jaw.

“Thanks,” she panted, her knuckles tingling. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Not so bad?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Before she could respond, Damian swept her legs out from under her, sending her sprawling onto the mat.

“Hey!” she protested, glaring up at him.

He smirked, offering her a hand. “Careful. Your guard’s slipping.”

Y/N ignored his hand, pulling herself up with a determined look. “Not for long.”

She launched herself at him, using his own momentum against him. To her surprise, he stumbled, and they both went tumbling to the mat.

When the dust settled, Y/N found herself on top of Damian, her hands pinning his wrists to the ground. Their faces were mere inches apart, and she could feel his rapid breath against her skin.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

“You’re… full of surprises,” Damian said softly, his green eyes locked on hers.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t let go. “So are you.”

Their gazes lingered, the air between them thick with unspoken tension.

“Are you going to let me up?” Damian asked, his voice low.

“Maybe,” Y/N teased, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

Taking advantage of her hesitation, Damian twisted his body, flipping them over so that he was on top. Y/N gasped, her heart pounding as his face hovered just above hers.

“Got you,” he murmured, his lips curving into a triumphant smirk.

But instead of pulling away, Damian hesitated, his gaze flickering to her lips. Y/N’s breath hitched, and for a split second, the world seemed to stop.

Then, slowly, he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a soft, hesitant kiss.

Y/N froze, her mind racing—but then she melted into the kiss, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. Damian’s lips were surprisingly gentle, his usual sharpness replaced with a rare vulnerability.

When they finally pulled apart, their faces were flushed, and neither of them knew what to say.

“That was…” Y/N began, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Unexpected,” Damian finished, his gaze still locked on hers.

She laughed softly, her cheeks burning. “Yeah. That.”

He smiled—a real, genuine smile—and helped her to her feet.

The Evening

Later, as they sat together in the manor’s grand living room, Y/N couldn’t help but glance at Damian every so often.

“Stop staring,” he said without looking up from his book.

“I’m not staring,” she said quickly, though her flushed face betrayed her.

He smirked. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, hiding her smile behind her sketchbook. Despite his teasing, she couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through her chest.

As the evening stretched on, the tension between them gave way to an easy camaraderie, their connection growing stronger with each passing moment.

And for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt like she truly belonged.

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls in your area ch 6

Masterpost

Danny felt like something scraped off the pavement. Through an act of absolutely heroic willpower (and outright fear of Jazz trying to help him rebalance his workload) he made it through his morning classes.

He staggered away from campus, brain buzzing tiredly over numbers and formulas and also his accidental concubine.

Nope. He shook his head rigorously. “I need a pick me up,” Danny decided. He ignored the common sense that said ‘coffee isn't going to fix this.’ Sure. That was true. But it wouldn't hurt, would it? And he was way overdue for the first meal of the day.

He shouldered his way into a café near campus. This wasn't one of the most convenient ones or one of the trendy ones with different seeds or organic whatever baked goods on rotation.

Nah. It was dark, mostly empty, and multiple tables were along the wall with nice views of the windows and door. The only other customers he had seen in this place were 50+. Well, there had been a high school girl inside once, but she'd clearly come in because her grandmother was the owner. Danny beelined to his preferred table and unloaded his backpack onto the spare chair before he gratefully collapsed.

Ah. Dark. Quiet. He slouched onto the table a bit.

“You look tired,” said the owner.

Danny lifted his head just enough to give her a cheesy smile. “Can I get a coffee, please?” He croaked. “And- is it still lunch hours?” They stopped doing lunch at two, didn't they? Shoot. What time-

“I can do lunch,” she reassured. She scribbled something deftly onto a pad of paper. “Roast beef sandwich set?”

“I will protect you with my life,” Danny vowed.

She laughed and turned away, but he was for real for real. Danny forced himself to sit up enough to look around his surroundings. He wanted to stay awake. He had just one more class today - a 4 to 5:30 lab. Once he got through that, he could go to bed.

Huh.

He accidentally made eye contact with a young guy holding up a book. Danny lifted a single wave and then looked away awkwardly.

‘Wait a second.’

Danny did a double take.

Yes. Yes, that fucker was holding up a copy of a book from the library in Pariah's keep. It had ghost writing on it.

The guy slowly, pointedly lifted an eyebrow. He was- he was hot and huge and Danny had seen him lift like 200 lbs of books like they were nothing at all.

Danny flushed bright red and buried his face in his hands.

Okay. Okay, so that was Jason's face. How had he found Danny??? That was absurd. …Was it a threat? It felt kinda threatening. Was he in like, danger? Danny pulled his hands away from his face and squinted as subtly as he could at his hellion of a ghost spouse. What kind of sick mind game was it to lurk along his daily route and passive aggressively remind him that he should be working on their divorce?

Worse than that. This was the fastest anyone had ever found his personal identity. Fear and confusion trawled around his gut. How? Literally how? Danny raced back through his memory of their conversation and kicked himself over every misstep he could remember. Clearly, Jason had been prodding him for enough information to trick him into doxxing himself. It was a betrayal, honestly.

Wait. The burner phone. Danny didn't know how, but Jason must have been able to track it. It was a trick.

Danny gave him a nasty look when he figured that out.

Jason pretended to be absorbed in his book. The bastard!

Danny got tenser and tenser, the tendons in his hand flexing into visibility on top of the table.

He felt guilty about not dropping everything and then resentful that apparently Jason wanted him to. He had other things to do, okay? His school life was important.

“Here's your coffee.”

“Thanks,” Danny said automatically, and moved his hands to free up space for the cup and little container of cream. He immediately spooned in sugar and dumped in all the cream. He was way too grateful for something to do with his hands. He breathed in steam and then took a careful sip. It was a good chance to steal another glance at Jason through his lashes.

Jason was still pretending not to pay attention to him.

What was his deal?

His plate came. Danny ate mashed potatoes and gravied meat with more viciousness than usual, casting dark looks at Jason over the vividly orange carrots he speared into his mouth.

The sugar, caffeine, and confused anger hit his nervous system and converted itself helpfully into energy. Danny buzzed with energy. He was going to tell Jason to back off, he decided. The guy still hadn't moved other than to sip at what had to be ice cold tea by now.

“Do you have a problem?” Jason drawled. For the first time, he shut the book and fixed his green eyes directly on Danny.

“I was wondering what your problem is, actually,” Danny shot back. He gave a pointed look to the book. “Real funny bringing that out in public.” His gaze tracked back up to make eye contact and then his brain stuttered.

Holy cow. That was an ecto sheen on his eyes.

‘... I've already contaminated him?’

“It's just a book,” Jason said, voice full of fake confusion. As if he hadn't brought it there to make a point!

Yeah, okay. Danny scoffed. “Whatever, asshole,” he dismissed. He dug money out of his wallet and slapped it on the table to cover his lunch. He barely remembered to grab his backpack through the haze of anger. “I'm sure I'll see you soon.” He took the time to aim an ugly face at Jason on the way out, pulling his lower eyelids down and sticking out his tongue. He barreled out the door while Jason was still sputtering in his fake ass shock.

Boo! That jerk!

[ssahotchnerr]

Hiya Katie! How about domestic Aaron pampering her when he find out she's pregnant and jack makes her a get well soon card because he thinks she's sick but she tells him he's going to be a big brother and jacks ecstatic and Aaron is just like all smiley and happy about being a father again and maybe hoping for a girl because hotch is such a girl dad like 🤭🤭 also I love your work so much! It makes my day! Your an amazing writer ❤

newest addition

thank you so much & ughh that's the sweetest <3333 cw; fem!reader, jack calls reader mom, pregnancy, reference to vomiting wc; 1.1k

"buddy, what are you doing?"

you've been awake for awhile now, unwilling to part from the comfort of bed. your eyes are still closed, and in curiosity, you keep them that way.

"i made mom a get-well card." jack's voice is closer than aaron's, and you can hear him shuffling at your bedside. you hear a soft crinkle of a paper, a quick stagger of your water glass, as he sets the paper against it. "i heard her throwing up this morning, so i wanted to make her feel better."

morning sickness has been your worst enemy so far during your pregnancy. it was what made you question if you were pregnant at the very start, and has been frequently reoccurring throughout your first trimester. it feels like the majority of your time these days is either spent in the bathroom, or in bed absolutely overwhelmed with nausea.

if permitting - when you're leant over the toilet, aaron is always seated on the bathroom floor beside you; rubbing your back in soothing circles, holding back your hair when necessary, whispering an apology or words of encouragement. you insist he doesn't need to be present, the sounds and visual of you retching surely disgusting nonetheless. but he insists he remain put, joking it's rather romantic actually, there's no place he'd rather be.

but in all seriousness, he claims it's the least he could do, and wants to support you in all and any way he can.

even this morning at promptly five am, you had made a mad dash to the bathroom. aaron, never the light sleeper, accompanied you in the bathroom just as quickly as you had entered it.

his tenderness doesn't stop there; he'll grab your ginger ale, crackers, pretzels, anything to relieve your queasiness and keep it at bay. he even joked (but did consider) with the idea of buying you a mini fridge to keep in your bedroom - for even easier access. or if he's not home, you don't have to search far.

the two of you have known about your new littlest addition for a few weeks, and couldn't be more ecstatic. jack - not just yet. but you figure that's a case that will soon be remedied.

you can hear a soft chuckle escape from aaron, and you can easily picture the smile you know is on his face. "that's real nice of you bud, i know she'll love it. but in the meantime, c'mon, let's let her sleep, yeah?"

you hear jack's sock-covered feet pad away on the carpet, the sound of the door softly shutting following soon after.

you fall back asleep without meaning to, exhaustion reigning over your body. but an hour later, and after tearfully looking at jack's card, his scribbly print wishing you well and a doodle of yourself and him, you find the two of them in the living room; jack's on the carpet, busied by legos, while aaron's on the couch, watching some show on the television.

aaron notices you before jack does, raising an eyebrow slightly in question - silently seeking confirmation on how you are feeling now.

you give him a nod, and he seems to relax more against the back of the couch. as you join him, jack's eyes lift.

"c'mere," you pat the empty spot between you and aaron, and soon enough, jack's sandwiched between the two of you, curled more so into your side. aaron grabs the remote, clicking off the tv.

"thank you so much for the card." you place a kiss on the top of his head, your arm going around his shoulders and giving him a squeeze. "you're the sweetest, have i ever told you that?"

"all the time." jack says, his emphasis making you laugh gently. but concern quickly fills his face, his eyes a bit troubled. "are you sick?"

you shake your head, brushing some hair away from his forehead. "nope."

the concern is now replaced by confusion. his eyebrows furrow, making him look extremely like this father. "why'd you throwed up?"

"well..." you exchange a look with aaron, glancing at him overtop jack's head. there's a smile tugging at his lips, a small sparkle in his eyes. "sometimes... it happens. when you're going to have a baby."

it takes jack a few seconds to internalize what you've just told him. but his head whips up to look at you, and then aaron, and then back to you. his eyes are wide. "a baby?"

"a baby." aaron confirms, arching an eyebrow in question. "any objections to being a big brother?"

"no!" jack vigorously shakes his head, his face lighting up even more, grinning from ear to ear. "really?!"

you grin right back. "really."

jack nearly jumps right onto you in excitement, aaron's hands flying out to catch him so the fall isn't as forceful. his gentle warning of careful, is barely audible over jack's next inquiry.

"is it a girl?!"

"we don't know yet," aaron answers, his voice catching slightly which prompts your gaze to switch to him. there's tears threatening his eyes, pooling at his waterline. you swear, you've never seen him so happy.

you help him, adding on, "we'll find out in a few more weeks."

jack nods at this information, still buzzing. "i really really want a sister. but a brother would be super cool too."

aaron nudges jack with his elbow, lips quirking into a smile. "i really, really do too. but more than anything, a healthy baby is what we want."

"a healthy baby." jack agrees, with a small nod of his head. his arms wrap around yourself, burying his face slightly into your abdomen. "that's so cool! i can't wait."

now it's your turn to look at aaron, tearful.

somehow, now that jack is aware, your family feels more complete. you and aaron have talked about growing your family, have discussed it with jack, for as long as you can remember - what it'll be like, having another little hotchner running around and causing havoc, potential names have been tossed around, jack wants to teach his expertises, legos and soccer. you’re eager to see a newborn in aaron’s arms, the new-dad-to-another glow present in him. at the time, it was distant; all memories to hopefully be made someday.

that time, that someday, has finally arrived. and if jack's reaction is anything to go by, you just know, the two of them will the absolute best of friends.

you can’t wait, either.

[loaksky]

— 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒊 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 | 𝒆. 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔

collegebff!ellie x fem!reader based on this ask ! fluff / angst / suggestive content / bff2l , wc: 7.1k (sum1 sedate me)

synopsis: since the beginning of college, it’s always been you and ellie. you like to think you’ve got her figured out, but there’s one thing you can’t get a read on and it’s the matters of her heart.

content warnings: language, suggestive content, kissing, ellie’s clueless and reader’s shy. (seemingly) one-sided pining, jazz cabb. this is literally self-indulgent mush.

fic soundtrack: like i want you — giveon / can i — kehlani / electric — alina baraz & khalid / sdp interlude — travis scott / options — doja cat & JID

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

YOU MEET ELLIE BY CHANCE during the first week of freshman year.

It’s a story you recall often in the wee hours of the night, giggling and side-by-side in her full size. The room usually reeks of weed, blanketed by stale incense and Ellie’s favorite cologne.

She’d been skating across the campus quad on her splintered deck in hot pursuit of her mis-located class when she chanced a peek at her cracked phone screen for the time. You’d been equally engrossed, coffee and unread text message from your new roomie occupying far too much attention to realize that Ellie’d been heading straight for you.

Next thing you knew, you were wearing your coffee and Ellie had scraped an elbow and a knee.

“Fuuuuuck,” Ellie moaned, cradling her elbow while inspecting the asphalt burn on her kneecap.

Your quiet sigh of disappointment caught her attention and her eyes were widening when she noticed the growing splotch of milky brown splattering your fitted white top.

“Dude, fuck, I’m so sorry,” Ellie spluttered, scrambling to collect your empty cup and your phone.

She’d inspected the screen to assess the damage, let out a sigh of relief to find it in pristine condition.

“S’okay,” you huffed out a breathy laugh, taking the phone from her as she stretched to grab for her discarded deck. “Accidents happen.”

“Your—” Ellie’s cheeks warmed when she’d noticed the full outline of your bra underneath your top. “Your shirt.”

Your lips parted once, twice, before your arms crossed over your chest in embarrassment. She wasn’t even able to offer you another apology, or anything else for that matter, before you staggered off sheepishly.

She’d redeemed herself, obviously, if your friendship now was anything to go by.

The following week, she’d dipped out of her preluding class a few minutes early to file in line at the student-run coffee shop. She’d taken a snapshot of your coffee cup before throwing it in the bin the week prior, and next thing she knew, she was sitting on the steps of the building you’d emerged from the day of the debacle and hoped for the best.

When she heard the telltale sign of students emerging from the double doors at half past noon, she sprung to her feet so fast, she nearly toppled over.

And there you were, coming out of the math building in a pretty skirt that had Ellie wetting her lips.

“Uh, hey,” she called hesitantly when you blew right by her.

You threw a split-second glance over your shoulder once, then came full stop after the second.

Ellie traveled down the rest of the steps to join you, one hand stuffed in the pocket of her cargo shorts, other practically strangling the poor coffee cup.

“Oh.” You sounded surprised, eyebrows twitching up momentarily. “Hey.”

“This is, uh, for you,” she’d said, offering the drink to you.

“For me?”

“Yeah,” she affirmed. “Y’know, ‘cuz last week and…”

You took the coffee, eyes glancing over the modifications scribbled on the side of the cup.

“How’d you know my order?” Your smile had been enough to make Ellie blow out a shaky breath.

“You left your cup.”

“Right,” you replied shyly. “Thanks, really. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Nah,” Ellie assured you. “I…I—”

And she’d been so fucking speechless because you were staring at her with round eyes through thick lashes. Had her spluttering like an idiot and wringing her unoccupied hands.

The rest—

“Well the rest is history,” Ellie mocks, reciting the end of that stupid story as she takes a deep pull from the skinny joint and watches you through the mirror as you get ready.

You let out a little laugh as you roll a clump of mascara from your corner lashes, the memory fresh in your brain like it’d happened days ago.

In reality, the two of you have been glued for nearly three years. It’s a thought that makes you ruminate a little too much for your liking. Makes you wonder if she’d felt the sparks like you did.

Sometimes you’re convinced that she had. That theses lines you've danced your entire friendship are just ticking moments waiting to detonate. There can’t be any other explanation.

Not when she’d started showing up outside of the math building every Tuesday and Thursday that semester and walked you to your next class. When it’d escalated to exchanging socials medias, then eventually phone numbers, and making plans to eat lunch during a mutual free period. Or hanging out off campus, orbiting each other at gatherings when you find that you've made some mutual friends.

And not now when she shows up every Wednesday evening no later than five past eight with takeout from your favorite spot right outside of campus. Not when she waits for you to finish tutoring outside of the library with your regular coffee in tow (surprise; you haven't changed your order since freshman year). Especially not when she drops what she’s doing, who she’s doing, every time you call.

Course it’s not like she can’t say the same. You’re her biggest supporter, her number one girl no matter what ways the others in your friend group and distant peers try to twist it. You’re there at every one of her research presentations for her astronomy major. Despite not having an athletic bone in your body, you’re at the skatepark with her on the weekends, cheering her on from the stone picnic tables. And when the sun goes down and she’s caked with sweat and dirt, you’re positioned between her knees as she sits on the hood of her car, hissing when you dab a little too much ointment on the cut across her cheek.

To the naked eye, you and Ellie are a lot more like lovers than friends, and the idea is one that makes your gut flutter, makes your toes tingle and your cheeks warm.

But those feelings are tamped down when, like clockwork, Ellie laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s heard. The picturesque fantasy you’ve built of being with Ellie as more than a friend is smeared. Because even if she doesn’t deny it, doesn’t correct whoever’s made the observation, she’s not confirming it either.

And, Jesus, you don’t want to read too much into it when things are so good between the two of you, but you can’t fucking help yourself when it comes to her. Can’t help but want her when she does what she does, when she looks the way she does.

Your eyes flicker up when the springs in your mattress creak and Ellie’s climbing off your bed to lean against the edge of the desk.

She doesn’t say anything, just swipes the edge of your bottom lip absently, a mixture of your sticky lipgloss and saliva coming off on the pad of her thumb.

“Too much,” is all she says, kicking off the desk to shrug her hoodie on over her black tank top. She’s halfway out your bedroom when she turns to glance at you over her shoulder. “You coming or what? We’re gonna be late, dingus.”

“Yeah...yeah, coming.”

Party’s in full swing when you squeeze in. The bass shakes the grass as you cross the front lawn and the LEDs glow through the closed curtains. For the most part, the festivities are contained, a few bodies on the porch smoking a mixture of cigarettes and greens, but as soon as you and Ellie are sliding through the door, it’s like the vibes start melting and Ellie’s getting into the zone.

She’s in her element like this, couple of prerolls in her pocket for when she’ll find a quiet place out on a balcony or squeeze onto the roof from somebody’s unlocked bedroom and smoke with some friends who’ll either bum a couple passes or pay in full.

“You wanna drink?” Ellie asks you when you guys find a good spot in the living room.

“Sure,” you agree easily. “Seltzer if they have it.”

She nods.

“Gotcha, I’ll be back.”

She’s disappearing into the crowd and you take the opportunity to assess your surroundings. It’s relatively laidback, couple of familiar faces from different lectures and seminars soothing the tiny niggling of anxiety that blooms behind your navel. The living room is shrouded in mood lighting and the vibrations from the speakers rattle the walls.

“Wait, was that Williams?”

Your ears perk when you hear it, eyes flitting to a group of girls that stand in a clump near the stereo.

“Yeah, she’s headed towards the kitchen,” one of the girls says, tall and willowy.

“Think I should?” the girl towards the middle asks.

She’s too pretty for her own good, has glittery shimmer on her eyelids, pearlescent lipgloss and low rise jeans that hug her ass like they were hand-crafted for her.

Something green starts to swell.

“What?” another asks, and you recognize her from discrete calculus.

“Should I talk to her?” Glittery Eyeshadow says.

“Why not?” Your calculus classmate shrugs. “Her little shadow’s not around.”

Okay, wow. Ouch.

You angle your body away, turn your head to hide the burn of your cheeks and to tune in a little better.

“You sure that’s not her girl?” the tall one asks. “They kinda seem like they’re together.”

“Doubt it,” your classmate chuffs like she knows something they don’t. From the corner of your eye, you see them lean in close to each other. “Ellie’s been with a coupla girls on campus. Heard she gives phenomenal head.”

That makes you swallow so hard, your eyes begin to burn.

Ellie usually kept her love life hush, didn’t really mention the likes of anyone else around you, and you’d always been too shy, too enamored to ask. Perhaps too afraid of what the confirmation of her escapades would do to you.

This was Exhibit A.

“Let’s add to that list,” Glittery Eyeshadow says, and your heart absolutely sinks to your ass when you see her walk confidently across the living room and into the kitchen.

You see them from the cutout, and your breath hitches when a switch flips and Glittery Eyeshadow’s tapping Ellie’s shoulder gently, tucking her hands behind her back when she turns on her heel.

Ellie’s widened eyes go soft, a small smile easing its way onto her lips as the girl says something that has your best friend laughing behind a sip of the drink she cracks open. You see the seltzer, the one you’d requested being cracked open and offered to the girl.

“What a lucky fuckin’ bitch,” your calc classmate giggles. “Ellie’s sooo hot.”

“How much do you wanna put on it that it’s not gonna happen?” Tall Girl huffs a laugh.

“No way,” her counterpart scoffs. “Liv’s got infinite ways into anyone’s pants.”

You put a name to the face, find that it’s fitting and feel the envy begin to roil full force.

Tall Girl hums thoughtfully.

“I dunno, Ellie and that one girl are virtually inseparable. Even if they’re not together, there’s something there for sure.”

You peek long enough to see your classmate roll her eyes, but when your gaze swings back to the kitchen, Ellie and Liv are nowhere to be found.

Panic begins to cloud your system, absence of any alcohol or weed making you far too aware of how fucking awful all of this makes you feel.

You decide to stick around for a moment, back nearly plastered to the wall, but after a moment too long passes and you don’t see any sight of Ellie or Liv in the kitchen or through the sliding glass doors that lead to the back porch, you’re peeling away.

The chitters from Liv’s friends die out when they realize you’d only been a few meters away.

The house had seemed like the perfect size when the two of you were walking up, but now, as you weave through every room and poke your head into empty bedrooms, it seems so much larger than you’d expected.

Your last resort is down a set of stairs nestled near the back of the house. There’s more music that bumps from the basement and you figure it’s why it seemed that the grass was rumbling outside.

The basement is finished, paneled and reeks of weed. There’s far less people down here from what you can observe from the railing, but you clock Ellie and Liv before you make your full descent. They’re cozy on a loveseat, one of Liv’s legs is propped over Ellie’s knee while her manicured fingers fumble with some rolling paper.

You hear her over the thrum of the bass.

“You’re so much better at this than I am,” she moans. “Show me how?”

You’re still watching them over the railing, partially hidden by the drywall. And you’re glad, because you nearly retch when you see the way Ellie’s ringed fingers close over Liv’s and they roll the joint together. Ellie’s head is in her space to get a closer look, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that Liv’s pupils are probably blown wide from the proximity.

And fuck, the way the flat of Ellie’s tongue rolls over the edge absolutely seals the last nail just as she does the joint and you’re turning to shakily climb the steps again.

Maybe the two of you were better off as friends. Maybe you were reading way too much into things, into what the two of you could be.

Tonight only solidifies that.

Ellie is stupid, stupid, stupid.

She’d been halfway through the blunt she was sharing with the girl who’d cornered her in the kitchen when she remembers. Remembers that she’d left you upstairs. Only does so because Liv’s taking a swig of the seltzer that was meant to be yours and she’s pushing her leg from her knee and shooting up from the chair.

“Shit,” she breathes. “My bad, I gotta dip.”

Liv’s arched eyebrows raise.

“Huh?”

“I left my girl upstairs.”

And Liv’s eyes narrow.

“Your girl?” she asks, smoke wafting around her pinched expression.

“Yeah, my friend?” she says like you should be common information.

“The girl that follows you around like she’s leashed?” Liv laughs humorlessly.

Ellie’s confused. Like majorly confused right now. Liv had asked her to smoke, had been nice enough when they were chatting in the kitchen, but something’s flipped and it makes annoyance simmer in the pit of her belly.

“The fuck did you just say?” Ellie says stonily.

Liv blinks.

“Dude, fuck you,” she bites, snatching the blunt from Liv’s fingertips. “You owe me forty for the wrapper and the roll. Venmo me by the end of fuckin’ night.”

Liv and a couple half-sober bystanders look stunned at Ellie’s outburst as she rushes from the basement and takes the stairs two at a time.

The first place she looks is where she’d left you, but you’re nowhere to be found. She nearly combs the house top to bottom searching for you, green eyes frantic as she flashes her lockscreen to shitfaced party-goers.

“You seen her?” she asks quickly.

The guy looks at the brightass screen, bleary-eyed.

“Her?” He points to the screen. “Left like fifteen minutes ago…I think. I dunno.”

And that makes it all the worse considering Ellie was your ride.

She’s dodging bodies, moving through the smoky foyer to get to the front door while she shoots you a text.

me: where’d u go bug???

Ellie’s slipping out of the house, taking survey of the front porch and the lawn, gut twisting when she doesn’t see the familiar silhouette of your neck or shoulders among the other bodies.

me: r u still here?

Ellie passes the hedges and jogs down the sidewalk as she presses the phone icon next to your contact and holds the phone between her shoulder and her ear.

She’s so engrossed in getting in contact with you that she barely notices you sitting on the curb a few feet from where she’d parked on the street.

“Jesus,” Ellie sighs in relief, hanging up as soon as the operator tells her to leave a message after the tone. “Been looking everywhere for you.”

You look up at her, blinking quickly like she’d caught you in a daze.

“Huh?”

Ellie’s brows furrow as she lowers herself to sit next to you.

“What d’you mean huh? You scared the shit outta me,” Ellie laughs breathlessly. “Thought you disappeared.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Just needed…”

Ellie watches you expectantly.

“Needed a breather,” you admit. “Got a little overwhelmed.”

Her expression falls, eyebrows drawing in concern as she tucks some of your hair from your face. The corners of her lips twitch when a mixture of the pale moonlight and the yellowing streetlights cast a glow over your features. Your lashes are wet and she finds your cheeks warm when her thumb brushes over the skin.

“Did something happen?” she asks suddenly. “Because I swear to god—”

You shrug away from her and stand, unable to stomach the gooey gaze she gives you or the gentle brushes against your skin. It makes you fall back into old habits, into trying to read between the lines.

“I’m gonna call an Uber home,” you tell her. “We just got here and I know the party’s barely started—”

“Nah, no, fuck this party,” Ellie says, standing up to invade your space again. “We can go home, it’s okay, bug.”

And the way she calls it home, like the two of you share, makes that thread tied to domesticity tug entire too hard for you to stand still.

(Perhaps Ellie’s too chicken to admit that home isn’t necessarily just under a roof, but wrapped in the warmth of your arms).

“Ellie—”

“Are you mad at me?” she asks hesitantly, and the look on her face is devastating.

Because no, you could never be mad at Ellie, not when she’s sweet despite being rough around the edges. You can only be mad at the circumstances, at yourself for letting your delusional heart get the best of you.

“No,” you say quickly. “God, no. I’m just not…feeling it tonight, I guess.”

You want to hate Ellie for looking wounded, but instead it makes your heart grow more around the shape of her.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she almost whines, arms wrapping around your shoulders to pull you into her chest. “We coulda just stayed home and ordered pizza. Watch that stupid documentary you like.”

“S’not stupid,” you say weakly.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

“But—”

“No butts except for yours in the front seat,” Ellie says, opening the passenger side door open for you. When you drop in the seat, she’s plopping her unlocked phone in your lap. “Order pizza. And none of that pineapple bullshit on my side or I die.”

You like to think that you could put the party behind you. That maybe you were being a little overdramatic. But after you’ve settled into your favorite spot on Ellie’s couch, wearing a pair of her sweatpants and an oversized shirt, the final crack shakes the front you’ve been maintaining for the past three years.

Ellie’s dozed off, only half a crust left from her half of the pizza sitting in the open box on top of the coffee table. Your documentary’s playing in the background, lulling your droopy eyes to close, but the faint buzzing of Ellie’s cell has you shifting awake.

You don’t mean to, but your ego’s been bruised and curiosity gets the better of you as you’re leaning forward to capture her phone from where it’s nestled between the remote, underneath the takeout box.

An unknown number flashes across the screen, a succession of texts sending the device fluttering in your sweaty palms.

It feels like the ultimate breach of privacy, like you’re using the fact that Ellie trusts you with her phone password in the worst way possible, and perhaps you are.

(307) 578 9432: got your number from your friend cat.

(307) 578 9432 sent $40

(307) 578 9432: here’s a tip <3

(307) 578 9432 sent a photo.

You don’t know what you expect, but a photograph of a girl’s tits definitely isn’t high on the list. A lump forms in your throat, choking the air from your lungs as the tears begin to prick the corner of your eyes.

You know that gemstone choker, seen the way it gleamed under the lowlight of the party when Liv had taken a deep breath before sauntering over to Ellie. It’s the same one in the racy photo, and it’s the last straw.

Ellie’s phone vibrates again.

(307) 578 9432: don’t let your lil pup see ! xx

And that sends you spiraling. Has you closing out of the text thread, sliding Ellie’s phone back in place, and shooting up from couch.

The sudden movement makes Ellie stir, but she never fully rouses from her sleep, and for once, you thank the universe for being on your side.

You’re collecting your things from where you’d discarded them on your way in, and it feels a lot like things are officially crumbling. And you don’t know why. Should’ve seen it coming, really.

She’d never see you that way. She’s leagues above you, charismatic and cool in a way that has everyone wanting a slice of what it’d be like to be friends with Ellie Williams. Doesn’t help that she’s so painfully attractive, energy magnetic. She’s so kind, too fucking smart for her own good, and a really really good friend.

You realize as you slip from her apartment and make the trek home, that maybe that’s all you and her were ever destined to be.

So you mark tonight in your books.

Tonight’s the night you’re gonna start falling out of love with Ellie Williams.

Ellie wakes up to the soft pings of her alarm and she’s rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she pats the area next to her in search of your sleeping form.

She comes up empty and she squints past the filtering sunlight to find that her apartment is completely still. The television’s been turned off, pizza boxes stacked neatly on the eat-in.

She calls your name, once, twice. But she’s met with absolute silence.

“What the fuck?” she mutters under her breath as she stands from the couch and stretches the sleep from her bones.

A quick glance at the digital clock underneath the TV shows that her 10am seminar starts in about half an hour.

Ellie decides, as she takes a quick shower and brushes her teeth, that she’ll call you on the way to class.

But as she skates across the campus, pushing so hard against the asphalt, her knees hurt, you don’t answer her calls. She’d being sent straight to voicemail and straight to confused frustration.

She’s one of the only people you have set to bypass DND, so she knows you’re ignoring her.

When she makes it to the science building, she kicks off her skateboard, straps it onto her backpack and jogs through the corridors.

Ellie’s sliding into her seat near the back of the lecture hall with a few minutes to spare, so she uses the shortcut on her phone to open your text thread, only to find that there are no new additions.

All that glares back at her are the messages she’d sent you last night when you disappeared from the party.

me: hey bug lunch after my sem? half-off day @ benny’s :)

me: also why won’t u answer my calls, you disappeared on me this morning :/

Just as the professor files in and starts getting ready for his lesson, Ellie’s phone vibrates and she frowns at your message.

lovebug: raincheck on lunch, got a lot of work to catch up on

Something feels way off, makes Ellie queasy.

me: cmon bug jus half an hr, wanna c u :/

lovebug: you saw me yesterday??

me: and ?? ur my best friend, wanna c u all the time

Little does Ellie know that that text makes your stomach roil, makes you curl tighter in a ball in your bed because not only does your room still smell like her from the night prior, but because you don’t have it in you to face the world right now.

When you don’t reply to her message, she huffs out a frustrated breath just as her closest friend after you takes a seat next to her.

“Oh, boy,” Jesse comments. “This can’t be good.”

Ellie falls back in her seat, frustration seeping off her in waves.

“She’s being weird as fuck,” she sighs.

“Who?”

“________,” Ellie fills.

“Oh, your lil’ girlfriend,” Jesse snorts. “Why, what’d you do this time?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Ellie whispers. “And stop calling her that.”

Jesse rolls his eyes.

“Don’t know how many times I gotta tell you it’s not like that,” she grumbles, closing out of your text thread in fear that it’ll drive her even more crazy looking at the Read at 10:01am.

As the professor begins his lecture, Ellie continues fumbling with her phone, only to see a thread from an unfamiliar number. Her brows furrow at the most recent message: don’t let your lil pup see ! xx.

Liv.

It had to be.

She hears Jesse choke on a gasp when she opens the thread and a 4K photo of Liv’s tits flash the screen.

“No fuckin’ way,” Ellie hisses under her breath.

Jesse’s snickering beside her, eyes wide as she accepts the forty dollars into her account and deletes the entire thread altogether.

“Hate that stupid—”

“Shh!”

You avoid Ellie like the plague.

It’s a difficult feat on its own considering Ellie knows your schedule like the back of her hand and she’s waiting outside your lectures for you to surface.

But you adapt quick and you’re taking side exits and different routes while you collect yourself enough to face her.

Nearly a week out and you find that the wound’s still too fresh to pick. Realize as much when Ellie finally corners you during a vulnerable moment in the late afternoon on the way to the library.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

The voice startles you so much, you trip one foot in front of the other, and Ellie’s catching you before you can faceplant on the smooth concrete.

She’s righting you, hands dusting your shoulders off before bumping your dipped chin up to look down at your flushed face.

“Hello?”

“Around,” you answer meekly. “Been busy.”

“Alright, cut the shit,” Ellie sighs. “Last year you had that two week auditing BS and we still made time to see each other. You think you’re slick, but your location’s been pinging from home.”

“I can be busy at home,” you argue quietly. “And if you’re so hellbent on seeing me and you knew I was home, why didn’t you stop by?”

Ellie’s face softens.

“‘Cuz something’s obviously bothering you, bug,” she says, smoothing your hair from your face. “And I’ve been waiting on you to be a big girl and tell me what’s up, but it looks like I have to use other tactics.”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” you try again, gently guiding Ellie’s hands away and making a move to side step her in pursuit of the library.

“Bug, come on,” she groans, turning on her heel to watch you walk away. “I’m trying my best here, what’s got you pent up?”

“Nothing, Ellie!” you say so forcefully, she flinches. “I told you nothing’s fuckin’ wrong! Maybe I just want to be left the fuck alone!”

Ellie blinks hard.

“Oh.”

You take in a deep breath, closing your eyes in defeat as your body goes slack.

“I- fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

She shakes her head.

“S’alright,” she assures you, taking a step away. Suddenly, the air seems to thicken. “Sort yourself out. Call me when you need me, I guess.”

“Ellie–”

She’s turning, dropping the board in her grip down onto the asphalt and mounting before the downslope and your eyes begin to water as you watch her figure grow smaller in the distance.

At first Ellie’d been a little disgruntled, maybe a little frustrated, but her feelings have since simmered and now all that remains is lingering sense of sadness.

There’s a you-shaped hole in her life, one that makes her stare at the swirling ceiling of her living room as she smokes through a joint by herself and wonders what the fuck happened to the two of you so suddenly.

She’s almost embarrassed with how quickly she launches from the couch when she hears three quick raps against the front door. Her yearning heart could only hope, but she’s deflating when she finds Jesse and Dina on the other side.

“Oh,” she sighs in disappointment.

“Oh?” Jesse huffs. “Oh?”

Ellie’s grumbling as she leaves the door open for them as a silent invitation, padding back into the living room to continue her moping session.

“We bring you Benny’s and it’s oh?” Jesse continues.

“Not hungry,” Ellie gripes, forearm draped over her eyes.

“Why the fuck not?” Dina whines. “We got so much food ’cuz you eat like a man.”

“Just not hungry,” Ellie mumbles.

She hears the plastic crinkling and then the telltale sign of Jesse throwing his body weight into the right side of the loveseat.

“Alright, what the fuck is going on?” he prods. “You’ve been weird and mopey for the last two weeks and it’s gross.”

Ellie’s arm falls away and she’s sitting up.

“I don’t fuckin’ get what her issue is!” Ellie moans, throwing her hands up in the air. “One day everything’s fuckin’ great and we’re good, but then it turns on a dime and she won’t even look at me!”

Dina and Jessa share a knowing glance.

“Okay, what’s that supposed to mean?” Ellie grunts.

“Walk me through the last time the two of you talked and things were good,” Dina says, taking the arm rest next to Jesse.

“I think, like, two weeks ago at the party? We were at her house and I was smoking and then we just showed up to the party?” Ellie recounts.

“Okay, what else?” Jesse pries.

“Uh, I dunno, we walked in and I asked her if she wanted a drink,” Ellie continues. “While I’m in the kitchen, Liv comes in and asks me if I wanna smoke. Obvious yes, duh.”

Jesse raises an eyebrow.

“The girl who sent you a picture of her tits?”

“Ew, yes. But that’s besides the point,” Ellie huffs. “I rolled and smoked a little with Liv when I remembered leaving ________ up on the main floor, so I told Liv I had to dip to go get her.”

“You left the girl you’ve been in love with since freshman year all alone at some seedy party—”

“Not seedy, it was Marco’s!” Ellie argues. “And it was like fifteen minutes, tops!”

“Ellie!”

“What? I didn’t stick around anyways,” Ellie says like it assuages the entire situation. “She was being a cunt about me being friends with ________.”

“Okay, well there’s your issue,” Dina says matter-of-factly.

Ellie looks clueless.

“You’re really gonna make me spell it out for you?”

“Well obviously because I’m lost as fuck right now,” Ellie bites.

Dina rolls her eyes.

“You ditched her to smoke with some bitchy mean girl!” Dina says like it should make all the sense in the world. “And then said mean girl sent you a picture of her tits!”

“Okay, well how would—”

It clicks. Like an epiphany, Ellie’s shooting to her feet.

“Oh, fuck.”

It really does make sense now. Why you hadn’t been around the morning after, why she hadn’t seen a notification for Liv’s messages on her lockscreen, why the thread had already been marked as read.

“She saw the messages,” Ellie says, horrified. “Fuck, probably thinks me and Liv were making fun of her.”

Jesse groans.

“It’s way fuckin’ more than that, dipshit.”

Ellie’s brows furrow.

“Huh?”

“Christ, are you actually this airheaded or—”

“Okay, unnecessary,” Ellie interrupts.

“Do you not realize that the two of you have been in love with each other for the past three years?” Jesse cracks. “Of course she’s gonna be upset when you ditch her for other girls, when they send you nudes and—”

“I didn’t—”

“She’s jealous, Ellie,” Dina says. “Probably under the impression that you’re fucking around with Liv and she doesn’t know what to do with herself.”

“Dude, there’s literally zero chance she likes me like that,” Ellie says hesitantly.

“I actually want to play in seven lanes of traffic right now, holy shit,” Jesse scoffs. “You have to be unforgivably blind to not see how fucking down bad that girl is for you.”

“Am I the only one not seeing this, like—”

“Yes.” Jesse and Dina are in unison.

Ellie shifts uncomfortably, rolling her lips as she collapses back in her seat.

“She’s my best friend,” Ellie sighs in defeat. “And I don’t want to ruin things with her. What if she…”

“You gotta take the plunge, Williams,” Jesse encourages. “There’s a lot more than something there.”

Ellie opens her mouth to argue again, but Dina’s cutting her off.

“Stop being such a pussy.”

“Wait, I don’t understand, you said it’s at the student planetarium?” you ask, rushing briskly across the campus.

“Fuck,” Dina mumbles over the receiver. “Yeah, almost positive. Astronomy club was having free donuts during lunch hour and I think I left it in the back row.”

“D!” you whine.

“I know, I’m so sorry,” she moans. “I’m the biggest idiot.”

“No, no,” you breathe, tote bag tight in your grasp as you break into a jog. “I get it, D. It’s the shark-shaped one, right?”

“Yes,” Dina confirms. “God, babe, I really owe you one.”

“You’re okay,” you assure her, climbing the steps to the science building. “I’m going in now. Should be there in less than ten.”

“Okay, I’ll be outside of the lecture hall.”

You hum your goodbye, line going dead as you enter the modern atrium. The area’s spacious, a replica skeleton of a massive dinosaur spanning the center of the entrance.

A digital directory built into one of the imposing square pillars indicates that the planetarium is on the third floor.

You’d only been in twice, both times for research presentations Ellie’d given. Her talk of the the stars and the vastness of the universe made you feel so small. So silly. Now you feel infinitely more silly hunting for a shark-shaped pencil case that houses Dina’s flashdrive she needs for her evening lecture’s slideshow presentation.

You decide to take the steps two at a time, choking for a breath by the time you make it up the third flight of stairs. The double doors to the planetarium are at the end of the hall, and if Dina’s directions are correct, the pencil case should be among the first few seats walking in.

Past the double doors, you find that Dina’s pencil case is, in fact, nowhere to be found in the first aisle that you check. But as something rustles down near the semi-illuminated podium, you find your Ellie standing from one of the front row seats. She turns to face you from the bottom of the auditorium, something akin to nervousness etched into her features.

“Ellie…” you swallow.

“Hey, bug.”

“What are you doing here?” you ask, brows furrowing as you fidget on the first step down, hand gripping the armrest of the last seat.

She rolls her lips, plays with the string of her hoodie as she sucks in a deep breath.

It’s now or never, Jesse pep-talked her on the way here, folder full of coordinates and computer commands pushed into her chest as he bounded away.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she starts. “I…I—”

“I have someplace to be, Ellie,” you interject. “Dina needs me.”

“Dina doesn’t have a presentation,” Ellie sighs guiltily. “She’s probably sitting on my couch eating my Doritos as payback for getting you over here.”

You look lost.

“Huh?”

“Listen, I knew you weren’t going to talk to me, let alone come all the way here if I asked, so…I got some help.”

And the thought makes you guilty. You and Ellie have been best friends for years. Have seen almost every ugly part of the other. But you don’t know how long you can handle being just that.

“It’s not…” You don’t even know what to say, how to deny the blatantly obvious.

“You’re my closest friend,” Ellie says. “I genuinely don’t know what I’d do without you, and…and these past few weeks have been so shit because this has felt like the end and I didn’t know why.”

You murmur her name, taking a step down.

“I have to ask you something.” Ellie’s throat bobs as she slowly climbs the steps. “And you have to be honest.”

You hesitate before nodding, breath hitching when she stands on the step below you, gazes eye level.

You’re sure she can practically feel the vibrations of your heart nearly beating from your chest, pounding against your ribcage and begging to intertwine with hers.

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Did you leave because you saw Liv’s messages?” she asks bluntly.

Your cheeks warm and your gaze falters, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shorts.

“I—”

Ellie’s eyes are unblinking, sage and searing.

“Yeah,” you admit hoarsely. “You were asleep and she…she…yeah.”

“Why?” Ellie asks, watching you with bated breath.

This is it, she’s got you right where she wants you and this moment could be the final fissure that cracks the very facade of your friendship and sends the two of you as you know it up in flames.

Her face softens when she notices the tears welling in your eyes, the way your body language has shifted so much in these passing moments. It’s unfamiliar.

“It makes me sick,” you mumble in embarrassment, knuckling the brimming tears aways. “It’s so fucking stupid, but the idea of you with anyone else makes me fucking sick.”

Ellie’s stomach is in knots, knees like jelly and heart squeezing in anticipation.

“Why?” she repeats, voice catching in her throat.

“You know why,” you croak in defeat, expression crumpling.

Your name leaves her lips firmly, hands coming up to grasp your biceps.

“Don’t be cruel,” you hiccup.

Ellie’s biting the inside of her lip, eyes searching yours in contemplation before she’s digging in the pockets of her hoodie and producing the remote to the projectors.

She’s brushing past you, up the steps to hit the lights and fully submerge the room in a split second of darkness. Then a heartbeat passes before a constellation blooms near one of the edges of the domed ceiling.

August 20th, three years ago, labels the smattering of stars and the alignment of the planets.

“What’s this,” you whisper, breath hitching as Ellie leans against the back wall.

“The day we met, first Thursday of freshman year,” Ellie says shakily. “With that stupid fucking coffee. You were wearing that white shirt.”

Your throat tightens when another constellation appears, labeled a few weeks later.

“When we first talked. I got you another drink and started walking you to class.”

You realize that every knitting of stars and planetary bodies are captures of the skies in each labeled moment.

“There was something about you,” Ellie says. “There still is. But this one—” She clicks a button and the projection ripples, clouds rolling and stars twinkling like you’re looking up at the real night sky. “This is when I knew.”

Her voice is dangerously close, a hairsbreadth from your ear. You can feel the warmth of her body enveloping yours, toes curling as you look up to the date marked and mentally sort through your thoughts.

Her first research presentation.

“I was so fuckin’ nervous, bug. And I thought I was gonna shit myself, but then you came in at the last minute and you smiled at me and it felt like we were the only two people in the room,” she admits. “And when I finished that stupid presentation and you found me after those higher ups were talking my ear off about my findings, I—”

Your eyes are glassy as you remember the way Ellie seemed to deflate in relief when you slipped into the auditorium with seconds to spare.

“You…?”

“I realized that maybe you were it for me.”

The breath’s knocked from your lungs as Ellie slides her fingers through yours and tugs you down the shallow steps of the planetarium.

The both of you stop at the beginning of the podium’s circle, sheen of tears blurring your vision as you watch more projections sprout onto the screen like fireworks.

They’re all memories, ones that you’ve cherished since the beginning. You just hadn’t realized that Ellie held them as dearly as you did.

She sucks in a deep breath, hand squeezing yours. And god, she wants to look you in your eyes when she says it, but you make her weak and she’s losing courage.

“Guess what I’m trying to say is that...” She licks her lips, pushes the words out through the nausea. “I love you. A lot. And not just as a friend."

“Oh.”

And Ellie wants to shrink at your response, palms clammy as her fingers loosen.

She feels the dread filter in, mixed with a curdling feeling of regret. But something like sick relief floods her system all the same because this feels like a semblance of freedom.

“Ellie—”

It’s her final shot in the dark.

“Tell me I’m not reading into this wrong,” Ellie says softly. “There’s something here, right? I’m not batshit crazy, am I? I— I—”

Ellie’s frequently wondered what your lips taste like. How they would feel against her own. She’d always figured it’d be a good experience, something she could kick her feet to in the dead of night, but this? God, nothing compares to this.

You taste like peach chapstick and wintergreen, lips plush against hers and Ellie’s pounding heart stutters when your hands cup her cheeks.

You kiss her so fervently, she nearly misses it, the way you murmur against her mouth.

“I love you, Ellie,” you whisper between a breath. “Love you so fuckin’ much.”

You feel her giddy grin, feel the way her hesitant hands finally find purchase, fingertips searing the curve of your waist and the small of your back as you eliminate every space possible.

As the two of you meld together under the stars, Ellie realizes that, that maybe this is what coming home feels like.

neng © 2023