#he needs to kept it sliced back i guess

[dawnystar]

kiryu uses the approximate amount of 1kg of hair gel per day.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Different, this time

Pairing: Fuck buddy!Bucky x Reader

Summary: After the hospital visit and the doctor’s diagnosis, Bucky is plagued with guilt. He won’t touch you again until he is absolutely sure that you’re okay. Once you manage to reassure him, you both discover what it truly means to make love, rather than just fucking with suppressed feelings. And it’s overwhelming in the best way.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: (18+) explicit sexual content, mdni; sickly sweet smut; oral (f receiving); fingering; soft aftercare; mentions of physical pain during sex (past); mentions of cervical bruising; slight mentions of medical scenes; panic attacks (graphic and mentioned); guilt; emotional distress; crying; themes of healing and emotional vulnerability; sad!Bucky; panicked!Bucky; sweetheart!Bucky; lots and lots of worried!Bucky

Author’s Note: Help, I might have ruined myself for any other real man with this. Y’all, this is my first time writing smut, so please be kind!! But I'm not gonna lie, I genuinely loved writing this. Soo I guess, this won’t be the last time you'll have me sharing some smut!! To make things clear, this is the second part to In too deep!! Btw, I was a bit nervous about whether I’d be able to get back into writing longer fics so smoothly, after the 2k drabble challenge, but I’d say I’ve managed lmao. I hope you enjoy ♡

Part One

Masterlist

The car is too quiet.

Outside, the streetlights flicker as if they’re forgetting how to glow.

You are in the passenger seat, watching the world blur past in smudges of gold and grey, your hands folded in your lap, afraid of what they might do if left unsupervised.

The car makes a soft and steady sound beneath you but everything inside feels tight. Too tight.

Like a breath, you haven’t taken.

Bucky hasn’t said a word since you left the hospital.

His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. White like fear. White like bone. White like guilt.

You glance over at him.

He’s staring straight ahead, eyes fixed, unmoving. His jaw is locked so tightly it looks like pain. There is a muscle twitching beneath the skin. Just beneath the hinge of his jaw, like something trying to break free.

The dashboard casts its pale light against his side profile. The soft stutter of passing streetlamps blink shadows across his hardened face.

You try to speak softly. “Bucky-”

“You sure you’re okay?” he interrupts, fast. Too fast. His voice is low but cracked, words splintering on their way out.

You nod before you realize he’s not looking. “Yes,” you say, slower. “I’m sure.” He’s asked about fifteen times in the last twenty minutes. But you think it actually should be you asking him.

The doctor told you that it was a cervical contusion in that although soft but clipped and clinical tone. Said that the bleeding would stop, that the pain would ease, that you were going to be fine - physically.

And the way Bucky flinched after that suggested he was perhaps doing worse than you.

He’s asked a few questions, asked how to treat it, asked what you might need, asked what he can do, but his voice was rough and close to giving out. He sat beside you in that too-white room, hands clenched in his lap, jaw locked as though he could grind down the guilt if he just kept his teeth pressed hard enough. He kept looking at your legs, at the blanket they gave you, as though he was waiting for the blood to start flowing again. As though he’d never trust your body not to break under him.

He listened when your doctor explained that it was moderate, but healing and there would be no lasting damage. You should just give it time and be gentle.

But Bucky didn’t hear healing.

He only heard damage.

He hadn’t said anything after that anymore. Just nodded, once. Swallowed hard. Signed the papers with a hand that shook so violently you had to cover it with yours.

You watch him now, his breath thinning.

“Buck,” you ease softly. “I’m okay. She said it’s healing, alright? I’ll be fine.”

Bucky shakes his head once. Sharp. A slice through the silence. “She said it could’ve been worse. That it could’ve-” He swallows loud, and doesn’t finish the sentence.

“But it’s not,” you remind him gently, almost wanting to reach out but not knowing if he needs that right now.

But Bucky doesn’t answer.

Then, you do reach for his arm, tenderly. Fingers brushing over his sleeve. But he flinches. Not from you. From himself. From the memory.

“Buck-”

“I should’ve noticed,” he snaps, and his voice breaks. Just a little. A fracture, clean through. “You said yes. You always say yes, and I- I should’ve seen it- I should’ve fucking known-”

His foot slips heavier on the gas.

The lane lines start to blur.

“Bucky,” you say again, firmer.

But he doesn’t answer.

His eyes dart from the windshield to the mirrors, unfocused. His shoulders have hiked up around his ears. His left hand twitches, his right one follows, tapping the wheel with restless, erratic beats.

His breathing is shallow. Too fast.

You can feel the swell of something too big inside him, pressing against his ribs, rising like floodwater. His grip on the wheel has gone rigid, too stiff for control. His shoulders are locking up.

“Bucky-”

His chest heaves harshly.

He blinks - once, twice - too slow.

His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle fluttering beneath his skin. His breath is sharp, teeth grinding as he sucks in through his nose and lets it out in gasps through his mouth.

“I hurt you,” he croaks, voice undone, shredded. “I fucking hurt you- I was inside you- I didn’t even see-”

The wheel jerks. Just for a second. Enough to drift too close to the lane line.

You shoot forward in your seat. Alarm ringing in your ears.

“I-” he gasps, blinking fast. “Y/n, I can’t- I can’t- I didn’t mean- I didn’t mean to-”

Reaching over to grab the wheel, you wrap your hands about Bucky’s, forcing it steady.

“Okay, okay, I got it. I’ve got you, baby. But we have to pull over.”

Bucky is trembling now. Hands frozen. Breath ragged. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face, catching the glow of a red traffic light.

You guide the car gently to the side, one hand over his as you steer, the other flicking on the hazards, keeping your voice and your movements calm for the sake of Bucky’s rising panic attack even as your heart thunders in your chest.

Bucky brakes too hard and too fast, the tires stuttering on the asphalt as though they are afraid of where he’ll go if they don’t stop him. The moment the engine falls quiet, the silence screams.

And Bucky falls apart.

His head drops forward. Hands over his eyes. Whole body shaking.

He’s still in the driver’s seat but he’s not in his body. His breathing is wild. His chest is heaving in sharp and panicked pulls and you realize he’s trying to get in air but can’t. His left hand is rashly fumbling for the door handle to keep himself tethered.

“Bucky,” you whisper, already unbuckling your seat belt. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

But he doesn’t hear you. He is stuck in some dark, echoing place inside himself and it won’t let him out.

Without hesitation, you move over the console and climb into his lap, settling gently on his thighs, facing him, your knees pressed into the edges of the seat.

Your hands come to his face, cradling it carefully - thumbs brushing over the hollow beneath his eyes, the flushed heat of his cheeks. His skin is clammy, cold.

He still can’t breathe.

You press your forehead to his. Anchor him.

His eyes squeeze together tightly.

“Hey, hey. Look at me, Buck. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

He shakes his head, choking out words you can’t make out because they all end up in a sob.

“James,” you start, and this time your voice is different. This is the sound you make when you’re scared and concerned and you need him to come back. “James. Breathe with me. You’re here with me. We’re okay.”

He shakes his head again, but it’s jerky, frantic.

“I hurt you,” he whimpers. “I hurt you. I should’ve known. I should’ve stopped-”

“No, no. Stop. Listen to me,” you whisper, voice low, brushing his tear-damp hair back from his face. “You checked in on me and I told you I was okay. I said I was fine. You trusted me, Bucky. That’s not your fault.”

He’s still trembling. Still trying to outrun the guilt in his lungs.

But you don’t move. You stroke his hair back, kiss his temples, his forehead, his nose.

His eyes finally meet yours. They are wide and wet and red, brimming with horror. He looks as though he wants to disappear inside himself.

You keep hold of his face, brushing tears away so tenderly. “It was my body. My voice. You didn’t know, and I didn’t tell you. That’s not on you. You never hurt me on purpose. I need you to hear that, Bucky.”

His chest heaves once, twice, then breaks apart with a cry. He pulls you closer, buries his face in your neck. His arms wrap around you like a man drowning.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffs again and again. “I’m so sorry.”

You close your eyes and run your fingers through his hair, slow and grounding.

“I know,” you whisper back. “I know you are. But you don’t have to be. I just need you here with me. Right now. Just breathe, Buck.”

And you guide him through it. Deep breathes. In and out. He follows.

And you hold him. As though he’s the one who’s breakable now.

****

You’ve never known silence like this.

Not the kind that’s empty. Not the kind that comes after slamming doors and burnt-out candles and sharp things unsaid. No, this silence is soft. Living. It seeps into your lungs and expands with each inhale, as though it wants to make space for something new.

Bucky is in the kitchen, stirring a spoon through a mug of tea as though it’s the most important thing in the world.

You’re sitting on his couch, knees tucked to your chest, wrapped in one of his henleys that hangs too big on you in all the right places. It’s quiet in your head for the first time in what feels like weeks.

The sky outside has folded into a kind of blue that feels more like velvet than color. The windows are cracked open, the summer breeze floating in, lazy and gold-edged, breathing over your skin like a whisper of someone who never learned to shout.

You’ve been here since late afternoon.

And everything smells like home at his place. Like Bucky. Cedar and cotton and chamomile. There’s a ticking of the wall clock he always pretends not to hate. Next to you lay the neatly folded blanket Bucky always pulls onto your lap when the AC kicks in too high.

Bucky brings you the tea like he always does and doesn’t let go of the mug until he’s sure your fingers are steady around it.

Then he sits down beside you, careful and close. His arm brushes yours and then he pulls back as though even that was too much. His eyes search yours. They always do now. As if he’s checking the weather behind your gaze before he says anything.

“You feelin’ okay?” he asks, voice rough. He probably hasn’t spoken all day before you came over.

You nod, and it’s mostly true. “I’m okay,” you say softly. “I promise.”

The TV is playing something you’re only half-watching, some indie movie with subtitles and sad music.

Bucky lets his arm drape behind your shoulders, over the back of the couch and you hear his fingers tracing the stitches in the seam of the couch. His gaze drifts to the TV but you know he’s not really watching. His eyes flick across the screen but his mind is somewhere else still. You don’t have to guess where.

That weight, that guilt, hasn’t let up.

And it’s not just the incident itself - it’s the panic he spiraled into afterward, the way you had to calm him down when you were the one who had been in pain. That’s what sits the heaviest on him, you think. That you comforted him, wrapped your arms around his trembling frame, and whispered soothing reassurances while your body was still in fresh pain.

You watch the line of his profile, the glimmer of the screen painting shadows beneath his cheekbone. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and there is a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there when you were only fuck buddies.

You’ve talked a lot. About everything. The incident. The aftermath. Your relationship. About what it all means and what it doesn’t, about what you both want and what you both fear. The hard words are behind you now, sorted and softened. And you’re not just his maybe anymore. You’re his. Official. Quietly, fully.

And still, he treats you as though you might not be. As though you’re a snowflake he caught in his hands and he’s afraid to close his fingers.

He’s still scared. Scared of doing something wrong. Scared of missing something again. Scared of hurting you again. You feel it in the way he touches you now - fingertips like feathers on your skin, always asking with and without words if you’re okay. Always watching, always listening.

He treats you like glass now. But glass that’s already cracked.

And you’ve tried to tell him again and again that you’re fine.

But Bucky has always been hard on himself. Especially when it comes to you and your well-being.

His fingers brush your shin slightly and the contact strikes, heat blooming low in your stomach.

You shift closer and Bucky’s attention snaps to you. He watches you move, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips and then darting back up, catching himself. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or habit, that reflex to hesitate.

But he’s been hesitating for weeks.

Weeks of healing. Weeks of slow walks and softer kisses and quieter touches.

You haven’t had sex since.

You wanted to. You were ready. But Bucky wanted to wait. To be sure. To be careful. To do it right this time.

And you let him. You let him wrap you in all that caution and care. Let him fuss and hover and bring you your favorite snacks, let him hold you through the night without reaching for anything more than the sound of your breathing against his chest. You let him because it’s what he needed.

But you are fine now.

Your body doesn’t ache anymore. You’ve healed. Fully. You know this because you’ve checked. Alone. With your fingers and your breath and the soft test of space. And you’ve told him, more than once. But Bucky is stubborn with his guilt, protective.

So you’ve waited. Because you love him.

But you notice the way Bucky keeps glancing at you, his eyes catching on your thighs, the shape of your mouth, the way his shirt hangs loose on your frame every time you wear it.

You notice it right now.

Moving your feet, you place them right on Bucky’s lap and feel the shift in his thigh muscle beneath you. The way his hand on your shin stills, the way the hand behind your shoulders drifts closer, then stops, fingers curling as though they’ve touched a flame.

“Movie’s boring,” you murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder, voice lazy with comfort.

He chuckles, a little breathless, a little nervous, low in his chest. “Didn’t even know what it was.”

His eyes catch yours. He’s looking at you as though you’ve said something profound.

Your hand slips up to cup his cheek, your thumb sweeping gently across the faint stubble there. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, as though your touch still startles him, still humbles him.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He swallows. Opens his eyes. Immediately, they drop to your mouth. Then back to your eyes. And again.

“Hi,” he breathes.

You lean in first.

The kiss is gentle. Familiar. Something well-loved.

He tastes of cinnamon and hesitation. He kisses you with a kind of slowness that seems almost like another apology, another question if you’re okay.

His hand finds your waist, the other brushes the back of your neck, and they hold you so carefully you want to cry. You press closer. Push into the kiss. Let it deepen.

And for a moment, with a soft groan, he lets go.

His grip tightens. His mouth opens. His body leans into yours, chest brushing chest, thighs pressing close.

His mouth moves with yours as though it remembers exactly where it left off. Deep. Thoughtful.

You sigh against him. The movie flickers behind your closed eyelids.

Your name escapes him in a breath, his hands tighten a fraction, shaking slightly. His breath stutters, the kiss deepens, and suddenly he’s pulling away.

His brows are furrowed and he looks at you slightly panting. “What are you doing?” he asks, cautious, worried.

You blink, lips swollen, a little dazed. You answer with a small, amused tilt of your head. “I’m kissing my boyfriend.”

He flushes visibly, face burning red, but he doesn’t smile, and that line between his brows doesn’t ease. His jaw flexes. “I just- I know we’ve talked,” he starts, voice hushed, breathy. “And you say you’re okay, but I just don’t wanna rush this. You know? I don’t want to push you. Or hurt you. Or do this just because I’m-”

He shifts slightly, adjusting himself. The movement reveals the hardening outline of him in his sweatpants.

“I’m not rushing, Buck. We-”

“I am though. I didn’t mean to- but it got kinda- fast, and-” He stops. Runs a hand through his hair. His voice is tight now. “I just need to be sure, doll. I need to know you’re okay. Completely.”

You press your forehead to his, arms slipping around his neck. Your voice is a soft brush. “I am okay. Really. It’s been weeks, Bucky. Everything’s healed. The doctor said it. I said it. And I’m telling you again.”

He swallows. You feel it. That pulse in his throat working hard to steady itself. He looks at you, hard. Searching. Maybe trying to see inside you.

“I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything.” A rough tremor runs through his voice.

“I don’t,” you ease quickly, shaking your head. “I want this, Bucky. And I’ve been listening to my body. I’m okay.” Leaning down, you kiss his jaw, just below his ear. He shivers. “And I trust you.”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. His voice is thick, strained. “Still. I don’t wanna rush you. Not if there’s even a part of you that’s unsure. I mean- hell, what if- what if something hurts again? I couldn’t-”

You stop him gently with a hand to his chest. “Then we stop. Just like that. And we talk. Just like we’ve been doing.”

He stares at you for a moment. And you can see how words pool behind his eyes but don’t make it to his lips.

“Okay,” he whispers then, voice coarse. “Okay. Just… don’t want you to ever feel like you have to fix me by doing this. Don’t wanna take something from you just because I’ve got issues.”

“Hey.” You shake your head, fingers in his hair now. “That’s not what this is. I want this. I want you.”

He groans, quiet and exposed, tilting his head back against the cushion. His hands grip your hips. He’s flushed, already half-hard against your thigh and visibly trying to hide it.

You smirk a little. “Let me help with that.”

His eyes widen. “Doll-”

“I feel fine, baby,” you repeat, patient, but smiling. “I promise.”

“I’m not gonna let you do something just for me.” A rasp in his voice makes his words sound slightly scratchy.

You tilt your head. “Then maybe it’s for me. Ever think of that?”

He groans softly, hands squeezing you. “I’m trying to do the right thing-”

“Then let me show you I’m okay,” you state warmly.

His eyes close. A beat. Two. Three. He breathes out, slow.

You grin, your hands tracing circles over his chest. “I’m healed. I’m ready. You’re my boyfriend. What’s the problem here?”

He laughs something broken, something between admiration and disbelief. Then he sighs, eyes soft.

“You’re really okay?”

“I am.”

Pressing a tender kiss to your temple, he whispers into your ear, voice gravel. “We’ll go slow, yeah? Real slow. And you tell me if anything hurts, or if you’re uncomfortable.”

You nod immediately and brush his cheek lovingly and soothingly at the pain that’s still lingering in the corners of his voice. “I promise.”

****

He doesn’t rush.

He doesn’t dare.

Bucky lays you down as though you’re something he’s never been allowed to hold before - as if someone plucked the stars from the sky, wrapped them in silk, and gave them to him with a whispered don’t drop this.

It’s not rushed. It’s not eager. It’s not even lustful, not exactly.

It’s love. In slow motion. In devotion. In the way he arranges your body like a painting.

The cotton sheets are warm beneath you. Bucky kneels beside you, hovering, breathing slow and tight through his nose.

His hand cups your face. And he’s looking at you as though you are light. A glowing and living thing that he’s afraid to reach for too fast, he’s afraid of casting shadows on.

His gaze is soft and dark and unblinking. You can feel how full it is, how heavy. And it warms you. Like honey across your skin. Like sunrise slowly coming alive.

You smile up at him. “Bucky.” His name sounds like an invitation. Open. Safe. As though it belongs between your lips.

“I’m here,” he says, hardly a whisper. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low. Throaty. Careful. His thumb strokes your cheek as though it’s still asking.

You nod. But it’s not enough, so you pull him closer. Whisper against his mouth. “I want you.” A breath. “I trust you.”

He exhales all at once, and it comes out as a shiver.

After a pause, he leans down, kisses your forehead first. Then the top of your nose. Then, back to your mouth - and it’s gentle. It’s so gentle. As though he’s practicing reverence. Reminding himself you’re real.

“Tell me everything,” he murmurs. His hand on your cheek, your waist, your thigh. “I wanna know what feels good. What doesn’t. I want to hear every sound you make. I want to see your face every second. I wanna be right here with you, baby. Every second. You don’t gotta be quiet with me. Not ever.”

You nod, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. Because this is love in a language that isn’t words.

And he’s fluent in it. Fluent in you.

His fingers slide up the hem of the shirt you’re wearing - his shirt. And he pauses again.

“Can I take this off?” His voice is low. Strained. Still asking. Still making space.

You nod again. “Please.”

He swallows. You feel the tremble in his hands as he lifts the fabric slowly, cautiously, peeling away something important. He watches your face the whole time. Checks for flinches. For hesitation. For any sign that you might change your mind.

You lift your arms for him, and he helps you out of it without ever breaking eye contact.

And suddenly your chest is bare.

And Bucky hasn’t looked away from your face.

You almost laugh. Maybe you even almost cry. He’s so careful. As though he genuinely wants to memorize your expression with every inch of skin he reveals.

Only after a beat - when you don’t hide, don’t shift away - do his eyes begin to travel downward.

You watch him watching you. And it’s not hunger you see. It’s awe.

He seems to see you in full color and it makes your skin prickle with pleasurable heat.

His fingers trail down your sides, featherlight. Your ribs. Your hips. He touches you as though he’s learning you all over again.

Then his thumb glides up to brush the underside of your breast. You feel him exhale through his nose, shaky.

“God,” he whispers, rolling the words out with care. “You’re so beautiful.”

You don’t say anything. Just reach up, tangle your fingers in his hair. Pull him down to kiss you again, slow and long and open.

And he melts.

He moves over you, between your legs, still careful, still holding most of his weight off you. And he takes his time kissing you, your lips, until his mouth follows the path of his hands. Trailing across your collarbone, down to the softest parts of you. Every kiss is a question. Every breath against your skin is a vow.

When he reaches your stomach, he pauses again. Resting his forehead there like a man at prayer.

He takes another shaky breath and you soothe your hands over his dark locks, treading your fingers into his hair. Your thumb traces the back of his neck, bringing him back to the present.

He exhales. It sounds like surrender. “You gotta know how much I love you, baby.”

You do. You’ve known it since that day those few weeks ago. You know it by the way he moves. By the way he treats you. By the way he touches you. By the way he doesn’t rush.

“I love you too, Buck,” you whisper sweetly and his breath is broken against your skin.

He presses a kiss to your hipbone. Then lower.

His hands are back at your thighs now - sliding under, lifting gently. He kisses the inside of your knee, then the soft skin just above it, his breath trembling.

“You’ll tell me if anything doesn’t feel right,” he says, looking up but not taking his lips off your skin.

“I will,” you promise, getting breathless already.

“And if you want to stop-”

“I’ll tell you,” you assure him, softly, firmly.

He nods.

Then he leans forward and lays a kiss over your pubic bone. So worshipful. So loving.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until his fingers ghost over the waistband of your underwear - and stop there.

“Still okay?” he breathes, so quiet, it almost doesn’t make it out of his mouth. But it carries so much. Every syllable wrapped in worry, wrapped in memory. He’s still afraid something will crack open inside you if he touches the wrong place, the wrong way.

You nod.

But that’s not enough.

“Say it,” he whispers, and there’s a tremor in his voice again. “I need to hear you say it.”

You reach for him. Take his face in your hands, thumbs brushing over the apples of his cheeks. His skin is warm, flushed. His eyes are already glassy.

“I’m okay, baby,” you whisper, your voice soft but sure. “I want you to do this.”

With a pained exhaled sound and fluttering lashes, he nods and goes to kiss your thigh again. Then the dip of your hip. Then right beside the soft curve of your center. You feel the warm puff of his breath against the fabric and it makes your hips twitch.

And then he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and pulls them down. Slowly. Unwrapping something too precious to tear.

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t let his gaze wander greedily. He watches your face, every second of it - watching for hesitation, for discomfort, for pain. But all you give him is anticipation.

When the fabric slips down your thighs, past your knees, and finally off the ends of your toes, he sets it aside so carefully it almost makes you laugh. As though it’s something important.

Then he settles between your legs again. And he just looks.

He drinks in the sight of you, as though he’s parched. As though you’re the first drop of water he’s seen in weeks. His tongue darts out, barely wetting his lips. His hands spread your thighs wider, gently. Tenderly. As though he’s parting pages in a sacred text.

“You’re so-” he swallows. “Jesus, you’re-”

But he doesn’t finish.

He lowers his mouth to you instead.

The first kiss between your legs is featherlight. Half a breath. But it makes your whole body arch, your breath stutter.

Bucky groans softly into you - a sound of both restraint and desperate, helpless desire.

“Sorry,” you pant, chest rising too fast. “I didn’t-”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he rasps, voice dark with awe. “God, that was- do it again.”

And you do. You can’t help it.

He licks you again - slower this time. Broader. Firmer. His lips move with practice, but not routine. There’s nothing careless about the way he touches you. Every movement is deliberate. As though he’s re-learning you. Learning how you feel like being his. Utterly and completely. Studying the way your body blooms beneath his mouth.

And he keeps checking in.

He doesn’t ask again with words. He does it with his eyes, every time he lifts his gaze to yours. He does it with his hand, the way he curls his fingers around your hip but doesn’t grip, the way he strokes his thumb along your skin in circles, grounding you. The way he takes hold of your hand with his other, encouraging you to squeeze him in your pleasure.

You moan. Soft and breathy.

And Bucky’s whole body reacts - you can see it in the way his hips shift against the mattress, the way he groans into you as though your pleasure is his own.

And he’s holding himself back, still. You can see it in the tight line of his shoulders, the way his hand shakes a little as it holds your thighs open. He’s painfully hard. You can feel the heat of it, see the outline pressing into the sheets, but he doesn’t move to relieve it.

Because this moment is for you.

This is your healing, your pleasure, your gift.

And god, does he worship you.

He takes his time.

He kisses you between licks, soft and open-mouthed, as though he can’t decide whether he wants to devour you or just memorize you. His tongue moves in slow, perfect circles. Then strokes up. Down. Gentle flicks, patient and watchful. Never too much, never too fast.

He listens. Learns.

Every time your breath catches, every time your hips twitch and your fingers tighten against his hand and the sheets, he adjusts. Builds on it. Builds you.

“Tell me what feels good,” he breathes against you.

“Everything,” you gasp, struggling to take in air.

“Yeah?” He kisses your clit once, then again, light and tender. “Right here?”

You nod, too dizzy to speak, sighing softly.

He hums into you. “So good, baby. You’re doing so good.”

Your hands reach down, weaving through his hair and he groans when you pull just slightly.

He’s hard and leaking and untouched, but he still doesn’t seem to care. You’re shaking beneath his mouth and that’s all he needs.

“Bucky,” you whimper, high and trembling. “I’m- close-”

“I’ve got you,” he utters, fingers tightening just slightly on your hips. “I’ve got you, baby. Let go for me.”

And you do. You let yourself fall.

Gasping, shaking, your thighs clenching around his head and Bucky holds you through it. He stays there, mouth softening against you, kissing you through every aftershock. You don’t see him watching you. Slowing his movements. Letting you come down in your own time.

And when he finally comes up, his lips are wet and his eyes wild with wonder.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod. Voice gone. Words gone. Heart full.

And all he does is smile. The softest smile in the world.

You continue trembling when he climbs up your body again.

His hands frame your ribs, then your face, then your hair - as if he can’t decide which part of you he wants to hold first. His mouth is damp from you. His pupils are blown. But even with the flush of his skin, the pulse in his throat, the strain pressing hard against his boxers - he doesn’t rush.

He doesn’t even reach for himself yet.

He’s just looking at you. As though you’re art. His. And he’s still trying to build sense around that.

You lift a hand to his face. Trace his cheekbone, his brow, and he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering.

“Your turn,” you whisper.

Uncertainty flashes through his eyes. “Only if you’re sure. We can stop here, baby.”

You smile warmly. “I’m aching for you, Barnes. Can’t leave me hanging here.”

His throat bobs. His cheeks burn deeper, as though you’ve spoken something too tender, too vulnerable.

But he nods.

And slowly, Bucky rises to his knees.

His fingers go to the hem of his shirt and you watch the fabric lift over his stomach, up his ribs, his chest, and then finally over his head.

And it never gets easier seeing him like this.

He’s stunning.

He is solid and sculptured and beautiful. His shoulders broad and corded with muscle, his waist lean, his skin golden in the soft bedroom light.

And still, he looks at you as if you are the masterpiece.

He hisses softly, when he frees himself out of his boxers, hard and heavy and flushed dark at the tip. He’s leaking, aching, but even now he doesn’t let that take over.

He braces above you, forehead pressed to yours, one hand sliding down to cup your face again.

“You’ll tell me,” he insists lowly, “if anything feels wrong.”

“I promise,” you respond quietly.

“And you’re sure you’re-”

“I feel perfect,” you interrupt gently. “Because of you.”

His breath hitches. You feel his body tense.

And still, he hesitates. He glances down your body, past your hot skin and the slick heat still dripping between your thighs. His fingers hover just below your navel.

“Let me- just one-” he murmurs, already sliding a hand between your legs. “Just want to make sure-”

But the moment his fingers glide through your folds, and he feels how wet you still are from his mouth, he lets out a deep, strangled groan.

His gaze jerks up to yours. Wide. Disbelieving.

“Oh,” you tease softly. “Surprised?”

He reddens deeply. Face and neck and chest. Even the tips of his ears turn pink. He twitches against your thigh.

“You really didn’t know what you were doing to me?” you whisper.

His eyes dart away for half a second - bashful. Then back to yours.

He leans in. Presses his lips to your temple. Your cheek. The corner of your mouth. A trail of kisses.

“I just wanted to take care of you,” he breathes thickly. “Didn’t even think about- fuck, baby.”

You giggle softly, stroking the back of his neck. He groans again, burying his face in your neck and staying there for a few heartbeats, clinging to you.

But his hand stays between your legs. He doesn’t dive in. Just lingers. “Still have to make sure, yeah, baby?” he whispers into your skin.

You nod, soft. “Okay.”

And then he moves. Slowly. Carefully. He pulls his head back and his eyes fall between your legs. Then back to watch you. Watch your mouth, your eye, your breath.

His fingers dip lower, about to touch you in a way that means everything. You see his throat work around a swallow.

He sinks one finger in, soothingly and dragging it out. His other hand braces beside your hip as though he needs the ground. He stops at the first knuckle.

Watching your face. Searching. Always looking for a sign of pain.

You sigh, your mouth parting on a soft moan. Not from discomfort.

From relief. From the feel of him.

Bucky’s gaze flares.

“Okay?” he whispers.

You nod. “Yeah,” you breathe out.

He pushes in a little deeper. Then again. Until the full length of his finger is buried inside you.

You whimper. Arch, just slightly. His name slips out.

And Bucky stills. Blinks. As though the sound alone managed to take his breath away.

“Oh, fuck,” he exhales in a sigh. His gaze is so focused on you. He is all you can think about.

You bite your lip, watching him with stars in your eyes.

His fingers curl a little inside you and your breath catches again, back arching. And that has him groaning under his breath, leaning forward as though he just needs to be closer, deeper.

He kisses your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

And with his eyes on yours, he gently and ever so cautiously slips in another finger beside the first. This time even slower.

Your body shifts to accommodate him and he feels it. Feels the way you welcome him, wrap around him. How warm you are. How soft.

His breathing stutters.

You moan again.

And still, he stops. Right at the knuckle. Eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he rasps, halfway there to lose his voice.

“Yes,” you manage to get out, voice almost pleading. “More, Bucky, please-”

And he gives you more. Goes deeper. Until both fingers are sheathed inside you and he’s filling you just enough to make your toes curl, just enough for his name to fall off your tongue again in a way that almost leaves Bucky gasping.

He watches you. He doesn’t blink.

He curls his fingers gently, once, and when your hips lift off the mattress just a little, when your mouth falls open and your eyes flutter shut in pleasure, he groans again. Buries his face in your shoulder. Just like before.

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaims roughly.

You stroke the back of his neck.

His hands still inside you, as though he needs a second to breathe.

And after a few shaky breaths, he starts moving again. Fingers stroking that spot deep inside you, slow and perfect and gentle. His lips brush your shoulder. Your collarbone. He kisses your heart, trying to memorize how it beats.

And even though you feel his swollen member against your thigh, red and ready, he doesn’t move to use it.

Because you’re not ready until he is sure you are.

Not just wet. Not just eager. Ready.

So he watches you. Watches every moan. Every gasp. Every quiver of your thighs, every arch of your spine.

Until you fall apart on his fingers.

And it’s the way you come undone under the gentlest version of his touch, that truly seems to make him need you.

He slides his fingers out slowly after he guides you through your high, like an apology, like a thank you.

And meets your eyes. They are full. His voice is low when he speaks. Hoarse.

“Okay,” he starts. “Okay. I’m gonna start slow.”

You nod, biting your lip.

And he reaches down to line himself up.

There is a pause. A beat of stillness.

You feel the head of him pressing just barely against you. His breath catches. Your breath catches.

His eyes snap to yours. “Tell me if-”

“I will,” you promise, eagerness in your tone. “Just get in, honey.”

He pushes in. The stretch is slow. So, so slow.

You feel every inch of him, and he feels it, too. His mouth falls open, eyes wide, as though the sensation shocks him. As though it’s different now to be inside you, to be with you like this, now that you wholly belong to each other.

He groans - soft, drawn-out. The sound is being dragged from deep in his chest.

You clench instinctively, and he curses under his breath, forehead dropping to yours, eyes staying on you.

“Shit, baby- fuck-”

You hold onto his shoulders. His waist. Anything you can reach. You’re both shaking.

But he doesn’t push in all the way. Not yet. He pauses halfway in, breathing ragged, eyes continuing to search your face.

You talk before he can ask. “You can keep going.”

“Promise me.”

You kiss him. Sweet and slow and sure.

“I promise.”

And so he moves - just a little more - and the moan that rips out of him is wounded, as though pleasure hurts. As though being this close to you is almost too much.

But he doesn’t let himself close his eyes. Doesn’t let them move away from your face.

And when he’s finally seated fully inside you, his hips flush against yours, you both just breathe.

Still. Connected.

He doesn’t move at first. Just holds himself there - deep inside you. Anchoring himself to the moment, to your body, to the fact that you’re okay. That you want this. That you’re here.

And he’s trying not to cry.

You can see it in the way his lashes flutter, in the glassy sheen on his cheeks that catches the light.

His forehead leans against yours, breath hot over your mouth.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers. One word. As though it contains a hundred.

“It’s okay,” you whisper back. “You’re okay.”

His eyes stay open. You don’t think he’s blinked since he pushed in.

They are pinned to yours like if he looks away for even a second something might go wrong. He’s watching your eyes for any sign of pain. And you know he won’t close his own until he knows you’re safe.

“I can feel how hard you’re holding back,” you start quietly, gently, fingers brushing the sweat-damp strands from his forehead. “You can move, Buck.”

He doesn’t. His throat bobs. Jaw flexing.

“God,” he breathes. “You feel so good- too good- but I don’t want to- fuck, baby, I don’t want to hurt you again-”

“You won’t. You say it firmly, but still with a sweet voice. Your thumb strokes the dimple in his chin. “You didn’t before. It wasn’t your fault. And it’s not going to happen again.”

He breathes in as though your words might soothe something broken in him. But still, he doesn’t move. Not until you speak again.

“I need you, Bucky.”

And something in him crumbles. Slowly, painstakingly, he pulls his hips back just an inch, then slides forward again, keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. He’s watching, reading, studying every twitch of your mouth, your brows, every flutter of your lashes, every breath you take.

“Is that-” he breathes, “-was that okay?”

You nod, voice thick. “Yes. Yes, Buck, it’s perfect.”

And he moves again.

Tiny, tender thrusts. Gentle. Devoted.

It’s not even about pleasure, it’s about closeness. About the feeling of him. The heat of his skin. The tremble in his arms as he holds himself up above you. The way he groans, low and broken, every time he slides a little deeper.

His eyes won’t leave you.

Not even when his lashes are heavy with heat and he has to force them to stay open. Not even when his mouth opens and he exhales a shaky, stuttering breath that tells you he’s feeling everything. But he fights to keep them open. To see you.

You run your fingers through his hair, trying to get him to let go. “I feel good, baby. I’m okay.”

But he just shakes his head. Leans down and kisses you. Slow. Melting. Deep.

“I want to watch you feel good,” he says huskily. “Need it. Need to make sure.”

And then he thrusts a little deeper.

It’s so painfully careful but still enough to steal your breath. You gasp, clutching his shoulders, hips rising to meet his.

His eyes roll back. His whole body shudders. “Fuck,” he groans. “Don’t do that. God, sweetheart, you’re ruining me.”

You smile through the moan that slips past your lips. “That’s kind of the point.”

He laughs, a real and broken little laugh, but it cracks at the edges. He is overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by you.

He rocks into you again. A little deeper. A little more sure. Still slow, still soft - but he’s feeling it now, letting his hips follow the rhythm you’re building together.

You cling to him.

He is panting. Tiny tremors running through his arms. His left hand slides beneath your back, holding your closer, lifting your chest to his so your hearts are touching - so he can feel every beat of you against him.

His voice is low and trembling. “Tell me again,” he pleads, strained. “Please, tell me it’s okay-”

“It’s better than okay,” you gasp, nails dragging down his back. “I’m perfect. You’re perfect. Don’t stop.”

He kisses you. Desperate now. His rhythm falters for a second, too lost in the way your mouth tastes.

Then he pulls back, just far enough to look at you. His gaze is devastated. Open. Admiring.

“I love you,” he sighs.

And your heart bursts.

You take his face in your hands, voice breaking with feeling.

“I love you too.”

And it happens slowly. Then all at once.

He watches you fall apart as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful. As though your pleasure is a sunrise he never thought he’d survive long enough to see. As though every sigh, every gasp, every whisper of his name is another stitch holding his broken heart together.

You feel him shaking. Hear him whisper things he doesn’t seem to know he’s saying. “Shit, baby, look at you- so perfect- so good- fuck, baby-”

One of his hands grips beneath your thigh, thumb stroking soothing circles into your skin. The other tangles in your hair, holding your forehead to his as though he needs the connection to stay whole.

He’s watching your face as if it’s a map. Tracing every change in expression, every whimper and moan, every flicker of ecstasy that breaks across your features.

And you can feel it building. Low and hot, coiling tight in your belly. Your body trembling, hips lifting to meet his in soft, desperate little movements. Your breaths coming fast, faster. His name spilling from your mouth, making him shudder.

“Buck- Bucky- I’m- don’t stop.”

He falters. Just once. Just enough for him to whisper. “You’re close.”

You nod, gasping.

And that’s all it takes for him to shift slightly. Just enough to hit the angle he knows drives you insane. He leans in, nose brushing your cheek, lips at your ear. “Let go for me, my sweetheart. Please. I’ve got you. Always got you.”

And your whole body locks around him, your voice breaking into something wild and soft, pleasure cursing through your veins, hot and blinding and complete.

You come with his name on your tongue.

His eyes snap shut.

That’s all it takes.

He gasps, chokes on a breath, and then he’s gone - spilling into you with a groan that sounds like heartbreak and heaven all at once. His whole body arches, hands gripping you tight, holding on for dear life, burying himself in you. As though he wants to pour every ounce of his love into you and never come back.

His mouth meets your shoulder, kissing your skin as though he has all the time in the world.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “I’ve never- fuck- never felt anything like that.”

Neither have you.

Because this wasn’t just fucking. This wasn’t the kind of sex you’ve been having for so long.

This was something else.

This was love, laid bare. No games. No fear. No walls. Just skin and breath and heartbeats and truth.

He stays inside you. Doesn’t dare move. Not yet.

His face is tucked into your neck, breath hot and trembling.

You card your fingers through his hair, kissing the shell of his ear, the slope of his shoulder. “You okay?”

He nods. A slow, solemn little nod. Then pulls back just enough to look at you.

And the look in his eyes is too much.

As though he’s never going to recover from this. He doesn’t want to.

He brushes his fingers down your cheek and kisses you leisurely.

“I love you,” he says again, still searching for air. “More than anything.”

You whisper it back. Because you do.

Bucky keeps hovering above you even though he already brought you home. The way he presses his lips to your temple and cradles your jaw in his palm as though you’re the last delicate thing in the world.

You breathe him in. He breathes you in. His forehead rests against yours, sticky with sweat, the kind of closeness that makes time irrelevant.

“You okay?” he whispers quietly. His voice cracks right down the middle.

You nod, throat too tight for words, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t take the nod as final. His eyes scan your face as though he is trying to read between the lines of skin and breath and silence.

“I’m serious, doll,” he murmurs, a little firmer now. “You tell me if something feels off. Anything. If you’re sore, or-” he pauses, swallows a cough, “or if it hurt. Even just a little.”

Your hand finds the curve of his jaw, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone, damp with sweat and tenderness. “I’m okay,” you reassure him sweetly. “I promise, baby. I feel good.”

His brows twitch. He wants to believe you.

“I mean it,” you add, lips brushing against his. “I feel more than good. I feel amazing.”

That finally does something to him. His shoulders drop. His hands tremble a little less. But even still, his gaze keeps drifting downward - to where your bodies meet, joined in the slowest, softest way you ever have. Searching for signs of pain that your mouth hasn’t admitted yet.

And then, quietly, with a softness you’re still surprised at - he slides out of you and down the bed. Down your body.

You blink. “Buck?”

“I just wanna check,” he says, already reaching for a soft towel. “Not tryna be weird, just-” his throat bobs. “Just need to know you didn’t start bleeding again.”

You open your mouth, not able to say anything.

Taking hold of your hand, he kisses the back of it before continuing. Every movement is careful, tender, hands working as though he’s handling silk. He wipes you down with warm water, his brow furrowed with a worry so profound it makes your chest ache. He doesn’t rush, not once. His eyes move up to yours every few seconds, silently asking for consent all over again.

“Still okay?” he inquires quietly as he folds the towel, already looking like he wants to run a warm bath and wrap you in a blanket of cloud and honey and safety.

“Still okay,” you nod, voice thick with emotion.

“Good.” He exhales for the first time in what feels like minutes. “Good. You tell me the second that changes. I mean it. I’ll pull the moon out of the damn sky if it hurts you again.”

You smile watery. He kisses your thigh.

And then he lifts you, scoops you into his arms with a care that feels so incredibly intimate. Carrying you to the bathroom, he is holding you so close that your heart forgets what it’s like to feel anything but safe.

With a kiss to your shoulder and your forehead, he sets you down on the edge of the tub.

He draws the bath. He adds your favorite bubbles. Lavender and eucalyptus steam curling through the air, filled with comfort.

He tests the temperature and while it fills, he kneels between your legs, rests his cheek on your thigh, and places more kisses into the bend of your knee, your hip, your ribs.

“D’you feel it?” he asks then, quietly. Almost nervous. Voice low and hoarse.

You run your fingers through his hair. He melts under your touch.

You think you know what he’s talking about.

Because all those times you slept with each other before, it was fast, frantic, bodies tangled and pressed into stolen hours, trying to pretend it didn’t matter.

It never felt like being held in a way that spoke louder than words. Never felt like being chosen in the silence after the fact. Never felt like someone saying I love you without needing to say it.

But tonight, it did.

“Yeah,” you answer, just as silent. “It never felt like that before.”

He lifts his head. Eyes soft. “That a good thing?”

“A very good thing,” you answer, almost teasingly, grinning.

And Bucky’s smile comes wide and real. His hands move up and down your shins. He leans in. Kisses your knee. Eyes on yours.

And when he guides you into the water, hands warm at your waist, his eyes track you constantly, scanning your face, your body. Watching. Worry never leaving, but love, too - love stretched wide across every inch of his face.

He joins you once you’re settled, pulling you into his lap, your back to his chest, water lapping around your waists. His arms wind around you, tightening comfortably, his heartbeat thudding against your back.

He kisses your shoulder. Rests his head in the crook of your neck.

The bath water cradles you as though it knows how hard your body worked tonight, how loved it was, how careful the man at your side has been, every moment before and after.

Your knees are tucked to your chest, curled in his lap, spine pressed to his sternum. His arms are heavy around your waist, long fingers spread wide and warm beneath the surface of the water. One palm pressed flat over your stomach, the other stroking a gentle line up and down your thigh, so painstaking, as though he never wants to stop touching you. He holds you as though you are his heart made tangible.

You breathe together. Quiet. Slow.

The ache between your legs is not painful. It’s soft. A memory of something beautiful.

You feel Bucky’s heartbeat thump against your spine. He kisses your neck. Again and again.

Then - so quiet, so gentle, almost afraid - he asks again. “Are you still okay?”

And it shouldn’t be much. It’s just a check-in. One of a hundred he’s made tonight. The softness in his voice, the worry gathered beneath his breath - it should feel comforting.

But instead, your chest caves in.

Your throat locks up.

You blink once, twice, and suddenly you can’t see. Everything blurs.

Because he means it. He really, truly means it.

Because he loves you. So goddamn much. And he’s holding you as if you matter more than air and he touches you as if you are a living poem and you can still feel him inside you, loving you - and your heart can’t hold all of it. It’s too much. It spills over.

Because he’s been so careful. His hands were so tender and his mouth so full of praise and his eyes tracked you the way the earth tracks the sun. Because even now, when it’s over, when the candle he lit up before getting into the tub flickers low, and the air smells of eucalyptus and his thighs are soaked through with warm water, he still won’t stop caring.

And it hits you. All of it. Everything. The past weeks. The pain. The panic when you tried to scrub away the evidence alone in the very same bathroom you’re in right now and bolt out of his apartment. The way he broke through the door just to get to you, how he wiped you off with hands that trembled but never once let you go.

The guilt he carried. The way he flinched for days when you touched him back. The softness he offered even when he had none for himself.

And now this.

This perfect, intimate thing you just shared. This feeling of being held in a way no one ever held you before. It’s all too much. The bath, his arms, the way he holds your ribcage as though he’s matching your breath. The most amazing sex you’ve ever had. The way he whispered into your shoulder as he moved inside you with so much care.

You want to answer him. Want to tell him you’re okay. But nothing comes out.

You can only inhale sharply, the sound catching in your throat.

And Bucky stills. Goes completely stiff.

You don’t speak. You can’t. Your overflowing heart won’t let you.

Bucky shifts behind you. “Baby?” His voice is quiet. But not calm. Never calm, when it comes to your silence.

And you stay silent. Turning your head away.

His arms tighten and you feel him trying to look around at your face. “Hey, hey. Honey. What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Are you- did I- did something hurt again? Are you hurting? Something feel wrong?”

You shake your head, but his voice is shaking harder.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he croaks in a whisper, his fingers coming to cup your jaw, about to tilt your head, but you don’t want him to see the tears forming, don’t want him to panic. He is frantic, not sure what he’s afraid of more - your pain or your silence. “C’mon, baby, please talk to me. I- did I do something? Did I hurt you and you didn’t wanna say? Are you bleedin’?”

You can feel him check the water for any signs of red and you hate yourself for not getting your voice out of your throat. But the only thing coming up is a choked breath.

“Talk to me.” He talks fast, swallowing words, swallowing breaths. “Please, baby. You have to tell me. You’re scaring me.”

He can’t see you like this. Not with your face turned away, not with your chest shaking in silence. So he moves, carefully but with uncoordinated and frantic hands, guiding you to turn in his arms until you’re straddling him in the water, your body trembling with the force of emotion you hadn’t braced yourself for.

You try to speak, but all that comes out is a wet hiccup of a breath and a soft, unsteady sob - not from pain, not from fear, just from everything. Your chest stings with it. Tears fall. Two, three, falling down your cheeks.

And Bucky panics. “No, baby, no, please don’t cry. Fuck, I don’t-”

He’s sitting up straighter now, water sloshing around you both, almost lapping over the tub. His face crumbles. His hands scramble, checking your sides, your arms, trying to study every inch of you, to figure out what’s wrong here, where it hurts, what he missed.

“Shit, shit, I knew it! Baby I knew we should’ve waited. I shouldn’t have- fuck- I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry- please talk to me-”

“No,” you finally manage, voice cracking, catching his hands and trying to squeeze the quiver out of them. “No, no, Bucky- I’m okay, I’m okay.”

But his eyes are wide, a glossy sheen already there and you would like to kick yourself. The guilt is already spinning in those pretty blue depths, the fear and dread all bubbling and building and ready to crescendo into another panic attack.

You press your forehead to his. You breathe in, slow. You breathe out. Your hands move to cup his cheeks. “It’s not that,” you breathe, and your voice is wet and cracked and soaked in love. “It’s not- Baby, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

His breath is uneven, hectic. He doesn’t blink.

You kiss his lips. A soft, barely-there brush. “I’m just overwhelmed.”

His brow furrows. His hands pull you closer to his chest, but his eyes stay locked on yours.

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “I’m not in pain. I promise. It’s just-” You break off with another hiccup of a laugh-sob. “You’re being so wonderful. And it’s been so much. In the best way.”

Bucky stills. Eyes blinking fast, jaw tight with the restraint of a man trying not to fall apart.

You pull back to look at him clearly. “I just-” you try to laugh, but it’s mostly just a breath shivering on the edge of something enormous. “I love you. So much. And it just- hit me. How much. I’ve never felt like this before. And it was just a lot, all at once.”

Bucky stares at you as though you split the earth open beneath him.

And then his hands are everywhere. On your cheeks. On your back. In your hair. Holding your face, trying to keep you in this moment with him. As though this is the most important moment in his life.

“God.” He chokes on a breath, and his lips land on your forehead, your nose, your eyelids, kissing your tears away. “You- you’re crying because you love me?”

You nod against him, laugh through your tears.

He exhales and his whole body sags with it.

“Shit,” he breathes, voice wavering. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

He presses you even tighter into his chest, cradling the back of your head. “Fuck, you scared me. I thought I hurt you again. I thought- thought I messed it all up again.”

“You didn’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You didn’t. Not even close.”

He is breathing harder than before, but the panic is softening now, bleeding out into the warmth of your body against his.

“I just love you so much,” you repeat, voice just a small breath. “And I didn’t expect it to feel like this. This… intense.”

He nods against you. Kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then your wet lashes. “Yeah,” he exhales and there is a sheen to his voice, as though it passed through his own unspilled tears on the way out. “I know what you mean.”

You bury yourself against him, cheek to his chest, and his arms curl tight around your back. He rocks you just slightly, water lapping quietly against the porcelain, even now wanting to soothe you, hold you through it, make sense of all the things your tears said before your voice could.

His touch never stops. Always checking. Always there. One hand rubbing soft circles into your hip. The other brushing your damp hair back behind your ear.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you apologize eventually, brushing your nose against his cheek.

His laugh is soft and shattered, something frail, but there’s relief in it. Adoration. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You tilt your face up. Find his lips. It’s not a kiss that needs anything. It’s not even a kiss that asks. It’s just gentle. Soothing. Comforting. Sweet. Home.

“I’m more than okay,” you whisper softly.

And his eyes are shining.

He presses a kiss into your hair, then another. Then three more in a row because he can’t help himself. And he tells you he loves you, because he can’t help himself.

And he doesn’t let go. Not for a long time.

He won’t let you move. Not until the water cools. Not until the stars settle outside the bathroom window.

He won’t let you reach for a cloth or dry yourself off or even think about standing without him.

He refuses to let you go through one more thing alone.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable.”

- C. S. Lewis

[em1i2a3]

Now that I know asks are open *rubs hands*

I got a bit of juicy drama for you! A magic user!reader who is in a stable relationship with bob. The rest of the team know but they all keep things on the quiet. But Valentina finds out and wants to make a PR stunt out of it.

All The Rage Back Home

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry/The Void x Magic User!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob have been in a relationship for eight months, and somehow everything has managed to stay extremely stable…That is until Valentina Allegra de Fontaine gets her hands on it.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because Bob is in this and on top of that some little plot points are mentioned. No warnings apart from that, there’s some fluff though? Yeah some fluff

Author’s Note: Hehehehe, we love drama, we love drama a lot, and we love when Valentina caused the drama because that just makes it even better. I didn’t know what kind of magic to choose so I settled on Necromancy? There’s too many magical powers to choose from lol. :)

Word Count: 3,641

The room smelled like incense, lemon, and sage–sharp, earthy, and a little sweet. It clung to the linens, soaked into the floorboards, and drifted in the morning light like a second skin over the space. It was one of the things Bob loved most about your room, though he never said it the same way twice.

Most times he would hold you close and quietly ask where you got it–like maybe if he got it bottled, he would be able to bring a piece of you into every room he walked into. But more often than not, he just took in a larger breath of air the second he crossed the threshold into your room, like it was easier to take in with you laced into it.

This morning was no different, as you laid tangled up with one another, whispering as softly as possible, and touching every plane of skin that was available to the both of you.

Bob was on his back, and your head was on his chest, you were listening to his heartbeat–the way it would steadily increase every time you shifted, or how it slowed when the both of you got into a position where it felt like you were more in sync with one another. His fingers were tracing idle shapes along your spine, sometimes it would be random numbers, other times he’d spell out words and make you guess what he was writing, but today it was squares, triangles and circles.

Your hand was against his face, caressing the smooth skin of his cheek, trailing down to his jaw every so often to feel the sharp bone of it.

“We’re like two furnaces when we’re in bed like this.” You whispered, pressing yourself closer to him, looking at the way his face slowly took on this deeper crimson, deeper than the pink that usually dusted his cheeks when he was around you.

”Told you…We need to buy a fan. I have this innate fear that I'm going to give you a heat stroke.” You smirked at his comment, placing a gentle kiss on his chest.

”Can’t kill me that easily Bob.” He let out a breathy laugh, the kind that warmed your hair and curled his chest against your cheek as it moved. His fingers kept up their lazy trail against your spine, not quite mimicking shapes anymore, but just moving for the sake of touching you. His other hand slid down the length of your arm slowly, letting the pads of his fingers catch on every tiny ridge of your skin, watching goosebumps bloom like a silent spell you never had to cast.

Then, with such care and warmth, he took your hand and drew it away from his face, shifting it just enough to look at it properly, cradling your wrist in his palm like if he was holding an ancient relic–something sacred. His thumb brushed gently along the edge of your coven mark, the intricate chain of carved sigils that rested deep in your skin–a scar that never quite stopped whispering.

It wasn’t ink. It had been branded–sliced into you when you came of age, sealed with blood magic and bone ash, symbols of what you were bound to before you even had a choice.

His thumb traced the deepest cut–right near the base of your palm–then slowly, with such gentleness and care, he brought your wrist to his lips, closing his eyes before kissing the mark, like a vow. His lips were wet from the amount of times he had licked them, but you didn’t mind the dampness because the act itself was always something you loved–it was his way of expressing that he loved every part of you, even the ones people feared.

His eyes fluttered open, looking down at you for a second, seeing the soft, golden-haze that lingered over his naturally bright blue irises. His cheeks flushed even deeper when he saw the way you were looking at him–with the tenderness and love you had for him as a backdrop. He pulled off the mark.

”Sorry…” He murmured, voice a little shaky, “I know I do that a lot.” A small smile came up on your lips, as you shifted to get closer to his face, your bare chest dragging along him until you were eye to eye.

”I like it…You know I do. It makes me feel like you’re loving every part of me, not just the normal side.” You whispered, pushing a lock of his light brown hair out of his face so you could get a clearer look at him.

“You do the same though…” He replied, voice barely above a whisper, “With me, I mean…The Sentry, The Void…All of it,” He added, his eyes falling away from you for a moment, “You’ve never made me split myself up…Never forced me to hide anything or be just one…You just take all of it, all of me…Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.” Your hand slid down his cheek to cup his jaw.

“That’s because they don’t scare me, they’re not strangers, they’re just different versions of you, and I love all of them.” You could see the way his eyes softened from the words.

”Even…The Void?” He whispered, voice small and hesitant, like saying its name might conjure it by accident. You nodded, sliding your hand to the back of his neck, your thumb brushing along the little baby hairs that laid there.

”Even The Void Bob…Because it’s still you, and I love every version and every layer of you…Like I always say.” He went scarlet. His eyes flitting up to yours before immediately dropping again with a smile coming up on his lips. Beneath you, his chest fluttered like his heart wanted to bust out of its confines, but he didn’t pull away or hide from you.

”I love you too.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, and he let out a soft laugh, nose brushing against yours.

And just before he could lean in to kiss you.

The door slammed open with a crack that made Bob jump so hard he nearly flew off the bed. You groaned loudly and dropped your forehead against his shoulder with a thump, already knowing who it was.

”James Buchanan Barnes,” You snapped, “It better be important, because the next time you don’t knock, I’m going to make sure we’re doing something way worse than lying here, and you’ll be scarred for life.” Bob turned bright red from your words, blinking over at Bucky who stood with his arms crossed, holding a glossy magazine in his hands.

”Well good morning to you too, necromantic hellspawn,” He replied, “Get dressed. We’ve got a situation.” He added, tossing the magazine across the room, letting it land on the foot of the bed with a slap. Your entire posture shifted in an instant–from soft and pressed against him to rigid and coiled.

Your gaze dropped to the magazine now lying crookedly in front of you, and the photo on the cover hit you in the face like a slap.

There, under bold, gleaming headlines, was an image of you and Bob on the rooftop garden. The lighting was dusky, but you remember that day like it was yesterday. It was just as the golden hour was slipping behind the both of you. The both of you had gone up there to get some fresh air and talk, you had no clue you were being watched, and it was evident by the photo.

Your hand was cupped gently at his jaw, and his fingers were curled around your wrist, the two of you were so close your noses were touching, and it was clear–achingly clear–that you were just about to kiss. Your eyes trailed up to the headline above the image.

”DEATH AND DIVINITY: Inside the steamy new relationship between two of the world’s most powerful Avengers.” Your mouth fell open,

”What the fuck.” You breathed, which got Bob’s attention immediately. He sat up with you, the sheets slipping down his chest, and his hair flopping messily over his forehead as his eyes caught the front page of the magazine.

“W-What? What is it?” He asked, confused, like he was still trying to catch up. You were speechless, so all you could do was pull the magazine closer to him so he could get a better look. He took it out of your hands carefully, and squinted down at the image, then his face went red.

“O-Oh my god…” He whispered, his eyes going wide, “Is that…Is that us? When was this take-”

”Three days ago.” Bucky replied, cutting him off, “I remember because Yelena and I were playing poker in the surveillance room and we were both betting on how long it’d take before you two started kissing.”

“You were watching us?” You snapped.

”No, we turned the screens off before it got all mushy…But someone else was definitely keeping tabs.” He shot back, walking over to the bed to tap on the photo.

”This image is definitely not from the cameras. It’s way too zoomed in, and edited…This was a planted shot.” Bob’s brows furrowed, and you could see the way panic was rising behind his eyes.

“Are you saying someone…Snuck onto the roof?” Bucky shook his head.

”No, this was taken by someone who had access. If nobody apart from us knew…Then it must’ve been Val.” You went still, feeling the rage building in your chest–hot and thick, vibrating just beneath your skin.

”She fucking followed us and waited till we were alone to take these.” Bucky nodded.

”Probably sold them too,” He responded, “Page three has an ‘anonymous quote’ that’s oddly specific how the Sentry ‘looks at her like he’s made of light and she’s the only one who can hold it without burning.’” Bob’s jaw dropped.

”Wait…Wait, that's something you said to me,” He hissed, looking over at you. “I remember because you were sick–how does she know that?” Your hands curled into tight fists against the sheets.

”Because she’s been listening.” Your voice was colder now–quiet and laced with venom, “She’s been watching us, and waiting for us to slip up.” Bob looked devastated at this information. His shoulders hunching forward, as he glanced over at you, showing the guilt that was creeping in behind his eyes.

”I’m so sorry,” He whispered, “I shouldn’t have kissed you on the roof, I should’ve–“ You cut him off, raising your hand up.

”Don’t do that. We didn’t do anything wrong. She did.” Bucky exhaled loudly through his nose.

”You’ve got maybe three hours before this becomes a press frenzy. I would recommend figuring out what kind of damage control you want to do.” You glanced down at the magazine again and looked up at Bucky,

”Is killing Valentina on the list of options?” You muttered, voice flat and simmering.

“Could be arranged, “ He replied, deadpanning, “Might take a few minutes for Yelena and Walker to collect their matching shovels though.” Your lips curled faintly, but the rage still burned beneath your eyes like hot coals. You were already calculating how you could make her life a living hell, and you didn’t know how extreme you wanted to go.

But then you glanced at Bob, seeing the way his eyes were glancing between the photo and the headline. He looked overwhelmed, and it automatically diffused the feelings you had towards Valentina, because she wasn’t the person you cared about the most…It was him.

You reached out immediately, placing your hand over his, curling your fingers so they were pressed against his palm. He looked up at you, seeing that the colour in his eyes had faded into a grey.

”Hey. We’re okay Bob…You’re okay…We will get this handled and I promise we will be fine, alright?” He nodded slowly, swallowing hard.

“I just…I just wish people didn’t see us like that…That’s just for us…” You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering for a moment to let the contact settle him, before pulling away.

”They don’t know anything about us, and no matter how they spin it, or how they plaster it on the headlines they will never be able to really understand what we have. That part is only for us to share…I will make sure we won’t have to answer to anyone about our relationship, okay?” He looked at you then, and in that moment you watched the panic retreat from his eyes, like a wave sliding back into the sea. His eyes shifted back to blue, like you had diffused a ticking time bomb.

”Okay…” He whispered, his breath catching a little, “I trust you.” You squeezed his hand once more, before turning back to Bucky who was leaning against your dresser with his arms crossed.

”Set up an emergency meeting,” You said, your voice sharp, “And make sure Valentina is going to be there. I want this handled now.” You added.

”On it,” Bucky replied, pulling his phone out of his back pocket, “Do you want me to tell Yelena to bring her blowtorch?” You exhaled through your nose.

”Tell Yelena no weapons…With all the rage in me, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to handle it.” Bucky smirked, thumbing open his phone.

”Duly noted.” He muttered, “No backup required in the weapons department.” He added.

He was halfway to the door when it opened again, and this time Alexei strutted in like he was arriving at a red carpet event, waving his own copy of the same magazine above his head with pure delight on his face. He looked like he had just won the lottery.

”Death and Divinity!” He boomed, accent heavy and dramatic, “This is sexy, yes? Sounds like vampire opera.”

“Oh god,” You muttered, pressing your fingers into your tear ducts.

“Oh Jesus,” Bob added, sinking slightly lower into the bed, trying to shield his face away from the world.

Alexei, undeterred, flipped through the pages.

”Page four has nice photo. Very very romantic. You are holding his face like he is scared little mouse, and he is looking up at you like you are moon goddess. Very touching.” You groaned again and lobbed your pillow at him, only for him to catch it.

“Alexei,” Bucky growled, already herding him towards the door, “Out…And change that attitude, we need to be a solid front line for these two at the emergency meeting.”

————

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, you didn’t know what exactly you were expecting–but the moment your eyes landed on Valentina, standing smugly at the end of the conference table with a martini in one hand and a matching smirk on her mouth, something sharp and electric lit up in your chest.

She was in a sharp navy power suit, tailored within an inch of its life, not a single wrinkle was in sight. Her heels clicked softly as she turned to face all of you fully, a smile spreading across her lips, while she spread her arms open like she was about to congratulate you.

”There’s the stars of the hour!” She cooed, “The public loves you. Death and Divinity–absolutely genius. Not something I created unfortunately, but it’s still absolutely amazing.

Your steps echoed across the floor as you approached her. Bob stayed close behind you, quiet but tense–his fingers wrapped around one of your fingers while the other one picked at his sleeve. Mel was standing off to the side with her arms crossed, looking at the team you had brought, who were already looking over at her with judgemental gazes, like she had betrayed them.

But it was you Valentina was looking at, as your body slowly casted a shadow across her.

”YOu took a photo of me and the person I love, in a private moment, and sold it to the press without our consent. You’ve been eavesdropping, manipulating, and spying for weeks…And you think we came up here to thank you? For a fucking magazine cover of all things?” Valentina blinked slowly, taking a sip from her glass before putting it down on the table.

”A front cover,” She corrected, unbothered by the rage that was twitching behind your eyes, “On twenty-nine different newsstands worldwide! You’re welcome.”

“Welcome?” Your voice cracked slightly–heat rising beneath your skin, as Bob’s fingers squeezed your one, “You’re using our relationship like it’s a fucking PR stunt.”

“And it worked.” She stated simply. You stared at her, jaw locking. You were pretty sure the lights above the table dimmed for a fraction of a second–like your body was going to snap on her at any second. You stepped in closer to her, but her smile didn’t falter, if anything, it widened, like she was proud of you for showing up with your claws already bared.

”You better have a good fucking explanation,” You said, your voice low and venomous, “Because if I don’t like the next sentence out of your mouth Valentina, I swear on every grave I’ve ever raised–you’ll be joining them.” She let out a short, delighted laugh, and cocked her head slightly to the side.

”You are so dramatic,” She said, her tone leaning on the side of condescending, “It’s charming really.” Bob shifted behind you, and his hand tightened around your fingers, almost like he was grounding you, like he was draining you of what you were feeling, just a little bit.

”We didn’t mean for it to go this far,” Mel chimed in, taking a step forward, “It was a strategic decision–“ You didn’t even turn your head, you just held up your free hand, your palm curled and open.

A faint, eerie green glow pulsed from the center of it–low and steady like a heartbeat in the dark.

”I didn’t ask you,” You said, voice cold as ice, “I asked Val.” The glow made the room go still. Yelena, straightened up ever so slightly, exchanging glances with Alexei, and Walker. Ava gave Bucky a small nudge, almost like she was expecting him to step in, but he remained silent, locking eyes with Valentina like he was daring her to keep going.

Val let out a long exhale, then finally stepped closer to you.

”Do you honestly think the world wants The Winter Soldier as the face of the New Avengers?” She said, voice low, as if she were explaining something to a child who didn’t understand how the world worked, “A walking weapon with a kill count in the hundreds–possibly thousands–most of which are caught in grainy footage? He may be rebranded but you can’t slap a new label on a nuclear warhead and expect the public to forget what it is.” Your jaw clenched so tightly your teeth hurt.

”He was pardoned for all that. Cleared. Redeemed publically. Then he got elected…For y’know…Congress? Remember that? Oh and let’s not forget when Bob went all…Well y’know and he saved New York with all of us.” Yelena cut in, motioning to Bucky, coming to his defence. Val’s eyes glanced over to where Yelena stood, her expression turning unreadable for a moment–like she was weighing whether or not it was worth vocally sparring with her. But then she waved her hand dismissively.

”Doesn’t matter,” She said, as though the conversation was beginning to bore her, “The public only sees what you show them, and as much as you parade redemption papers and congressional ribbons around, it doesn’t erase people's memories. We had the opportunity to give you all a better image, one that isn’t cluttered, and we took it.” You tilted your head slightly, now pointing your open palm at her, which made Bob slowly pull you behind him so there was space between you and Val in an attempt to diffuse the anger pulsing through you.

“Cluttered?” You echoed from behind him, trying to look over his broad shoulder.

“Yes, cluttered,” She repeated, “Between Bucky’s guilt complex, Yelena’s PR liability, Alexei’s Cold War nostalgia tour, Walker's entire existence, and Ava who is always on the brink of leaving, it’s chaos…But now?” She gestured broadly towards the both of you, “Now the public sees something beautiful, something they can sink their teeth into.” Bob’s eyebrows furrowed.

”B-But we’re a team…It’s not just Y/N and I…We’re not at the forefront, it's all of us…” He explained quietly.

“Come on Robert…You think the world wants realism?’ She said with a dry laugh, “They want symbolism, they want a reason to believe in what we’re building here.” She motioned around her.

”Then…Why don’t you actually build something real then…Instead of putting our relationship on full display for the public.” Val’s eyes narrowed, the corner of her mouth lifting like she was enjoying being challenged.

”You think you’re not already at the forefront?” She said, voice honeyed and sharp, “That’s adorable. You’re a god in a golden shell. You were born for the spotlight, all I’m doing is pointing it in the right direction.” Then the elevator dinged.

”Now get ready for your closeups.” She added, with a smile on her face.

[wrenmkingsley]

I Know I'm Late As Fuck To The Party, But Hunger Pangs By Joy Demorra Is Genuinely SO GOOD

GODDAMN

This book breaks ALL the rules and it's still one of the most entertaining things I've read all year!

Hunger Pangs is shamelessly self-indulgent in the very best of ways. There were multiple times where I swear I heard an echo of the author laughing to herself as she wrote.

And I don't know what I should call it, but the closest thing is fanservice I guess? Butter? Whimsy? Well, what ever it is, Hunger Pangs is chockfull of it and here's a non-exhaustive list:

An cunty autistic vampire called Vlad fucking Blutstein

A disabled werewolf beefcake sweetheart

A woman so powerful she could kill you with her pinky (Can I get a Hell Yeah to that?)

the vampire is such a giant fucking nerd like peak blorbo material fucking hell I want to chew on him

BOTANY SAVES THE DAY

somehow slice of life, epic quest to save the world and political intrigue all at once? HOW?

OH and the smut is SCRUMPTIOUS

BALLS

LIKE THE SOCIAL FUNCTION NOT THE BODY PART

Galadriel doesn't have shit on Ursula, beautiful, ancient, powerful Ursula, I love her, I love her so much, my only complaint is that there was so little of her

🌟Absinthe🌟

HOT SPRING HOT SPRING HOT SPRING HOT SPRING HOT

I take back the previous point, there was no on screen hot spring and I am STILL mad about that (in the sequel perhaps? (pretty please?))

Beautiful carnivorous plant children

The universal autistic experience of needing the flirting equivalent of a sledgehammer to the face to be sure what's going on

Political commentary with all the subtlety of Mickey 17, case in point:

"It was all just so frustratingly simple. The government needed to stop levying crippling taxes on the lower classes, they needed to stop waging wars they couldn’t win, and they needed to focus their efforts on relief aid. It was plain as day. They needed to just… do the right thing. The problem was, they just kept choosing to do the wrong thing, over and over, and then they had the audacity to act surprised when the working classes kept finding novel ways to liberate the ruling classes of their heads."

Okay, this list is getting long and I could go on and on and on, but I think we're reaching the point of the review where I put it down and wait for the energy drink to wear off, see you in two hours. Toodles!

Whelp, okay.

Hunger Pangs is an ode to people that refuse to give up their gentleness in face of the world's atrocities and great personal hardship and make a hell of a lot of difference doing so. It's a reminder that even if the world is on fire, there is still love and joy to be found.

Nathan, a werewolf veteran whose decades long deployment ended when he was shot in the shoulder with a silver bullet, should be dead according to all doctors. And he's not alive either, he's just dying very very slowly, poisoned by fragments of the silver bullet no doctor bothered to look for. As a result he's deaf and has lost much of the function of his shoulder. And even after the fragments are removed, while he gets better, he still is disabled.

And where a lesser author would have come up with some magical cure for his illness, made him "whole" again, Demorra gives him hearing aides.

I don't know if Vlad is canonically autistic or if I (auDHD and retired theatre kid) am projecting, but he resonated with me deeply. I've never read anything that got masking so right. His opening of the second ball is a brilliant example of how sometimes, in measured dosages, autistic people can and do enjoy being the centre of attention. Sometimes the line between acting and masking blurs in a way that can be really fucking fun.

I wish we saw more of Ursula in this book. Her tragic background and the responsibility she shoulders must be crushing. What Demorra does brilliantly is contrast her bone-deep fatigue to how much energy and vibrance she can exude.

You can get the ebook on payhip or through your local bookstore. (While I'm very much not the target audience for it, there's also a closed doors version.)

I very much recommend getting it local. For reasons.

OH, before I forget, Demorra is an esteemed hellsite member! You can find her right here, she's a joy to have on your dash: @thebibliosphere

<<monster-fuelled book review episode one

[sunsetmade]

The Greenery

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Your the new cart girl in the country club and a certain Kook takes an interest in you.

“—you’ll be out on the course, rolling by in the cart, asking if they want drinks or snacks—only after they’ve taken their swing, of course. Just looking after the golfers, making sure they’re good. Makes sense?” Her words tumbled out as easy as the wind off the dunes.

I just blinked at her, the early morning sun catching her sunglasses while my nerves twisted in my stomach. I gave a quick nod, even though my mind was still trying to catch up and understand all the instructions she just gave me.

“Alright, perfect! Your cart’s just over here—good luck out there!” she said with a kind of chipper energy that felt straight out of a preschool classroom. I stood frozen on the sun-warmed sidewalk, watching her disappear like sea foam back into the clubhouse.

Wait—which cart was mine?

Did she even say?

A wave of quiet panic rolled in as I scanned the line of identical golf carts, each one baking gently under the Carolina sun. I let out a slow sigh and headed toward them, hoping one would somehow just feel right.

I peeked into the first beige cart, trying to spot anything that screamed claimed—a water bottle, a towel, maybe a rogue granola bar. Nothing. Just a cup holder and the faint smell of sunscreen. I shrugged. Hopefully this wasn’t someone’s pride and joy. If it was, well… I’d apologize later.

I slid my light blue bag under the seat and took a short walk around the cart. The drinks and snacks had just been restocked—coolers full, chips lined up. Everything looked ready for the day. I made a quick mental note of what was where, then went back up front and sat down.

It was quiet, just the sound of the breeze and a few birds in the distance. I checked my watch—10:00. There had to be golfers out on the course already, maybe even finishing up their front nine.

Okay, first day. You’ve got this, I told myself as I started the cart. I eased forward, trying to follow the path that looked the most familiar. The woman who trained me yesterday had pointed out the best routes—ones that usually led to better tips. I kept that in mind and turned off onto the grass, hoping I was going the right way. Up ahead, I saw a few golfers. Time to start.

I cruised up slow, tires crunching over the sandy path near the green, squinting toward the three guys teeing off. I waited until they swung, clubs slicing the humid air, then eased the cart closer. “Hey, y’all want anything this morning?” I asked, chewing the inside of my cheek, trying to sound chill.

The first guy looked up, hand raised to block the Carolina sun. “Uh, yeah, I’ll take a beer. Kelce, you want one? Rafe?”

The other guy—Kelce, I guessed—shook his head, already gripping his driver like he had somewhere better to be.

But the third guy just looked at me—really looked at me—with this kind of quiet intensity that made my pulse hitch. “I’ll take one too,” he said, voice low but steady. I gave him a nod, trying not to stare, but it was hard not to. He was tall—like, seriously tall—and every inch of him looked like it had been carved by the sun. That golden tan that only comes from living outside, not just visiting. His hair was buzzed close, neat and clean, but something about him still felt wild, like he belonged out here, chasing waves or something worse.

I stepped out, tugging down the edge of my pink skirt— that suddenly felt too short—and walked around to the drink side of the cart. The cooler hissed as I opened it, grabbed two cold ones, and handed it over.

Just as I turned to leave, the guy stopped me. “Wait—don’t I need to pay?”

My heart skipped, cheeks flushing. I spun back around, flustered. “Right. Yeah. Sorry, it’s my first day.” I fumbled for the tablet, feeling like a total touron.

“You’re good,” he said with a smile that read annoyed, cracking the beer open and taking a swig. But the other guy—Rafe—just stood there with an amused smirk, like he was quietly entertained by the whole thing. It only made my cheeks flush deeper.

And of course I had to screw up right in front of someone like him—tall, stupidly handsome, and clearly amused by what was happening. My cheeks burned hotter, and I hated how obvious it probably was.

After he paid, I mumbled a have a good day pretending I wasn’t totally mortified, and climbed back into the cart. As I drove off, slow and steady, I muttered to myself under my breath.

Behind me, I heard Kelce laugh. “Topper, you could’ve gotten a free drink, man!”

Rafe rolled his eyes at his friends, barely paying attention now as the beige cart disappeared down the path. His thoughts were still stuck on the girl in it—flustered, short, a little too innocent for this place. Cute, in a way that caught him off guard.

His heart stuttered, just for a second, and he frowned. What the hell was that?

“Looks like Cameron’s got a crush,” Kelce laughed, nudging him with that stupid grin.

Rafe shot him a look sharp enough to kill, and Kelce immediately got quiet. “Shut up,” Rafe muttered, jaw tight.

I could still feel the heat in my cheeks as the cart bounced along the path, the salty wind tugging at my hair. I didn’t dare look back—I already embarrassed myself enough.

But my mind wandered anyway, replaying the way he had looked at me. Like he was trying to figure something out. Like he saw through me, even in those few seconds.

It made my stomach flutter, and I hated that.

Get a grip, I told myself. Guys like that don’t pay attention to girls like me. Not really.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

I exhaled sharply as the blast of cool air hit me walking into the country club—finally a break from the heat. The place was nicer than I expected, all polished wood floors and white linen vibes, like money had been casually spilled everywhere. The only people lounging around were the kind with trust funds and last names that carried weight. I was a Kook, yeah—but not this kind of Kook.

I drifted toward the bar, eyes landing on the small “employees only” sign near the back. Just as I stepped forward, a girl I’d talked to earlier—cheerful, way too energetic for the heat—popped out of nowhere.

“Hey girl! Can you please do me a massive favor?” she started, eyes wide with that desperate sparkle. “There’s this party, and I have to go, but I can’t just leave the bar, like, totally unmanned. So could you maybe…?”

She trailed off, hanging on the question like it was already answered.

I blinked. “Uh, I’m actually on my break, sorry—”

Before I could finish, her hand was already on my shoulder.

“Perfect! You're the best, thank you so much! I owe you!”

And with that, she vanished, leaving me standing there, stunned, with her note pad to take orders. My stomach dropped when I finally caught up to the situation. How the hell was I suppose to do this?

After totally humiliating myself on the course, I knew I had to redeem the day somehow. No way I was walking out of here with just a sunburn and a bruised ego. I let out a breath and tried to shake it off, thinking back to when I used to help my mom at her restaurant. Long nights, sticky menus, endless refills—but I knew how to survive. This couldn’t be that bad.

I squared my shoulders and headed for the deck, the salty breeze catching the edge of my shirt as I pushed through the doors.

Outside, the scene was peak Outer Banks chaos. Golfers fresh off the green looked sun-tired and salty—either from their scores or the humidity. Rich moms clinked glasses while one-upping each other over SAT scores and college tours. And then there were the ones my age—tanned, tipsy, and desperate to prove they belonged. Designer sunglasses, backwards hats, practiced laughs. The summer elite.

I took a breath, rolled my shoulders back, and walked up to the first table—a well-dressed older man and a woman I assumed was his wife. They looked like they’d stepped right out of a luxury yacht.

“Hi there, can I get you anything to drink?” I asked, putting on my best smile.

The woman glanced up, her pearl earrings catching the light as she gave me a perfect, practiced grin. “I’ll have a martini, please, dear,” she said, voice smooth like she’d never been told no in her life.

Her husband barely looked up from his phone. “Beer,” he grunted.

Classy.

I nodded, keeping the smile on my face as I turned and made my way back to the bar. I slid their order over to the real bartender—wherever they were—and leaned against the counter for a second, trying not to look as out of place as I felt.

One table down. A whole sea of golf bros and country club queens to go.

I took a deep breath and slid another order onto the counter, mentally checking off another task. But just as I was about to rush off, a voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Are you the bartender?”

I turned, heart skipping—and then stalling—when I saw him. The same guy from earlier. Handsome in that effortless, probably-drives-a-Jeep-and-surfs-before-brunch kind of way. Now standing way too close beside me.

The smirk that spread across his face made my stomach do something weird. “I thought you were a cart girl,” he said smoothly.

“I—I am,” I stammered, suddenly forgetting how to use words. “But I was asked to cover…”

Why was I nervous? No clue. Maybe it was the way he looked at me, like I was some sort of prey.

His brow quirked. “You must be new around here.”

I glanced up, straight into his blue eyes, and instantly regretted my next question. “How’d you know?”

Obvious. The golf course disaster practically screamed it.

But instead of calling me out, he let out a quiet chuckle. “Lucky guess,” he teased, flashing a smile that was entirely too easygoing.

I exhaled, thankful. At least he wasn’t reporting me to someone in khakis and a clipboard.

He stared down at me, and I found myself locked in, unable to look away from his eyes—blue and piercing like they saw right through the act I was barely holding together.

“What’s your name?” he asked, leaning casually against the bar like he had all the time in the world. All the time just to talk to me.

I hesitated, just for a second, before giving it to him. And I could’ve sworn—sworn—I heard him mutter “cute” under his breath, but it was so quick I couldn’t be sure if I imagined it.

“I’m Rafe,” he said simply.

I repeated the name in my head.

A small smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. “Nice to meet you, Rafe,” I replied, somehow managing to sound calm despite the full-blown gymnastics routine happening in my stomach.

Rafe knew he was a goner the second she opened her mouth to talk to Topper on the course. There was something about the way she carried herself—like she didn’t know the effect she had, and that only made it worse. Or better. He hadn’t decided yet.

But after seeing her smile? Yeah, that sealed the deal.

The way she nervously fiddled with her fingers when she spoke to him—it wasn’t fake. She wasn’t putting on some country club act. Her eyes held this softness, this kind of innocence he wasn’t used to. It didn’t match the crowd around them, and that contrast made her even more interesting.

And the crazy part? He just wanted to keep talking to her. Hear her voice. Figure her out.

And this was after one day.

Rafe’s phone buzzed in his pocket, cutting through the moment and snapping his focus away from the girl standing in front of him. He cursed under his breath, jaw tightening as he pulled it out.

Dad.

Of course.

He glanced at the screen, then back at her—still standing there, still looking up at him with those wide eyes like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

For a second, he considered ignoring it. Just letting it ring out. But he knew better. His dad didn’t call without a reason, and ignoring him only made things worse.

“I gotta go,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow—on the cart this time?” he added, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

I smiled without meaning to, nodding. “Yeah… I hope,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

As soon as I heard myself, my cheeks burned. Seriously? I hope?

His smirk deepened, like he’d caught it—but thankfully, he didn’t say anything. He just gave me one last look, then turned and walked off, leaving me standing there replaying the whole conversation in my head.

And for a moment, I forgot I was supposed to be working.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

I pulled into my employee parking spot and let out a sigh, gripping the steering wheel for a second longer than necessary. Okay, I told myself. Let’s just stay as a cart girl today. No mistakes, no surprises.

My first day might’ve been a total disaster, but I couldn’t get Rafe out of my head. As much as I didn’t to admit it— mainly because I just met him, the thought of running into him again was the only thing that made coming back this morning feel… kind of exciting.

I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and made my way across the lot, the air already warm with that early summer heat. I climbed into my cart, settling in behind the wheel like I belonged there, like yesterday hadn’t been a disaster.

I glanced down at the pink and gold watch on my wrist, checked the time, and gave myself a small nod.

Time to start.

I cruised slowly around the course, starting to get the hang of the layout. Each turn felt a little more familiar, each group of golfers a little less intimidating. The Outer Banks air was crisp that morning, cooler than usual. The sky hung low and gray, the sun barely pushing through the clouds like it was trying to make up its mind.

I silently cursed my outfit choice—my skirt offered zero protection from the wind, and my thin tee wasn’t much better. Not exactly built for gloomy weather.

As I pulled around another bend, I spotted two golfers near their clubs. I eased the cart toward them, and my heart skipped the second I realized who it was—Rafe and his friend from the other day.

I bit back a smile and drove a little closer. “Would you guys like anything?” I asked, suddenly unsure of where to put my hands.

“A beer, a really cold—” Topper started, but Rafe cut him off, stepping forward with that same grin that had been stuck in my head since day one.

He leaned against the front of the cart, looking way too comfortable. “Where were you yesterday?”

I swallowed, trying not to overthink my every move as I stepped out to grab a beer from the cooler. “It wasn’t my day to work,” I said, forcing casual into my voice even though my pulse betrayed me.

He hummed, eyes drifting away for a second, a small frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What days do you work?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual, like it was just another question.

But it wasn’t.

Truth was, he'd spent more time scanning the course for her yesterday than actually playing the damn game. Every cart that passed, every flash of movement, he hoped it was her. And when it wasn’t—he noticed.

He glanced back at her, trying not to let it show. He just wanted to know when to look.

“U-uh, normally every day,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. “They only gave me yesterday off because they found out I worked another shift.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized I’d probably given way more detail than necessary. I bit the inside of my cheek, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was, how casual he looked leaning against the cart—while I stood there feeling like my heartbeat was on full display.

Rafe chewed the inside of his lip as he watched her pull out a beer for Topper. Her skirt shifted slightly when she reached into the cooler, riding up just enough to make his gaze flick there—then snap away just as fast.

He silently cursed under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair like that would help shake it off.

When he glanced back, Topper was staring at him with that familiar irritated look. Rafe waved him off, not in the mood for whatever passive-aggressive comment was loading in his head. Topper huffed, turned, and grabbed his club, muttering something under his breath.

Rafe rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to her—because, yeah, she was the reason he was even out here this early.

“This is for your friend,” I said softly, offering the beer with a small smile.

Rafe took it from me, and his fingers brushed mine for just a second—but it was enough. Enough to send butterflies into full flight in my stomach.

“How much?” he asked, his eyes locked on mine with that same smirk from the other day, clearly still enjoying the memory.

I let out a quiet huff, trying my best not to blush as I looked up at him. He towered over me, jacket unzipped, shorts on despite the chill. Of course he wasn’t cold. Of course he looked good.

“Twelve dollars,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “And don’t worry—I’m not letting you get away without paying this time.”

A spark of amusement flickered in his eyes. A little feisty. He liked that.

Without missing a beat, he pulled out his wallet and handed me a fifty. “Keep the change.”

My eyes widened as I looked at the bill. “Rafe, I can’t take this—that’s way too much,” I said quickly, trying to give it back.

But he just shook his head, gently pushing my hand away. “No. I want you to take it,” he said, voice low. “You deserve it.”

The words hit harder than I expected, warming something in my chest. I hesitated, then slowly slid the bill into my pocket.

A breeze swept past, and I shivered, rubbing my hands along my arms. Rafe’s expression shifted—he noticed and he didn’t like it.

“I better go. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rafe,” I said, turning away to close the cooler and lock the protective door over it.

When I turned back around, he was still there. His expression was unreadable, but there was something lingering in it—something close to disappointment.

“I’ll be looking for you,” he finally said. The usual smirk was on his face, but his words carried a sincerity that made my knees feel just a little weaker.

I let out a quiet chuckle, feeling more confident than I expected. “Bye Rafe,” I said as I climbed into the cart.

Rafe stepped back as I pulled away, making sure he didn’t get clipped. I threw him a little wave over my shoulder, and he laughed, shaking his head before returning it.

The smile didn’t leave my face.

But as I drove off, shivering again from the cool breeze, something caught my eye in the passenger seat. I blinked, then felt my heart leap.

Rafe’s jacket.

He must’ve left it without realizing. I slowed down near the bathrooms, reaching over and picking it up. It was still warm, thick and worn in, and when I brought it closer, his scent filled the air around me—clean, woodsy, and something undeniably him.

I hesitated for half a second before slipping it on.

Instant comfort. Instant butterflies.

I could only hope he didn’t mind.

Topper let out an exaggerated sigh of relief as Rafe returned, beer in hand. “Finally, man. Thought you were never gonna stop flirting with her.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, choosing not to take the bait. Typical Topper.

As Topper took a long swig, his brow furrowed. “Hey… where’s your jacket?”

Rafe glanced down at his arms, like he was just now realizing it wasn’t there. But he knew. He’d known the second she pulled away in that cart.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face in fake frustration. “Must’ve left it on her seat.”

He didn’t bother to hide the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

It had been a week and a few days since the jacket incident, and Rafe hadn’t stopped thinking about it—or her.

Every time he caught sight of that golf cart in the distance, he found himself straightening up, scanning for her face, hoping she’d glance his way. She’d been wearing the jacket the day after he left it—he’d spotted it from across the green. He didn’t say anything, just watched her tug it a little tighter when the wind kicked up.

He liked that she kept it. Liked that she didn’t give it back.

Of course, they’d talked nearly every day when she stopped by his hole on the course—but the jacket? Never mentioned. Not once.

She was half-terrified that if she brought it up, he’d ask for it back. And honestly, she wasn’t ready to give it up. What she didn’t know was that Rafe had no intention of asking. He liked seeing her wear it. Liked the idea that a part of him was keeping her warm out there.

I drove around the course feeling more at ease than I had on my first day. Country music played softly from the cart speakers, mixing with the wind that cut across my bare legs—I’d forgotten to dress for the weather again. Rafe’s jacket rested on my lap, a comfort. I tugged it a little tighter.

As I rounded a curve, my eyes scanned the fairway like they always did. And there—tall, lean, standing alone—it had to be him.

I’d never admit it to him, but every time I approached a group of golfers, I secretly hoped it would be Rafe.

I drove my cart up closer to the golfer and smiled when I could confirm it was him. “Hi, Rafe!” I called out cheerily, the words rolling off my tongue with way more ease than they had that first day. I’d definitely gotten more comfortable around him—too comfortable, maybe.

Rafe turned at the sound of my voice, that familiar grin already tugging at his lips. It was like he’d been waiting for me.

“Hey, pretty girl. Whatcha up to?” he asked, voice low and cool as ever.

The nickname hit me —warm and unexpected—and I felt the blush creep up my neck before I could stop it.

Rafe had gotten bolder with his flirting over the past few days—it wasn’t subtle anymore. His compliments, the way he looked at her, lingered just a little too long to be casual.

Still, she played it off. Told herself that was just how he was—charming, smooth, flirty with everyone. But deep down, she couldn’t help but hope... that maybe it wasn’t just his personality. Maybe it was just for her.

“Just driving around, listening to some music,” I said with a shrug, the faint twang of country still playing in the background. “You’re alone today?”

I tilted my head, genuinely surprised. It was rare to see him without the other two guys trailing behind.

Rafe nodded, walking up to the cart and resting his hands on the roof, leaning in slightly. The move brought him closer—close enough to steal my breath a little.

“Yeah,” he said, casually. “Decided to come alone today.”

His eyes flicked over the inside of the cart, lingering for a beat too long. Then they landed on his jacket still draped over my lap—and something shifted in his expression. A small, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he seemed... almost proud.

“Want company?” he asked, voice a little lower now, a spark of confidence threading through his words.

I looked up at him, wide-eyed, lips tugging into a smile before I could stop myself.

“Would you really want to come along?” she asked, the doubt in her voice betraying the slight nervousness she felt. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd get bored—it seemed unlikely, but still, it felt too casual.

But Rafe was anything but bored when it came to her. He nodded slowly, a low hum escaping his chest. "Yeah," he said, his tone confident but soft. "I’d like that."

She let out a light laugh, the sound warm and easy. "I guess you could join me. If I get fired, it’s your fault."

Rafe smirked, stepping closer. Without warning, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, the gesture light but meaningful. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. They won’t fire you,” he reassured her, his voice low and steady.

And even if they tried, he thought—he wouldn’t let that happen. Not on his watch

Rafe stood there, waiting with that confident look on his face, as if he expected me to do something.

I raised an eyebrow, confused. “Are you going to get in?”

He stared at me for a beat, eyes narrowing slightly, before the smirk spread across his face, as if he were offended by the suggestion that he might not.

“Yes. Scoot over, I’m driving,” he said, his voice firm with an edge of playfulness.

Before I could even protest, he was already sliding into the cart, practically nudging me to the side. His leg brushed against mine, and I immediately felt the heat crawl up my skin. It was a simple touch, nothing overly intimate—but it felt like a spark.

The warmth between us was suddenly so palpable, I almost forgot how to breathe for a second.

I could feel the heat from his leg radiating against mine, and despite myself, I shifted slightly, trying to keep the space between us. But Rafe didn’t seem to mind. He leaned back in the seat, stretching his arms above his head, completely at ease as if he owned the place. His confidence was infectious, and I found myself getting more comfortable with every inch he moved closer.

“Comfortable?” he asked, glancing at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I smiled, trying to act like I wasn’t completely aware of every inch of him next to me. But deep down, I liked it—more than I cared to admit. “Yeah, totally,” I said, though the way my heart was racing told a different story.

Rafe’s smirk widened, sensing my nervousness—or maybe enjoying it. He nudged my leg with his casually, as if to remind me of how close we really were. “Good,” he said, his voice low, his eyes flicking down to my lap where his jacket still lay. “You know, I like seeing you in my jacket.”

I chuckled, my heart fluttering a little. “I guess it’s better than being cold,” I said, my voice betraying the flutter of warmth spreading through me.

“Mm-hmm,” Rafe hummed, his gaze lingering on me, that same playful smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s one way to put it.” He knew I was covering up the real reason.

Rafe started the cart, the engine humming softly as we cruised along the course. The country music played in the background, its soothing rhythm filling the space between us. The wind had calmed down a bit, and the cool air felt refreshing as we made our way down the winding path. It was peaceful—more so than I had expected—and I found myself relaxing in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.

After a couple of minutes of comfortable silence, Rafe’s eyes drifted toward me. His gaze wasn’t intrusive, but it was intense—calm yet purposeful, like he was taking in everything about me.

I glanced over at him, and for a split second, our eyes locked. I could feel the subtle tension between us, the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of the cart. His gaze softened, but the intensity remained, making my heart beat just a little faster.

“Y’know,” Rafe started, his voice casual but his fingers tightening ever so slightly on the steering wheel, “there’s this event coming up at the club. Some really formal, over-the-top thing my family always drags me to.” He glanced over at me, a flicker of something uncertain in his eyes. “I was wondering if… you’d want to go with me?”

His usual confidence was there, sure—but underneath, I could hear it. That slight edge of nervousness he was trying to hide.

I froze, eyes wide. Was this real? Was he seriously asking me to a fancy club event? As his date?

“L-like a date?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it.

Rafe looked down at me, his playful smirk fading into something more serious. His gaze held mine, steady and unwavering. “Yeah,” he said, voice low and sure. “Like a date.”

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

Then I quickly cleared my throat, trying to play it cool even though my face was probably on fire. “I—uh—I would love to. That sounds... fun,” I said, my voice steady enough, but the grin spreading across my face totally gave me away.

Rafe let out a soft laugh and shook his head like I was the funniest thing he’d seen all day. His hand moved without warning, resting gently on my thigh, his touch warm and grounding and gave it a squeeze.

“You don’t understand the effect you have on me,” he murmured, his tone more serious now, more honest than I’d ever heard it.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Not with the way my whole body was buzzing at the feeling of his hand, his words, him.

But inside, I was screaming.

His face was so close to mine—closer than it had ever been. I could feel his breath on my skin, warm and intoxicating. My gaze was locked on his eyes, but his flickered downward, landing on my lips. The world seemed to still around us.

He leaned in slowly, like he was giving me a chance to pull away. But I didn’t want to. I was frozen, heart racing, anticipation buzzing through every inch of me.

I’m about to kiss him, I thought giddily, my lips parting just slightly as my eyes fluttered shut. I felt his lips ghost over mine, a whisper of a touch that sent goosebumps up my arms.

And then—

Thunk!

“Watch out!” someone called from across the course.

Both our eyes snapped open just as something hit the roof of the cart with a loud clunk. Rafe let out a groan, dropping his forehead gently against mine in defeat.

His hand, still resting against my cheek, caressed it softly, his thumb brushing back and forth as if trying to soothe the moment we’d just lost.

I giggled, unable to help myself.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, one brow raised as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Funny?”

I nodded, biting back another laugh. “Kinda.”

That teasing spark lit up in his eyes again. “I was so close,” he mumbled under his breath.

I smiled, leaning into his touch just a little more. “Yeah,” I whispered, “you were.”

But the moment wasn’t really gone. If anything, it left us wanting more.

“You drive me insane,” Rafe murmured, his voice low and laced with a kind of frustration that only made me smile wider.

“Good,” I teased, my eyes gleaming with mischief.

He chuckled, that deep, effortless sound that always made my stomach flip. Before I could say anything else, he dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to the side of my neck. Then another. And another. Each one slower, more deliberate than the last.

I giggled, warmth rushing up my face as I squirmed slightly in my seat. “Rafe!” I laughed, playfully pushing at his head. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, that smug grin on his face, eyes full of trouble. “Worth it.”

[lostintransist]

The Price is Wife | Part 2

Part one here *Part one includes ace!wife!reader coming home to find John has brought home a boyfriend and packs a bag to spend the night at a hotel because why would John need a wife if he has a boyfriend???

Tear stains on your cheeks led to a cool washcloth on your face before packing all of your clothes back into your luggage. You didn't know if you would be able to book this same room for another few nights.

Digging your nails into the palm of the other hand you focus on breathing. The bright color on your nails makes you think of John. Fuck. He had paid for this set. Dammit all and beyond, you didn't want your marriage to end. You love John, he had to be one of your best friends. With a little wine in your glass you would even call him your soul mate. He would laugh and lay a kiss at your cheek, thanking you for the honor.

You loved that man so much you couldn't, wouldn't, stand in his way of being truly happy. John longed for more physical affection than either of you was comfortable with. You knew that John would thrive under the kisses of his boyfriend. Guess you would request a transfer at work and file uncontested.

Halting those thoughts before you started sobbing again you flap your hands at your face to keep your eyes from leaking. Your makeup was done lightly today, knowing you would be crying most of it off in John's office after work despite the setting spray.

Three meetings. That is all you had to get through today. You could buy yourself comfort food on the way to the hotel. Might even splurge and rent an overpriced movie. Yeah. That sounded like a plan.

First meeting drags, sending the following two into overtime and you to missing lunch and clocking out an hour later than you originally planned. The idea of putting food in your face makes you nauseus. Any food will taste like sawdust right now.

The first person to notice something is wrong is the gate officer. Office Madida had been letting you on and off base for a few years now. The man's bright smile fit so neatly on his dark skin that to see him without one would almost signal the end of the world.

"Ah! Mrs. Price, here to see your husband?"

Offering a wan smile you nod, "I'm a bit late. Would you call his office to let him know I'm here?"

"Of course! Give me a moment," Madida grabs the phone from its cradle and punches in a series of numbers. He looks you over smile slipping as he takes in the whole of you. "You doing alright Mrs. Price?"

The title slices at you. It won't be yours for to much longer. Your wan smile is now watery.

"Not really, but I appreciate you noticing."

He holds up a finger as he speaks into the phone. "Yeah, I've got Mrs. Price at the gate. She's asking that Captain Price can meet at his office?" He lifts a brow at you to confirm. At your nod he continues, "I'll send her in now. No, she won't need an escort she's been visiting her husband for nearly a decade."

Fuck a duck, your next anniversry would be ten wouldn't it? A hiccuping sob bursts past your lips. The hand you slap to your mouth doesn't prevent Officer Madida's sharp look as he hangs up the phone.

"Go and park Mrs. Price. Give me five minutes to get a replacement out here and I will walk with you."

You do as commanded, tears streaking down your face as you settle the car into park. Madida opens the door and reaches in to turn off the engine when he arrives. Thankfully you have nearly sobbed yourself out when he arrives. He walks close to you, deference and defense in his body language.

Officer Madida leaves you after John's voice rings out at your knock. Stepping into his office feels like the first time you did two weeks after you had gotten married. He introduced you around the base, proud to show off his new wife. The same drab brown covered the walls, a blanket you had crocheted him for your first wedding anniversery lay across the couch he kept for naps. The only real change in the room had to be the drawn look across John's face.

For a man who should have been happy to lose a wife and gain a husband he looked dreadful. Deep eye bags and his unkempt beard tell of a hard night. Maybe as hard as yours.

John rose slowly as you shut the door behind you. His eyes searched yours.

"Are you ready to talk now?" The gravel in his voice stings as if you were flung across it.

The lip quiver starts first. "What is there to talk about John? Why would you me when you have a boyfriend now? We are friends who sometimes kiss and share tax benefits and a flat. That's not much compared to someone who can love you the way you deserve and fills your needs and your bed."

Tightening your nails into your palms and your arms around your ribs you watch your husband round his desk. John's broad hands settle on you, one at your face and the other on your elbow. Your eyelids drift closed at the familiar, safe touch.

"Why would I want to trade one love for another?" John whispers, voice breaking.

Lifting a hand to lay across the one on your face you open your eyes and match his tear filled gaze.

"I can't see your boyfriend being okay with you keeping a wife. I can't be the reason you don't get to be happy."

John's hand slide around to the back of you, pulling you into a hug.

"The first thing I did," John spoke into your ear, "When Nik kissed me out of the blue was tell him about my wife. The woman who holds me as I cry and pokes fun at me until we both laugh. My best friend, my soul mate. I told him about our arrangement, and how anything with him could not hurt what I have with you. You're allowed to be selfish."

You are sobbing now, wrinkling John's shirt with your tears and your grip. Selfish isn't something you have ever been allowed to be. Asking for your parents to show up to important dates in school, graduation, etc were always met with cries of being selfish. Your sibling had an event that day already, or they had a work event. John had been the first to put your first.

Being put aside so often by those that claimed to love you it only made sense to step aside before John could do the same.

"No, I'm not. Selfish is always the word people use to say I am asking for to much." Sobbing harder the past pains work their way out through your grip on your husband. "Why didn't you tell me John? I would have understood. I want you to be able to be loved the way you deserve."

"Honestly?" He chuckled a bit, "I was so excited for the two of you two meet that I didn't think it through."

Pulling back from John you give him a look he is expressly familiar with. Sometimes your brilliant, SAS-trained, Air Force Captian was dumber than a box of rocks. At this point, you chalked it up to a function of testosterone.

"You forgot to tell your wife that you were bringing your boyfriend home?" The deadpan delivery has John's ears pinking up.

"Nik also called me an idiot after I explained that you were heading to a hotel for the night. He was looking forward to meeting you. If you're okay with it he is probably outside the office waiting to talk to you," John gives you the softest of smiles.

There is a light knock at the door.

"I want you both, and if there is anything you need from me to keep both of you I will do anything to make that happen." John speaks with the seriousness that made you believe he would fight god and win.

Pressing a light kiss to your lips John opens the door to his lover. Nik observes you with a cool indifference. The deepening wrinkles around his eyes tell you he might also be nervous.

"Would you like to see my helicopter?" His accent is thicker today than when he introduced himself last night.

You nod, and John offers your hand to his boyfriend. Nik takes your hand, tucking it into the corner of his elbow as the two of you wander further onto base. Passing no one on your way neither of you is ready to break the silence.

Leaving the building behind both you and Nik take a deep breath. Glancing at him you find Nik looking at your already. Both of you laugh out your big breath of air.

"I hate being in the base buildings for too long. Makes my skin itch," you offer.

"I dislike all the brown," Nik replies in return.

"What did John tell you?" You broach the subject first.

"He told me of his wife. Of her kindness, her self sacrificing ways, of the kisses you share, and the happiness that fills him up so much that I fell in love with coming from you."

No change in his tone or side glance at you. The feet attached to your body would have been rooted to the ground if Nik did not keep careful pressure on your hand, pulling you forward to the helicopter now within sight.

The ache in your chest that had started last night when John called Nik his boyfriend flared to life again, an improperly cared for fire.

"First thing you will need to learn," you cover your mouth with a hand, "Is that you can't say nice things like that to me. I cry if you are too nice to me and you are in love with John so you don't want to comfort his wife."

Nik blinks at you slowly, observing. He gives no inclination as to what he saw but lets your hand fall as you reach his helo. He opens the side door and invites you to sit down with a pat of his hand. Sitting next to you Nik does not say anything for a long time. Swinging your feet you prod at your emotions until you can parse them out enough for words. Your palms wear patterns up and down the thighs of your pants.

"I don't want to lose him, Nik. But he deserves to be happy and I know he will be happy with you. He's talked about you before, for years now, I just never realized he liked you more than as a friend. A word from you and I will file the paperwork today. It's an odd agreement between us. I knew it would end for him one day when he found someone to love and love him in return." Your voice breaks as you fight back the sobs. As if the cliffs could fight back a storm.

He pulls your hand from your lap, threading his wide fingers between yours. Hair dots his knuckes. He does not offer platitudes, or unfounded words, simply holds your hand as you weep.

"You love John. I also love John. Part of the love John carries is for you alone, and it would shatter him to lose you," Nik pauses until your sobbing has slowed enough to hear him again. "Give us a chance to learn to love each other, as friends and as those who love the idiot that is John Price."

Someone else calling John an idiot sparked a bark of laughter.

"I would love to learn to love you Nik," squeezing his fingers tight in yours you stand.

Nik joins you. Releasing his hand from yours he settles both against your face. Placing a kiss to one cheek and then the other, he finally places a kiss on your lips. The two of you share a smile and a nod of understanding. This would be a time of transition and of growth, but you both loved John enough to make room for the other.

The kiss Nik pressed to your lips did not go unobserved. Kyle, with a twisted and complicated relationship of his own he kept under wraps, saw Nik kiss John's wife. Turning and sprinting across the base he found his lovers, Simon and Johnny, reviewing paperwork from their last mission.

"Nikoli is a fucking homewrecker and is trying to get with Mrs. Price!"

That brought all work to a hard standstill.

Part 1 | Part 3 | Bonus

Masterlist

[sh4nksslvt]

The Lost Reader

A mysterious reader of Poneglyphs finds a new home among the Straw Hat Pirates, slowly becoming an irreplaceable part of their crew as their love for them grows.

READER WHO CAN READ AND SPEAK PONEGLYPH

Strawhats x Poneglyph gn!reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT

main characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, nami, robin

tags: fluff, sfw, harem(?), soft

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ffs cringe and oc

words count: 1.9k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

It started with silence.

Not the heavy kind that suffocates—but the quiet peace of wind brushing through trees, waves lapping against the sand, and birds singing above crumbled ruins. Your only companions were time-worn Poneglyphs, mossy stone relics, and the hollow ache of knowing you shouldn’t exist.

You didn’t know what you were—only that you could read them. The Poneglyphs. Their words came to you like breath, like blood. It wasn’t learned. It just… was.

And then one day, the silence broke.

“WOOOOAAAHH! What a weird island!!”

You looked up from a worn page, blinking at the explosion of sound.

A rubber man had landed face-first in your tomato garden.

You blinked again, rubbing your eyes to make sure you weren’t imagining the scene before you. The man—his limbs were stretched at impossible angles, and his face was, well… currently smushed into the dirt of your carefully cultivated tomato patch.

“Luffy!” a woman’s voice shouted from the shore. “Stop crashing into things!”

You stared in disbelief, watching as a circus of chaos disembarked from a sunny, lion-faced ship. At least, that’s what it looked like to you.

“Wha—?” You stumbled back, half-wondering if you’d stepped into some sort of dream. But no, the crew’s laughter was real. Loud, boisterous, utterly chaotic, and very much present.

Before you could comprehend the whirlwind that had just descended upon your quiet life, a figure bounded toward you. The rubber man—Luffy—was grinning at you like you were the most interesting thing he’d seen all day. And, for all you knew, you were.

“Hey! Who're you? you live here? cool! SHISHISHI” Luffy asked, already sitting cross-legged on the ground as if he hadn’t just completely flattened your garden. “Wanna eat with us?”

You blinked, still too stunned to form a coherent sentence. “I… guess?...Im Y/N”

And so began your first real encounter with the Straw Hat Pirates.

Nami, with her keen eyes and sharp questions, immediately assessed the situation, interrogating you about your maps and supplies like she was about to audit your entire existence. Sanji, the ever-romantic chef, started cooking a feast so lavish that you were half-tempted to check if the food had its own backstory. The man even had heart-shaped eyes every time you praised his cooking.

Usopp, ever the over-the-top self-proclaimed hero, proudly handed you a coconut with a grin that could only be described as a “friendship orb.” “From me to you,” he declared, as if he had just made the world’s most profound offering.

And then there was Chopper, who took your pulse the second he saw you, declaring that you had “island person syndrome” and needed immediate attention.

Robin, however, watched you closely. Her gaze sharp but gentle, as if trying to figure out a puzzle no one else could see.

“You can read those stones, can’t you?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You stiffened. The question sent a shiver through your spine, a fleeting reminder of the secret you kept buried deep within. You didn’t answer. Not immediately.

She smiled, soft and knowing, her eyes never leaving yours. “We’ll talk later.”

Zoro, ever the brooding figure, glanced at you and muttered under his breath, “You don’t look dangerous.” It seemed like a funny thing to say, considering he had just been trying to slice a boulder in half mere moments earlier.

It didn’t take long for you to realize what was happening: You were trapped in their orbit. In their madness. In their chaos.

And you couldn’t have been more content.

The Thousand Sunny became your new home—bright, loud, and utterly unpredictable.

Sanji insisted on cooking you all your meals. Breakfast, lunch, dinner—each time, his cooking came with a full-on serenade, and if you didn’t finish your plate, he might just shed a tear. “It’s not just food,” he’d say. “It’s love. It’s my soul in a dish!”

Nami dragged you into shopping sprees with no regard for your dwindling supplies or your protestations. “You need to look fabulous, Y/N. Don’t you want to blend in with the rest of us?” she’d tease, while tossing a dozen new outfits into your arms. You always ended up spending more than you intended, but there was something so infectious about her enthusiasm that you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Robin was the one who quietly fascinated you. You’d find her at all hours of the day, absorbed in reading a book or studying the surroundings with quiet intensity. There was something about the way she looked at you, like she already knew your secrets but would never pry.

And then there was Luffy. Always smiling. Always laughing. He treated you as though you were already part of the crew. No pretense, no hesitation. You didn’t even need to be invited. You were just… in.

“Wanna ride on top of the mast?” Luffy asked one morning, as casually as if he were asking if you wanted a snack.

You stared up at the towering mast, then back at him. “Is that… safe?”

“Nope! shishishi” he beamed, looking excited about the prospect.

Somehow, that made it make sense to climb up there with him. He helped you up like it was nothing, laughing all the while. The wind whipped through your hair, and for the first time in a long while, you felt alive. You weren’t just existing anymore.

Zoro, ever the silent guardian, began training near you. You noticed him constantly observing your movements, his gaze intense but not unwelcome. One day, you lost your footing on deck, but before you could even react, his hand shot out and steadied you.

He didn’t say much, just stared at you for a moment, before clearing his throat and muttering, “Watch your step, dumbass.”

Romance, clearly.

It crept in slowly. Unnoticed, at first.

Sanji’s compliments, light-hearted at first, began to hold a different weight. “You look beautiful today, Y/N~chwann” he’d say with a soft smile, not just as a joke, but as something that meant more.

Nami’s teasing turned into lingering glances, moments where her eyes softened when she thought no one was looking.

Robin’s hand on yours during those quiet late-night reading sessions made your heart skip a beat, like it was a shared secret, a connection you didn’t have the words to describe.

Zoro’s silence, once intimidating, became your comfort. When he was near, you didn’t need to talk. You didn’t need to explain yourself. He was just there, a steady presence.

And Luffy’s laughter—oh, Luffy’s laughter. It started to feel like home, like the sound of safety, of warmth. A constant reminder that with him around, there was nothing to fear.

But you kept your secret.

That was until one night, when you and Robin stood over a relic you had no business being near. It was buried deep beneath the cursed island’s soil, half-buried like a forgotten truth. Robin stood behind you, arms crossed, waiting for you to decipher it. You already knew what it would say, but that didn’t stop the rush of dread that surged within you as your fingers traced the ancient glyphs.

“You know what it says, don’t you?” Robin’s voice was barely a whisper. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

You stiffened.

“It’s just a story,” you muttered, voice low.

Robin smiled, a soft and knowing smile, one that suggested she understood far more than she let on. “Then you should know—they’d kill you for it.”

You didn’t answer, didn’t have the words. You just continued to trace the lines, the ancient language flowing effortlessly from your mind, sinking into the earth beneath your fingertips.

Everything changed when you found the half-buried Poneglyph on a cursed island.

It was a trap. Not for Luffy. Not for the Pirate King in the making.

For you.

You read the stone aloud, your voice quiet, shaking slightly. And for the first time in your life, the stone responded.

The words were not just etched into stone, not just an inscription—it was a message. A message that burned through the world like a beacon.

“The last of the Whisperers,” it said. “Hunted. Hidden. Forbidden.”

The ground shook. The air turned electric. The Poneglyphs around you shimmered, the glyphs becoming light, illuminating the island with a soft, ethereal glow.

The Straw Hats arrived just as you stumbled backward, your eyes wide, heart pounding, the power coursing through you like an uncontrollable force. The glyphs pulsed, and the power in your veins burned bright.

“What’s happening?!” Usopp screamed, looking ready to fight a ghost.

You looked at them—at your crew—and whispered, “They were hunting us. People who could read these stones. I shouldn’t exist.”

There was silence.

Then Luffy stepped forward, his voice unwavering, “You’re not alone.”

The Marines came shortly after.

You fought, of course you did.

For the first time in your life, you let the power in your blood surge freely. The words of the stone became light, flames of energy erupting from the ground as you slashed through the battlefield, carving the very earth with your newfound strength. You cracked the island’s crust. You didn’t even know you could do that.

Sanji’s hand grabbed yours as the ground beneath you cracked, pulling you from the collapsing cliff. Zoro fought beside you, silent and determined. Robin’s steady hand on yours kept you grounded in the chaos.

When the battle was over, and the last Marine had been driven back, you passed out.

You woke in the infirmary, Chopper hovering over you, his worried eyes darting around like he was waiting for you to disappear again. Franky was sitting beside you, sobbing into a bowl of soup.

“You scared us, you moron,” Nami whispered, brushing your hair back from your face. Her voice was soft, a rare tenderness that made your heart ache.

Robin kissed your temple as she hovered over you, whispering, “You’re more than your gift.”

Sanji didn’t say anything, but his presence was unmistakable. He curled up beside you, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, a silent vow of protection.

Zoro sat across from you, cleaning his swords. “Don’t ever do that alone again.”

And Luffy… Luffy beamed at you, that infectious smile lighting up his face as he exclaimed, “You’re stuck with us forever now!”

The tension unraveled like fraying rope.

Nami kissed you when you least expected it, quick and teasing, a spark of affection.

Robin kissed you in the library, with parchment between your hands, and the world felt like it stopped turning for a moment.

Sanji kissed you with all the intensity of someone who had been waiting for years, every touch filled with longing.

Zoro kissed you like it was the only thing that made sense, his hands warm and steady.

And Luffy—Luffy’s kiss was upside down, playful, and completely unexpected, but perfect in the way only Luffy could be.

Usopp ran away screaming, “AAAH! ROMANCE ATTACK!”

Chopper fainted. Twice.

Brook played a love song with three verses about your “sultry stare” that made everyone uncomfortable except Sanji, who wept.

Franky asked if you wanted to build a heart-shaped cannon to “blast your feelings at the world.” You said yes. It now sits in the garden.

Jinbei just gave you a nod and said, “It’s about time.”

You weren’t a secret anymore.

You were theirs.

Not claimed, not owned—but cherished. Loved, wholly and fiercely.

And though the world may hunt you, you had a crew that would burn it down before they let anyone take you.

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 10

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language, mild sexual references and implications, mentions of drug cravings (coke), rafe being unable to name his emotions or rather rafe being a pro at deflecting his feelings, just rafe being rafe let's be real

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ while rafe was making himself something to eat, you felt comfortable enough to joke around with him openly. later, though, you thought you had annoyed him during the sketchbook discussion and brought it up. rafe reacted irritably which made you snap back at him. after a slightly tense back-and-forth, the argument ended with rafe inviting you to kelce’s party on friday night so you could finally shut your brain off for once. before you could overthink it, you agreed.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 2.6k+

✿ A / N ✿ after that last part i felt like it made sense to check in with rafe’s pov again aka him being confused as shit (he's so fun to write omg), plus i threw in more smau elements bc i felt silly (that’s also why the written part is shorter than usual). sorry if this part felt a little underwhelming, next part will be more in-person reader x rafe interactions again. anyway, as always, i hope you guys enjoy reading, pls lmk what you think <33

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W E E K O N E // W E D N E S D A Y

Rafe set his phone back down on the kitchen counter, a frown tugging at his face. These fucking idiots weren’t worth his time.

Shit, he already regretted having mentioned you were coming on Friday in the first place. Now he had to deal with Kelce’s dumbass comments and Topper’s curious bullshit until then.

Already, his phone buzzed again—then again.

Fuck, should’ve just kept my damn mouth shut.

Annoyed, he put his phone on silent, tapping his fingers against the counter while listening to the faint sound of your voice through the door.

A few minutes ago, your phone had gone off at the table—your dad apparently—and you'd quickly excused yourself to take the call in the foyer.

You two had been working for two hours straight on this shitty project, writing stuff down, finalizing ideas and shit, and Rafe had used the moment to refill his water. Bored out of his mind, he’d decided to check the group chat.

And now, who would've guessed, he was pissed again.

What pissed him off the most was stupid Topper actually agreeing with Kelce. Fucking idiot.

Rafe wasn’t acting crazy, the fuck? He’d just made it very clear that the two of them shouldn’t act like brain-dead thirteen-year-olds in front of you on Friday.

You’d already been so fucking tense yesterday at Kelce’s place, and Rafe really didn’t need to soak up more of that nervous energy.

Then again, it wasn’t like he’d invited you as his date or anything. You were just a guest. He wasn’t your fucking babysitter—or boyfriend—or whatever.

At that thought, Rafe furrowed his brows. That’s the last thing he needed—some clingy girl who constantly needed his attention.

After his last situationship with Amelia Brooks, he was done with girls who wanted to talk his ear off or track him down at school to dump some unnecessary bullshit on him.

And honestly? He didn’t even know why he got into the whole fuckbuddies thing with her in the first place. Hanging out with her had been boring as hell and in bed? Same shit.

Shit, next time I get that bored, I’ll just get a fucking dog or something. At least that’d be more fun.

And even though, at first, he’d thought he’d drawn the short straw getting partnered with the quiet girl, he was honestly fucking glad it had been you—out of all the try-hard artsy girls and weird-ass hipster dudes in that class.

You only texted when necessary, never made pointless calls, and today you’d even tried to avoid him at school. Shit, even Kelce acted more like a clingy girl than you did.

Three days into the project, Rafe still couldn’t tell if you actually liked him or just tolerated him. One minute you were distant and off in your own head, the next you were all bubbly and cracking jokes.

So, like, what the fuck?

Either you had some kind of split personality or you were just fucking weird.

Shit, both probably.

Although, the way you’d snapped at him earlier when he'd called you out for overthinking? Yeah, that kinda pointed to the first option. It had thrown him off for sure, but holy fucking shit, more than anything, it had amused him.

Most people didn’t have the balls to push back on him—his annoying sisters being the exception. Girls usually just tried to act all whiny or pulled some pick-me-whatever-bullshit, and if he argued with a FWB chick, he’d just drop her and that'd be it. And guys? A punch usually did the job.

But you? Fuck, he really hadn’t expected you to actually argue with him without throwing curse words at him or some shit like that.

And weirdly, it was kinda refreshing. For once, it'd felt like he'd been talking to an adult, someone who took him seriously and not just started shit to provoke him.

What really caught him off guard, though, was how you could just slide back into a normal conversation afterward—no big blowup, no lingering drama.

How the hell you pulled that off, Rafe had no idea. Not that he cared enough to figure it out. Yeah, sometimes it pissed him off that you wouldn’t just say what was on your mind, but still… you were kinda chill to be around?

Nah. Rafe didn’t know how to describe it. Shit just didn’t feel like a total waste of his free evening, that was all.

The door to the foyer opened, and Rafe straightened up. Judging by your face, the call hadn’t been an emergency.

Rafe leaned back against the counter, a crooked smirk on his face, Topper and Kelce's bullshit forgotten. “Daddy pissed you’ve been gone too long?”

“Ugh,” you said with a frown. “Please never use that term again when referring to my father.”

Rafe chuckled. “Save that shit for the bedroom, I see.”

And holy shit, the way your face always turned red whenever things got even remotely sexual? Rafe found it deeply entertaining. The only dick you’d ever seen was probably in a high school biology textbook.

That’s exactly why you just needed to get it over with, then maybe shit like that wouldn’t throw you off so bad.

Shit, maybe Rafe would get you laid himself if he didn't fear you'd explode at the sight of seeing a cock in real life. Plus you'd probably make things unbearably uncomfortable during sex AND for the remaining project sessions and he absolutely wasn't in for that shit.

Irritated by his own thoughts, he just said, "So, you heading out or what?”

For a second, your brows furrowed for reasons Rafe couldn’t quite figure out. Then you just nodded with a small smile. “Yeah, uh, my dad and I usually do movie nights on Wednesdays and he just wanted to know if we were still in for that.”

Either that was another half-assed excuse or you had some weird-ass relationship with your—

“It’s kind of a tradition,” you added, this time with an awkward smile, “since my mom has her girls’ night every Wednesday. I kinda forgot about that.”

So this was like... a father-daughter bonding thing?

Rafe immediately thought of his dad and favorite child Sarah, and yeah, that pissed him right the fuck off.

He shrugged. “So?”

Your smile faltered a little which did something weird to his chest. “I don’t know, I mean—we got pretty far today, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Rafe muttered, arms crossed.

You crossed yours too, scratching at your upper arm. “Okay… so maybe we call it a night then.” There was an hesitation in your voice and after a small pause you added, “Unless you wanna continue.”

An awkward smile tugged at your lips, and the fact that you still looked uncomfortable around him irritated the hell out of Rafe.

He nodded slowly, shrugging the weird feeling in his chest off as annoyance. “Yeah, nah. I’m done with school-shit for today.”

You mimicked his nod with a subtle frown. “I think next time we can start with the final draft,” you said, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Depending on when you’re free.”

Didn’t you have art class together tomorrow? Whatever.

Rafe exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “No idea. I’m at the country club tomorrow, and Friday’s Kelce’s dumbass party.”

You nodded and let out a stiff little chuckle. “Yeah, no, definitely not in the mood to work then either.”

No shit.

“Yeah, Saturday’s off the table because of that, and Sunday’s that open-air movie thing,” Rafe added, half considering asking if you wanted to join but then, why the fuck would he? Just so he wouldn’t have to bear Topper and Kelce alone?

Yeah, nah. He’d just do a line before, and they’d be bearable enough.

You nodded again. “Okay, yeah, no big deal. We’ll figure something out next week then.”

But the smile on your face didn’t quite match the weird tone in your voice, and fuck—why were you so damn complicated?

“Yeah.” Rafe pushed off the counter with a quick nod and jerked his chin toward the dining room. “Don’t forget your stuff.”

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After the door clicked shut behind you, Tannyhill fell into a weird kind of silence that made Rafe feel… off.

Not uncomfortable or lonely or any of that bullshit, he didn’t even know what it was exactly. It felt more like coming down from a line. And this being the closest comparison he could come up with?

Had to be withdrawals from last weekend or some bullshit like that.

And the fact that he’d sold his last damn gram to that bum Scott yesterday? Yeah, that wasn’t helping either.

In fact, it just worsened his mood.

Fuck, now that he thought about it—feeling that void—he needed it even more.

Jaw tight, Rafe made his way upstairs to grab his wallet. As much as it pissed him off to hand over the cut, Barry needed his fucking share if Rafe wanted to keep dealing.

At the door, he grabbed his motorcycle helmet, already halfway out, when he noticed—no phone.

Groaning, he set the helmet down and started searching the kitchen. He spotted it lying on the dining room table, and turned to head out when—

The fuck?

Something white caught his eye on the carpet: your dumbass Apple Pencil. He’d nearly stepped on it.

Annoyed, he picked it up. Usually, your brain caught every fucking thought in the goddamn world—how the hell did you forget this?

Fuck, no. If this was some kind of "girl marks her territory" move, holy shit, absolutely not.

He placed the pencil on the table and pulled out his phone, brows furrowed.

Rafe let his phone drop back into his shorts pocket and just stood there for a second, completely blanking on what the hell he'd even been about to do before having texted with you.

You’d scrambled his fucking brain again, and like, no joke, what the actual fuck was going on in your head? Or more like: what the fuck did you even base that occasional attitude on?

Because this? What. The. Fuck.

He’d gone into that damn chat pissed, annoyed at your dumbass Apple Pencil, and now he had another app on his phone and let himself get pulled into those fucked up weird-ass-creature-whatever-pictures.

And the fact that Sarah had been talking to Wheezie about you? Fuck, that nearly sent him into full rage mode. He legit wanted to crash Sarah’s stupid little hangout with her lame-ass little friends and tell her to keep her fucking nose out of shit that was none of her business.

Somehow though, there was this weird, lingering lightness in his chest that kept him from doing so. And he had no fucking clue what it meant.

Rafe rubbed the bridge of his nose, brows knit. Fuck, what—At this point, he wasn’t even sure anymore if it was withdrawals, because come on, his coke usage hadn’t even been that heavy lately.

Or maybe Kelce was fucking right. Maybe you really were a goddamn witch.

Because fuck, sometimes you made his nerves fucking boil, frustrated the shit out of him with that split-personality vibe of yours, but just as fast as that feeling came, it vanished again.

And what fucked with his head the most?

You actually seemed to care. Not in some fake or soft, pathetic way—but like… you noticed when he was pissed. And you tried to understand why.

Like today. With the sketchbook thing.

Rafe just couldn’t, for the fucking life of him, understand why you couldn’t just rip one goddamn page out of the sketchbook, set Wheezie’s pad aside, and be done with it. But no, you had to start arguing with him about privacy or whatever kind of bullshit.

That had definitely pulled at his nerves but he had seen the way you’d reacted yesterday when he picked up your iPad, and even though he still didn’t get it, he figured it must mean something to you.

Yeah, and then? You'd called him out on his mood.

And holy shit, you'd been like two seconds away from giving one of those weird-ass little speeches again that made both of you feel uncomfortable as shit.

So he’d cut just you off. Shut your bullshit down before you got any deeper. And that—fucking hell—that’s when you'd snapped.

But just as fast, you’d chilled out again, even gotten soft. And then you started with that “Overthinking is a me problem” crap.

Like dude, could you please just shut your damn brain off for one minute?

And since your nervous energy was starting to give him a migraine—and Rafe couldn’t stand one more goddamn second or project session of that kind—he decided he’d put an end to it.

Once and for all.

Or at least until the project was over. After that, you could go back to spiraling for all he cared.

Jesus. Just the thought of seeing you at Kelce’s party on Friday. He almost felt bad for you.

Kelce’s parties weren’t like regular Kook parties. Nah, that fucking idiot had to go big every time.

He’d invite like 200% more people than his parents’ place could physically hold, and 90% of them were some annoying bitches from school, the other 10% just random dudes Kelce was cool with or knew from the gym.

The music? Played at a volume that could probably be heard across the goddamn Cut. And the alcohol? Jesus fucking Christ. Liquor stores probably quadrupled their profit that weekend alone.

Not to mention the lineup of party drugs.

Rafe had once taken acid from some random dude and had ended up hallucinating his fucking soul out.

After that? He stuck with Barry’s shit. At least with him, Rafe knew that guy wouldn't try to kill him.

And girls like you? Shy and introverted: your spawn rate at those parties was basically zero.

Sure, Rafe had subconsciously noticed you at other parties or bonfires before. You weren’t new to the scene exactly. But a Kelce party?

Shit. Either you were gonna get eaten alive or throw your overthinking brain in the trash and actually let go for once.

And Rafe? He had no clue how you were gonna play it. Which, fuck, only made him even more curious for Friday.

Would you actually be down to do a line? Or would you just curl up in some quiet corner with a lame-ass beer?

If some annoying bitch tried to start a fake-deep convo with you just to squeeze gossip out of your shy little mouth, would you entertain her? Or let yourself get dragged into gossip on your own?

And what Rafe was most curious about—what really fucked with his head—was this: If one of Kelce’s gym-bro frat-type assholes came up and started hitting on you, would you let him? Or would you hide behind your friend, pretend you weren’t even there?

Then—bam—out of the blue, some random image popped into his brain.

You. With some dude. Making out in some dark-ass corner. Your hands in his hair. Your lips on his and—

What the fuck.

Rafe furrowed his brows, rubbed a hand down his face like he could scrub the image from his mind, and physically shook his head to throw it off.

Shit.

He needed a line. Two, actually. Shit, maybe three at this point.

He grabbed your goddamn Apple Pencil and shoved it in his backpack by the front door, grabbed his helmet, and shot Barry a quick text:

Because fuck. Rafe didn’t even know what was making his head ache this bad. Or this—Jesus Christ—this weird-ass feeling in his chest.

Like pressure. Or heat. Or fucking whatever.

All he knew was that it pissed him off to be stuck in his own brain like this right now with no one around to entertain him with their bullshit.

Because, shit, yeah, surprisingly Rafe found you—your nervousness excluded—oddly … easy to be around. And in just three days, he’d already gotten so used to your presence, this new, unknown variable in his life that entertained him that–

Fuck all that.

Why the hell was this even taking up space in his head?

Annoyed by something he couldn’t even name, Rafe slammed the door of Tannyhill behind him, mind already locked in on the high waiting for him at Barry’s shitty-ass trailer.

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K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

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[juliettejwnewinesa]

Can you please write a story about kang woo young x reader?

Vanilla Skies and Other Things I Never Said

Pairing: Kang Woo Young x Y/N AU: Ex-gangster turned quiet coastal café owner x burnt-out city girl Genre: Soft romance, slice-of-life, slow burn, comfort, gentle smut POV: Third person, using "Y/N"

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The town of Haebang-ri was the kind of place that only existed in postcards. All salt air and slow sunsets, with narrow streets and crumbling stone paths lined with ginkgo trees. It was also the kind of place where people didn’t ask too many questions—especially not about the tall man who owned the little cafe on the corner of the harbor.

Kang Woo Young didn’t smile much. He kept his dark hair swept back, always wore clean white shirts, and moved like someone who used to fight but chose not to anymore. People whispered things about him. That he had tattoos under his sleeves. That he had once killed a man. That he was hiding from something.

Y/N didn’t care.

She arrived in Haebang-ri on a train that wheezed like it was taking its final breath, dragging her suitcase behind her like an afterthought. Her burnout had been the slow kind. A quiet unraveling. By the time she finally booked the room above the small café, she didn’t even recognize herself anymore.

The first morning, she padded downstairs in oversized sweats and met him.

“Coffee?” he asked, voice deep but quiet.

She nodded.

He placed a cup in front of her.

“You look like you need it sweet.”

She blinked.

“You judging me?” she murmured.

One corner of his mouth lifted. Almost a smile.

“Just a guess.”

And so it began.

Days passed like warm waves.

She found herself downstairs every morning, then most afternoons, then evenings too. Sometimes reading. Sometimes just staring at the ocean through the café windows. Woo Young rarely spoke first, but when she did, he always answered. Always listened. And in his silence, there was something comforting—something unspoken that said stay as long as you need.

She caught him staring once, when she laughed too hard at her book.

“What?” she asked.

He looked away.

“Nothing.”

But his ears turned red.

The night everything shifted, the rain came in sheets.

The power went out. The café went quiet.

Y/N came down the stairs with a candle and found Woo Young sitting at the bar, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sipping something that looked suspiciously like whiskey.

“Scared of storms?” he asked without looking at her.

She sat beside him.

“Scared of silence.”

He looked at her then. Really looked. The candlelight made her skin glow, made her eyes look softer than usual. He poured a second glass and slid it over.

“To silence,” he said.

They drank.

Outside, thunder rolled.

Inside, her fingers brushed his.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asked. “Whatever it was you left behind?”

He didn’t answer for a long time.

Then: “I miss feeling like I was good at something. Even if it was bad.”

She reached for his hand. Held it this time.

“You make good coffee,” she said softly.

He laughed—a real one. The first she’d ever heard.

The kiss was inevitable.

It happened on the rooftop after the storm. The sky was still bruised with clouds, but the sea was calm again. They sat with their knees touching, sharing the last of the whiskey.

She turned to say something, but the words caught in her throat because he was looking at her like she was the last light left in the world.

“You can kiss me,” she whispered.

So he did.

Slowly. Carefully. Like a man who didn’t know if he deserved softness anymore.

She melted into it.

When his hands cupped her face, when her fingers tangled in his shirt, when he pressed her gently against the rooftop tiles—she didn’t think, she just let him in.

They didn’t rush.

The first time he touched her like that, it was behind locked doors, with nothing but the ocean breeze outside and the quiet hush of breath between them. He was reverent. Like he needed to memorize her with his mouth.

Her back arched. His lips followed.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured against her skin.

She didn’t.

They moved slow. Gentle. Like they had all the time in the world. And maybe they did.

When he finally sank into her, her hand clutched his shirt tight over his heart.

“Stay,” she whispered.

“I was already going to,” he breathed back.

Mornings after that felt different.

She still got her sweet coffee. But now it came with kisses pressed to her shoulder. With his arms wrapped around her waist from behind. With soft smiles and silence that no longer felt empty.

Woo Young never talked about what he ran from.

And Y/N never asked.

But in that small café by the sea, something began again. Something new. Something tender.

And every time he looked at her like that—like he was grateful she existed—she knew one thing for sure:

He wasn’t hiding anymore.

He was home

[lieran03]

Raising Their Voice

Love and Deepspace Fanfic

The usual calm and soft men who never raise their voice suddenly did so in front of you, and that's only to protect you

Genre: fluff/slice of life Pairing: Zayne x fem!reader Words: 2.017 Warning: none!

Writing commission || Ko-fi || AO3 acc

Xavier's || Rafayel's || Sylus' || Caleb's

Based on THIS request

Everyone knows how calm and collected Zayne is, especially when he is at the hospital, working and going through the operation he needed to. He never raised his voice, not to the doctors who did something wrong, not to the nurses, and especially to his favorite patient slash person, the Hunter, who has been his childhood friend. Although there might be times he raised his voice in operation when a mess occurred, he never really got angry.

Even when his dearest always tries to bring that kind of emotion to him, wanting to know how he will react and how he will act around, he always knows it first, and that ended up with him being the one to tease her. In the end, the one who got angry was her instead of him. He likes to see the way she raised her voice, getting worked up by her own pranks, and getting irritated at him which makes her look cute.

“Your check-up is done, nothing is concerning enough, except that you must have been losing sleep lately.”

“Yeah, I guess because a certain someone wasn’t there to lull me to sleep.” Zayne knew she was talking about him. With countless surgeries and patients he needed to tend, going back home was hard.

“I admit that I’m at fault for that, but aside from that, you push yourself again.”

“Okay, Doctor Zayne is in working full mode now.”

It was another teasing remark given to him that made him shut his lips. More words are coming from him, and she will probably tease him to death. A sigh to show his defeat can be heard before he rubs his temple, feeling dizzy just by thinking and imagining how the conversation will go if he continues. The smiles on her face made him feel better, and he started to act serious again.

“Wait for me downstairs, I will end my shift in a while and we can have dinner together.”

“Is this how you pay me for missing all the nights?” Noticing that the teasing had started back, Zayne also decided to do the same.

“I just thought that the dessert shop I haven’t been able to go to now has a new menu. Sharing is always caring, right? I wanted to share the dessert with you.”

The conversation ended fast when Zayne got a call from Greyson. Knowing that there wasn’t anything else he needed to check, he bid his goodbye, adding that she told him he needed to check the patient fast. Once Zayne was nowhere to be seen, she went out of his check-up room. Although it was night, the hospital was still as busy as it could get, filling the hospital spaces.

Before she could get to the place where she usually waited for Zayne, another doctor whom she knew very well called out to her. A small smile appeared on her lips, greeting the doctor quite excitedly. After all, before knowing Zayne, the doctor in front of her was the one to take care of her and always check her up, giving her the opportunity to push her limits so she could enter the Hunter Association exam.

“Are you here for a general check-up with your current physician, or did you have an injury while doing a Hunter job?”

“I think it’s kind of like the two,” she answered with a light tone. Knowing her previous doctor, she also knows that joking with them is a normal thing. Responding to her words, a chuckle can be heard before a pat was given to her shoulder.

This time, with a serious look, the doctor said, “I hope that there’s nothing wrong with your body now. Your current physician was Dr. Zayne, right? You’re in good hands. I trust you with him, and you better listen to him too.”

A short conversation that starts with just mere greetings turns into a story time. The doctor kept making sure that he didn’t have any patients he needed to tend at the moment, and he only handled emergencies after getting older. At the same time, she also knows that Zayne wouldn’t be around just an hour after their departure, giving her a moment to have a conversation with her previous attending doctor.

“I guess we have to part here. I’m taking your time, right?”

“It’s okay, I was waiting for someone too.”

The smile she gives to the doctor eases his worries before he bids his goodbye, meeting a resident along the way and going into a serious mood. Seeing that she didn’t have anything else to do and didn’t want to make Zayne wait for her, she went straight to the place where she usually waited for Zayne. Part of her was scared to find the man already there.

What kind of response would Zayne give if she appears a bit late?

However, before she could have gone too far, a resident who was running pushed her. Normally, when others bumped into her, she wouldn’t find any problem, nor would she get affected by it. Yet, with the most unexpected times, added to the amount of force given, she couldn’t help but push down to the floor, feeling a bit lost, and look around her.

The resident’s things from his hand were thrown to the floor, an indication that the collision had just now. Even though questions still filled her mind, she started to gather the things, not wanting to get the resident into trouble. A little pain can also be felt around her shoulder, but she decided to turn a blind eye to it.

What’s important is the resident didn’t get into trouble because of her.

“Here’s your things. Next time, be careful.”

It should be just a normal reminder, especially to the resident who must be tired of working endlessly. Part of her also imagines about how the resident would get scolded for being reckless and even bumping into a patient. Trying to ease the fear inside them, she offered a kind smile, hoping it would tell the latter that she was not angry at the accident. She was okay with it.

When she thought a kind response was what she would get after that, the resident was evidently looking at her up and down as if wanting to make sure that she was not hurt. Once they confirmed something, they harshly took the things from her hand, visibly glaring and giving a low, dissatisfied sound to her, a sound that succeeded in making her back down a few steps back.

“If you’re not a patient, why are you wandering around here?! It would be bad if the person who bumped into you was any other doctor!”

“I was …?” There were no words coming from her lips, trying to understand what was currently happening to her. Did she get scolded when the resident was in the wrong?

“See? You’re not even aware that you just made a mistake! Imagine if the person you just bumped into was a real doctor, they would probably get mad at you and … ah! Whatever, you’re in the way. I was in a rush, and you just appeared so suddenly that it disturbed my work.”

“I’m … sorry?” The apology came too abruptly, that she didn’t even know the reason for her apology. Is it because she didn’t look around? Or is it because she accidentally bumped into them? Shouldn’t the resident be the one to look around to make sure they didn’t mess up? “But, I think you should have watched where you’re going, too.”

Couldn’t accept the fact that she was being blamed, words to show her dissatisfaction can be heard. At first, the resident was ready to walk away, not talking or making the issue bigger. However, the words spoken just now made them stop and look back, trying to see if what they had heard just now was real. They didn’t like how suddenly it became their fault. The glare was prominent, making her feel uncomfortable once again.

“Did you just say that I was the one making a fault here?”

The tone given shows hatred, making the situation more intense than it should have been. “I’m sorry?”

This time, not trying to cover her feelings, she purposely let out the tone she has been holding back, hoping it could portray just how angry she is right now. Whoever this resident is, they must have seen anyone except a patient as someone annoying. Something common to be seen in some of the residents who could get to Akso Hospital.

“Ah … is it because you’re a Hunter that you think you’re almighty and important? I guess it’s quite dumb and ….”

The words were never finished, and in addition, she felt as if someone was standing behind her. Before she could turn back to see who the person was, a hand finally rested on her back, as if to show intimacy. At the same time, the person who came leaning down, speaking to her in a gentle voice, and showing concern.

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

It was Zayne.

For a few moments, the resident could only watch as the renowned Doctor Zayne was putting his full attention to the girl standing beside him, making sure she was not injured or had any bruises uncalled for. Once he was sure, and he listened to the girl's plea that she was okay, his gaze finally fell to the resident in front of him, showing no amusement.

“She’s a patient here. Just because someone didn’t wear a hospital gown doesn’t mean that they’re not a patient. Is this how you would treat those who aren’t your patient?”

“N-no … that’s not ….” Zayne’s voice wasn’t shouting, yet it was firm, showing his dominance. “I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“You should have said sorry to her, not me.” There was nothing that came after Zayne’s words, leaving the girl to look up and see Zayne had furrowed eyebrows, not liking how the resident still denied he was at fault. “Did you hear me or not? That you should have apologized to her and not me.”

With the raised voice coming from the-collected-and-calm-Doctor-Zayne, the resident finally stammered and said his apology, running away before Zayne could say anything else, and before the girl could say it was okay. Once the resident was nowhere to be seen, she finally stared at Zayne, facing her body to him.

“You raised your voice, I guess it was the first. And it was for me, should I be happy or concerned?”

“You shouldn’t have let others push you like that … and I didn’t mean literally.” Zayne put his hand onto the girl’s shoulder, feeling around to make sure that she didn’t dislocate it by accident.

“They’re in a hurry, I can understand that.”

“Yes. But still, it was their fault. Running into a patient, blaming the patient—or not. Even after that, they still didn’t say sorry because they realized they’re at fault.” The moment Zayne assured there was nothing concerning, he finally held the girl’s hand. “I was on my way down to meet you when I saw them bump into you, I thought it was nice of you to help them pick up their things. however, from afar, I can show how irritated they are … that’s when I decided to step in. I hope I didn’t interfere with you.”

“A low chuckle can be heard from her before she swings the hands held by Zayne, finds it amusing how Zayne easily tells the story. “No, no. I was glad. If you didn’t come, I might punch them in the face, and I might get a warning for doing so.”

“I could imagine,” was Zayne’s only response, holding her hand tighter when they reached the parking lot.

“And anyway, Zayne.” Before Zayne could open the car’s door, his attention was brought to the girl who was waiting. “Your voice does sound sexy when you raise it like that. I wonder how it would sound if you got angrier than that.”

[echo203]

Imagine getting back from a date but you got stood up and this is how the boys react.

(it's Soap and Price in this)

You were standing in the bathroom choosing a playlist on spotify. As soon as the beats started playing you got out your concealer and blush and went about your routine as you normally would. Emerging from the bathroom about thirty minutes later you proceeded to pick out a nice outfit, spray some perfume and grab your bag.

As you made your way through the 141 common room you saw Soap lounging on the couch watching something on the telly.

"You going out?"

"Yes, I got that date I told you about last week, remember?"

"Right, have fun bonnie, call me if ya need to dispose of the body."

"See ya later suds." You answer with a grin as the door shuts behind you. The sun was shining and maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

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Price and Soap were sitting on either ends of the couch when they heard the door open. "Back again already?" Soap said lightheartedly. "Got stood up" was your curt answer as you bent down to take off your sneakers. Throwing your jacket onto a chair in the dining area you walked over to the kitchen and grabbed an apple, Price and Soap watching you the entire time.

"Aye what a tool that guy. I told ya it wasnae any good to go."

You stood in front of the cutting board with your half prepared apple and sighed. "Yeah well, guess I know that now."

You kept cutting the apple.

Price got up and walked over taking a bowl out of the drawer and putting your cut up apple inside before taking you by the hand with a gruff "c'mon love."

He tucked you under Johnnys arm on the couch and put your legs over his lap. As you were munching on your apple Johnny grumbled from behind you "Do ya still have his number 'cause I've got the body bag ready to go." That made you giggle.

Through a mouthful of apple you replied "He literally texted me ten minutes ago saying he forgot because he had such a stressful week."

Apple crunch. "What a child."

Apple crunch. "Can't even keep track of a basic schedule."

Apple crunch. "I'm just sad I didn't get to have my cake."

Johnnys arm tightened around you and Price lay a comforting hand on you knee. The captain stole one of your apple slices and with crows feet around his eyes he said. "Don't worry sweetheart we'll get you that cake."

[softtdaisy]

I would like to request it's nice to have a friend for charles leclerc, please

(Also congrats on the 2k <333)

summary. all your life you reminded Charles how nice it was to have a friend, even when you became more than that

words count. 1 468

song. it's nice to have a friend by Taylor swift

a/n. thank you so much!! I had a clear idea of the construction of this story, don't know if I did it well but I hope you will love it 🩷

2K CELEBRATION MASTERLIST

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist| request

“It’s nice to have a friend.” You told Charles one day. You were 6.

Ever since you remember, Charles has always been part of your life.

Your parents were friends.

Your siblings were best friends. 

And so were you.

Always in the same class, sitting next to each other. Convincing your family to sign you up for the same activities. Well, until Charles started taking karting more seriously and you became the cheerleader. But you were going to the same place together, so somehow it was the same.

That was a random Friday afternoon. Coming back from school. No activity planned, but I'm excited for the weekend coming. Your parents weren’t home, so you weren’t staying at Charles’s, like you always did. 

At 6 you couldn’t put the right words on the feeling you had with this routine. It was comforting knowing that everything seemed easy. But also having Charles around all the time, knowing he was your safe place no matter where you physically were: home, school, away… as long as he was there, you felt safe. Complete.

And maybe you were too young, looking at friends making you some sandwiches with sliced bread and your favorite spread and realizing how lucky you were to have him. That sounded like some adult thoughts. Some that you saw on TV or in the rom-com you watched. 

Actually, you didn’t even remember where you first heard it. But when Charles came to you with his Spider-Man plate and your sandwich in it. When he smiled at you with his missing teeth. That was when it first came out of your mouth, “It’s nice to have a friend.” It sounded like a thank you. For the snack and for everything that he had brought to your life since you knew him.

Charles stopped, thinking about it for a second with his hand on his chin. “Yeah, I think you’re right,” he replied before going to the sofa.

There it was. Knowing you were friends.

“I guess it’s nice to have a friend.” You cried against Charles' shoulder. You were 16.

Over the years, you and Charles shared a crush on each other, but it never seemed to happen at the same time. 

And so you both compensate for it by dating other people. Was it fair? Probably not. But your heart needed to fill the gap left by the fantasy of dating your best friend.

The problem was, you always ended up having high hopes about your boyfriend. You kept seeing Charles in them and getting disappointed when they didn't act like him. And some of them took advantage of your behavior to break your heart harder at the view of seeing your crush dating someone else. 

This explained why you ended up in Charles's bedroom on a Sunday night. You didn’t come to his karting race, yet you were waiting for him in his bedroom. Lorenzo, who had stayed home, opened the door for you without questioning it. 

Charles didn’t question it either when he saw you lying on his bed with his old cuddle toy that he hid but that you knew where to find. He simply sat by your side and took you in his arms.

“Who do I have to kill?” he asked, his lips lost in your hair while he was rocking you. 

You laughed through your tears, hitting his thigh with little to no force. “Orange doesn’t suit you; don’t kill anyone.” 

“Well,” Charles replied, still thinking about it like it was a serious option. Then he brought a hand to your face, to caress your cheek softly but mostly to move your face so you would look at him. “For you, I will.”

The love he had for you was undeniable. And Charles truly hoped that you would see it in his eyes. He had been waiting for years for you to realize he would give the world to be with you. And the truth was he was ready to give up on a relationship with you if it meant keeping you by his side. No matter if his heart won’t ever be complete.

That’s when you said it while you cuddled against him harder. How good it was to have a friend like him. And you were right. 

“It’s nice to have a friend, huh?” You laughed in Charles's arms. You were 22. 

Going to see your boyfriend race almost every weekend has become your favorite habit.

You couldn’t remember the moment your friendship with Charles evolved into a relationship. It simply made sense one day. Your moments turned into romantic ones naturally. Dates, sharing a bed, kissing—expect that your lips go from his cheek to his lips. 

Nobody was surprised that you became a couple.

And in the blink of an eye, you became a wag. The wag of a race winner.

“Come on, Charles,” you mumbled in your breath, watching the last lap of the Italian race on the screen of the motorhome. Every single second of it was scary. If he was leading, you feared he might lose it at the last moment. Not that you didn’t trust him. You didn’t trust the universe sometimes.

But the seconds went by, and at the end of the lap, Charles was the winner of the Italian Grand Prix of the season. 

It all went quickly after that. The hug with his family there to watch him, the mechanics celebrating, and the podium with the whole crowd singing the Italian anthem. The magic was always there. And you felt lucky to live these moments for Charles and with him.

When you finally got to see him after the podium, you jumped in his arms right when he ran to hold you. 

“We did it!” he chanted, jumping around with you in his arms. It was always we for him. Charles never felt like he did everything in his career by himself. You’ve been there since the beginning, from the first karting races to the F1 career. From the lost races to the won one. To the young driver, he was one of the most important figures in the sport today. 

And so, once he put you down but brought both his hands to your face to give you a passionate kiss that you wished never ended, you put your forehead against his and reminded him how nice it was to have a friend.

Charles knew you were right. You were his friend, his biggest support, and his most cherished lover. 

“It's nice to have a friend.” You told everyone. You were 27.

“So here’s my toast to the newlyweds. Congratulations!”

Everybody started to applaud after Arthur’s speech. 

There was something magical in seeing each person in your life celebrate the happiest day of your life. Some said that this was the most beautiful conclusion to your story, from being childhood friends to a married couple. And it was, somehow. 

But you loved to believe it was the conclusion of the first book, not the end of the story. You still had so many things to do together; it couldn’t be over yet.

All your guests were dancing or chatting together. You appreciated the view, like a moment out of time on this crazy day. So focused that you didn’t hear or feel your husband walking beside you. It was only when Charles kissed your temple and brought an arm around you that you realized that there was something missing by your side.

Now, you were complete again.

“Hello, dear husband.” You smiled at him, putting your head on his shoulder.

“Hello, dear wife.” He laughed, his cheek on your hair to keep you closer. “Can’t believe our wedding finally happened.”

It hadn’t been easy to organize everything with the F1 season being as crazy as it was. You couldn’t count the number of meetings you had to do with Charles away, only here by a phone call. 

Yet the day was perfect. And it would have been anyway, just because it was your day.

“You realized you won’t get rid of me now?” You asked him.

You watched as he walked in front of you and took your hand to have another dance with you. “It was never my plan to get rid of you.”

“And you know,” Charles started. His fingers were gently playing with the little strands of hair that left your elegant bun. You kept looking at the sweet smile on his lips, how it kept growing like it always does when he had something in mind: a joke, a flirty remark…

But then he looked at you in the eyes, and you couldn’t look away. Not when all you saw was the love you’ve been sharing for years now. 

“I think it’s really nice to have a friend.” 

[urmum-lovesme]

Angel Baby - Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader P4

pairing: Best Friend!Rafe Cameron x Kook!Best-Friend!reader

summary: Rafe and Reader have known each other since kindergarten, always side by side, the king and princess of Figure 8. So why now does he start feeling different towards her, when all she's every been is his best friend?

a/n: here's the part 2 to the gangs day out on the yacht. I thought it was about time to sprinkle some angst in here somewhere. I also wanted to give some of y/n's past, so I guess some background on her and Rafe's friendship? Also I've sort of planned out the series but in a sense it takes a little darker turn (it's giving psycho season 2 Rafe) would you guys like that or should I do something a little less creepy lmk lmk lmk. Pictures are from Pinterest so credit to who ever they belong to. ENJOY READING (I feel bad poor baby y/n and Rafe also tbh. my poor babies :( ) (kind of ooc!rafe cause would he actually act this way in season2???)

warnings: alcohol consumption, drugs, overdose, death, dismissive father figure, kind of asshole!rafe (but a redemption at the end), talk of rehab, idk what else!!!

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It was getting late, the sun was slowly setting over the horizon, the sky gradually shifting from a light blue to a dark red. Kelce and Topper continued talking, both of them clearly enjoying the sunset as they sipped on their drinks, both tipsy now, clearly proven from the cans which had ended up empty on the table. Rafe was half listening to them, his eyes however kept drifting over to y/n, watching as she sat there quietly eating her fruit. He was irritated, needing something to distract him from the petty excuse of a swimsuit which clad her bod which was laying merely feet away.

Y/n chewed on the sliced fruit the crew member had brought up for them as she looked at the three boys who were invested in their own conversation. She lifted the watermelon triangle taking a bite, the cold fruit cooling her throat as she swallowed its sweet juice, some of it dripping onto her chin, rolling down her neck to her chest. 

Rafe watched as she brought the slice of watermelon up to her mouth, his eyes fixated on the way the girls lips connected with the wet fruit. It took all his self control to tear his eyes away from her, trying hard to resist the thought of imagining those same lips on something else. He clenched his teeth as he turned his attention back to Kelce and Topper, talking their own nonsense, desperate for a distraction as he leant over and shuffled around looking for something in his bag. 

Y/n reached out taking a napkin and wiping her mouth, noticing the sticky juice which had run down her chest, fingers coming down to get rid of the residue on her skin. 

The boy dug through his bag, searching through the mess until he found what he was searching for. He pulled out the small clear baggy filled halfway with white powder, taking it out and placing it on the table next to him. Kelce glanced over as the bag appeared in front of him, a smile appearing on his face as he and Topper both realised what it was, 

“about damn time.” 

The commotion had caught her eye glancing away from the plate to the boys across from her. 

“No.”

She spoke out instantly as she realised what they were doing, the girl noticed Rafe opening up the baggy, Topper rolling up two 100 dollar bills. 

All three boys looked over at her as she spoke out, all of them being shocked by how firm her voice had been.

“Oh come on-” 

“Don’t be like that”

Topper added, both him and Kelce watching where she sat from across their table. Kelce picked up the money and began to roll it up, Rafe looking at the girl, waiting for her to give them a ‘yes’. 

“No, not on my yacht.” She sat up speaking out to the boys clearly reflecting her disapproval. They both let out groans and sighs as she firmly stated that they were not allowed to have any ‘fun’ on her yacht. Kelce slumped back against the sofa as he spoke. 

“Come on, since when was your yacht a drug free zone”

“I said no. You wanna do that, take that shit somewhere else.” She spoke coldly as she stood up placing the plate down onto the table next to her wiping her hands. 

Kelce and Topper watched as she stood up, the two of them looking annoyed that the girl had forbidden them from using on her yacht, wasn’t that the whole point of a boat day out…?

“It’s just a bit of fun sunshine.”

Kelce’s comment past by her as she noticed Rafe now making a line on the smooth surface of the table they were sitting around, 

“Hello?! I’m talking to you Rafe.” She spoke out irritated at the boy's ignorance. 

All three boys looked up from the small pile of drugs Rafe was forming on the table. Topper and Kelce now looking cautious, sitting away from the surface. Rafe on the other hand just looked annoyed at how firm she was being,

“What? What’s the problem?”

The boy had been worked up all day with y/n parading around in her bikini.

If that’s what you can call it. 

Having the urge to touch her all day all he needed was something to take off the edge.

“I’m fucking talking to you!” She spoke out harshly, hand coming out to hit one off the empty beer cans off the table they were sitting at the metal clanged loudly to the floor. 

“I said get this shit off my boat.”

The boy's eyes widened slightly as the beer can clattered against the deck, rolling away from the swaying of the yacht on the waves. Topper and Kelce both looked somewhat shocked at the way she spoke. Rafe however, not so much, he was more frustrated now.  Both the boys looked to each other, silently praying that Rafe wouldn’t upset the girl any further, not wanting to see her go off on a tangent. Rafe was too worked up to think about anything but himself right now, his eyes narrowed at the girl as he spoke, a hint of anger in his voice as he looked up from the line sitting on the table. 

“What’s wrong with you, It’s just coke-“

“-Don’t”

She snapped back at him, her brows furrowed as she looked to the boy then down to the table, 

“get this off my table before I do it myself and waste your stock.” 

Her attitude genuinely surprised them, having never seen the girl so worked up before. Kelce and Topper just sat in a stunned silence, both of them looking guilty for pissing her off - it was her yacht after all. Rafe huffed in exasperation,

What’s her deal? 

“Listen man maybe we should just-” Topper started. 

“Jesus alright, I’ll get rid of it.” Rafe spat out bitterly. 

“Don’t ever bring that on this boat again,” she turned away coldly, walking towards her seat, snatching up her t-shirt and pulling it over her head. 

Watching as she stalked over to her chair, pulling the t-shirt on aggressively. It annoyed Rafe that y/n was so bothered by him bringing a little coke onto her boat, but he knew there was no point arguing with her, to be fair she’d never done it before. Thinking about it, he never did any coke in front of her, maybe they’d smoke together occasionally but she’d never done coke, never wanted to see him do it either. He knew she had an issue with him doing it but this much? He sighed loudly as he quickly gathered up the remaining coke on the table in the baggy, shoving it back in his bag. 

“You really overreact sometimes, what’s your deal.”

Her head whipped around as she looked at his eyes narrowed angrily, 

“You know what my ‘deal’ is.” 

She scoffed, pushing herself up off the sun lounger and walking down the stairs off of the top deck. 

Rafe’s head shot up as she spoke out, he watched her  with confusion and agitation at her behaviour as she stormed off down the steps. Topper and Kelce both watched just as perplexed, with Kelce being the first to speak out,

“The fuck was that about?”

Topper ran his hand through his hair raggedly, huffing out the air that he was holding in his lungs as their interaction as he looked from Kelce to Rafe, realisation dawned on him. He knew what this was about, the girl was like his sister, both their parents worked closely over the years. He spoke up clearing his throat,

“I think it’s her brother.” 

Rafes heart stopped. 

Fuck

He’d forgotten about that. How the fuck did he forget about that, it wasn’t even that long ago. His heart picked up its pace as he brought his hand running it over his face angrily, “shit”.

Kelce and Topper both looked at each other, Kelce speaking out softly,

“You don’t think she’s still sensitive about that?”

Rafe’s heart dropped, as he held his head in his hands. He had been so focussed on trying to drown out the thoughts of the girl in her bikini, his other thoughts had left his mind. Kelce and Topper continued to sit around on the upper deck as they looked over the railing, both their eyes following the girls figure as she walked down the stairs and out of sight. Kelce spoke up, Topper interrupting;

“Maybe she’s just… I mean it was a few years ago…”

“C’mon man it was her brother, they were close.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The paramedics moved in and out of the front door, their boots heavy against the hardwood, carrying equipment and murmuring updates to one another. Red and blue lights from the ambulance and police cars outside bled into the room, casting shadows against the walls. She sat on the living room floor, her back against the couch staring blankly at the coffee table, the voices outside felt distant like they were happening miles away. She could hear her mothers wails from the porch, loud, raw and unrestrained and her father’s voice was low but tense as he spoke with the officers, his words short as he discussed what happens next.

Her brother’s lifeless face was burned into her mind, a vision she couldn’t escape. She could still feel the coldness of his skin as she shook him, the white powder tainting the desk next to his body. It made her chest tighten in shock yet she didn’t cry. 

She couldn’t.

Her phone sat beside her on the carpet, the screen black; she stared at it, unmoving, her body feeling heavy. She reached for the phone, her fingers trembling as she unlocked it, the screen was too bright in the dim room, but she forced herself to type out.

Can you come around?  (delivered 22:48)

It felt wrong, she felt guilty to burden someone else but the thought of sitting alone, drowning in silence was worse.

The sound of footsteps crunching on gravel outside jolted her from her trance. She turned her head toward the window, just as a figure passed through the flickering lights. A moment later, Rafe stepped inside through the open front door. He didn’t need an explanation—he recognised the hollow look in the girl’s eyes as he noticed her slumped against the couch. 

It was the same look he had when he lost his mom. 

She had been the one to hold him together then, and now it was his turn.

“y/n,” he said quietly, his voice soft, careful. He took a few hesitant steps toward her, his eyes landing on her. She didn’t move at first, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself. She just looked up at him, her eyes red and hollow, her face streaked with tears.

“Hey,” he repeated softer, lowering himself beside her. When she didn’t respond, he reached out gently, his hand brushing her shoulder. That was all it took—she collapsed into him, her body trembling. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, his grip firm. 

“I’ve got you,” 

he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He didn’t let go, even as her sobs quieted into shallow gasps, her hand gripping at the material of his top. He stayed, grounding her in the way she had once done for him.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice steady, 

“Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Her body was shaking as she buried her face in his chest. He caught her, his arms wrapping around her tightly, holding her like he was trying to shield her from the bright flashing lights from outside.

“...I should’ve been there,” 

She whispered against him, muffled against the material of his polo shirt, her voice cracking. 

“I should’ve done more-”

“You couldn’t have known,” he said gently, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back. “This isn’t on you.”

She shook her head, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “He was right there. He was right there in the room next to me.”

Her sobs quieted, but she didn’t pull away, letting his arms anchor her. The police had sat in front of her, Rafe's presence never leaving her side. Shoupe questioned the girl but she didn't respond, not in words, but in the quiet aching sobs that continued to wrack her body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n walked down the stairs, breath shaky as she made her way towards the lower deck, she walked to the front of the yacht, leaning against the railing as she looked down to the water. 

She was so angry. 

Well maybe it wasn’t anger, maybe she was just upset and didn’t know how to deal with it so she got angry. Her hand came up, rubbing her eye as she let out a sigh and looked down towards the water once more. Why did he do that? He knew how she felt about the subject. 

Fuck you Rafe. 

Rafe slowly stood up, looking conflicted as he looked over the railing and down toward the lower deck. His eyes spotted y/n leaning against the railing and staring out at the water, and at that point he knew he had to speak to her about it. He slowly made his way over to the steps and he made his way down towards her. 

The sound of footsteps filled her ears but she didn’t look up, eyes watching the waves which hit the side of the boat, falling and merging back with the ocean. He walked over to the girl slowly, his footsteps stopped as he stood next to her, looking out onto the water as well. He could feel the tension in the air and he knew he had to say something. It was his fault after all…

“Can we talk for a minute?”

She didn’t look over at the boy, neither did she speak. She sat in silence letting out a small hum to let him know she was listening.  He swallowed hard, knowing that he had to apologise, he knew he’d brought up some memories she didn’t want to resurface. He finally turned to look at her, his eyes watching as her eyes stayed looking forward out at the water.

“Look… uh, I’m sorry for bringing the coke. I wasn’t... it was a shitty thing to do”

She clenched her jaw as she kept her gaze away from the boy, her eyes burning slightly and she could feel the tears fighting to gather at her waterline. She shook her head in a silent acceptance of his apology. 

He could sense the discomfort radiating from her, the girl's shoulders tense as she looked away. His simple apology wasn’t going to be enough, he knew she expected him to acknowledge the real mistake. He sighed softly, before speaking again his fingers fiddling with the material of his shirt, his hand rose as he bit at his nail, a bad habit he’d picked up when he was feeling anxious.

“I’m sorry y/n…I wasn’t thinking, I forgot -  about Ethan.”

The words felt heavy coming out of his mouth, guilt starting to slip into his chest as he spoke. 

“It’s okay,” she said quietly as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She still couldn’t bring herself to look at the boy next to her but she could sense his uneasiness. The fact that she was still being so cold and distant told him that she wasn't okay. He stepped a little closer, standing beside her by the railing as he looked down towards the girl,

“It’s not. I should’ve realised-”

He paused, eyes catching the look on her face, his chest starting to ache as he realised the effect that bringing the coke onto the boat had actually had on her. She let out a sniffle hand coming up to wipe her tear before it fell down her cheek her voice shaky as her bottom lip trembled,

“You’re so mean Rafe.” 

He could feel the regret coursing through him, he knew he’d messed up, he shifted uncomfortably, the silence between them stretching longer than he could bear.

“I’m sor-,” 

He said again, softer this time, his voice almost cracking. He took a hesitant step closer, but she stiffened, and it stopped him as she cut him off.

"You always say you're sorry, Rafe."

 Her eyes flicked up to meet the boys, red-rimmed and glistening. 

His chest felt tight, guilt sinking its claws deeper. He’d never been good at this- at being someone people could count on. But looking at her now, he realized how much he wanted to be. 

For her.

"I know I screw up okay?" he admitted, his hand balling into a fist as the other flew up to his hair tugging on it aggressively as he rambled out. His voice had an edge of desperation now,

"But I’ll fix this. I swear I’ll fix it-"

 "You can’t just fix everything, Rafe. You don’t get it—" 

She let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. She broke off, her voice catching on the words, and she turned away from him, her back now a solid wall of hurt he wasn’t sure how to break through. He slowly reached out, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder,

“I know, I know it was mean of me, I’m sorry.”

She let out a shaky breath, both hands coming up to wipe her cheeks. She closed her eyes momentarily struggling to steady herself. She felt bad. She knew it wasn’t his fault for falling so deep into the rabbit hole, she blamed herself for not trying harder. 

“I thought you were quitting…” she spoke out as she turned to the boy, not even angry anymore, just upset. The look on her face was like a knife to his chest, he hated seeing her like this, especially knowing that he was the cause of it. He looked down, unable to meet her eyes,

“I know, I know…I’ve just…been really stressed out recently, I needed something to take the edge off.”

“Why don’t you just talk to me..?” She spoke out gently eyes slightly red from her tears, tip of her nose rosy from crying

His heart skipped a beat as she spoke so gently, so vulnerably. He slowly looks back up at the girl, seeing the tears in her eyes and the slight redness, his own starting to burn,

“I…I just-“ he paused, his mind searching for the word to say, his heart aching painfully, being the cause of y/n’s tears,

“I just- I don’t talk about that stuff, I’ve learned how to deal with it myself”

“You don’t have to deal with it by yourself Rafe…”

She shook her head as she looked at him. She knew it was his dad's fault he thought like this. His father always told him he needed to man up. 

 “There’s always help… I’ll listen to you”

He stayed silent for a few moments as he thought over her words. He knew that how he was raised had messed him up in a lot of ways - after his mom passed away. He had so many bad habits, one of those being the fact that he dealt with everything by himself, and liked to repress how he was feeling constantly. He only relied on himself, he didn’t let himself open up to anybody.

Except for you

Hearing that the girl was willing to listen to him, to be there for him…it comforted him, it made his heart beat a tiny bit harder, knowing she truly cared. Why else would she be nagging him for so many months about it. He knew she’d listen to him, he knew she’d ever judge him for needing to talk about his problems.

He was still struggling.

“I- know that…I just…”

“Let me deal with it too.” 

She spoke out, stepping closer to the boy, arms wrapping around him, holding him in a warm embrace.

Let me help you 

A shiver ran down his spine at her touch and the feeling of her arms wrapping around his waist as she stepped closer. His eyes closed for a moment as he relished in the feeling of the girl's body pressed against him. He could feel the tension in his own body disappearing slowly as she held him. He was still for a moment, surprised by the girl’s sudden embrace. But he quickly returned it, his own arms wrapping around her, pulling her in close against him. He took a soft breath, taking in the scent of her hair, the way her body felt against his own, trying to ground himself. He finally managed to speak his voice soft and quiet guilt laced in his tone;

“You shouldn’t have to deal with my problems…” He mumbled, his eyes still closed, “I-I don’t want to be-”

“I don’t care Rafe… you're my best friend, you don’t have to do this by yourself.”

As they stood looking out into the waves, now dark as they lapped at the boat, Rafe’s chest tightened with the weight of what he was admitting, what he was accepting. But as he looked at y/n, he felt the weight of responsibility. He knew what the girl was alluding to. She doesn't just want him to stop his habit but to get professional help. It wouldn’t be easy, but for the first time in a long time he finally felt like he was admitting the truth. He’d tried admitting before, tried telling his father but he dismissed him every time. Yet here he was, standing in front of a girl, who wasn’t even his family, who was prepared to devote her time for him. He let out a slow breath, the tightness in his chest easing just a little. “Okay,” he said softly, more to himself than to her.

“I’ll try.”

Y/n didn’t say anything more, she didn’t need to. Her hand slid down his arm to his, fingers gently intertwining with his in a quiet gesture of reassurance.

I’m gonna try for you

I promise I’ll do anything to help you

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @evermorx89 @bellaed1t @user381953 @lovemanheim @loves0phelia @yourcrackleflame

[citrustan]

dating girl (jjk) #2.1

pairing: jungkook x reader (hoseok x reader too kinda)

summary: you try to convince yourself that you're really okay with 'casually dating' your crush.

genre & note: college au, fwb kinda thing but more than that ygm? angst! again hehe and uhh this is a follow-up, here's the original drabble.

Jung Hoseok's a nice guy. He's beautiful and intelligent. A dancer. The kindest man you've ever met.

He's the kind of guy who holds the elevator door for you even when he's running late. The kind who offers you his charger even when his phone's lower on battery because you're a woman who needs a functioning device more than he does, just in case. He's the one everyone secretly craves.

The Halloween costume party was today.

You agreed to go with Hoseok the day after you saw Jungkook with the leggy blonde. When he never bothered to respond to your previous messages, you figured it was for the better.

Hoseok briefly met your mother when she hand delivered your costume. He loved your matching outfit idea but arranged for his own.

The entire time she was there, your mother kept making eyes at the two of you. She saw the way he cared for you; how he sliced your apples and made you cinnamon toast.

Every time he left the room, your mother squealed and slapped your arm in excitement.

You think that was her way of trying to get you excited about Hobi.

Hoseok is the one you want to want. But your mind always wanders back to that other man. The same man who ghosted you for a week.

Hoseok may buy you apples and slice them for you, but Jungkook peels them. Hoseok makes toast but Jungkook bakes fresh bread.

It's not a fair comparison, not at all. But you're smitten with the man.

Jungkook just... does these things. When you're together, it's fireworks and blooming flowers. The chemistry you and Jungkook have is unmatched. And he knows it.

Perhaps that's what scares him so much?

At the last minute, you decide to add some rhinestones on the bridge of your nose to make yourself look more ethereal and sprinkle some glitter on your bare arms and legs. (_____ from the following morning says she hates you btw.)

If it weren't for your glitter-dusted tooth-stick and your diamond and tooth-encrusted tiara, you'd look like an angel. You're pretty pleased with your execution though.

Hoseok told you he'd meet you at the party directly because he ran into some stuff that needed to be handled last minute. Which was alright because the venue was a ten-minute walk from your place.

Your wings were perked, your mini skirt poofed, and your lips glossy.

The skin-tight lace top was a good idea because it let your skin breathe, you definitely would not run hot in this outfit.

You stuck a few bills in your garter. There was space for your phone too for when you're at the party.

As much as you'd have liked to have the sexiest, highest heels on, you weren't built for it. Kitten heels were more your style anyway.

On your way to the hall, you had come across plenty of other partygoers: Light & Misa, Cinderella, a hospital patient with an open gown, a termite? All very creative. You almost felt basic.

You scan the area for Hoseok.

Finally spotting him not too far from the velvet ropes, you scurry over to him. He waves with both hands like he’s genuinely relieved to see you.

“Wow,” he says as you approach, taking in your cute outfit and wings. “The tooth fairy herself. I feel honoured.”

You laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “And you’re the dentist who makes it rain teeth. Nice stethoscope, it looks... real.” You didn't think dentists used them.

Hoseok smiles, holding it up like a prize, "Yeah, it's my roommates'. He let me borrow it for a night. Says I owe him candy now."

"Hm. Shouldn't you be warning him against that?"

"Huh... I guess I do." He chuckled.

You wave your tooth wand at him and wink.

You lift your skirt a little to access your little garter purse and tuck your phone in it. Hoseok looks away to give you your privacy.

"All done." You shyly smile. You take a second to fix your skirt.

The two of you linger outside for a moment longer, watching as groups of people filter into the hall.

Hoseok turns to you, “You ready?”

You nod, and he offers you his arm to hold onto.

Hoseok prepaid for your tickets so you could skip the queue.

Linking your arm with his, you walk inside together.

The venue is already overwhelmingly loud and the decorations are over the top.

As usual, the student body had outdone themselves. They probably bought out all the tinsel in the neighbouring cities.

"Woah." You hear Hoseok exclaim softly. You hum in agreement.

Almost instantly, you find yourself scanning the crowd before you even realise what you’re doing.

And then your eyes fall on him.

He’s standing by one of the drink tables, dressed in black leather pants with buckles on them and a leather jacket that went with it.

What's he even supposed to be?

And then you see it. The same leggy blonde from the cafe.

She clips something on his hair--- devil horns. Of course. That definitely suits him. His hair is styled messily, the way you’ve always thought suited him best, and a faint dusting of glitter catches the light every time he moves.

You realize, too late, that you’ve been staring.

“You okay?” Hoseok's voice cuts through the fog in your mind. He’s still smiling, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say quickly, tearing your gaze away from Jungkook. “Just... taking it all in.”

Hoseok's not completely oblivious. He knows about you and Jungkook. You've been very transparent with him.

He doesn’t press, instead guiding you toward the drinks table.

You smile softly at him. You can't help but feel a pang of guilt because Hoseok deserved your full attention tonight.

He deserves someone who isn’t busy looking for someone else.

But before you can dwell on it, Jungkook notices you. His dark eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, everything else fades almost cinematically; the music, the lights, the people, even Hoseok's and the blonde's presence.

His gaze flickers briefly to Hoseok, and something unreadable passes over his face. Then he smirks, before turning back to the girl beside him.

Your stomach twists. What the hell?

You felt lightheaded and frail.

A simple GLANCE does this to you?

You were paper, you'd have folded in a second. You felt weak and pathetic all over again.

You're so beautiful tonight, you don't deserve to go through this tiring cycle again.

Hoseok hands you a fruity looking drink, “Here." His warm smile comforts you, "Non-alcoholic, just in case the tooth fairy needs to fly home later.”

You force out a little snicker, "Thank you, Hobi."

You clink your glass against his, doing your best to ignore Jungkook on the other side of the table.

You’ve made your choice tonight. And it’s not Jungkook.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

Jungkook was beating himself up internally.

Was it really worth it to procrastinate on responding to your text? You look so lovely tonight and it sucks that it's all for someone else.

He could see you made an effort to dress for the theme, unlike himself who slapped on the only somewhat dressy clothing he had. It was either this or a groom. And he'd rather not give Yeona any ideas.

By the stealthy glances he threw your way, Jungkook figured that Hoseok wanted to take you to the dance floor.

"I see Hobi. Let's say hi?" He asks his date. Yeona doesn't have a chance to agree because he's already grabbing her hand and tugging her with him.

Before Hoseok could whisk you away, Jungkook swiftly approached you two.

The first thing you notice is the blonde holding onto him.

"Hoseok hyung, I didn't think I'd see you here!"

"Ahh, JK, how's it going?" He gave him a side hug.

"Great." Jungkook smiles back. Then looks at you, "Hey."

It’s casual, like he’s just bumped into you in class, not walked up to you at a party with another woman on his arm. You nod in response.

Yeona’s gaze flickers to your costume, her face polite but confused. “Oh... are you supposed to be an angel?”

You blink, caught off guard.

Before you can answer, Hoseok steps in, voice light and cheerful, “Not quite. She’s the tooth fairy. I’m her dentist.” He gestures to his stethoscope like it’s his badge of honour.

“Oh,” Yeona says, a little sheepishly. “That’s cute.”

Well, yeah! It was cute. Unlike whatever they were.

And what even were they?

Jungkook bad stupid devil horns and Yeona adorned a floor-length, red gown. She looked regal.

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes slightly, “And you two are...?”

Jungkook answers this time, “Hades and Persephone.” His tone was pointed.

You stare at them for a moment, taking in the obviousness of it all. Of course. He's Hades incarnate alright.

Then you let out a dry, unimpressed, “Huh. Groundbreaking.”

Jungkook’s eyes snap to yours with something sharp flickering across them, like you’ve just crossed a line or something. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hoseok looks a little taken aback as well.

Ok, you did not mean to sound so bitchy. You couldn't help it.

You shrug, feigning innocence, “Nothing!" But then demon _____ arises, "Just... not very original, is it?”

Yeona glances between the two of you, clearly picking up on the tension but unsure of what to do with it. “It’s a classic,” she says quietly, her voice kind but hesitant.

You smile slightly. “Sure,” you reply, your tone bordering on dismissive. “If you like classics.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens just slightly, “Wow. Is the attitude part of the costume or is that just for me?"

Hoseok clears his throat beside you, sensing the shift in energy, but you ignore him.

Your eyes stay on Jungkook, challenging. “Didn’t realize you knew what an attitude looked like."

Subtle, _____.

You refuse to backtrack, "I wasn't trying to be rude. I guess I was just never a fan of the whole... king of darkness look.”

He smirks, though there’s no humour in it. “Could’ve fooled me. You’ve been staring since you walked in."

.

.

Oh, my God. JERK.

You wish you could punch him in the face.

Your cheeks heat, but you refuse to look away. Your tone falters a little though, “D-don't flatter yourself.”

Jungkook knew he had you then.

Yeona shifts uncomfortably, her hand tugging lightly on Jungkook’s arm. “Jungkook, we should-” - “Yeah,” he cuts her off, still looking at you, “We should.”

There’s a pause. He lingers, staring you down, like he’s waiting for you to say something--- anything. You don’t.

You just hold your ground, fingers tightening around your cup.

“See you around,” Jungkook mutters finally, allowing Yeona to pull him away. She gives you a little scowl before whisking him away. You deserve that.

You're too embarrassed to even look at your date now. He has probably changed his mind about you now that he's seen you and Jungkook in full action.

You just watch them go, feeling Hoseok’s eyes on you as the crowd swallows them up.

After a beat, he speaks cautiously, “So... you really don’t like Hades and Persephone, huh?”

You let out a shaky breath, yet again forcing another small smile, “Guess I’m more of a tooth fairy kind of girl.”

That didn't even make sense but it was ok. Hoseok didn't push any further. Because HE is an angel.

Hoseok laughs softly, draping his arm around your shoulder, “Come on, fairy. Let’s get you another drink before you start a fight with anyone else.” You nod.

You down the drink he hands you in seconds and shake your head. Ok. Everything's fine.

Hoseok spots another friend of his and allows you a minute by yourself to re-centre.

The music shifts to something slower when Hoseok makes his way back to you. He steps closer, offering a hand, “Dance with me? Forget about it for a while.”

You look at his outstretched hand and take it without any consideration. If Jungkook is able to do this, you must be too.

Hoseok leads you, past many swaying couples, to the middle of the dance floor.

After a minute of awkwardness, you fall into a rhythm, holding onto his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He was warm and you felt wanted. You lay your cheek on his chest and sway with him.

Yet again, your thoughts wander to Jungkook. You keep remembering the way he looked at you. He was so focused on you. That couldn't have been your imagination. He was such a dick though.

How could he just talk to you as if he hasn't ignored you for a week? Your brows furrow unknowingly.

Like clockwork, your eyes find Jungkook and his date. It's like a knife in your chest.

You're fucking jealous. He's holding her close and they're gazing into each other's eyes. This isn't a fucking wedding. What are they doing?

You can't stand them. They're actually just obnoxious at this point.

He's whispering things to her. You don't ever want to know what.

She has her arms placed around his neck; an action you unintentionally follow with Hoseok.

Speaking of Hoseok--- “Hey,” Hoseok says, leaning down a little so you can hear him over the music. “You’re not still thinking about him, are you?”

You blink, startled, and pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “What?”

He grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “I can tell. You’ve been quieter than usual. He’s not worth it, you know.”

Your lips twitch, “Who? Jungkook?”

His smile widens, “Yeah. I mean, you could do better honestly.”

Hoseok's the best date ever. If you were in his shoes, you'd have left.

"I'm not..." You trail off. "Sorry. This must be the worst date ever for you."

When he didn't refute, you felt worse. "Hobi, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, I knew what I was getting into." He rubs your back. "Listen. If this is too much for you, maybe we should..." He trails off. Hoseok didn't really have a solution in mind. He looked to you for one.

You begin thinking out loud when you're interrupted by Hoseok who puts a finger up asking you to hold your thought.

You feel Hoseok’s hand slip from your waist as he pulls out his phone from his pocket.

He glances at the screen, his eyes squinting slightly before a soft sigh escapes him.

“Sorry,” he lowers the phone, “I’ve got to take care of something. My roommate just broke the new stethoscope he bought, and he wants the old one back before it gets ruined too."

"Ah. Okay. Yeah, that's fine, let's just go." You nod along.

"No, you stay. I'll just be a few minutes, alright?" He stops from walking away with him, "20 minutes tops."

"Oh, ok. Alright, I'll wait." You agree.

Hoseok gives you a little side hug before scurrying off. As he leaves he hurriedly speaks, "Thank you, _____. I won't take too long! Call me if anything happens, okay?"

You nod once again, "Okay! Don't worry about me."

While you know that Hoseok didn't actually leave you, you still feel lonely.

What you don't realise is how Jungkook has been keeping track of your every move.

the next installment: dating girl (jjk) #2.2

note: it was way too long for me, so i'll divide it into two parts. please, please, please lmk what ou think of this!

[katsukiswiife]

Authors note: sorry i haven’t been uploading, i’ve been kinda busy lately but i’ll try to be more active, requests are still open ! 

Homelander x fem reader

Semi-public sex, fingering, rushed! reader getting chased by homelander, lmk if i missed anything :3 

You were running, you don’t know for how long, all you knew was that you needed to keep running. 

It started off as fun- but being chased and running for fun quickly turned to running for your life.

You and homelander had been going on a walk in the forest- simply just to ease your head, feel comforted by each others presence, but when things got really playful and you agreed to play a game where he would chase you through the forest and you had to do your best to hide- things quickly took a dark turn.

You didn’t think homelander would take it this seriously- its not like you were scared if him, but you had to admit, having him chase after you in the middle of the forest when its staring to get dark out with his red glowing eyes was pretty fucking terrifying.

You were getting tired, and decided it was best to hide instead of continuing running. One of the rules in this… “game” was that he couldn’t use his x-ray vision, you weren’t really sure if he was gonna follow that rule though..  

there was a massive bush in front of a tree that could block you if you hid behind the tree, so you decided to suck up how tired you were and ran up to it, making sure homelander didn’t see you.  

Sitting down behind the tree was possible one of the best things that had happened the last hours, your legs were aching so much you knew you had to rest the second you got home.

“come out come out wherever you are~”

you heard him call out from behind, you peeked from behind the tree, making sure he couldn’t see you and saw him as he walked slowly up the trail, his eyes glowing red as some sort of flashlight.

You turned your head slowly back behind the tree, staying as quiet as you could. 

“Gotcha”

before you could even react homelander had put you to your feet and grabbed your hands above your head, pinning you.

“you really think you could get away? from me?” he said laughing menacingly.

Your heartbeat was pounding loud and fast, not knowing what he had in store for you.

“Y’know.. you weren’t that bad, i mean, obviously i would’ve found you if i used my x-ray vision but it doesn’t really matter, what matters is that you learn your lesson..”

He turned you around, hand still holding your hands above your head, pinned to the tree, your back arched.

“You should’ve seen this coming, wearing that sundress was a bad idea.. you just had to put on thigh highs too, didn’t you?” he said, his hand resting on your waist.

“i-im sorry” was all you could muster out, he laughed at you out of pity, you were completely vulnerable to him and he loved it.

“Let’s not waste anymore time” he said before pulling your panties down and slicing them, throwing them god knows where. 

You stayed silent, the closest thing to a word was either a whimper or soft moan.

You felt his finger trace from your clit all the way back, sticking the tip of his finger in you, teasing you.

You moaned softly and arced your back as he put his finger in, curling it and hitting your g-spot.

“Gosh, look at you.. so fuckin pathetic” he said softly before pulling out his finger and licking it clean, groaning at the taste and grabbing your hip with his hand while the other kept your hands pinned to the tree above your head.

You heard his zipper open and heard him groan at the feeling of what you could only guess was the relief from holding his cock in his now tight suit.

He put the tip to your hole before slowly pushing in, groaning lowly earning a soft moan from you.

“f-fuck- a-ahh~” you moaned out at the feeling if his stretching your pussy before he pulled out and slammed in again.

“So fuckin wet for me, aren’t you?” he groaned as he fucked into you.

“N-ngh- ahh~ fuckk” you moaned out, he was guaranteed to leave bruises on your hip thats for sure.

He sucked and bit your neck to your shoulder while you moaned out his name, probably scaring whatever animals were nearby.

He kept fucking into you, keeping a fast pace and enjoying all the sounds you made from his cock fucking you. 

“I-i cant- ‘m gonna-“

“Hold out for me, just a little while longer, wanna cum with you” he whispered in your ear as he thrusted into you faster and harder then before, his pace getting sloppier by the second.

“C’mon, cum with me, cum with me baby” he whimpered as you came onto his dick, moaning out as he filled you up with his cum, dripping down your legs, drenching your socks.

You stood there for a while, him still inside of you before pulling out and finally letting go of your hands.

You turned around to look at him before wrapping your arms around him and kissing him, which he gladly accepted.

“Fuck, that was..”

“Amazing” he continued, before patting your butt as a sign to wrap your legs around him before jumping and flying off and going home to take a long, cozy bath. 

[swtsupernatural]

S.W || ANGEL BY MY SIDE

Sam Winchester x Fem!Angel!Reader

Content Warning blood, mentions of death, sam fighting for bodily autonomy, religious themes & talk of heaven, reader being shorter than Sam

Summary Angst, hurt-/comfort for Sam, slow burn i think - Sam was supposed to die tonight. At least, that's what his guardian angel told him after she saved him from death.

W.C. 2.4k words

Playlist: ♫ Kiss of Life - Sade, Telephone - daste., Salvatore - Lana Del Rey

A.N. first sam fic ! this came to me sunday night, been thinking alot about spn angels lately. enjoy! - claire

It had been a long fucking day for Sam Winchester. Not only was the demon he found in Manhattan trying to summon more, but they were working with a large pack of them and an even larger pack of vampires that lurked in Vermont’s lush forests. The two creatures had teamed up, and as a result Sam was surrounded in a poorly lit dirt road in the forest, moonlight shining on his knife. He couldn’t see or hear Dean, and he knew Castiel was busy with extremely pressing ‘angel matters’ as he put it. He had vamps and demons circling him, and Dean had the stupid demon knife. Or, he did when Sam had seen him a few minutes ago. Now, he had no clue who had their hands on it. His brain was twisting as he desperately tried to wring out ideas of escape from his head like a sponge. He was trapped. Fuck. A demon sprung, holding a large, saw-edged knife slicing his forearm making him tense. A measly cut never stopped him, and he twisted the demon’s neck, shoving the body to the side as another few came behind him. Twisting and trying desperately to gank two at once, Sam missed the others on his right, one stabbing Sam deep in his lower abdomen.

Significantly outnumbered, Sam tried to keep his thoughts collected. But it was difficult with five vamps and six demons on his ass, and the blood slowly staining his shirt, the agonizing pain making him want to double over. The demons suddenly pounced on him simultaneously. He managed to injure one of them, but the rest kept their grip on his arms, legs, neck, and torso tight. One of the taller vamps sauntered over to him, her lips curling into a smile. 

“You’re gonna taste so sweet, boy. I can already tell…” She pulled his hair back roughly, her painted fingers tight on his long hair. She exposed his neck, and Sam had never thrashed more than he had in that moment. It seemed like all he had done in his adult life was fight for his bodily autonomy. He felt numb — of course this would be how he died. The second he felt her lips on his skin, he felt and heard something he never had.

A loud whoosh, the hands and arms restricting him gone, and a swift change in the chipping air all in less than a second. He was in the motel. His motel he and Dean were staying at in some small town in Vermont.

But…there was still a single hand on his shoulder. However, it was gentle. Too gentle. He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours; a woman. You couldn’t have been much older than him. But you weren't really a woman. He drew his gun from his belt, effectively pushing from you, making space between you two. 

“Who the hell are you?” He was assuming you were an angel. He didn’t know of many other creatures or beings that could move him so effectively and so fast. He was also thinking how everything in this world came with a price. You weren't saving his life to do him a favor or to be nice. That wasn’t how this ever worked. Except; there you stood, your hands tentatively coming up in a gesture of surrender. 

“Sam. I’m very glad you are okay.” You stated your name, a small smile on your lips. Still, he held his gun up directly at your face.

“So much for a thanks, I guess. I’m your guardian angel, Sam. There’s no need for hostility.” Sam faulted, just a bit, but you took a single step towards him and he was back in his rock-solid stance.

“I’m sure. What do you want?” 

“Well, I’d like to heal that cut in your stomach. It’s quite deep.”

He scoffed, “Why? So I can owe you? So I can be in your debt?”

You were silent for a moment, your eyes widening a bit. “Castiel never told you? Sam, certain angels…we are assigned to humans to watch over them. We are permitted to help you, prevent you from death if it is not your time, and only if we are not spotted. We cannot be seen, or…well, in simple terms, we’ll be kicked out of Heaven.” 

“You…you’re my guardian angel? Seriously?” He mulled over you, his eyes squinting in suspicion. “How come we’re talking, then, if I’m never supposed to see you?”

Rolling your eyes suddenly that same whoosh came, only a lot quieter. You had his gun in your hand, pulling the mag out, throwing the piece in one direction and the gun elsewhere in the motel where neither of you could reach it.

“You were going to die. You were supposed to die. That was your time, Sam. I defected to save you. I’d like a ‘thank you’ at the very least.”

Sam breathed quickly through his nose deciding what to do. Your eyes were so genuine. He’d only ever seen that look from one other angel, Cas.

“I…thank you.” You nodded, and he saw realization in your eyes. It was raw and undoubtedly heavy on your being. You nodded. 

“I’m going to put my fingers on your temple and you will feel much better, understand?” You looked at him; from his shaggy hair to his dirty boots, and back up again. “It will be easier if you sit down. You’re much taller than I thought.”

Sam let out a small huff of laughter, sitting on the bed.

“Well, you don’t seem very tall for a guardian angel.” You squint your eyes at him, a look of unshaken power in them that startled Sam to his core. He knew what angels were capable of. You could have killed him and everyone in the motel in seconds. Yet, from someone else’s perspective, you were a hell of a lot shorter than him, and just looked like a regular young woman. 

“My true form is larger than the size of this building, Sam. I know that you know what I am capable of. Even if I may not look like it.”

Sam nodded in an apologetic way, your cold fingers on his temple immediately putting him at ease. Cas had healed him a couple times before but it had felt nowhere as heavily as this. He could feel his wounds closing before he could register what was happening — even the widespread blood stain on his shirt dissipating. He let out a long sigh he didn’t know he was holding, his shoulder slumping forward. He truly felt better than he had in years.

“Thank you. And I’m very aware of what angels can do…though I’ve never met a guardian one.”

You nodded, your face quite close to his. He smiled gently. Cas was never great with personal space either. Yet, Sam always found it funny when the angel would appear a mere foot from his older brother. Now, the last thing on his mind was humor. He would never admit that your presence was intoxicatingly calming. 

“We possess stronger healing powers and sturdier wings than typical angels. Not that it matters much now.” The sorrow in your eyes made guilt settle uncomfortably in Sam’s stomach.

“Why did you save me? I’m not exactly the poster boy for virtue or dignity.”

“I’m aware. But you must understand I’ve been watching you your whole life, Sam. I perfectly believe you deserve another chance on Earth.” Sam gazed into your eyes, trying to find what he could not understand. His father, Dean, Bobby…they had all known and loved him for so long. But they’d never expressed it like you were right now — and he'd never even met you. He had met defected angels before, fallen ones too. They would lose their wings. They would lose their grace. They were as old as the beginning of time, and would sacrifice it all for a single human. 

“But why? You flew me here, but I’m guessing your wings aren't doing too good right now, Angel.”

You stared deeply at his features. You’d seen Sam, watch him grow up before your eyes from the day he was born. But your visions of him were never as clear as they were now. His eyes were a solemn swirl of blues and greens, the inner ring a twirling hazel. The lines on his face told you of his laughter, his light forehead lines telling you of his worries, the short hairs littering his jaw telling you he’d been up for nights focusing on the hunt that was supposed to have ended his life.

“Because I thought…” you looked at a stained part of the unappealing carpet on the floor, your eyes glazing over a bit, “I thought that some of the angels were abusing their power over humans, over hunters. I had been on earth a few times and stupidly got your disease of emotions.” Sam chuckled softly despite the situation, hoping you would feel a tad better. But he knew you didn’t. How could you?

“I felt sympathy for humans. There were unjust things happening everyday, people's lives ending at their wrong time. I thought you were worth saving because–well, maybe it's time angel’s be kind instead of unforgiving.” Sam listened to every word spilling from your lips. You had been very short and to the point with him earlier. You really had begun feeling human emotion, if even a little. 

“And I thought that maybe you’d help me. Help me adjust, at least. I have seen the ways you and your brother act. I know it is selfish of me, but you are close with my closest friend and brother, Castiel.” You took a pause, eyes averting from Sam’s sincere face.

“I have seen you do it for humans and creatures and being alike, Sam. I thought maybe if I was kind to you, you could be kind to me, too.”

Sam stared at you in awe, his jaw slightly open. He honestly wasn’t sure what to say. Of course he would like to help you, but how? You were an angel for God’s sake. Maybe Cas was capable of giving you what you really needed to adjust, to be an angel without your wings, but he’d try. He’d fight like hell to try for you. You saved his life. It dawned on him that he was meant to be dead. He’d likely be in hell at this very moment if you hadn’t intervened. You truly were an angel sent from Heaven for him. 

“Of course I’ll help you, Y/N. You saved my life. I’m not done fighting yet and I’ll try everything I can, as a human at least, to support you.” You smiled. Your eyes were watering and you confusingly blinked at a wet drop falling from your right eye. “What is…” Sam reached a large hand to your cheek, rubbing the tear away. 

“Tears. You’re tearing up. Nearly crying, it happens when you…experience intense emotions, sometimes. Usually they are sad ones, but I’m guessing yours aren't.”

“No. I think I am happy. Maybe…anticipatory?” Your stomach was in knots, but you didn’t think you were sick. Castiel had explained it as…excitement. Sam smiled at your words. 

“Why is everything I say to you funny, Sam?”

Sam shook his head, still smiling as he brought a hand to your shoulder, “Not everything, you’re just…amusing.” You nodded after a moment as if agreeing with him. You knew you weren't accustomed to human culture or customs, you felt out of place every time you were on Earth. Nevertheless; now it was your home. 

“I find you very amusing. And you can be funny, but only when you are not being stubborn.”

“You really have seen me my whole life.”

“But I like that about you. You have such complex emotions.”

“Yea, I do…” Sam trailed off, the twisting in his stomach intensifying as he looked at your lips briefly. “Can I…” he leaned in closer, but not too close. He didn’t want to crowd your space, but you just looked so heavenly sitting next to him on his bed, your lovely hair framing your soft, glowing face. You tilted your head the way Cas did when he was confused about something human-like.

“Can you what, Sam?”

Fuck, your voice was so pretty. “Nevermind,” he leaned back slightly, getting up to call Dean to find out what happened to him before you grabbed his arm pulling him into a tight hug. 

“Thank you, Sam.”

“You realize you shouldn't be thanking me, right?”

“I know. But I also know humans can be very cruel and you’ve shown me a lot of kindness. I wasn't sure it was still possible in your world. Oh, and Dean is alright. I asked Castiel to help him as I did you.” Sam kissed your forehead, and it felt like it lit on fire. Your cheeks were warm, and you weren't sure if you were ill, or what was happening to your very human vessel.

“Sam, are you sick?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Why d’you ask?”

“You just made my skin hot, and my stomach feels weird.” Sam froze, his lips coming into a smirk, “Did I?” He tested the waters, lacing his fingers over your arm, and you stared up at him, your cheeks pink and your mouth slightly open. 

You pulled him down on the bed, holding his face with your hands. “Yes.” You stated matter-of-factly.

He smiled, sliding his hands over your cheek. “You gonna do anything about that?” Sam spoke in your ear lowly and you turned your head, his hair tickling your face and leaving goosebumps on your arms.

“I don’t know what to do.” He curled further into your face, leaning closer to your ear, his mouth on the edge.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything, Angel.” 

You nodded, but opted for leaning up and placing a kiss on his forehead too.

“I think I need to teach you about other human stuff before we uh…do that.” You nodded, still leaning on Sam, when a thought came to your head. 

“Hey, Sam?” He gazed over your face, listening attentively to your sweet voice.

“I still have my grace and powers. But, since I’m not a real angel anymore…do you think I can try things like ice cream and taste the real flavor?” He threw his head back, laughing boyishly. 

“Yea, yea, I can buy you ice cream, Angel.”