#i will write notes about a scene and then think about the finale/book two and need to stare at a wall for a bit

[cream-and-tea]

FIND THE WORD TAG

i was tagged by @encrucijada (ty!!) and tried to challenge myself by not using anything from Lay Me Down, so these are all taken from what i've written for Burn The Stars (my sci-fi fantasy thats in perpetual planning hell lol)

my words were: necklace, sigh, dream & heavy

NECKLACE

No one could say that Anandi Alva was not talented. She could recite epic poetry from memory and tell you the name of an old world plant by the way it grew towards the light and slip into the faces of others as easily as slipping into water. But the dead girl was in possession of a holy name, a holy vantage point to the unguarded backs of the most influential the Colossus Rings had to offer, a holy collection of necklaces where each glittering gem was modelled after a specific star, and the Priory had no need for Anandi Alva in the face of that.

SIGH

“I deal in precision Silas,” Danny sighed, turning away from the pulsing emergency lights. “I only fail when I leave things to chance.”

DREAM

This is outside of her, controlled, soft, it washes easily away once she blinks and realizes that she’s sitting on grass with her back resting against the trunk of a tree, one leg drawn up, hands folded behind her head as if she’s been sitting there casually for a few minutes at most. For all she knows she has.

This is a dream.

HEAVY

“You have to stop saying things like that.”

Silas paused, halfway through tying his hair back into its ponytail. “Like what?”

“Us, we, when this is all over. If you keep it up I might start to think there’s a chance.”

“I think there’s a chance.”

“I know you do.” They made a fist and pressed it to the space between their eyes. It felt heavy. Everything had felt heavy for a very long time now.

i'll tag: @albatris @spideronthesun @strangerays @violets-in-her-arms-writes and anyone else who wants to do it!!

your words are: slight, slip, silver and sharp

[cbeargyu]

just a bet for you

summary: you weren’t the prettiest, the smartest, or the kind of girl people noticed—until heeseung did. he gave you his umbrella on a rainy day, his attention when no one else cared, and eventually, his love... or so you thought. two months in, after giving him your first kiss, your first time, your whole heart—he tells you the truth: it was never real. just a bet. just you.

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

genre: angst, slow burn, high school au, emotional hurt, heartbreak, unrequited love, coming-of-age, betrayal, dark romance.

warnings: emotional manipulation, virginity loss, deception, heartbreak, explicit sexual content, power imbalance, crying during sex, aftermath of intimacy, mentions of emotional neglect, emotionally intense scenes, toxic dynamics, vulnerability, strong language.

wc: 3,6k

notes: hiiii🫶🏻 lately i’ve been obsessed with enhypen🤭 and i really want to write so much about them 🖤 i have 3 fanfics in mind with heesung as the bad boy😈🔥 and this is the first one! i’m also thinking about making a part two for this story, but what do you guys think? should i or not? 🤔🤫 if you want to be on the taglist i’ll make for the next chapter and the upcoming heesung or enhypen fanfics in general, please comment! thank you so much and i hope you enjoy 🥹

PART 2 HERE.

“y/n,” he said, his tone flat. “there’s something i need to tell you.”

your heart paused.

you sat up a little, adjusting the blanket around your chest, still half-dazed, still sore. “what do you mean?”

he didn’t look at you. “this wasn’t my first time.”

you blinked. “oh… okay. i mean… i didn’t think it was. that’s fine.”

but he shook his head, slow and almost impatient. “no. you’re not getting it.”

you tilted your head, your heart picking up speed. “then explain it to me.”

his fingers laced together, elbows on his knees. he stared down at the floor like it was easier to talk to than you.

“let’s stop this,” he said suddenly. “we should end it here.”

you blinked hard, your breath catching in your throat. “what?”

he finally turned a little, just enough for you to see the side of his face. his profile was blank, almost bored.

“from the beginning, you were like a ghost,” he said. “always hovering, always watching. pretending our meetings were accidents, like you weren’t constantly following me around. like you weren’t desperate for me to see you.”

his words were sharp, colder than anything he’d ever said to you.

“i tolerated it,” he added, his tone dry. “because i was curious. i wanted to see how far you’d go.”

your eyes were wide now, and you sat up straighter, the blanket clutched tightly over your chest. “heesung… what are you talking about?”

he turned his head, finally meeting your gaze over his shoulder.

“i’m not the person you think i am.”

your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

“this was a game. a bet,” he said softly. “i wanted to see how far you’d go for me.”

you couldn’t breathe.

his eyes met yours. colder than you’d ever seen them. lifeless. cruel.

“now i know.”

it had been raining for most of the day. the kind of slow, persistent drizzle that soaked through your socks and left your skin clammy even beneath your uniform. your cheap umbrella, the one you’d had since middle school, finally gave out around lunch—one of the ribs snapped in the wind, and you watched helplessly as the fabric peeled away like skin from bone. you’d tried to make it work anyway, stubbornly clutching it on your way out of the school gates, books held close to your chest, shoes squelching against the pavement. you didn’t expect anyone to stop. no one ever did.

“hey,” a voice said, soft but clear under the rain.

you turned, blinking up at him—lee heesung. tall, dark-haired, and slightly damp around the collar, holding a black umbrella that looked way too expensive for a high school student. you recognized him from the class next door. everyone did. he was the kind of boy who didn’t need to try to be noticed. always the top of the leaderboard in physics and literature, always the first pick for any team. but he wasn’t loud. he wasn’t even particularly social. he just… existed above the rest, like a story you weren’t allowed to touch.

he stepped closer and tilted his umbrella slightly to cover you. “yours broke?”

you hesitated, stunned by the simple question. “yeah. it’s, um… useless now.”

he didn’t say anything else. just held out the umbrella handle to you.

“take it,” he said. “i’m not going far. you need it more.”

you stared at him, thinking maybe he was joking, or testing you somehow, but his face was unreadable. not smiling, not smug. just… calm.

“thank you,” you murmured, reaching out for it like it might vanish if you moved too quickly.

he gave a slight nod, and with that, he walked off into the rain, hands in his pockets, hair already sticking to his forehead. no explanation. no follow-up. just gone.

after that, you started seeing him everywhere.

in the mornings, standing by the vending machine with his headphones in. at lunch, sitting by the window, sketching in a notebook you couldn’t see. after school, waiting at the bike rack with his fingers curled loosely around the handlebars. he never looked for you, never waved, but your eyes found him anyway—like a habit. a quiet kind of orbit.

you never thought someone like him would look back.

so when he asked you out—casually, almost like a dare—you didn’t think twice.

“go out with me,” he said one afternoon as you gathered your things after the study group he’d joined last minute. his tone was flat, but his eyes met yours, unwavering.

you blinked. “what?”

“you heard me,” he replied, shoving a pen into his backpack. “i’m asking you out, y/n.”

your heart flipped painfully. “why?”

he shrugged. “why not?”

you said yes. of course you said yes.

and that’s how it started. not with roses or confessions, but a strange, slow burn of moments stitched together—he holding your books when your arms were full, walking you home in silence, waiting for you after school without saying he would. he never called you ‘babe’ or held your hand in front of others. he didn’t kiss you at your locker or brag about you to his friends. but he showed up. when you were sick, he brought medicine. when you had your period, he offered his hoodie because he noticed the way you sat curled in discomfort. when you failed a quiz, he helped you study without a word of judgment.

and slowly, you fell.

you started staying up late just to replay your conversations in your head. you started writing his name in the margins of your notes. you started hoping—stupidly, recklessly—that maybe he liked you back in that quiet, complicated way he existed.

he never said “i love you.” but he looked at you, sometimes, like you were worth noticing. like maybe you were real.

you’d never known love could be so quiet.

no fireworks, no racing heartbeat. just a gentle kind of knowing—the way heesung would always wait for you at the gate, pretending he just happened to be there. the way he never forgot your schedule, even when you did. the way he carried your bag without asking when your shoulders hurt, or opened your water bottle for you during breaks without saying a word. he never called attention to it. never asked for thanks.

but you noticed. you noticed everything.

like how, when you got caught in the rain again a week later, he didn’t offer you his umbrella this time—he just pulled you under his without hesitation, one arm around your shoulder, holding you close so you wouldn’t get wet. you walked home together like that, your cheeks burning the whole time, your heart making up songs from the rhythm of his steps.

sometimes he’d do small things—thread your charger through the desk so you wouldn’t trip over it, order your favorite bread at the convenience store before you even told him, peel tangerines during break and place one gently on your notebook without ever looking up.

he never said “i care about you.” but he didn’t need to.

one afternoon, the two of you sat at the far corner of the school library, hidden behind tall shelves and rows of dusty encyclopedias. finals were close, and he’d offered to help you review for the math test. you tried to focus, but your brain was mush and his cologne smelled warm and clean, and the way he leaned over your notebook made your breath catch.

you were mid-sentence—trying to understand the difference between permutations and combinations—when he reached over, slowly, and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

you froze. his fingertips brushed your cheek, barely touching, but it made your stomach flutter in a way you didn’t have words for. your lips parted to say something, but nothing came out.

he didn’t move away.

his gaze lingered on your face, eyes dark and unreadable, his hand resting now on the edge of the table between you. his thumb brushed against your pinky finger.

“you’re not dumb,” he said softly, and for a second you thought you’d imagined it.

“what?”

he gave you a look, the kind that made your heart ache—equal parts tired and amused. “you always look like you’re about to cry when you study. like the numbers are bullying you.”

you laughed under your breath, biting your lip, and that’s when it happened.

he leaned in, not suddenly, not dramatically—just a slow tilt forward, like gravity had made the decision for him. your lips met in the space between breath and thought.

your first kiss.

his lips were warm, softer than you expected, moving carefully, almost unsure, like he was figuring it out at the same time as you. your eyes fluttered shut, your hand clenched the side of your chair. the world slowed down into the taste of mint and something faintly sweet, into the way his nose brushed yours, into the tiny breath he gave against your mouth like he didn’t want to stop.

and when he pulled away, just slightly, he didn’t speak.

neither did you.

you just stared at each other, your forehead almost touching, and for once the silence wasn’t awkward—it was full. full of all the things you didn’t have to say. his thumb grazed your knuckle once more before he picked up your pencil and returned it to your hand, turning the page of the textbook like nothing had happened.

but everything had changed.

you walked out of the library with his fingers loosely tangled in yours, and no one said a word.

still, you felt them—eyes watching from across the courtyard.

jay and sunghoon stood by the vending machines, not talking, just looking. their uniforms unbuttoned at the collar, hands in their pockets, that same slight smirk on both of their faces. not friendly. not surprised. almost… entertained.

you squeezed heesung’s hand tighter, but he didn’t look at them. or at you.

just ahead.

it had been two months since you started dating heesung. one month exactly since your first kiss in the library.

you still remembered how it felt—his lips soft and warm, the way the world had gone silent around you. since then, your relationship had moved slowly, carefully. there were more kisses, most of them stolen, tucked between hallways and shadows. he'd press a kiss to your temple before leaving, or lean in suddenly when you were mid-sentence, just to shut you up. it was never rushed. never loud.

and neither was he.

heesung remained the same. quiet, composed, hard to read. at first, it made you nervous—made you wonder if he liked you as much as you liked him. but then he'd hold your hand under the desk, or show up with your favorite snack without being asked, or carry your bag without saying a word. you realized he just... wasn’t expressive the way other people were. he loved in quiet actions, not words. and you accepted him like that.

maybe that was why, one night, when your parents were away visiting your aunt, you invited him over.

you told him you just wanted to watch a movie. but that wasn’t the whole truth.

the truth was, you wanted to feel closer. to give him something no one else had. you were scared, but more than that—you were sure. sure of him. sure of the way you felt when he looked at you like you mattered. sure of the way his hand fit around yours, like it was meant to be there.

you sat beside him on the couch, movie playing in the background, but your thoughts were louder than the dialogue on screen.

you turned to him, heart in your throat.

“heesung… can i tell you something?”

he looked at you with those eyes that always made your chest ache. “of course.”

you swallowed. “i want to do it. with you.”

his brows rose slightly. “do what?”

you gave a tiny, nervous laugh. “you know what.”

his face changed then—eyes widening just enough to show surprise, lips parting. “y/n…”

“i mean it,” you said, quieter now. “i want my first time to be with you.”

he blinked, frozen, like his brain was buffering.

“are you sure?” he asked after a beat. “like... really sure?”

you nodded, cheeks burning. “yeah. i thought about it a lot.”

he hesitated again, then slowly reached for your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

“okay,” he whispered. “let’s go to your room.”

you stood on shaky legs, leading him down the hallway, heart pounding so hard you thought he might hear it. your hands were clammy, but his stayed steady. when you opened the door, he walked in slowly, glancing around, and then turned back to you.

“i didn’t bring anything,” he said carefully. “condoms. i didn’t think…”

your cheeks flamed. “i bought some.”

he blinked again. “you did?”

“yeah,” you said quickly. “just in case. i didn’t want us to have to stop because of that. i mean—i wasn’t sure if we would, but i thought maybe—”

“hey,” he said softly, and you stopped rambling.

his smile was small. real. “thank you.”

he stepped closer, touched your cheek with the back of his fingers, and leaned in. the kiss was slow—deeper than the others. your hands found the fabric of his hoodie, clinging gently. he tugged it off, then let you pull off yours. piece by piece, the layers fell away, until you were both under the covers, your skin buzzing with nerves and warmth.

his fingers traced your ribs, your hips, your thighs—always slow, always asking without words. he kissed your collarbone, then your chest, trailing soft kisses downward as if he were learning you by heart. you flinched when he touched between your legs, your whole body tensing. his hand paused.

“it’s okay,” he whispered. “i’ll go slow.”

you nodded, voice caught in your throat.

he kissed you again, his lips tender, grounding you. when he finally pushed in, your fingers dug into his shoulders, breath hitching with the pressure, the burn. it hurt—not sharp, but stretching, unfamiliar. you let out a shaky whimper and he stopped instantly, resting his forehead against yours.

“tell me if it’s too much,” he said.

“no,” you breathed. “i want to.”

he moved carefully, in and out, his breath brushing your cheek, his hands cradling your face. there were no moans. no pornographic noises. just small sounds—your sharp gasps, the way his breath caught every time your walls clenched around him. his body stayed close to yours, his chest pressed to yours, like he couldn’t bear to be apart even for a second.

it wasn’t perfect. it wasn’t easy. but it was yours.

and when it was over, he didn’t say anything. he just pulled you into his arms, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, your cheek, your temple.

and you thought, this is what it means to be loved.

you were wrong.

your body ached in a way that was unfamiliar—tender, raw, but not painful. just... used. and strangely, you didn’t hate the feeling. you were lying on your stomach, skin still flushed, the thin sheet draped over your lower half, your hair sticking slightly to the back of your neck. everything felt distant and slow, like the room had been dipped in warm honey. your breathing hadn’t completely settled yet.

outside, the sky had gone soft and gray, rain still tapping gently against the windows of your bedroom.

you heard soft footsteps from the hallway. heesung reappeared, shirtless but already in his boxers and jeans, carrying a small bowl of soup and a spoon. he didn’t say anything, just sat on the edge of the bed and gently tapped your shoulder.

“hey,” he whispered, as if the moment needed to stay quiet. “you need to eat something.”

you blinked up at him, dazed and slow. he scooped a bit of soup with the spoon and held it near your lips, waiting. your cheeks heated at the intimacy of it, but you let him feed you—small, careful bites, while he watched in silence. his hair was slightly messy, lips pink from kissing you earlier, but his expression was unreadable. calm. like always.

you smiled softly, trying to break the silence, your voice small. “i’m really glad it was with you.”

he didn’t respond.

he just placed the bowl gently on your lower back, resting it there like he couldn't bother to find another surface. the warmth seeped through the blanket, grounding you in place.

you frowned, confused, your lips parted to say something—but then he turned his body slightly, giving you his back as he sat fully on the edge of the bed. the air shifted.

“y/n,” he said, his tone flat. “there’s something i need to tell you.”

your heart paused.

you sat up a little, adjusting the blanket around your chest, still half-dazed, still sore. “what do you mean?”

he didn’t look at you. “this wasn’t my first time.”

you blinked. “oh… okay. i mean… i didn’t think it was. that’s fine.”

but he shook his head, slow and almost impatient. “no. you’re not getting it.”

you tilted your head, your heart picking up speed. “then explain it to me.”

his fingers laced together, elbows on his knees. he stared down at the floor like it was easier to talk to than you.

“let’s stop this,” he said suddenly. “we should end it here.”

you blinked hard, your breath catching in your throat. “what?”

he finally turned a little, just enough for you to see the side of his face. his profile was blank, almost bored.

“from the beginning, you were like a ghost,” he said. “always hovering, always watching. pretending our meetings were accidents, like you weren’t constantly following me around. like you weren’t desperate for me to see you.”

his words were sharp, colder than anything he’d ever said to you.

“i tolerated it,” he added, his tone dry. “because i was curious. i wanted to see how far you’d go.”

your eyes were wide now, and you sat up straighter, the blanket clutched tightly over your chest. “heesung… what are you talking about?”

he turned his head, finally meeting your gaze over his shoulder.

“i’m not the person you think i am.”

your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

“this was a game. a bet,” he said softly. “i wanted to see how far you’d go for me.”

you couldn’t breathe.

his eyes met yours. colder than you’d ever seen them. lifeless. cruel.

“now i know.”

he stood slowly, facing you fully now, his expression unreadable—but his lips curved slightly. a smirk. sharp and poisonous.

“i never liked you.”

you didn’t realize you were crying until your vision blurred. the tears were hot, sliding down your cheeks before you could stop them, before you could even understand what was happening. the pain didn’t come like a stab. it came like a flood, slow and drowning. it stole your breath.

he watched it happen.

he watched the way you crumbled, and he said nothing.

he watched you cry like it meant nothing. like you were a stranger. your tears fell silently at first, but now they were endless—hot and unstoppable, dripping down your cheeks, your chin, soaking the sheet you clung to.

he stood, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and began buttoning it slowly.

“i’ll go now,” he said, voice cool, almost bored. “don’t look for me after this.”

you blinked rapidly through the tears, vision warped. “w–what?”

he didn’t answer. he just walked toward your bedroom door, not once looking back.

panic bloomed inside your chest. your throat closed up.

“heesung,” you called out, voice cracking. “wait—please—”

you wrapped the blanket around your body in a desperate tangle, stumbling off the bed. your bare feet hit the cold floor and you tried to run after him, but your foot slipped on the rug. your body twisted and collapsed hard onto the floor, your elbow hitting first, then your hip. pain shot through your side, but it didn’t matter.

“heesung!” you screamed, half from pain, half from the chaos exploding inside your heart.

he was already halfway down the stairs.

he didn’t look back. he didn’t even flinch.

you tried to stand, but your knees buckled. the blanket slipped from your shoulders, and you dragged it back up, wrapping it tight around your trembling body as you crawled toward the top of the stairs.

you couldn’t breathe. you couldn’t think. everything was shattering too fast.

through the blur of tears, you saw his figure reaching the front door, calm and unbothered, like this wasn’t your ending.

“liar,” you whispered.

your lips trembled.

“liar…” you said again, louder now. “you’re a liar!”

your voice broke.

you’re a liar, you’re a liar, you’re a liar.

you thought about every moment. every touch. every kiss. the way he fixed your hair behind your ear in the library. the way he fed you soup with careful hands. the way he carried your bag when your shoulder was sore. the way his fingers trembled the first time he held your hand. his silence. his warmth.

he didn’t speak much... but his actions—his actions...

you curled your fingers into the blanket, knuckles white.

“you didn’t mean it...” you whispered. “you couldn’t have meant it.”

he opened the front door.

“heesung!”

your scream echoed down the stairs like something broken inside you cracked open.

he paused—just for a second. and then he stepped outside.

gone.

your knees gave out completely, body slumping on the cold wood of the hallway floor, chest heaving, face wet and burning. you felt like a child. like someone ripped the light out of you with bare hands.

“i hate you...” you sobbed.

your voice was hoarse, nearly gone.

“i hate you...” you whispered again, softer now.

but deep down, that wasn’t the truth.

not yet.

you wanted to hate him. you needed to.

but all you could do was cry.

[shinhyunjin]

── .✦ little white lies.

⟢ pairing: hwang hyunjin x female!reader

⟢ genre: fluff, non-idol au, established relationship

⟢ word count: 1.9k

⟢ summary: the one where a street interviewer asks the story of how you met.

⟢ author’s note: hello, everyone! i don’t really know what this is, but i clearly got the idea from @/meetcutesnyc on tiktok. i feel like i could maybe turn this into a short series and write one for the rest of the members if you like this one enough. anyway, this is my first fic on this blog, so if you enjoy it please do show it some love<3

“Excuse me, are you two a couple?”

You stop in your tracks at the question, staring at the stranger that was now blocking your way, as he stood in front of you and your boyfriend—a small mic in his hand and cameraman behind him recording the scene before him.

Your first instinct is to look up to Hyunjin, who is already tightening the hold of his hand on yours and pulling you closer to him.

“We are” he doesn’t hesitate to answer.

You find the confused yet protective crease between his eyebrows particularly cute right then, so you smile.

“Would you mind telling us the story of how you met?”

“Oh, you’re that guy?!” You jump in excitement.

Hyunjin’s frown only deepens for a moment, feeling like he is missing a chapter—or a whole book—when the guy in front eagerly nods his head and laughs at your sudden enthusiasm.

One look at you, however, and a glimpse of the smile lighting up your face, is enough for him to go with whatever it is happening right then.

“Baby, they make videos on TikTok asking couples how they met” you explain to him nonetheless, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb to ease the small tension he felt after seeing you interact so comfortably with another guy—a stranger one at that.

“Oh,” Hyunjin lets out, suddenly feeling embarrassed over how defensive he was until then. “We met at an art gallery” he tries to redeem himself by kindly answering the question.

“It was actually kinda funny” you add with a small giggle that has all three guys smiling at you.

“If that’s your way of saying we were one second away from committing a crime, then—”

“Oh, hush” you playfully shut him up, enjoying all too much the dramatic roll of eyes he gives you in response. “It wouldn’t have been a crime. I think”.

Your last addition earns a quiet chuckle from the cameraman, and you wonder if that’s making it into the final video.

“Long story short,” you begin. “I was admiring one of the sculptures, minding my own business, when out of nowhere someone bumped into me. I was caught off guard, of course, so I inevitably lost my balance and bumped into the base that was holding the sculpture” you can’t help but give your boyfriend an accusatory look. “I saw my life flash before my eyes when it started swaying in front of me”.

“I was fast enough to hold it in its place before it fell, though” Hyunjin chimes in before the blame is fully thrown at him. “And thankfully there were only, like, two other people in the room with us and they were too busy checking out the paintings on the walls, so after exchanging panicked looks with this cutie right here, we rushed out of there before we got scolded”.

“We laughed it off as soon as we were in the next room and we couldn’t care less about the stares we got” you explain amidst a small laugh. “It was kind of odd, in a good way, because it felt like we knew each other already”.

“Yeah, it was weird in the best of ways” Hyunjin agrees with an adoring smile. “I obviously wanted to get to know her after that, and I just happened to have an extra ticket to a paid exposition within the main one that day, so I offered it to her in order to apologise for bumping into her and she luckily said yes”.

“And then after that I invited him for coffee to thank him for the ticket”.

Hyunjin chuckles. “And then I asked her out for dinner that same night”.

“So it’s fair to say it was love at first sight?” The guy asks with a grin.

“Definitely” the two of you answer in unison, locking eyes at the realisation and smiling in a way that was hard to tell whether you were aware there were other people in the world.

“We pretty much got together that same day” you admit with a shy smile.

“How long have you guys been together?”

“Four years,” Hyunjin replies.

“Four years and two months” you specify, just for the sake of teasing him.

He smiles and bites his tongue not to add ‘and eleven days’, because that would only lead to you doing the math and figuring out the amount of hours as well, and then him having to figure out the amount of minutes if he wanted to win.

It is a battle you had gone through more than once already, and he refuses to go down that road again—not when there is a camera pointing at you and your whole interaction would be posted on the internet.

“Wow, that’s a long time” the man in front interrupts Hyunjin’s train of thought, bringing the mic closer to you. “What’s your favourite thing about him?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can choose just one” you timidly let him know, looking up to Hyunjin and feeling your cheeks burn as his chocolate eyes are already focused on you, awaiting for an answer. “I really love how sweet and attentive he is. He is always there for me and helps me get through my hardships, even before I even have to ask for his help”.

“And what is your favourite thing about her?” He now asks your boyfriend, who finds himself smiling brightly over your wholesome words and struggling to take his eyes away from you.

“Everything” Hyunjin replies truthfully once he manages to divert his eyes from you—just like you, finding it hard to choose just one thing he loves the most about you. “She’s the most caring and selfless person I’ve ever met. She’s always checking up on me and my family, making sure we’re all okay. And I also need to mention her smile, because whenever she smiles my day is immediately made”.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze and lean your head on his shoulder for a brief moment, unable to hide the emotional pout forming on your lips, as his answer managed to warm your heart.

“So what is the next step in your relationship?”

“Moving in together” Hyunjin answers in a heartbeat, and you are grateful that it doesn’t come off as a surprise, for you had talked about it before—otherwise your heart wouldn’t have been able to take the news of his upcoming plans with you. “We needed to figure a few things out before doing so, but…” he looks down at you, smiling sweetly when your eyes lock and you nod your head, encouraging him to go on. “It’s about time we finally start properly making our life together”.

“And your names are?”

“Y/N” you’re the first to answer.

“I’m Hyunjin” he says.

“Well, thank you so much for your time, Hyunjin and Y/N” the interviewer wraps it up with a smile. “I’m glad you guys are going strong and didn’t end up in jail that day”.

The two of you laugh, and you lean into your boyfriend when he lets go of your hand and gently places his arm over your shoulders instead.

Exchanging goodbyes after being informed that the video would be up the next day, you resume your walk to the all too familiar café around the corner—the one you were heading to before the impromptu street interview took place.

“So those are the kind of videos you’re watching all day…”

“Some of them,” you nod. “I’ve sent you a few here and there. Good to know you don’t actually watch them”.

“I do” he fights back, almost offended you believe he would ever disregard something you showed him. “I thought they were all staged, though. Didn’t know people actually got interviewed on the streets out of nowhere”.

“Is that why you were so defensive when they first approached us?” You laugh.

He huffs, making his bottom lip slightly stick out and having you internally fighting not to kiss him right then. “I thought he was asking if we were a couple in hopes of us not being one, so he could ask you out”.

“Asking me out out of nowhere when I’m walking hand in hand with a guy that is clearly my boyfriend, all while there is a whole cameraman recording us?” You tease with a tilt of your head.

“Hey, who knows?” he defends himself. “Can’t control what kind of weirdos are out there chasing after online views”.

“You’re so cute” you laugh breathily, pressing a soft kiss on his jawline. “We look too much like a couple, if you ask me. They would look stupid to even try”.

“Yeah… I think the hand holding and matching outfits give it away too well” he nods with a teasing smile, motioning to the colour palette you chose together that day.

“Thank God they caught us on a good outfit day” your relieved remark earns a laugh from him. “I can’t wait for the video to be up now, I love the way we met”.

“I know you do,” he softly rubs your hand with his thumb. “Which is why I was surprised you didn’t tell them the whole story”.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

Hyunjin amusedly shakes his head, remaining silent as you reach the café and he holds the door open for you to go in first.

When you’re invaded by the strong yet pleasing scent of coffee and reach the—thankfully—short line to order, he adds, “You left out the part where later on I admitted I intentionally bumped into you just so I could talk to you”.

You laugh at the memory.

It wasn’t like he wanted you to lose your balance and make you almost drop a sculpture that you would be paying until the end of your days, had it actually fallen down and smashed on the ground.

He was just going for a little shove on your shoulder with his own, just enough to make you turn around and allow him to apologise right after. But you were too pretty, and he was too nervous—that alone making him miscalculate the distance between your bodies and slam into your shoulder harder than he had intended to.

He came clean one month into your relationship—the guilt of almost getting you in trouble just because he wasn’t able to earn up the courage to go up and talk to you like any other normal person would, was becoming too much for him to keep a secret for any longer.

You were already in too deep by then to even care, though. If anything, you were flattered that he wanted to get to know you so bad that he ended up coming up with the most stupid—and risky—of ideas in order to do so.

“I thought you weren’t holding back when it came to embarrassing me” he confesses.

You chuckle, shaking your head in both amusement and embarrassment, before pulling him forward in line with you as the people in front do so as well.

“Well, if I did mention that, you would’ve told them about how I already had a ticket to the private exposition and lied about not having one just so I had a reason to stick with you, so…”

Hyunjin’s lips part into a beaming smile, pulling you to him and pressing a kiss to your temple.

Little white lies could sometimes be beneficial; especially when they led you to the best relationship you ever had—the one you were sure would last for the rest of your lives.

“You’re right” he agrees with a smirk. “The internet doesn’t need to know how desperate we both were to get to know each other”.

[hoseoksluna]

BOOKWORMS | knj

pairing: boyfriend!namjoon x reader

genre: smut; fluff

word count: 4.4k

summary: namjoon thinks of you when he reads a smut scene in his book.

warnings: boyfriend namjoon!!!, kimi namijoon reading, mentions of sex (riding), oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, the importance of consent, teasing, raw sex, breeding kink <3, big dick namu!!, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, joonie's chain dangling in ur face, tummy bulge, creampie, bruising, hickeys, aftercare:(

note: it took blood, sweat and tears (hehe) to write this and i'm so happy it's finally here!! i loved writing about namjoon. he's my whole soul and the entirety of my heart and i have to write abt him again soon. please take your time reading this and enjoy urself! let me know what you think in the comments mwah (or tell me anonymously in my inbox) and as i always say please like and if u want to - reblog, but i won't pressure u baby. love love you!!

side note: if you want to jump straight to the smut, it's right under the asterisks &lt;;3

You revel, you truly do, in seeing your boyfriend in such a serene state of mind. 

Nose buried in a book, Namjoon pays no mind to the surroundings fleeting by him with each flutter of his eyelashes. It goes unnoticed by him, strangely so, how you tidy up the apartment you share. How you feed the two cats that chose you and him to be their human parents. How you fondle their soft ears. How you bend over the furniture to whisper ‘pspsps’ at them when they need a moment away from you just to see their round eyes look up at you stupidly. Namjoon usually observes these moments; this utmost natural behavior of yours. He draws strength from the homeliness of it all with each and every swell of his lungs. Needs it to survive. That is until he gets a hold of that one papery portal and sits comfortably on the couch, one ankle propped over the knee. Then, he ceases to exist in this world. 

You’re happy for him. Over time, you’ve come to find that you have a certain fondness for the way he remains stoic. Because you always know what kind of book he’s reading, a smile blossoms on its own over the line of your lips whenever your eye catches the sculpture-like look on his face. It’s like even if he let himself hold his breath, his consciousness would waver back to the earth and the wretched awareness that he’s here, among mortals and the unfair capitalist system aftermath, would stream in his bloodstream, poisoning his experience. It takes the leisure out of it and makes the bed for misery instead. He doesn’t like it. Hates it, in fact. It’s a necessity that he focuses, as he embarks on the journey, because he does it for you.

Namjoon confides in his feelings and his literature with you almost on a daily basis. On the same couch, with the same cats snoring faintly, their small bodies spilling over the perimeter of your tangled legs. Doesn’t matter if it’s his thigh or the curve of your hip. The animals always find a warm crook to doze in, eavesdropping in, with their curious little ears, on the conversations you’re having. Though you reckon they like the meat of his thigh the best. You do, too. Can’t really blame them. The same serenity that intimately knows the person of Namjoon perceives the person of you when he prompts you to rest your head on his lap while he brushes his book-kissed fingers through the silky waterfall of your hair. Thoroughly explains the intricacies of the plot he’s invested in to you. Describes the characters as if they’re real people he’s become acquainted with. They are real to you as you listen. As you ask additional questions and gaze up at his eyes just to catch that one body of a shooting star fiery hot in the glossiness of his eyes. As you wonder, openly, what will happen to them.

“I’ll tell you when they tell me.” He sunk the promise onto the smooth skin of your forehead with the pucker of his lips.

It’s how you discovered, in all seriousness, that the plaster of his stoicism breaks during these literary moments.

Various colors of emotion tug and twist his features, the bare kind. The unrestrained kind. You know it’s a relief for him when the dam bursts open, soaking you in the beauty of humanness one only finds in literature these days. You can’t help but fall in love with him all over again when his eyebrows furrow. When his orbs nearly burn a hole in the ceiling when he’s trying to think of the right word that will ultimately help him convey the unfolding of the storyline. When he gives up and weaves English into his sentences, relying on his hands to say what his overstimulated brain fails to do. 

He reads to pass knowledge to you. The serenity whispered it into the chambers of your heart, a puff of hot breath in winter’s cold. It soothingly rubbed his shoulders when Namjoon told you there used to be a time when he couldn’t stand the sight of his books lining up the walls of his apartment. Wanted to burn it down and watch as the evidence of his melancholy dies in front of him. Because that’s what most of his book collection consisted of back then. The innermost shadowy faces of his pain. Loneliness. Sadness. Despair from life, from it not being enough for him, from it not saving a spot there for him–not once throughout the course of his life. That’s why he reads different kinds of books now. Ones that do not reflect his survival before you.

The reader has to get wiser, ruffled by life in order to gain more, gain what they need from those once deeply loved pages. It’s what the serenity believes. It’s what you believe and hope for Namjoon. That one day, somehow by the healing of the love you give him, he will look back and pick a souvenir from that moonless country of pain. Put it up somewhere between the spines of his new cluttered collection. Look at it from time to time and sense that it’s telling him something. Something that will fill the stitched-up cracks in his heart with sunlight. Something that he will pass over to you. It’s your love language after all. Namjoon reads because you read. It’s his own personal healing thing. 

You two are just a pair of two bookworms. Unfit for the world outside. Fit for the land you two created. Whose soil you take care of together.

***

Dinner is almost ready by the time you feel his fingertips gripping your hips. You hum, acknowledging his presence. Glad for the homely heat that radiates off of his body and seeps into your bones as you stir the risotto you decided to make on the stove. Coldness had been embracing you all day while he read so you’re overjoyed that he ripped it away from you.

Namjoon places a kiss on your temple and you sigh in relief. You might be too dependent on him, but so is he. He wouldn’t be nuzzling his face in your hair, squeezing your waist, peppering kisses on your tender skin if he wasn’t. It’s the perfect balance. And it’s not that you’re not able to be away from each other. The principle of looking forward to one another is what makes it so sweet, so endurable for the pair of you. Of the coming back and coming into contact at the end of the day. It’s natural. Simple. Human.

“Missed me?” Namjoon husks into your ear. 

You smirk and turn off the stove, turning around to face him. “Terribly.”

His body is clad in a black T-shirt that fits his broad figure well and a pair of baggy sweats of the same color, having discarded the warm crewneck he was wearing earlier somewhere in the universe of his book. A long silver chain twinkles in the middle of his chest in the yellow light. You caress it with your fingers and leave your palm there, on the hardness of his pecs. 

“I finished the book,” he says and you blink up at him. You’re not surprised at all. “Couldn’t put it down.”

Sleepy wrinkles have left their mark on his face from the cozy position he laid in for too long on the couch. His short sunlit hair, grown healthily from his military service, is tousled in all directions and you smooth it down for him. How did God bless you with such a beautiful man is something you’ll wonder about for the rest of your life. 

“What happened to Theo in the end?” you ask, genuinely curious about whether one of the characters you’ve grown attached to is okay after all the shit the author put him through. 

Namjoon was reading a coming-of-age book about a boy named Theo. A panorama of his childhood and adolescent life, you’ve heard all about it. Namjoon cared a lot about this story, cared a lot about the protagonist’s emotions and reactions to the reappearing storms. What made him stick with it, despite the nearly triggering themes, is the fact that Theo never let go of his optimism no matter what. It was incredibly inspiring for Namjoon. Something new. Something that he never thought could be possible. You’re proud of him for daring to read a book so reminiscent of his past.

“You’re not gonna believe it,” Namjoon says, a blush creeping along his cheeks.

You raise one of your eyebrows in question. 

“Theo got laid,” Namjoon reveals, laughing softly. “I’m so happy for him.”

You gasp and burst into giggles. “What?”

“He got some!” 

Your laughter rises in volume. “He lost his virginity and that’s the end?”

“It was a big moment for him. A triumph of some kind. Like he shed his old skin and left that broken life behind. It was amazing.” Namjoon’s eyes glint with tiny shooting stars and you melt. He always finds poetic meanings in the varieties of the character arcs. You think you just fell in love with him all over again. 

“That’s really beautiful,” you admit. It reminds you of something. Of something quite personal. “My first time with you changed my life as well.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows curl in tenderness. Dragon eyes widen and round in fervent emotion. He squeezes his arms around you, enfolding you in a hug. Kisses you warmly. Strokes your hair down your back. Your own eyes pool with little tears with the intimate knowledge that you chose the right person to unfold your raw femininity with. No one, no man other than him could have created such a safe for that to happen.

“Tell you what,” Namjoon says a bit hoarsely. “I saw us in it.”

You hum, encouraging him to continue. Crave for more of his thoughts and confidential findings. Its fire spreading through your body, as each word of his registers in your brain, always makes you feel phenomenally alive. You’re not timid to avow that it’s your addiction. Shame doesn’t know you.

“Elena was on top and he was watching her. In awe of her,” he murmurs, caressing your cheek with the tip of his thumb. “Made me think of our last time. A life changing experience of mine as well.”

You welcome the fire and suspire with sudden desire, eyes lidding. Your heart begins to thump. Namjoon studies your reaction. 

“You remember well, don’t you?” He nudges his nose against yours. “I was in awe of you just the same.” 

It’s impossible not to remember. The memory consumes your mind every waking hour. Gets you needy in ways you haven’t felt before. Namjoon had you sat on his lap among the fluffiness of your innumerable pillows and plushies. Had you do all the work as he focused on the sleekness of your freshly moisturized calves, its coconut aroma interfused with the scent of sex and the euphony of your bounces, ragged breaths and broken moans making his head all fucked up. He was loud himself, more loud than you ever recalled him being. Reading your body at the mercy of the pleasure his hard length was giving you with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. Not once did he take his eyes off of you, not once did he help you. Just gripped your calves. Your thighs. Your tits all in his face. Only when you came hard, out of your own delightful merit, did his eyes roll back. You left his hips glazed with the evidence of your well-deserved orgasm, a porcelain statue made glossy.

A little later, during your pillow talk, he told you he’d found the idea of you using him while getting yourself off extremely hot. Made him more hard than he’d been in a while. Begged you to be even more selfish next time, adding an indistinct, ‘well, of course, if you want’ to the end of his sentence because he’s Namjoon.

“I do,” you breathe. “Touched myself to it this morning while you were still asleep.”

Namjoon groans. “God.” He kisses the side of your neck. Gets close to your ear. “You wanna do it again, hm? Wanna fuck me?” 

You might burst. His closeness, his heat, his need to ask for your consent turns you unstable. You’re choked up on your words, mind too fuzzy to say something. Turned on. Fucked up.

“You wanna show me how you touched yourself?” Namjoon continues, but you shake your head against the side of his face. 

You had touched yourself in the shower. Couldn’t say no to the impulse. Sharing that part of you for his eyes to see isn’t something you’re quite ready for. To you, it’s still something that’s yours. Something private. A courage you have yet to pluck up. You’re afraid to give him this last part of your femininity.

“Not today,” you whisper, planting a kiss on his neck. Feel him shiver. “I’m sorry. Do you mind?”

Withdrawing from your neck, Namjoon looks you dead in the eye, brows twisted in stern seriousness. “Don’t ever apologize for something like that again. Hear me when I say that.”

You squeeze his shoulder, the corners of your mouth lowering in a pout. Thankfulness grips your heart and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. 

“You know this is why we do this right?” he asks you. “Why I ask you these questions? I need to always know what you’re comfortable with so I don’t make a mistake.”

You nod. “Yes, Namjoon, I know and I’m so thankful.”

“Good. I’ll never push you to do anything you don’t want. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t.” 

“That’s my girl. 

You grab him by the back of his neck and engulf him in a hug. Luckiest girl in the world? That you are. The fact that you’re his is still something you can’t wrap your head around.

“We can stop. We don’t even have to do anything tonight—”

“No, Namjoon.” You withdraw. “Look.” Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you slip his hand beneath the confines of your panties. 

His breath shakes when he reaches your soaked folds. He traces your hole with his middle finger and your hips follow his movement, the pleasure so faint but so good that you flutter your eyes closed.

“Fuck, baby.” 

“Yeah, I need you. Need more,” you breathe out. “Can’t leave me like this, can you?”

Namjoon hums. “No, I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of this pussy.” 

He kisses you. Massages his tongue against yours. You buck your hips into his hand and Namjoon hears your body language. Takes his fingers up and rubs your swollen clit from side to side, quickening his pace as he swallows your moans down his throat. Gets angry at your tight leggings hindering him in giving you more, so he gets on his knees and swiftly pulls them down along with your underwear. 

“Sit on the counter.”

You comply right away. Namjoon takes your feet in his hands and gently removes your slippers, removing your garments fully so they don’t pool around your ankles. He needs your legs spread and he needs them spread wide for what he’s about to do to you. 

Torso long enough to reach you, he remains on his knees. Runs his hands up the back of your thighs to guide you into the position he wants you in. “Lock your arms around the back of your knees. Don’t let go.”

You do as he says, biting your lips in nervousness. Intertwine your hands together. Prepare yourself to die. 

Namjoon studies your dewy pussy, index and middle finger mimicking the letter V as he slides them up and down your folds, squeezing just right to hear you mewling. Your knees being so close together makes her look a lot more pillowy and you hear Namjoon breathe hard, absolutely hypnotized by the beauty of your flesh. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping down my hand.” He withdraws his fingers to show you how your slick trickles down the lines on his palm, changing the course of his life once and for all. 

Your clit throbs, breath matching his. “Please, Namjoon.”

He curses inaudibly. Brings his fingers back down to your folds, squeezes your lips and your clit together. Hisses at the sweet whimpery sounds spilling out of your mouth. Presses tighter so you whine needily for him. Takes you into his mouth when he accomplished what he wanted, tonguing your clit in slow agonizing circles that has you buckling your hips again. Puts his hands on your thighs to keep you down, flicking fast to absolutely abuse the fuck of you. Dragon eyes zeroing on yours, he gives you the hypnosis that your pussy did to him as he sucks on your bundle of nerves. You can’t even scream. Can’t breathe. The pleasure overwhelms you wholly and straps you down. There’s nothing you can do but take it. 

You come hard on his tongue. Namjoon laps it all up gladly. And when he’s finished, he stands up and slips those two digits that ruined you into your hole. Doesn’t move them. Lets you adjust instead.

“One more,” he mutters. “Please.”

You nod.

“Use your words or we’re stopping.”

You groan and close your eyes, your thighs visibly shaking in your iron grip from your orgasm. “Yes, Namjoon, one more. I’ll come for you.”

Namjoon places a wet kiss on your thigh to praise you, and to thank you as well. Begins to move his fingers promptly, but can’t seem to get enough of your skin. Proceeds to make it shiny with his liquid love, sucking it to bruise you. To remember this moment a little more fondly in the morning. 

Creating a trail up to the back of your knee, his digits pick up the speed. The pool of slick you left in his palm sloshes with each rapid thrust of his hand. He looks back at you and sees you lost in the pleasure, eyes lidded and unfocused. “Look at me.” 

You do, weakly.

“Just a little bit more and I’ll fuck you, all right?”

You’re about to nod, but decide against it. “Mhm, yes, Namjoon, fuck.” 

He smiles down at you. Your relief inches closer. “I’m so proud of you for speaking up today. For letting me know.” 

You could cry right now. Because of his fingers making you feel so good. Because of his kindness making you feel so safe. It all closes in on you and you whimper. 

Abruptly, Namjoon unravels your grip on your knees and kisses you, tongue slipping in. You come all over his hand, without meaning to, and he doesn’t stop. On the contrary, Namjoon fucks you harder. Takes all four of his fingers and strums your clit, prolonging your orgasm, swallowing down all of your moans. 

“Come on.”

Namjoon helps you down. If it weren’t for his arms holding you steady, you would’ve collapsed on the floor. Your legs shake, muscles taut and tense. 

“I got you.”

Sat on the floor with his joggers and boxers pulled beneath his crotch, he pulls you down on his lap. A wisp of precum adorns his tip and you wrap your hand around it, collecting it with your thumb. Watch him as you swirl your tongue around the digit before sucking on it, letting go with an obscene pop. Namjoon licks his lips, hands clasping your hips hard enough to bruise you. Twitches in your other hand.

“Don’t fucking do that to me, baby.” 

You laugh almost inaudibly, drunk on him. “Are you gonna come in me?” 

He replaces your hand, holding his length at the base for you to sink down. And you do, gasping softly at his thickness. Your dewiness helps it to be a smooth ride.

“Gonna pump you full. Leave you dripping,” he promises, voice restrained. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll remember it for the rest of your life.” 

One thing about Namjoon, he’s a man of his word. 

Seated perfectly on him, he waits for you to adjust. Alleviates the tremble of your thighs with his palms, massaging the muscles. Takes off your shirt and flings it across the kitchen. Gropes your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You start to grind on him, throwing your head back. He latches onto your nipple and flicks the nub with his tongue. You lose your mind, leaking down his balls. 

“Ready?” he asks against the fullness of your breast. 

“Yeah, fuck me, Joon.” 

He thrusts into you once to watch you fall apart. Locks your arms behind your back. Grabs your forearms for his use.

“You forgot something.”

He thrusts again, harder this time.

“What?” you breathe out, meekly. 

“What word do you use when you want to ask for something?”

He watches you as you work it out in your brain. Fucks into you three more times, equally hard, to disrupt you. 

“Fuck, sorry. Please, Joon, please.”

He grinds, hips rotating in circles. 

“Uh-huh, that’s right. Now use it.” 

Namjoon envelops your tit in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your areola. Sucking. Keeping up the agonizing pace. Groaning when you clench down on him. 

“Please, hmph, fuck me.”

Your breast bounces back when he lets go, biting his lip. “Knew you could do it,” he coos. “Smart fucking girl.” 

He begins to fuck you properly. Thrusting up and down as he holds you steady, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As he takes control of your squirming, leaving his fingerprints on your forearms and waist. You’re breathless, whimpering, on the verge of sobbing. So turned on and needy for him that the emotions brim in you, threatening to spill over. 

“Aren’t you?” Namjoon continues. “Aren’t you a smart girl?” 

You nod, knowing exactly what he wants to hear. “I’m a smart girl.” 

He spanks your ass to reward you and you arch your back. Tits all in his face. He’s mesmerized watching them bounce and nearly slap against each other, nubs hard and pointed. He licks them up, flicking them with his tongue. You round your shoulders a little in pleasure, his strong grip not letting you fold like your body wants. 

“That’s right. So smart and good for me. So fucking wet. Making me lose my mind.”

Namjoon kisses you. Inhales you. Withdraws only for a mere second before he’s back, tongue in, toying with you the way you like it. You feel your relief calling your name.

“Namjoon, I’m so fucking close. I’m so close. I’m gonna come,” you whine, forehead pressed against his, face twisted in ecstasy.

Namjoon stops out of the blue and slips out of you. You whine loudly, but before you know it, he carries you to the couch and lays you down on it. Takes off all of his clothes until only his silver chain remains, shining bright in the dim light. He spreads your legs, one limb over the backrest, the other around his thigh. Grips his length and tugs at it a few times, the feeling of your wetness making him slippery pulling moan after moan out of him. 

He enters you again and resumes his fast pace, holding your calf in his hand. “Smart girls come on the couch, not on the floor like whores. You got that?” 

You nod almost too eagerly, fucked out beyond measure. “Yes, Joon, please make me come. Please, come here.” 

Namjoon leans towards you, propping his elbows by your head, cradling you. “I’m here. I’m gonna make you come.” 

From this angle, he fucks you more deeply than before, his tip reaching your cervix. You roll your eyes back, but bring them right back to his face when his chain taps you on the chin. You find it so hot that you grind your hips against his, meeting his thrusts, encouraging him to fuck you harder. The chain meets you in erratic staccatos and you scratch your nails down his bare back, the sword-like pendant hurting you in a way that you like. 

Namjoon notices. Slows down his movements. Pinches the chain from the back of his neck. Prompts you to lift your head and slides it over, letting it rest in the middle of your breasts. Then fucks you back into the couch.  

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna breed you. Hm. You want that, don’t you?”

The cord tightens in your lower belly. The bulge of where his tip is hitting you nudges him in his stomach and he looks down. Curses. 

“Look.” 

You follow his eyes and moan. “Namjoon, Namjoon, please come in me. I’m so close. Wanna feel you. Please.” 

He grunts, nodding his head. Licks his fingertips and presses them against your clit. Pleasures you in fast and swift jerks until you’re knocking your head back. Only when he grabs your jaw and kisses you does the cord snap, his lips being your ultimate undoing. 

Namjoon presses you down with his body, keeps you calm and collected. Kisses you all through it, your jaw, your neck, your cheeks. Then his thrusts turn sloppy and his cock twitches in you. He gives you one final hard thrusts and fills you up, groaning against your mouth.

You’re smoothing down the sting of your scratches on his back when he pulls out of you and his cum drips out of you. You wish you could see what he sees, hand on his mouth, careful to catch his drool. You push out more for him and he curses, fondling your pussy with his thumb before he pumps it back in. 

He comes back to you and kisses you. Fixes your hair. Caresses your cheek. Helps you stand on your feet as he leads you into the shower. Washes every inch of your body, heedful of the bruises he left on the back of your thigh. Lathers your hair in your favorite shampoo. Wraps you in a towel. Wanted to moisturize your body, but you told him off, knowing both of you would get horny again. You let him brush your hair, though, placing a comb in his hand. He’s gentle as he undoes the knots, then he blowdries your hair. 

And you do the same for him.

Once the pillow touches your cheeks, you’re both out like a light. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part one)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

author’s note thank you to this anon!! this fic deviates from canon. timeline is s2 when rafe is at his most unhinged.

» masterlist

disclaimer there is no explicit s/xual assault scene in this story, but it is referenced and the trauma that comes with surviving it is explored. it is committed by an original character. when writing this, i pulled from personal experience, so please be mindful that if you comment, do not engage in any victim-blaming as it is triggering to me and others.

·········

In a single harrowing moment, you’ve learned that there’s truth to the expression that the enemy of your enemy can be your friend.

Rafe looks all too comfortable holding a gun. The rage coursing through you is deafening, persuading you that the person he’s pointing it at deserves to die.

And then, you utter the words rising in your throat.

“Do it.”

╰┈➤ two days earlier

Your shifts at the country club are a repetitive motion of driving over the golf course’s hills, handing the island’s wealthiest people their overpriced drinks, and accepting their money with a fake smile.

The job was always a predictable bore. Until a week ago, when you started seeing a familiar face.

The moment Rafe’s eyes landed on you and he realized that one of the Pogues he revels in berating is the new cart girl, his lips twitched into a smirk.

Every time you see him, he does the same thing. He orders a beer and says here you go, sweetheart when he tips you.

It’s always a fifty. No other club member gives you nearly this much. It’s like he loves reminding you that this type of money is pocket change to him.

Every time you serve him, you subdue your glare and take the crisp bill that sits between his fingers, wondering why even though the man is an arrogant asshole, you can’t stop staring at him.

You feel weak for not hating him all the way. You can’t help that over the years of your tense, sporadic interactions, a part of you has always wondered if he feels the same pull of attraction that you do.

You have to remind yourself of who he is. A man committed to letting everyone know how much better he thinks he is because he was lucky enough to be born into money. He’s heartless. And you can’t wait for the day that you finally rid yourself of this fixation you have for him.

It’s a sunny Thursday afternoon at the end of a long shift and you’re parked by one of the paved pathways on the course, recording your last transaction in your logbook.

You hear the familiar whirring of a cart passing by. It stops. You don’t think much of it until you hear his voice.

“We’ll take two beers,” he calls from behind the steering wheel. You look up to see him. Rafe.

“I’m obviously off duty,” you reply curtly, looking between him and his friend.

“What, so you can write in your diary, but you can’t give us some drinks?” he calls.

“It’s a logbook,” you reply coldly. “It’s called having–”

You flatten your lips together, trying to control yourself.

“Having…?” he challenges. The mocking tone of his voice is what makes you snap.

“A job,” you reply. “Not everyone can live off of daddy’s money.”

Rafe huffs a laugh, a wisp of amusement flashing on his face.

“Careful, Pogue,” he says. “What’ll your boss say if he knows that’s how you’re talking to me?”

“I’m off the clock, Kook,” you say the label with the same vitriol. “I can talk however I want.”

You close your book and start up your cart before he can irritate you any more. Even though there’s something aggravatingly magnetic about him, you refuse to allow him to taunt you any longer.

·········

You meet up with your friends on the beach that evening, zoning out as the three of them chatter around you, passing a joint you brought.

You stare ahead at the soft waves under the setting sun, thinking of Rafe’s cold stare, thinking of the smirk he seems to always have etched on his face reserved especially for you, thinking of how you wish your body would catch up with your mind because how can you dislike somebody this much but also be so attracted to them?

“Who’s your plug?” JJ asks, seemingly impressed. He pulls you out of your daze as he passes you the joint. Smoke curls out of the end of it, twisting in the wind.

“That guy, Porter,” you say flatly. You take a puff, thinking back to the shaggy-haired Kook who approached you at a party on the north side of the island the other night, offering you half the price on your first buy.

He also tried to convince you to try something harder, but you told him you’re sticking to pot. You weren’t about to get hooked on coke, especially not because a drug-dealing Kook wants to take more of your money.

You continue to stare ahead, passing the joint along.

“What a trust fund kid name,” JJ laughs. “Fuckin’ Porter.”

Your friends chuckle around you, but you continue to stare ahead.

“Hard day at the office?” he says in response to your absentmindedness. You meet JJ’s gaze, shaking your head as if to dismiss your own thoughts.

“Rafe is such an asshole,” you say.

“What’d he do this time?” Pope asks. Your friends await your response, already well aware of your history with the bullshit you’ve ever had to deal with at work lately.

“He said something about ratting me out to my boss for talking back to him,” you reply. You scoff, getting mad all over again. You need to pull yourself out of this funk. “Whatever. All I do is complain about him. He’s not worth it. This is the last time you’ll ever hear me talk about him. I mean it.”

You make an effort to join in your friends’ conversations, feeling guilty that you’re so spaced out. With parents who never give you much attention at all, the guys surrounding you are your family. Your brothers. They deserve better than to hear you ramble on about Rafe.

Rafe’s eyes travel over the silhouettes sitting along the darkening shoreline when he arrives at the beach with his friends.

It’s the sound of his pick-up truck’s door shutting that gets your attention. You look over your shoulder. Then, you glance away, indifference on your face.

It pisses him off. Rafe has always craved what he can’t have. Power. Self-control. You. Every time he talks to you, you act like he’s such a bother, a sharp thorn in your side.

You get under his skin. And he’s never wanted a girl this bad. A goddamn Pogue of all people. Something about you lures him in. It makes him want to see what really lies behind the irritation that burns in your eyes every time he speaks to you.

He needs to crack your armor. And he has always loved a challenge.

As the beach populates, the division between the Kooks and the Pogues is clear, as if an invisible line is drawn in the sand. He stays on his side, you stay on yours.

When night falls, you and your friends have all smoked through the entire joint, and you’re a bit buzzed but not nearly as high as you’d like to be.

You spot Porter by the shoreline, drinking with his friends, and dust the sand off your knees when you stand up.

“I’m gonna go buy some more,” you say to your friends.

“Going into enemy territory?” JJ asks.

“It’s nothing new to me,” you laugh. “I work in enemy territory, remember?”

“You need company? Or cash?” John B asks.

“All good. My treat,” you say. “I’m loaded with tips.”

You don’t mention that a majority of the money in your pocket is from Rafe.

As you approach the boisterous group, you cross your arms and feign confidence. In reality, being around these types has always put you on edge.

Kooks give off a sense of invincibility, almost impunity, like predators at the top of the food chain, perpetually safe from harm and always on the brink of inflicting it.

You notice Rafe’s stare on you from his place in the large group and your stomach twists. Your eyes flit off of him and you wonder how it’s possible to wish someone would stay away but also so deeply crave they’d come closer.

Truthfully, within the tangled way he makes you feel, you’re kind of scared of Rafe, too. He’s reckless and unpredictable. And yet, that side of him excites you. There’s a complexity to him that has an inescapable effect on you.

“You holding?” you ask Porter once you approach him. He’s one of the few Kooks you don’t mind so much. He doesn’t have the cold air of arrogance that you’re so used to.

“It’s good shit, isn’t it?” he says with a smile. “How much you want?”

You leaf through the bills in your hand.

“Just a joint,” you say. The waves crash behind you, almost drowning your voice out. You make the exchange and push through the crowd, eager to get back to your friends.

You thought you managed to get away without any complications, but two words stop you.

“You lost?”

You turn to see Rafe, overwhelming heat rushing through you as he closes the distance between you, towering over you as the breeze brushes his hair over his forehead.

“What, ‘cause I’m on your side of the beach?” you mutter. “Grow up.”

Rafe smirks. He gets such a kick out of fucking with the Pogues. Especially you.

“Is that what you’re spending my tips on?” he asks, eyes darting down to the joint in your hand.

“Yeah,” you answer. “You can tell your father I say thanks.”

Rafe’s mouth curls into a bigger smile. When he looks at you like that, like he wants to be around you, you wonder if he secretly enjoys your company.

“How long you been buying from him?” Rafe asks.

“Why?” you say. The way you glare at him makes every muscle in his body tense. He’d be an idiot to deny how attracted he is to you. “You gonna tell my boss?”

“It was a fucking joke,” he mutters with a laugh. “You Pogues all have sticks up your asses, I swear.”

You grit your teeth. He’s clearly pleased when he riles you up like this. You don’t understand how somebody could be so spiteful.

“What do you want, Rafe?” you say.

Silence settles between you, the chattering of people on either side of the beach intertwined in the air, an overlap of worlds far apart. He reminds himself that he has something important to ask you.

“Did he offer you anything else?” he says. You’ve already heard the gossip about how Rafe’s selling coke now. He must want to offer you a better price.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” you reply. Rafe scoffs, his tongue jutting under his cheek as he takes you in.

“I’d never sell to you.”

You huff a flat chuckle. You’re tired of his juvenile obsession with the class divide that sits between you.

“So, I’m good enough to serve you drinks, but not good enough to buy your drugs?”

You feel a sick sense of satisfaction when his face hardens with anger. For a second, you worry that you’re just as spiteful as he is, that you’re no better than him.

Rafe scoffs. He’s seen what coke does to people. To himself. He refuses to see it happen to you. But of course you expect the worst of him. Like everyone else does.

“Did he offer you anything else or not?” Rafe repeats with a note of irritation.

“Why?” you sputter.

“I need to know if he’s trying to steal from me.”

Rafe refuses to be in competition with anyone. Other Kooks can sell weed all they want, but coke is his territory, and if he has to claim his territory, so be it. He’s heard rumblings that Porter’s expanded his offerings now. And Rafe isn’t going to let him fuck him over.

“He did,” you finally answer. “Coke. He said it’s the purest on the island.”

He only nods tersely, lips twisting in frustration, before he turns around and storms away from you. So, that’s all he wanted from you. Information.

“You’re welcome,” you half-shout. Curiosity pulls you in as your eyes follow him into the crowd. Sure enough, Rafe pushes Porter to the ground, shouting indistinctly, earning jeers from the crowd.

It’s typical. Nearly every time you see Rafe out socially, he’s yelling and fighting someone. You walk back to your friends, hoping you can shake off the feeling he left you with.

·········

The only thing getting you through your shift the next day is that tomorrow is a holiday. The night of the Fourth of July is an escape from the stresses of your life, an excuse to get wasted with your friends under the fireworks and let yourself drift off into oblivion.

After you clock out, you’re pacing through the country club’s bar when you hear your name called from the patio. You look to see Porter sitting at a table with a couple of friends, his smile wide.

“Didn’t know you worked here,” he says when you approach.

“Yeah, I’m a server on the course,” you explain. You almost expect him to ignorantly ask for a drink, but have to remind yourself that he’s not like Rafe.

“How is it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Come on, we won’t tell,” Porter chuckles. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“Only sometimes,” you reply with a laugh. “Depends on the day. And on the person I’m dealing with.”

“Fair enough,” he says. He pulls out his phone, punching in the password. “I meant to tell you last night that you should have my number. You know, for when you need to stock up.”

You take his phone, cluing in that he’s making himself more accessible to you for the next time you need to buy from him. As you text yourself his name, one of the men at the table motions to Porter.

“Bro,” his friend says, gaze trained ahead. Porter looks past you to the bar and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Can’t escape him,” he sighs.

You follow his eyeline to spot Rafe at the bar with a friend, dark liquor sitting in the glass he’s holding.

“Not a fan?” you ask.

“Is anyone?” Porter laughs. “He’s a nutcase.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” his friend murmurs.

“Yeah, he’ll kill you,” the other guy laughs.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Porter replies.

Your eyes linger on Rafe a second longer than they need to. Your curiosity for why he’s the way he is is like a flame that won’t burn out. He has everything he could possibly want. Why is he so mean?

“Yeah,” is all you can say. You turn around again and give Porter his phone back.

“Oh, there’s a party at my beach house tomorrow night. My neighbor does this crazy fireworks thing every year,” he tells you. “I’ll text you the address.”

You nod appreciatively, glad that at least some of the rich people you deal with don’t buy into the idea that you’re beneath them.

·········

It’s nearing nine p.m. when you make it to the beach house the next night. The guys are rambling on behind you as you step inside the massive, humid house, filled with chattering people and loud music.

“Where are your car keys?” Pope asks.

“Right here,” JJ says, jingling them in front of his face. “Do I need to show you every five minutes?”

“I’ll just take them,” Pope says, grabbing them and stuffing them in his pocket. “You can’t be trusted.”

“It was one time,” JJ says. You laugh as you think of last weekend when he’d lost his car keys at a party in the Cut.

“Yeah, and we had to search the sand for, like half an hour,” you remind him.

“You know what I’m not hearing?” JJ says. “A thank you for driving all the time.”

“Remind me, who actually drove last time?” John B asks. “And who was hurling in the backseat?”

JJ scratches the back of his neck.

“I’m a man of honor,” he says. “I’m not not going to chug when I’m told to chug.” His eyes fix on something across the room. “Speaking of…”

He heads towards the keg and you and Pope share a disapproving shake of your heads. You follow your friends, grabbing a solo cup and sipping on beer.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes with a text from Porter: You here? Want to buy?

You’ve already smoked through the joint you bought two nights ago and quickly reply: yes.

He texts: come upstairs.

“I’ll be right back,” you quickly tell your friends before you push through the crowd.

You duck under the string tied across the bottom of staircase, a sign that warns partygoers that it’s off limits hanging in the middle. One door is open in the upstairs hallway. You see Porter sitting on a bed, rolling a joint on a book that’s sitting in his lap.

“Hey. Got a fresh one for you,” he says.

“Thanks.” You dig into your pocket. “Same price?”

“Sure.” He cocks his head. “It’ll take a while. You can come in and chill.”

You sit at his desk close to the door, talking as he packs the thin white paper.

When he stands up, instead of giving the joint to you, he darts across the room abruptly. Your brows knit in confusion when he shuts the door, the loud music reduced to muffles now.

“What are you doing?” you ask, fear twisting your heart in a vise.

He must have read things wrong.

You assume he’ll stop when you tell him no.

He doesn’t.

·········

You fall to the hard floor. You grip the edge of the bed, hardly any light spilling into the room from the hallway as you blink rapidly to gain your bearings.

A loud slam was what woke you up. You don’t remember falling asleep. You don’t even know where you are.

Two shadowy figures stand on the other side of the room. One roughly pushes the other to the floor. You stay still, peeking over the bed. Your body is trembling with pain and you don’t know why.

“Do you think I’m joking?” a man spits.

You know that voice. It’s Rafe.

“Dude, relax,“ the man on the floor says.

You might be sick. It’s Porter on the floor, whimpering like an idiot. You remember why your body is aching now.

He hurt you. He hurt you and you retreated into your mind and you fell unconscious. A cold swirl of anger and disgust and sadness twists your stomach into a knot.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking way,” Rafe shouts. “Where’s your stash?”

“In the desk,” Porter says quietly. “Just take it. I’ll stick to selling weed, okay? You have my word.”

You watch from the floor, Rafe’s broad figure leaning to pull open drawers and shove items off the desk, objects clattering on the floor in the dark. They don’t know you’re here.

Consciousness slowly grips you. Rafe confronted him about selling coke. He told him to stop. And Porter didn’t listen.

Your eyes flood with hot tears. He didn’t listen to you, either.

You just want to leave. To get out of this horrifying room. To figure out how to put yourself back together after surviving one of the worst ways a person can break another.

Loud fireworks abruptly crack in the sky, startling you, shining light in through the window. And that’s when you see it. Porter is by the other side of the bed, still on the floor, and in his raised hand, something is gleaming.

A gun.

“Rafe!” Your throat is dry, sore from the way you’d screamed.

He suddenly turns towards you, confusedly finding your face across the room. Then, his gaze snaps down at Porter. He notices the gun. And he lunges.

You stand on shaky knees as you watch Rafe land vicious punches, every blow making Porter groan.

“Gonna pull a gun when my back is turned, pussy?” Rafe bellows. “Really?”

You round the bed, staring in horror, your mind still in fragmented shambles. You’d told Porter to stop so many times and every strike of Rafe’s knuckles against his jaw gives you a jolt of satisfaction, a desire for him to suffer more.

He was never a nice guy. He’s just like all of them. A predator.

Rafe scrambles to his feet, heavily breathing as fireworks continue their pops and sizzles over the beach.

The gun is in his hand now. His heart is thrumming, his blood boiling hot. He could’ve died. If you didn’t call his name, he could’ve lost his life.

Rafe’s steady and firm, holding the weapon still, a sharp contrast to how hard you’re shaking.

“Do it,” you say. Rafe’s eyes finds yours, his lips parted, blood splattered on his face. It’s not his. Porter didn’t land any punches. Rafe beat him that badly.

“What?” Porter cries. “Are you insane?”

He’s staring up at both of you through wide eyes as the barrel of the gun remains directed at him. You imagine how terrifying you must look to him, standing over him in the dim room with his pathetic life in your hands.

“Me?” you mutter. Hatred courses through your veins when you glare at him as he lies on his side, bloodied and weak.

The power has shifted into your hands. He was the one looking down at you earlier, hurting you. And now that your body is yours again, you don’t hesitate to kick him in the stomach.

He grunts when you make contact, his body curling forward.

Rafe watches, rendered speechless. He thought he’d seen you angry before. He hasn’t. This is new. This is pure rage. This is a level of wrath he didn’t know you were capable of.

Even through the darkness, Rafe can see that your eyes are shiny with tears when you turn your head to look at him again.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” you snap, your words dripping with agony and rage. “If you don’t do it, I will.”

Rafe is powerless against the angry, malevolent instinct that’s guided him all his life. He doesn’t think.

The blow of the gun cuts through the air.

Your breath catches.

And he’s just a body. Lifeless on the floor. Gone.

You look up at Rafe. Your chests are heaving, broken and shaky breaths spilling out of your mouths. The colors lighting up the night sky tint your tear-streaked face. He’s never seen agony personified. He has now.

You glance down at Porter again. His mouth is agape. His eyes are shut. Forever. Forever.

“Oh, my God,” you whimper. Hot tears fall over your cheeks so quickly that you fear they’ll never stop. The adrenaline escapes you like water spinning down a drain, replaced with a bottomless dread.

Rafe realizes he’s still pointing the gun. He lowers his arm, his palm sweating against the grip. He had to do it. He had to. He didn’t know that taking a life would feel this good. He doesn’t feel a shred of regret or remorse. For once, he has real power.

But then he watches the way you sink down to the floor.

“What did we…” you whisper, words rushed. “What did we do? Rafe, what did we do?”

There’s a dead body next to you. Cold permeates your bones. You know it’s the type of chill that will never leave you.

Rafe kneels in front of you. The gun hits the floor with a heavy thump. The air smells like gunpowder, fried and smoking. He’s trying to meet your eyes, but your gaze is skittering around as you sit, crumpled and trembling.

“Hey,” he says clearly.

You’re staring at the ground, your breaths shallow.

“Hey,” he repeats louder. Finally, you look at him. “It was self-defense.”

You nod weakly, processing how within a second, you’ve tangled yourselves together into a knot that you can never unravel. Rafe pulled the trigger, but you told him to. And you’re sure you would’ve done it yourself if Rafe didn’t. You’re murderers.

Rafe’s hand is an inch away from you, almost putting it on yours, almost touching someone with tenderness instead of anger for once. You saved his life. You loathe him, but you saved his life, reacting in a split second.

“Why were you even up here?” he asks.

“Just be glad I was,” you say, hoping it’s enough to satisfy him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he mumbles. “Thank you.”

If you weren’t so shellshocked, you’d laugh. You never expected Rafe to have manners, and you never expected that if he did, it’d be a show of gratitude for helping him kill somebody.

Nausea pools in your gut at the reminder of why you were so angry. Did Porter plan it? Did he always have his sights set on you, like a vulture circling the sky, ready to attack?

What happened earlier tonight flashes through your mind. He deserved to die. He did something unforgivable. He said things about how girls always do this, they always tease but never give it up.

You didn’t just save Rafe. You saved all the girls who were fated to cross that monster’s path. You pushed a soul to its death, but it was one not worthy of life.

Rafe stares at you as you blink rapidly, your mind clearly racing.

“He rip you off or something?” he asks, at a loss for why you’d encourage him to pull the trigger.

Of course Rafe thinks it’s about money. That’s all that matters to him.

“Yeah,” you lie, voice cracking. You can’t tell him. You can’t relive it. Especially with someone who you know is cold-blooded. Someone who might blame you for coming up to this bedroom in the first place.

Tease. Porter called you a tease while you pleaded for him to stop. You drop your head in your hands, chest stuttering with your breathy cries, remembering how he’d hurt you.

Rafe stares at you, confused, wondering how you could be so angry and vengeful and ruthless, just to regret it a second after the bullet left the chamber.

“We had to do it,” he states.

“I know,” you tell him. You wipe your cheeks with your palms, well aware that he could never understand why you’re really crying. “We’ll just tell the truth.”

He shakes his head at you.

“Tell who the truth?” Rafe mutters, his stare hard. “We’re not telling anybody.”

Your breath shakes. He wants to hide this. To try to get away with it.

“What if someone heard the gunshot?” you murmur.

“Everyone’s outside,” he says. “And those stupid fireworks are so fucking loud. Nobody could tell the difference.”

You wipe your face again, considering his words. Your phone is buzzing in your pocket. Someone’s calling you. Surely one of your friends. Why didn’t you just tell them where you were going? Why didn’t you just have one of them come upstairs with you?

Impatience quickly rises in Rafe while you stay silent.

“I almost knocked him out the other night,” he says. “In front of everyone. You think backing me up would be enough for anyone to believe I was protecting myself?”

You chew on your bottom lip anxiously. Rafe has a reputation for being violent. Porter put up a front that he was a nice guy. His friends even said right in front of you that Rafe would kill him. Who’d believe that Porter actually pointed a gun first?

Besides, if you vouched for him, who’s to say they’d trust you? They could spin it and say Rafe paid off a Pogue to lie for him.

“And then the cops would dig and find out it was over coke,” Rafe sputters. “It’d be a fucking mess. We’re not telling anybody.”

He’s right. Confessing wouldn’t do you any good, either. It could go sideways and you could never afford a good lawyer.

Nobody deserves to be punished for taking down the evil, lifeless man lying on the floor. Not you. Not even Rafe. You won’t take the risk.

You gaze into Rafe’s eyes, finding comfort in the striking blue hue for the first time, feeling a newfound sense of loyalty to him.

He gave you vengeance in a world that would never punish the man who hurt you. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you whisper. “What do we do now?”

“We get rid of the body.”

next >

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[afireintheflame]

POV Missing Your LaDs Guy

I was inspired by another creator’s writing about scents and wearing items of clothing that belong to your LI. I will tag the creator when I find the original post!

I’m gonna try and do a multi-fic post but my fics tend to be on the longer side about these men (^_^; I can’t stop myself from wanting to say more!

TW: Smut light, scent based triggers

Pairings: Rafayel X Reader and Sylus X Reader

If you guys like them I’ll definitely try and write ones for Caleb, Zayne, and Xavier

Reblogs appreciated ❤️

Rafayel 🐟🔥🎨🛁

Rafayel was never too busy for his favorite cutie—but every now and then, even you couldn’t pull him away from his work. This time, Thomas had made it crystal clear: Rafayel had to be at his next gallery showing, no excuses. It was outside of Linkon, and unfortunately, you couldn’t take the time off to go with him. So, in classic dramatic fashion, the two of you parted ways with Rafayel pouting like a child, insisting he should just kidnap you for the next two weeks. And honestly? The idea was tempting. But after the last gala—where you both got a little too drunk and made a bit too much of a scene—you couldn’t risk him getting on Thomas’s bad side again.

Still, that didn’t stop him from sulking all the way to the airport, one hand in yours, the other gripping his sketchpad like it was an emotional support canvas.

“I should just cancel the whole thing,” he muttered as you reached his terminal. “Tell Thomas I had a spiritual awakening and need to stay home for artistic reasons. Maybe something involving paint fumes and divine visions.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how would that explain the flight and hotel already booked in your name?”

“I’ll tell him I was possessed. By a muse. You.” He shot you a grin, though it was soft around the edges.

The first boarding call echoed, and his fingers curled a little tighter around yours before he pressed something into your palm.

You looked down. His keys.

“The studio’s yours while I’m gone,” he said. “Sleep in the bed, paint on the walls, eat the cookies I definitely didn’t burn. Just don’t fall in love with anyone else while I’m away.”

You stared at the keys, your throat catching a little. “You said your studio was sacred.”

He smiled, cupping your cheek. “Exactly.”

A final boarding call cut through the moment, and you rose up to kiss him—slow and steady, like it might be the last quiet moment for a while.

“Go,” you whispered. “Before I let you kidnap me.”

He groaned, dramatic as ever, but he turned and walked away—backward for the first few steps just to keep you in sight. One last blown kiss. One last wink. And then he disappeared into the crowd.

The next day, you let yourself into his studio by the sea.

The place was exactly as he’d left it, warm with sunlight and bursting with Rafayel’s strange, vibrant energy. The smell hit you first—not just the ocean, which lived in the air like a heartbeat, but him. Salt and fire. Burnt matches and shells ground into paint. Every pigment he mixed carried something of the beach outside—chalky whites from crushed sand dollars, deep blues born from tide-worn glass, and the faint tang of salt in everything he touched.

You slipped off your shoes and padded across the cool floorboards, letting the space wrap around you. The walls were cluttered with art—some chaotic and bold, some so intimate it almost felt wrong to look. His easel stood in the center of the room like an altar, canvas still wet with whatever he’d been working on last.

The cookies were there too. On the counter. Slightly overbaked and left beneath a note that read: If they taste weird, blame love. Or the fact I was thinking about your thighs again.

You laughed quietly, then wandered toward the stack of canvases leaning against the far wall, drawn by some invisible thread. One by one, you sifted through them. Landscapes. Abstract bursts of emotion. A few commissions.

And then—you.

Moments you hadn’t even realized he’d been capturing. You curled up in his favorite cardigan, the soft wool bunched around your wrists. You leaning on the balcony rail, lost in thought. You, laughing, hair a mess, eyes squinted from too much sun.

And one… unfinished. Just your face. Quiet. Real. No dramatics. No posing.

You traced the edge of the frame with your fingertips, heart full and aching all at once.

Rafayel may have been halfway across the country—but somehow, he’d left a thousand pieces of himself behind.

You moved through the studio like a quiet tide, your fingers brushing over tabletops, paint jars, the curve of an empty teacup beside a half-sketched landscape. The silence wasn’t lonely—it was heavy with him, as if Rafayel had only just stepped out to grab something from the beach and would be back any second, cardigan flaring behind him, curls tousled by the wind.

You wandered deeper into the space, passing his neatly folded scarves on a chair, the faint scent of sandalwood and sea lingering in the air. Then you stepped into the bathroom—and stopped.

His bathtub.

If the studio was sacred, the bathtub was its hidden chapel. You’d teased him about how seriously he treated it—how he called it “a portal to another plane” after long painting sessions. But standing there now, you understood.

The soft light through the frosted windows. The mosaic tile around the edges, each tiny piece hand-placed, many painted by Rafayel himself. And nestled all along the side of the tub—your favorite bath bombs, oils, and soaps. Sea-salt lavender. Rose quartz shimmer. The one that smelled like warm citrus and driftwood. He’d remembered them all.

A note sat propped against a jar of soaking salts, written in his looping, dramatic script:

“In case you miss me too much—these all smell like me. Or at least, like the version of me who wants you to relax, feel adored, and remember that even if I’m away, I’m still absolutely obsessed with you. Use them. Soak. Pretend I’m sitting beside the tub reading you weird poetry. (I probably am, spiritually speaking.)”

You laughed softly, brushing a thumb over the edge of the paper. Trust Rafayel to turn a simple bath into something holy. You could already imagine it—his voice echoing off the tiles, reciting Lemurian poems or something ridiculous he made up on the spot, one hand swirling the water lazily as he watched you with those knowing, stormy eyes.

Maybe tonight, you’d light the candles.

Maybe tonight, you’d let yourself miss him just a little more.

You sank into the bath with a sigh, the water turning silky as your favorite bath bomb fizzed and dissolved, releasing soft floral notes and a shimmer of warmth that clung to your skin. The scent reminded you of him—salt and citrus, something wild and thoughtful all at once. You closed your eyes and leaned back, letting the water hold you the way his arms used to.

For a while, you just breathed. Let the quiet hum of the sea outside wrap around you like a lullaby. You could almost hear him reading beside you, voice low, words floating somewhere between poetry and seduction.

Time blurred.

Eventually, the water cooled, and you stepped out, skin flushed and wrapped in the oversized towel he always called your “personal cloud.” You padded barefoot through the studio, glowing from warmth and the kind of peace only Rafayel could conjure—even from miles away.

You made your way to his bed—round, queen-sized, draped in soft linen sheets that always smelled faintly of cedar and the sea. The windows stretched around it in a half-moon curve, offering a perfect view of the ocean below. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting streaks of gold and blush across the waves. You curled onto the bed, damp hair trailing across his pillow, watching the tide shimmer under the setting sun.

It was impossible not to think of him here.

He’d said it once, half-asleep with your legs tangled in his and his hand resting over your heartbeat: “You were always meant for the ocean. The way you move, the way you feel. That saltwater kind of beauty. Untamed, but gentle. Just like the tide.”

At the time, you’d rolled your eyes, teased him for being dramatic. But now, with the sea glowing outside and his scent still on the sheets—you finally understood what he meant.

Maybe you were meant for the ocean.

And maybe, in some strange, beautiful way… you’d been meant for him too.

The sky outside melted into shades of lavender and honey, the waves rolling in a steady rhythm like the breath of the world itself. You sank deeper into the bed, letting the ocean soothe the ache in your chest—but it wasn’t quite enough. Not without him.

The sheets were still warm from the sun, but you missed his warmth. His weight. His presence. You sat up slowly, eyes drifting toward the worn armchair near the window where he always draped his cardigans.

One was still there.

You rose and crossed the room, fingers brushing over the soft knit fabric before pulling it into your arms. It was his favorite—cream with a blue and red argile pattern woven through it, smelling faintly of his cologne and sea salt. You slipped it on, sleeves too long, shoulders wide and comforting, like being wrapped in him.

As you settled back into bed, something crinkled beneath the pillow.

Frowning, you reached underneath and pulled out a small audio recorder. Simple. Classic Rafayel.

There was a little sticker on the front. A doodle of a seashell and a tiny note scrawled beneath it in his loopy, artistic handwriting:

“Play when the sea isn’t enough.”

Your heart jumped.

You clicked it on.

There was a moment of static, then his voice—low, warm, a little teasing, like he was speaking from just over your shoulder.

"Hey, my cutie. If you're hearing this, it means I’m not beside you—which, frankly, is a crime against romance and art and probably international law, but we’ll let that slide for now."

You smiled, heart clenching.

"I know you’re probably curled up in my bed right now, wearing one of my cardigans, looking like some soft ocean spirit that wandered in from the tide. I hope you took a bath. If not—pause this and go. Seriously. I left you the good stuff."

A pause. A soft breath.

"I just… I didn’t want you to feel alone in the silence. Not here. Not in a space that knows you almost as well as I do."

"Every brushstroke, every color I mix—there’s you in all of it. You’re not just my muse. You’re the whole damn palette."

Another pause. Softer now.

"So rest. Watch the sea. Wear my cardigan till it smells like you. And when I get back, I’ll paint the sunset exactly how you looked tonight."

Static again. Then silence.

You held the recorder to your chest, eyes burning, Rafayel’s voice echoing in your mind like a lullaby pulled from the tide.

He wasn’t here—but he was everywhere. In the scent on your skin, in the rhythm of the waves, in the cardigan curled around your frame.

And in that moment, wrapped in him, you didn’t feel alone at all.

The room had gone dusky, shadows stretching long across the bed as the last light of day dipped below the horizon. You were still curled beneath his blankets, his cardigan wrapped around you like a second skin. The audio recorder sat beside you on the pillow, still warm from your grip, Rafayel’s voice lingering in your ears like an echo.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, thumb hovering for a moment before switching to the front camera. The soft golden light of the setting sun kissed your features. His cardigan hung off your frame, oversized and familiar, the sleeves bunched at your wrists. You looked like you belonged here—like you’d been painted into the moment.

You snapped the photo. No filter. No caption.

Then you opened your messages and typed slowly:

me:

goodnight, my fishie prince. the sea isn’t enough. come home soon.

You added the photo and hit send before you could overthink it.

Almost immediately, the little “typing…” bubble popped up.

Then:

rafayel:

cutie.

you’re lucky i didn’t see this before boarding or i would’ve turned around and let thomas sue me.

i’ll paint that look the second i’m back.

sleep in my spot tonight. dream of me. i’ll dream of you.

Your heart fluttered.

You tucked the phone to your chest, smiling as the waves outside rolled softly against the shore, steady and endless.

Maybe the sea wasn’t enough.

But the love he left behind in every corner of this place?

That was more than enough to hold you through the night.

The room had grown quiet, the hush of the sea outside the only sound as the last of the sun slipped beneath the horizon. You nestled deeper into his bed, tugging the cardigan tighter around your body. Your phone rested beside your pillow, his message still glowing faintly on the screen.

You turned it face-down.

Then let your eyes close.

Sleep didn’t come all at once—it arrived in slow waves, gentle and warm, like fingers combing through your hair.

And then, you were there again.

Back in the park, that first chilly autumn morning when he showed up with two cups of coffee and paint on his cheek, his hair wind swept in the breeze like some romantic mess of a man. He’d handed you the coffee with both hands and said, “I didn’t know what you liked, so I brought six sugar packets. I can be trained, though. Like a well-kept dog. Or a mildly feral raccoon.”

You laughed in your sleep.

Another memory bloomed—his studio, months later, when he let you smear paint across a fresh canvas just because you said you were curious. You’d made a mess. He’d kissed you anyway, paint in your hair, his hands on your waist, whispering, “There’s nothing more beautiful than watching you become part of my chaos.”

And then the beach.

The night you watched the stars together, wrapped in a blanket, his voice low and dreamy beside your ear as he told you stories about gods made of salt and women who controlled tides with their laughter. He said you were one of them—obviously.

Memory folded into memory like watercolor seeping into wet paper.

All of them vivid.

All of them soft.

And in every single one—Rafayel, smiling at you like you were the masterpiece he’d never be able to finish.

A week passed.

The studio had started to feel like a second skin. You knew where Rafayel kept his half-finished sketches, which mugs he favored for tea, which corner of the windowsill he always left cracked open for the salt breeze. You’d fallen asleep each night wrapped in his cardigan, surrounded by his scent and voice, lulled to sleep by waves and the low hum of his love lingering in every room.

But today—the silence buzzed with something new.

Anticipation.

The airport buzzed with the usual chaos—luggage wheels clattering, voices echoing off high glass ceilings, the dull murmur of announcements overhead. But none of it mattered. Your heartbeat had claimed your focus, drumming fast in your ears as you stood near the arrivals gate, scanning every passing figure with a quiet desperation you tried not to show.

Your phone buzzed.

rafayel:

Landing in 20. I expect dramatic eye contact across the arrivals gate. Maybe even a slow-motion run. Optional kiss. Mandatory swoon.

You laughed out loud, biting your bottom lip to keep from smiling too hard as you texted back:

you:

I’ll bring the swoon if you bring that paint-smudged artist look. Deal?

rafayel:

I’ve missed you so badly I’m considering doing the whole proposal-in-the-airport thing. But I’ll settle for holding your face and not letting go for ten full minutes.

The sun was just starting to dip by the time you reached the terminal, casting the glass walls in amber light. People bustled in every direction, voices echoing across tiled floors. But your eyes were only searching for one thing.

Then you saw him.

Moving through the crowd like he belonged on another plane of existence entirely.

The top buttons of his white shirt were undone, collar loose in that casually undone way that only he could pull off. His violet hair was tousled from the flight, a few strands falling into his blue-pink eyes—eyes that found you instantly, lighting up like a canvas catching first light.

You didn’t run.

But you moved.

And so did he.

He dropped his bag before he even reached you, closing the distance in a few quick strides. His hands found your face the second you were close enough, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, and he let out the breath he’d clearly been holding for days.

"Hi, cutie," he said, voice a little rough from travel, but still so unmistakably him. "God, I missed this face. No painting, no dream, no color came close."

You leaned into his touch, smiling so hard it almost hurt.

"You’re real," you whispered, and that was all it took—he pulled you in, wrapping his arms around you with that same warmth you'd been craving every night in his bed.

His cheek pressed against your hair, and you felt him smile.

"You kept my cardigan warm, didn’t you?"

"Every night."

"Good. Because now I need it to smell like you."

The arrivals gate faded away. The noise. The movement. Everything. It was just him, you, and the warmth between your bodies—finally closing the distance.

You didn’t head straight home.

Rafayel slipped his fingers between yours the second you stepped out of the airport, tugging you gently toward the coastal road. His bag was slung over one shoulder, shirt half-untucked, violet hair catching the fading light like brushstrokes in motion.

The car ride was quiet, peaceful.

He didn’t let go of your hand.

And when the beach came into view—the same stretch of sand you could see from his studio window—you pulled off onto the side, kicking off your shoes as he did the same.

The tide was low, the breeze soft and cool. Sunset spilled across the ocean in melted gold and dusky pinks, casting a glow over everything. Rafayel breathed in deep and closed his eyes for a moment, like he was letting the sea wash away the weight of time spent apart.

Then he looked at you.

Really looked.

“You’re glowing,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Did the sea take care of you while I was gone?”

You laughed softly. “It tried. But it wasn’t the same without you.”

He grinned, blue-pink eyes reflecting the sky. “You know,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a tiny, spiral shell, “I saw this and thought of you. Kept it with me the whole trip. It’s not much. But it was the only thing that reminded me of home.”

You took it gently, fingers brushing his. “I am home,” you whispered.

That made him pause—just long enough for emotion to flicker in his expression. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close, resting his forehead to yours.

“You know you were always a part of the ocean” he said softly. “But I think… I was meant for you.”

You stood there like that, the waves lapping at your feet, your bodies pressed together, hearts syncing in the salt-kissed silence. And as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, you let the moment settle between you—unspoken but understood.

Love didn’t always need grand gestures or fireworks.

Sometimes, it was as simple as a quiet return.

A cardigan left behind.

A beach at sunset.

And two people who chose each other, again and again.

—————————————————————————

Sylus 🐦‍⬛🐉🌹💥

It was rare that Sylus ever made you wait, especially on a date night. He’d hurriedly finish his business deals so he could relax into your embrace, but tonight this deal was different and unfortunately was bleeding into date night.

“I promise, kitten, I’ll make it up to you.”

You read the text, you knew he would but it still sucked waiting for him. You hadn’t seen each other in several weeks. The Association kept you busy with overseas missions, and Sylus was dealing with more unrest in the N109 zone as one of the crime heads had been taken into custody. Now, there were turf wars and shady dealings to see who would take over. Sylus naturally was targeted, being the leader of Onichynus, was anything but peaceful.

You missed him, his warmth, the smell of his cologne with a hint of gunpowder, your thoughts drifted as you wandered your shared bedroom. Before you realized it, you were standing in front of the walk-in closet. You opened the double doors and instantly gravitated to his jackets. You tenderly ran your fingers against the sleeves, the material soft and silky. He always had impeccable fashion sense, everything was either designer or professionally tailored, one of a kind for him. You grabbed your favorite jacket he would wear lazily over his broad shoulders. The black fabric embroidered with crimson feathers smelled of his cologne, gunpowder, and rain. You couldn’t help yourself and slipped your arms through the sleeves. The jacket wore you rather than you wearing it, but it didn’t matter. It felt like being held by him, the weight of the material mimicking his gentle embrace. You pressed the sleeves to your cheeks, taking in the warmth like he was cradling you with his hands. You were tearing up, trembling, and slowly lowered yourself to the plush carpet of the closet.

You missed him. The way he made you feel safe, the look in his ruby eyes saying, “As long as you’re with him, any place is home.” You catch yourself looking at all the clothes, each sparking a memory of your time together: his riding jacket, the freedom of speeding down the N109 zone, the leather trench coat, and tussling his silver hair pretending to get the snow out.

You grabbed some of his clothes, donning them like makeshift armor. You know it’s only a temporary fix, but for now, you feel a bit more at ease waiting for him to come home. The business deals normally ended messily these days, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

A soft chime pulled you from your thoughts—a message, but not from Sylus this time.

Unknown Sender: “Your man’s making moves. Might not walk away clean tonight.”

Your stomach twisted. It was vague, unsigned, and all-too-familiar with the kind of cryptic language used in the underworld. You stared at the message, your fingers tightening on the cuffs of his jacket.

You shouldn’t worry. You knew Sylus. No one navigated the criminal underbelly of the N109 Zone better than he did. But still, this deal was different. Bigger. Riskier.

You rose from the floor slowly, the heavy fabric of his jacket still wrapped around you like a shield. You crossed the room and tapped into the secure comm line he’d given you, not for check-ins or sweet nothings, but emergencies. You hesitated, thumb hovering over the button. Was this one?

Just as your finger grazed it, your screen blinked to life. A video call. From him.

You answered immediately, breath catching when Sylus’s face came into view. He looked exhausted—silver hair mussed, the collar of his shirt undone, crimson eyes shadowed and sharp. But he was alive. Whole.

And when he saw you wearing his jacket, something in his expression shifted. Softened.

“You waiting for me like that, Sweetie?” he said, voice low and warm despite the tension you could sense in him. “You’re gonna make me speed through this meeting and blow someone’s car up just to get back faster.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, a watery laugh escaping you. “You’re late.”

He sighed, leaning back against the wall of wherever he was—dim lights, a flicker of movement behind him. “I know. Things got complicated. I’ll be home in one hour. Two, max. I swear it.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you murmured, trying to smile.

His eyes held yours through the screen. “Kitten. I always keep my promises to you.”

The call ended before you could say anything else—likely someone had pulled him back into the fray. You were left with the echo of his voice and the lingering tension in your chest.

Still… something about his face had told you he meant it. That he’d crawl through hell to keep it.

You stood there for a long moment, wrapped in the comfort of his scent, his presence lingering in every thread. And even though the night stretched long and uncertain, you felt a little steadier, knowing that somewhere out there, Sylus was fighting his way back to you.

The rain had started not long after the call ended—fat droplets smacking against the windows in chaotic rhythm. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by the low, slow rumble of thunder that seemed to crawl across the sky. You stayed curled on the couch, still in his jacket, eyes flicking to the door with every creak and shadow.

Then came the sound you’d been waiting for: the lock sliding open.

You were on your feet before the door had even finished opening.

Sylus stepped inside, head bowed, silver hair soaked and plastered to his forehead. Water dripped from the hem of his coat, running in rivulets down his neck and into the dark fabric clinging to his frame. He kicked the door closed with the back of his boot and looked up at you.

That tired smirk pulled at his lips, even as the storm clung to him. “Told you I’d make it back, didn’t I?”

You didn’t respond right away. You just crossed the room in a few quick strides and threw your arms around him. His jacket soaked yours instantly, but you didn’t care. You buried your face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of rain and gunpowder and him, now fresh and raw.

His arms came around you slowly, as if taking a moment to process that he was really home, that you were really there waiting for him. He leaned his cheek against the top of your head, exhaling deeply.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured back. “I missed you too, Sweetie. Every damn second.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes, though rimmed with exhaustion, held that flicker of warmth that only ever appeared for you. You brushed wet strands of hair from his forehead.

“You’re soaked,” you said.

“Storm caught me on the way out. Didn’t want to stop.” He looked you over, registering the jacket still draped over your shoulders. “That mine?”

You nodded. “My armor.”

A real smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Then let me trade you for something warmer. I’ll get cleaned up—won’t take long.”

But you held onto him a second longer, not quite ready to let go yet.

“You’re here now,” you said softly. “That’s all I needed.”

Sylus pressed a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. Gentle. Reassuring. “And I’m not going anywhere tonight. That’s a promise I can keep.”

The storm had softened to a steady drizzle by the time Sylus emerged from the shower, dressed in a dark fitted shirt with the sleeves casually rolled to his elbows and a pair of soft lounge pants that were definitely not designer. His damp silver hair curled slightly at the ends, the clean scent of his soap replacing the smoke and rain.

You had set the table in the meantime—nothing extravagant, just a warm meal for two and the comfort of being in the same room again.

He padded barefoot into the dining area, eyes locking onto you immediately. That quiet look passed between you again—the one that said we made it through another night—and then his gaze dropped slightly as he walked closer.

You noticed the cuts when he sat down. Small, angry red lines along his knuckles and a shallow graze at the sharp edge of his jaw. Faint, but fresh. Evidence of how “complicated” the meeting had really gotten.

“Sylus,” you murmured, reaching over before he could deflect.

“It looks worse than it is,” he said, not pulling away when your fingers brushed over the skin near his jaw. He winced slightly. “Okay, maybe just a little worse.”

You turned his hand over gently in yours, examining the bruised knuckles. “And this?”

He shrugged, almost sheepish. “Some people don’t like losing leverage.”

You didn’t press. You knew how these deals went—how easily a dinner table could turn into a battlefield.

Instead, you got up quietly, grabbed the small medkit from the drawer, and returned to your seat beside him. He let you clean the cuts in silence, his gaze soft and steady on you the entire time.

“I can’t stop you from getting hurt,” you said quietly, wrapping a thin bandage around his hand. “But I still hate seeing it.”

“I know.” His voice was low. “But I’d rather come home to you a little bloodied than not at all.”

You blinked, your hands stilling. His honesty always caught you off guard when it came unannounced like that—raw and real, without the silk of his usual charm.

Dinner was quieter than usual, but not uncomfortable. He watched you between bites, eyes lingering not with possessiveness but with something steadier. Devotion. As if reminding himself that no matter what storms he walked through out there, this—you—was what he came back for.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” he said softly, near the end of the meal.

You smiled faintly, leaning your chin on your hand. “I always will.”

You’d just finished clearing the dishes when Sylus leaned back in his chair, watching you with that unmistakable gleam in his eye—the kind that usually came right before he got exactly what he wanted.

“You know,” he said, his voice dropping a note lower, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since I walked in.”

You turned, curious. “What?”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes roaming over you, still wrapped in his tailored black jacket, the sleeves rolled to fit, the hem hanging loose just past your thighs. “That. Seeing you in my clothes.”

A slow smirk curved his lips as he stood, crossing the room in a few unhurried strides. He stopped in front of you, one hand lifting to brush a thumb over your collarbone, just beneath the open lapel. His touch was light, but his gaze was anything but.

“It’s dangerous,” he murmured, “how good you look in this.”

You arched a brow, trying to stay coy. “Dangerous how?”

Sylus leaned in, his nose brushing the side of your jaw as he whispered, “Makes me want to keep you like this. Just mine. Wearing only what I give you.”

Your breath caught as his fingers traced down your side, slow and deliberate, stopping just at your waist. His lips hovered near your skin, not quite touching, sending goosebumps across your chest and arms.

“You walk around like this,” he said against your throat, “and I forget how tired I am. I forget how messy the world gets. All I can think about… is how soft you’d feel underneath me.”

His hand slid behind you, resting on the small of your back as he pulled you flush against him. His heat bled through the layers, even through the jacket you’d borrowed. “You wore this like armor earlier,” he murmured. “But now it feels like a gift you left waiting for me.”

You leaned into him, lips brushing his ear. “Maybe I did.”

He exhaled, a low sound deep in his chest, as if your words untied something inside him.

“Bedroom. Now.” His voice was husky but restrained, barely leashed hunger laced with reverence.

And when he kissed you—slow, deep, possessive in the way only a man in love can be—it felt like all the waiting, the longing, the storm, had led to this one inevitable moment.

He didn’t need to say it twice.

The moment you reached the bedroom, Sylus was already behind you, one hand at your waist, the other slipping under the hem of his jacket as he pressed you up against the wall. His mouth found yours again—hungrier now, no longer restrained. He kissed like a man who had been starving for weeks, and finally had his first taste of warmth.

You gasped against his lips when his hand slipped beneath the fabric, tracing along your bare thigh. “Still wearing this for me?” he murmured, dragging his mouth down your neck.

“Wasn’t planning to take it off,” you whispered.

“Good,” he growled. “Because I want to unwrap you slowly.”

He turned you around with a fluid motion, letting your back press against his chest as he tugged the jacket open, exposing the softness beneath. His fingers skimmed over your stomach, trailing up under the thin shirt you wore beneath—his shirt.

“You even wore this,” he said, almost reverently, as his hands slipped beneath the fabric. “You really missed me, didn’t you, Kitten?”

You nodded, already breathless, hips arching back into him instinctively.

He guided you to the bed, laying you down as if you were something precious and breakable—though the hunger in his eyes promised anything but gentleness. The room was quiet except for the sound of rain against the window, and your shared breaths as he peeled his shirt off you, inch by inch.

His mouth followed, kissing every new patch of skin he uncovered. “You wear me so well,” he whispered. “But I want to feel all of you.”

When you reached for his shirt in return, he let you strip it away, revealing the fresh cuts you’d tended to earlier—his battle scars, earned and endured just to make it back here, to you.

You sat up enough to press your lips to the bandage on his jaw, then his collarbone, then lower—until Sylus gave a low, shaky laugh and gently pushed you back down.

“Sweetheart, if you keep that up, I’m not going to last.”

“Then don’t,” you murmured, pulling him back to you. “Just take me.”

And he did.

He was slow as he worked his way inside you, watching your expression for any signs of pain, but you looked in pure bliss, and he continued.

When down to the hilt, he started to move the fullness inside of you, making you gasp and cry out. “Keep up with those sounds, kitten, and I won’t be able to hold back,” he growled. You wanted him to ravage you as a way to make up for the time lost.

With every breathless moan, every tangled sheet, and whispered promise, Sylus made good on his word. He worshipped every inch of you like he’d been waiting years. The world outside, the chaos of his empire, the dangers that clung to his name—none of it mattered in this room.

Here, it was just you and Sylus.

And by the time your name was falling from his lips in a hoarse whisper, bodies slick with sweat and hearts pounding in sync.

The storm outside had softened to a gentle hum, raindrops tapping rhythmically against the windowpane. The kind of sound that made you want to stay wrapped in blankets for hours, limbs tangled and hearts steady.

Sylus didn’t move right away. He lay beside you, breathing hard, one arm draped over your waist, the other buried beneath you, holding you close as if letting go wasn’t an option. His skin was still warm from the heat you’d both shared, his silver hair damp with sweat.

You turned your face into the crook of his neck, pressing a soft kiss just beneath his jaw. He exhaled slowly, his hand brushing lazy circles across your spine.

"You okay?" he murmured against your temple.

You nodded, your voice still a little hoarse. “Better than okay.”

His hand paused for a second—just long enough for you to feel the weight behind it. “I didn’t hurt you?” he asked, quieter now.

You looked up, touched by the concern in his ruby eyes. “No, Sylus. You were perfect.”

That seemed to ease something in him. He pressed his lips to your forehead and lingered there, breathing you in. “You scare the hell out of me, sometimes,” he whispered. “The way I feel about you…”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “I know. Same here.”

For a while, you lay there in silence, your breath syncing with his, the only sounds in the room the storm’s fading echo and the occasional thrum of city life far below the Onychinus base. Sylus eventually shifted, gently rolling you into his chest before grabbing a soft towel from the nightstand drawer.

“Stay still, sweetie,” he murmured, carefully wiping at the slickness on your thighs, taking his time like he was tending to something sacred.

You flushed from the tenderness of it all—how this man, feared across the N109 zone, now handled you with such reverence. When he finished, he tossed the towel aside and helped you pull on one of his oversized shirts.

He threw on a pair of loose black pants, then padded barefoot into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a glass of water and a warm cloth to clean your face. You drank, not realizing how parched you were, and he pressed a kiss to your cheek when you finished.

“You always take care of me,” you said softly, watching him as he climbed back into bed and pulled the blanket over both of you.

“Of course I do,” he said, brushing your hair back from your face. “Because you’re the one thing in this whole damn world I can’t afford to lose.”

You snuggled closer, letting your hand rest over the steady beat of his heart. “Then you better keep making it back to me.”

His laugh was low and tired. “Always, Kitten.”

And in the warmth of his arms, with the storm now nothing but a lullaby, you finally let yourself drift to sleep—safe, loved, and held like a treasure in the arms of the most dangerous man in the zone.

_________________________________________

I really enjoy writing these and I hope you all enjoy it too! I love Sylus so much he stole my heart and has really been a comfort character as a lot of his mannerisms match my irl partners. Rafayel is so sassy and fun to write for! Truly my favorite fishie

[welostheplot]

── 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 ᨒ↟☾.࿔*:･ 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐢 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: vampire!ellie williams / werewolf!abby anderson / reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: during your first week of school, you get a taste of jackson—its biting mountain air, cliquey friend groups, and a steady stream of hallway gossip. you learn about the millers, though “learn” feels like a strong word considering how little anyone actually knows.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: no warnings! besides a touch of daddy issues if you really squint.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.1k

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: i was literally kicking my feet writing the iconic bio class scene hehehehe. just so we're all on the same page, the twilight parallels will be both from the books and the movies!! :0 also thank you for all the support on this series so far!

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝐈 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: "welcome to jackson"

YOU HADN'T CRIED YET.

not when you said goodbye to your mother, who clutched you in a fierce embrace in the middle of the chaotic phoenix airport terminal, her own tears wetting the shoulder of your crewneck.

not when you experienced the stomach-dropping sensation of the plane's wheels lifting from the tarmac.

not when you unpacked your clothes into the dusty drawers of the wooden dresser shoved into the corner of the your bedroom and prayed the mothball smell wouldn't seep into the fabric of your shirts.

not even when you finally did fall asleep that first night, every creak and hum seeming a thousand decibels louder in a house left empty thanks to your father's overnight shift at the police station.

but now, standing outside jackson hole high with the hard plastic of one of your binders biting into the skin of your palm and your hair sticking to your cheek from the snow flurries, you kind of wanted to.

you had hoped getting out of the unforgiving january cold and into the school away from the dreary, overcast weather might improve your mood, even minorly.

it didn’t.

inside, the hallways smelled like petrichor and old textbooks, and your damp converse squeaked with every step on tile floors worn down from generations of boots and snow.

the woman at the front desk of the main office was nice enough, handing you a stack of papers with a patronizing pat to your shoulder. kept calling you “hon” and giving you smiles that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“you’re the chief’s kid, right?” she asked, like she already knew the answer.

you nodded.

“well,” she said, placing your class schedule on top of the growing pile of printed materials. “welcome to jackson.”

YOUR HOMEROOM WAS ALREADY FULL WHEN YOU ARRIVED.

if you didn’t already think the people of jackson had a staring problem, entering the classroom and being forced to stand in front of twenty curious eyes while your teacher introduced you sealed the deal.

after she finished butchering your name (you didn’t have the heart to correct her and hoped the mispronunciation wouldn’t stick), she gestured for you to take a seat near the back.

the chair squeaked as you settled into it. someone a row over whispered something you didn’t catch.

you were halfway through pretending to listen to announcements detailing clubs and events you knew nothing about when someone tapped your shoulder.

you flinched. then turned.

“hi,” said a girl with big, inquisitive brown eyes and shiny cherry red lip gloss. “i’m cassie.”

you blinked. remembered your dad’s newest kitchen countertop note from that morning: be safe. have fun. make friends.

“hi.”

“you’re new?”

you thought it was pretty fucking obvious. but held your tongue. “yeah.”

she smiled like it was something the two of you were now in on.

“i’ll show you where the good vending machine is,” she said. “the one that always has the red sunchips in stock.”

you decided she’d be worth keeping around.

THE LUNCHROOM WAS A MINEFIELD.

you had barely made it through the cafeteria doors before you were overwhelmed by the roar of hungry high schoolers. it was loud and bustling, but organized chaos: every table had its own ecosystem.

cheerleaders. jocks. theater kids. a group in the back wearing too much camo and carhartt.

cassie stuck to your side like she was being paid to do so, firmly guiding you to a table where three other people already sat.

they looked normal enough. or at least that’s how you felt until you were forced to awkwardly hover with your tray of food while one of them—“nat. short for natalie. but you can call me anything you want, new girl.”—insisted on pulling your chair out for you in an act of chivalry.

“laying it on a bit thick, don’tcha think?” cassie chided as devin, the awkward but oddly confident, spiky-haired boy sitting to your left, made his second comment in five minutes about how pretty he thought your hair was.

you let out an embarrassed chuckle and scraped at the sticker on your apple with the jagged, bitten nail of your thumb.

then there were hands gripping your shoulders from behind, giving you a teasing shake as another student flirtingly jeered, “everyone just can’t get enough of the shiny new toy from arizonaaaaa.”

“knock it off, marcus, you’re clearly making her uncomfortable,” leah, a soft-spoken girl with round-rimmed glasses, came to your rescue from across the circular lunch table.

“wait, aren’t girls from arizona supposed to be like... bimbo sorority girl wannabes?”

you didn’t really know what to do with that, opting for an awkward attempt at self-deprecating humor—your specialty.

“yeah... maybe that’s why they... kicked me out. i dunno.”

there was a beat before the table dissolved into laughter, seemingly placated by your joke and attention shifting to individual conversations you didn’t have the energy to insert yourself into.

you let their chatter fade into background noise, opting to scan the room, your eyes bouncing from face to face.

that’s when you noticed.

it was them again. that weird group from the gas station.

and your eyes were, once more, instantly drawn to that same girl in particular.

she sat slightly slouched in her seat, elbow resting on the surface of the table, fingers drumming a slow rhythm next to a tray of food she paid no mind to.

then the energy in the room shifted. and your stomach twisted.

because she was now looking at you.

not a glance or a casual once-over.

a stare. direct and unblinking.

you dropped your gaze immediately, and the thumbnail you’d still been mindlessly scraping over the apple sticker bit into the flesh of the fruit as you white-knuckled the object in embarrassment at being caught.

“the millers.”

the words came from cassie, unprompted, like she knew what you were thinking.

“and the one who just caught you staring? ellie.”

you scoffed and rushed to defend yourself, but cassie barged on like she didn’t even hear you. “they’re foster siblings, technically. joel—he’s their, like, dad-uncle-grandpa figure, i don’t really know. they keep to themselves.”

you tried to sound normal when you asked, “what’s her deal?”

cassie raised an eyebrow.

“what’s your deal?” she countered.

you smiled, the left corner of your mouth tilting up, and she returned it, then fixed you with a serious look.

“don’t waste your time trying to get in with them, by the way. the millers don’t talk to anyone.”

“why not?”

cassie shrugged. “some say they’re homeschooled weirdos. others say they’re part of some religious cult. i say serial killers.”

you blinked. “seriously?”

she grinned. “kidding! ...mostly.”

you turned your head just enough to sneak another glance back at their table.

the freckled girl—ellie—was still staring at you.

and now she looked pissed.

YOU COULDN'T WAIT TO GET HOME.

you spent the rest of the school day navigating the maze of hallways and trying not to react too stiffly to each new, overly friendly introduction that came your way.

you'd even managed to put on an embarrassing, flailing display in p.e. that somehow resulted in you smacking the ball over the net into an empty spot on the other team’s side of the court, earning your own team the winning point.

“way to go, arizona!!!” nat had yelled from across the gym, not even trying to pretend she wasn’t throwing her own group’s game in favor of watching you instead.

now, you were in the home stretch with your final class: biology.

you approached the entrance to the lab, eyeing the interior of the room and its durable tables designed specifically for partner work.

and then realized how the only available seat was next to...

ellie.

you hesitated at the doorway, mentally weighing whether it might be worth it to ask your teacher to reassign you, the memory of ellie’s intense, angry gaze in the cafeteria still haunting you.

ultimately, the decision was made for you: you had already arrived late, there were no other empty seats, and you were promptly ushered further into the lab room by your teacher, who damn near slammed the door shut behind you in his desire to get the lesson started quickly.

you stumbled forward at the brisk movement, a gust of air from the sharp swing of the door strong enough to blow a few unruly strands of hair into your face.

collecting yourself and brushing the hair back with a quick swipe of your hand, you took your seat—but not before noting how ellie visibly recoiled at the mere scent of you.

you weren’t much of a perfume user; you had grown up occasionally asking your mother for a dollop of cucumber melon bath & body works lotion before school, in an attempt to “smell pretty” and fit in like the other girls your age.

but you knew for sure you didn’t stink, and you had even opted to roll on an extra layer of deodorant before and after p.e. in fear of the nervous sweats. you tried to subtly sniff at your shoulder as you settled onto your lab stool anyway.

ellie sat rigidly, her eyes fixated on the small petri dishes that rested on the table in front of you both.

as the teacher began the lesson, you chanced a glance at her. her jaw was clenched, and her hands were balled into fists on the table.

“hey,” you ventured softly.

“i’m new here.”

she didn’t respond, her eyes narrowing slightly.

the tension was palpable. you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

with a shaky hand, the other one clasped firmly over the lower half of her face in an attempt to 'subtly' cover her nose, she nudged your petri dish towards your end of the table and slid her own closer to her side.

then, she hunched in on herself, angling her body away from you as much as she could while still facing forward to pay attention to the lesson.

this was going to be a long forty-five minutes.

AS SOON AS THE BELL RUNG, SHE WAS OUT OF HER SEAT.

her stool screeched against the tile at the sudden movement, and by the time you fully registered what had happened, she was already up at the front of the room, seemingly arguing with the teacher.

ellie jerked her head back in your direction, muttering in a voice that was quiet yet urgent. you couldn’t make out the words, but the teacher shook his head, and she stormed out of the room.

it didn't take a genius to infer that you, for some reason, were the problem.

confused and honestly unsettled, you made your way back to the front office to make sure all the paperwork for your transfer had been finalized before leaving for the day.

as you approached the desk, you saw ellie there, her back to you. she seemed to be engaged in a debate even more heated than the one you witnessed back at the lab. this time, you were actually in earshot of the conversation.

it was your first time hearing what her voice sounded like, low and a bit raspy. you’d have probably taken more time to enjoy the timbre of it had she not been asking to transfer out of her biology class as soon as possible.

you caught your name. and then: “…any other open labs? i'll retake astronomy if i have to.”

"you passed astronomy with flying colors, ellie. if mrs. cochran could've given you a grade above an A+, she would've."

upon your entry, she turned slightly, green eyes widening as she saw you. without another word, she brushed past you and exited the office.

you stood there for a moment, processing the encounter. the same front desk woman, still wearing that fake smile, beckoned you forward and asked if you had a good first day as a newly official ‘jackson hole bronco.’

ten minutes later, as your truck pulled out of the quickly emptying school parking lot, you gripped the cold steering wheel and tried to keep your tears at bay.

YOU DON’T SEE ELLIE AT SCHOOL THE NEXT DAY.

and one day with no sight of her quickly becomes the rest of the week. none of the millers seemed to be in attendance, actually. you were perplexed as to why nobody batted an eye at their disappearance.

you guessed it must be that typical “homeschooled weirdo” behavior as cassie had called it.

when curiosity got the best of you one night during yet another dinner where your dad spent more time watching the game than talking (you didn’t blame him—starting over was awkward for everyone involved), you’d asked him about them.

“what do you know about the millers?”

your dad’s eyes finally left the grainy tv screen to look at you instead. he spent longer than necessary chewing a bite of his steak. scratched at his beard.

“their dad— er.. their… joel? whatever he is to them, he’s doing something right. kids never cause any issues with me or the force, unlike some of the others in this town.”

you nodded, ready to leave it there.

your dad regarded you carefully. stabbed at a roasted mini potato with his fork. didn’t move to eat it just yet.

“why do you ask? one of them do somethin' to you?”

you paused, unsure. why had you asked? you didn't even know any of their names besides hers. and at this rate, their attendance made it seem like they’d skipped towns or something anyways.

you shrugged, sliding out of your chair and bringing your empty plate to the sink to scrub at it.

“they’re just kinda…. odd. yanno?”

he nodded in agreement. “this town’s got some quirks. everyone’s a little weird,” was his gruff reply.

“but quite frankly? we’re lucky to have someone as smart as joel around on the council. don’t know what this town would do without him.”

you shook the excess water off of your now-clean plate, moving to prop it up on the drying rack. taking a chance at breaking the ice, you joked: "all of them kind of look like they stepped out of a magazine."

with a chuckle, your dad replied, "you should see joel miller in the flesh then. he's got all the moms in town swooning."

you both laughed and there was a comfortable silence after. it was the first conversation you'd had with him that didn't feel like you were talking to a complete stranger.

YOUR MOM CALLED YOU LATER THAT NIGHT.

your phone nearly vibrated off the bathroom counter as you rushed to spit out foamy toothpaste, caught mid-brush. the screen was lit up with some number you didn't recognize, but you answered anyway.

“there’s my big shot jacksonite,” she cooed, the sounds of clinking bottles and a laugh that definitely wasn't hers echoing faintly behind her.

“what’s the damage? has the cold frozen off any of your toes yet?”

“nope, no frostbite yet,” you mumbled, sliding under your covers into bed and pulling up the duvet to your chin.

"well, tell me everything about your first week at school! i was gonna write you a postcard, but then i realized i can just harass you over the phone instead."

you smiled, even though your chest ached a little. you had missed the sound of someone who actually knew you.

"not much to tell. it's pretty boring here. cold. people stare a lot."

“probably because you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to that school in ten years,” was her reply.

a loud beep cut in through the line. "please insert 25 cents for three more minutes."

“ugh, hold on—stupid machine—”

you could hear her fumbling for coins, the clang of quarters, the receiver wobbling as she probably tucked it between her cheek and shoulder. "you're calling me from a payphone?"

"don’t sound so horrified! we’re between cell towers and i saw one out back behind the bar. it’s vintage. kind of romantic," she added, dreamy.

"oh!" she gasped. "speaking of romance—have you met any cute guys yet?"

you rolled your eyes automatically.

"oops! i mean girls. girls, right, right—sorry, honey, i always forget. force of habit."

a beat.

"have you told your dad about that yet?"

you snuggled further into your bed.

"...no."

another pause. longer this time.

“okay,” she said, softer now. “you don’t have to. not ‘til you’re ready. just don’t think you can’t, okay? he’s a little slow but he’s not a lost cause.”

“mm,” you said, which was safer than agreeing.

“he used to wear cargo shorts year-round, babe. if that man can grow out of that, he can come around to anything.”

you snorted softly. there was a stretch of silence where neither of you said anything, listening to each other's breathing.

“i miss you,” you murmured.

“i miss you more,” she said softly. “i think i might’ve cried for, like, the entire state of utah.”

“you say that like you didn’t ship me off yourself.”

“hey! it was a joint decision. plus, your dad missed you. and us? we need some time to… i dunno. exist in a tiny metal box and pretend we don’t have any obligations.”

you laughed in spite of yourself.

"he’s still good to you?"

“he’s still amazing,” she confirmed. “he bought me one of those horrible souvenir snowglobes at a gas station today and told me it was for when i wanted a reminder of you since you're out there shivering in the jackson tundra. rich, hot, and super thoughtful.”

“gross.”

“i know, right?” she sighed contentedly. “but also… not.”

a strange pang tugged at your chest. you were happy for her, but the kind of happy that also stings.

“i’m glad you’re good, mom.”

“me too, baby.”

another loud beep cut in. “please insert 25 cents for three more minutes.”

"ugh. okay, this thing's unforgiving and i think they just announced last call. probably time to hit the road anyway."

you bit your lip. "call me when you're somewhere normal. preferably from your cell, please."

“what is normal, really?” she hummed.

and honestly? after moving here, you found yourself asking the same question more and more.

"i love you, honey. keep sending me those e-mail updates. i'll read 'em like they're the tabloids whenever we can stop at a library and get to a computer."

"love you more. bye mom," you got out, just before the call dropped.

you tucked your phone under the pillow your head was resting on and curled into yourself. no matter how much you tried to cuddle in, the sheets were cold, and the wind howled faintly outside your window. but her voice lingered—soft and bright and warm around the edges.

as you drifted off to sleep, you found yourself thinking, not for the first time that week, about a girl with sharp green eyes and a voice like gravel.

you wondered if she’d be back on monday.

this work is mine. please don’t repost, copy, or publish elsewhere without permission. thank you!

[highway-143]

webbed- nishimura riki

genre: fluff, smut, strangers to lovers, spider man au

pairing: black spiderman!riki x fem!reader

taglist: @urlocalmultigroupfan @minkilicious @vrusha01 @planetmarlowe @mrsjjongstby @drnkdz @strawberrynull @interfated @tasnemluvs @woniesbae @rikifordmiami @nishikio

word count: 9.2k

now playing: sunflower- post malone and swae lee (lol kinda a duh) & damn- fujii kaze

tw: blood, guns, sex, bdsm undertones, needles, mentions of rape, death

(mostly proofread but idc atp bro. just live with the typos ToT)

all scenarios are fake and are not meant to represent any idol in the story

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

economics homework sucks.

but that's a given, isn't it?

who in the world actually enjoyed comparing the tax rates of 10 different countries and writing a 20,000 word essay about them for the final?

you certianly didn't.

and yet here you were, seated at the desk in your room. its surface was littered with borrowed library books, notes, and your computer. the screen was open to a google doc, two pages already filled out.

you check the word count.

1,009 words

shit.

you prop your elbows on the desk, your head in your hands.

who the fuck thought this class would be required for a marketing degree?

you hear rain start to patter on the window of your dorm. the sprinkles collecting on the pane, blurring the lights coming from the city.

you lived for tokyo at night.

the way the lights from apartments lit up the darkness like stars when the real stars were covered in the haze of a storm.

the way the neon lights from shops lining the street. it felt so beautiful. how the city came alive when the rest of the world was quiet.

that's when you hear it.

skrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeee

tires. on pavement.

you jump up from your chair and onto the miniscule balcony that connected to your dorm. it was hard to make out from the fourth story, but you saw an suv swerving through the road. it's tail spun out of control on the slick ground, almost crashing into patrons walking out of akasaka, the hostess bar across the street.

people screamed, the sounds of fear echoing off the tall buildings around the chaos.

you screamed too.

because a black figure swooped right in front of you, and you jumped so hard, you almost fell over.

spiderman

you watch as the shadowlike hero makes his way closer and closer to the suv.

the car skids to a stop as a flying web sticks to it, the other end already attatched to a rung on the side of your building. the tires helplessly turn against the pavement, but to no avail.

"going somewhere?" asks the deep voice, what you assumed was spiderman.

you couldn't see him though.

he dissapeared.

your eyes scour the scene, trying to find the source. all you see are two japanese men, both heavily muscled and in their late thirties.

and then another, exiting from the cab of the van.

he was pale, paler than you had ever seen. an albino, white hair styled meticulously with a ocean blue streak through the slicked back strands. his eyes were covered in sunglasses, even at night. his frame was long, thin, and looked somewhat malnourished. he wore a white trench coat over a white tutleneck and ivory pants.

he looked like a ghost.

"spiderman" he says, a thick french accent in his speech. "didn't expect to meet you tonight." his voice is cold, a piercing ice. "why don't you show yourself, hmm?"

"i think i'll stay where i am, thanks" says spiderman, his voice coming from somewhere below and to the right of where you stood on the balcony. "the real question, is why are you here, givré? what business do you have in japan?"

the albino, givré, chuckles. there's no warmth behind the laughter though. "why on earth would i tell you?"

"okay, don't then." you watch as a web shoots out from a balcony below you, attaching itself to givré's mouth, sending him stumbling backward into the side of the car.

the two mercenaries aim guns at the balcony. you hadn't even realized that they had them. the taller of the two fires, and you clap your hand over your mouth.

but nothing.

the balcony is empty.

you know you should go back inside. hide. not get killed.

but you can't stop watching.

because when the men turn around to help givré, spiderman is already standing behind them.

givré is struggling against the web on his mouth, trying to pry it off with his fingers. spiderman stands next to him, arms crossed. "you really thought that would work?" he asks, amused.

the street is almost completely cleared of bystanders now, only a few dumb tourists on the sidewalk with phones recording the scene. idiots.

the shorter man charges, almost like a rhino, and grabs spiderman by the waist, tackling him to the ground. the hero flips around and hooks a leg around the man's shoulder. "god, i didn't think i would be getting freaky today-" he says as his groin is pushed into the struggling face of the gaurd.

you can't help but laugh as spiderman kicks out of confinement.

and then you scream.

because another gunshot rang through the street.

givré stood, yards away from the fight, a gun pointed at spiderman, his mouth freed.

he laughs. "thought you could get away? nice try, bastard."

spiderman coughs, bringing a hand to his shoulder, dark red already covering the material of his suit. "fuck-" he murmurs. "come on, givré, you gotta try harder than that" and he lets go of his shoulder to shoot two webs, one at givré's gun, the other at the second mercenary, the sticky threads wrapping around his body.

he watches as the flashing lights of police cars pull up and cops jump out, running over to givré.

and he looks up, shoots a web, and swings away into the darkness.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

you go back inside, shell-shocked and wet from the rain. who the fuck was givré? and what did he want from spiderman?

you stare at the balcony from your desk chair, watching the rain trickle down the glass of the door.

thud

another scream from your mouth.

spiderman. on your balcony, the eyes of his mask locked onto your surprised ones. the water on the glass blurs his features, but you can still make out the maroon blood dripping from his shoulder.

he looks at you, waving as he stands on the balcony, pointing to the handle of the door, then to his shoulder.

he needs to come in.

you nod shakily, and he slides the door open, with his good arm, stepping inside your pristine room.

"thank you," he says, nodding. "can i use your bathroom? and first aid kit?"

your eyes are wide as you get a better view of his injuries. the bullet grazed the top of his shoulder, tearing the fabric and his skin. an inch wide gash was visible even through the blood.

"y-yes. just in there," you point to the bathroom door. "first aid kit is under the sink"

he walks across the room, blood dripping onto the hardwood floor, a trail making its way to the bathroom along with the tall hero.

you want to give him privacy, but he leaves the door open.

that was the first mistake.

because you glance into the cramped room after a few minutes, and you don't want to look away.

who knew spiderman could be this attractive?

all you could see was his back, but god, his back.

he wasn't ripped like givré's bodygaurds, but his muscles rippled, shoulderblades jutting out as he cleaned blood off his arm with a wet tissue. his chest dipped to his waist in the most prominent v shape you had ever seen. the top half of his suit hung low around his hips, dangerously low, the rim of his boxers peeking out.

teasing.

taunting.

his jet black hair was messy, a few unruly strands sticking up out of his bangs. you could see sweat beading on the back of his neck and the short hair of his undercut.

without thinking, you walk up behind him, and turn the bathroom fan on.

he doesn't turn to look at you, but his voice is gravely as he thanks you.

a shiver runs up your spine. you force yourself to pull away and go back to your desk, trying to focus on your essay while fucking spiderman clattered around your bathroom.

"hey... uh..." you hear him mumble a few feet away. "can you... uh... come help me?"

you hesitate, only a second, before you stand up on shaking legs. he stood in the doorway of the bathroom, holding an alcohol swab packet out to you.

you take it, and look up into his eyes.

mistake number two.

he was fucking gorgeous. his brown- almost black- eyes looked like they were staring into your soul. his bangs hooded over them a little bit, the tips brushing his eyelashes. he had high cheekbones and a strong jaw, with perfect, full lips that looked delicious.

"just... the back of my shoulder. i can't reach it." he turns around, and you stand on tiptoe to see the wound.

"you're gonna need stitches," you say, transfixed by the deep gash that looked a little less bloody now. you could see the line from where he had cleaned most of the blood off and where some remained.

"yeah, i do that all the time"

"you stitch yourself up!?" you stare at him through the mirror.

he hisses when the swab grazes the injury. "fuck," he whispers under his breath. "yeah, i do. no big deal at this point. happens more than you think."

you take a closer look at his body, faint scars on his sides and more littering his arms. at least seven of them. the pink lines were barely noticable in the dim lighting.

"wow..." you say, not really knowing what the proper response would be.

you clean his shoulder in silence, his faint grunts when you press too hard the only sound in your dorm.

"there, done." you say, tossing the bloodied piece of cloth into the trash can. "do you... want me to help with the stitches too?" another chill goes right down your back, nervousness mixed with a hint of curiosity.

"you know how?"

"yeah, it's pretty straightforward."

he looks at you, his expression amused and something else, and he rummages around the kit, pulling out a needle and the thread, handing them to you.

you walk out of the bathroom, and he follows you to your desk chair. you sit on the cushioned seat, motioning for him to sit between your legs, his back to you so you could reach the wound.

you start threading the needle, and can't help but ask the insanely handsome stranger questions.

i mean, who wouldn't.

"who are you?"

"that's classified" you can feel the smirk in his voice.

"okay, have fun stitching yourself up then" you say, half joking.

he laughs, then flinches, his shoulder muscles flexing from the flash of pain. "kidding, kidding. riki. my name's riki. happy now?"

you nod, satisfied. "why did you come here? how did you know i would help?"

"i saw you on the balcony, almost died when i swung by you, yeah? and i heard your scream when the gun fired. thought you'd be on my side."

"yeah, i guess you're right." you slowly poke the needle through his skin, pushing it all the way through and starting the stitches. "what does givré want with you?"

"i don't fully know yet. he's the most obscure person i've dealt with. no criminal record, no run-ins with the law ever. i don't even know if he's a legal person."

"what does that mean?"

"means i haven't found any records of him. no social security number. no school records, no tax files, no id, nothing. he's either an alien, or never been registered anywhere."

"i'm betting on alien" you say, making riki laugh.

"that would explain the blue streak." he says. "shit, i forgot. what's your name?"

"y/n."

"y/n... pretty. so, how do i know you aren't going to spill my identity to the whole city?"

"why the fuck would i do that? i do want you to stop criminals, you know. the police don't particularly love you because you do a way better job than them. they could arrest you easy. i would have to be insane to tell people. anyone would be."

he nods, satisfied, but still on gaurd. "yeah... swear you'll stay quiet though. believe me, if you tell, i can find you no matter what. i don't care if you flee the country to live in zimbabwe."

your spine stiffens, fear pumping through your veins. riki looks at you over his shoulder, and you stop using the needle.

"i'm not fucking kidding. if this gets out i can always sic givré on you."

"i swear. and i don't think he would listen to you if you tried."

riki turns back around, and you sew the last few stitches on his shoulder, cutting the thread with a pair of scissors.

you tap his side with your foot, having him stand up so you can throw away the used needle and thread. you grab a thick band aid and hand it to him. "put this over the stitches."

"thanks."

but neither of you moves.

he just stands there, staring at you, eyes stuck on yours.

and then they trail down your body, taking in your silk pajamas, a button up shirt and shorts, both black with pink trim. running over your bare arms and legs, the skin covered in goosebumps. he clears his throat when he sees your breasts, nipples peaking through the thin fabric.

he looks away.

but you don't want him to.

you move out of the way, walking over to the kitchenette and grabbing the clorox wipes.

riki takes them from your hand when you turn around.

"i'll do it. it's my blood."

you nod, cheeks red from the simplest thing. he crouches down and starts to wipe up the drops of blood scattered on your floor.

you sit back on the chair, turning to mark your page in the open books and close them up. you stack them under your computer, making sure to save the document. you were too exhausted to work anymore, the night was too fucked up to focus.

riki looks up at you when you spin in the chair, turning to watch him. his muscles flexed, his abs clenching.

he was doing it on purpose.

fucking asshole.

your thighs squeeze together. you hadn't meant for them to. they just did. how could they not, when riki looked up at you like that, his suit pulled off his chest, his collarbones prominent and the lines of his neck so... there

he noticed your thighs. he noticed the way your pupils dilated and your eyelids drooped ever so slightly. he knew what he was doing.

he wasn't new to seduction.

and neither were you.

you lean forward, fingers reaching out to trace his bicep, the muscle twitching under your soft touch.

"fuck, y/n..."

"what?" you say, batting your eyes innocently.

"you fucking know what you're doing."

"and you're pretending you aren't doing the same thing?"

"shit-" he stands up, towering over you as you sat in the chair. "can't fucking do that to me."

"why not?"

that got him.

riki stands in silence, just watching you rise from the chair, reaching up to whisper in his ear.

"please"

that's all it takes. riki's hands drop the container of wipes, wrapping around your waist and pulling your chest flush against his. he leans down, taking your lips in a searing kiss.

you moan into his mouth, pushing into him. his tounge slips between your lips, swiping along the corner of your mouth, tasting every inch of you before you let him in all the way.

your hands rub his chest, nails teasing his abs, thumbs brushing over his nipples. you feel him shiver as you pinch them, his mouth pausing as he revels in the feeling.

but the break is brief.

he picks up the pace, slowly stepping backwards and pulling you with him as the back of his legs hit your bed.

"fuck," he says, turning around and pushing you onto the mattress. "can i..."

"yes." you breathe, needing- craving- more of his touch.

he hooks his fingers under your shorts, pulling them down your legs, revealing a pair of laced pastel pink panties.

he moans at the sight, your legs spreading to reveal the gathering slickness on the fabric.

"fucking wet... god-"

he leans down and presses a kiss to your covered clit, earning a whine from you. every touch was fire, his fingers brushing over your thighs, caressing your hot skin.

his teeth find the waist of your panties, pulling them down your legs with an expert skill. cool air hits your cunt, the whisper of riki's breath already making it clench around nothing.

"so pretty..." he groans, holding your thighs down with his hand as his tounge licks your clit, just grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves. you whimper, hips bucking slightly into his face.

he laughs, tounge licking up your slit, circling your tender clit. his teeth nip at it, giving a gentle tug.

you let a real moan escape your throat, hand threading into riki's hair, pushing him into your pussy.

he happily thrusts his tounge into your clenching hole, nose circling your clit as he flicks inside you, fingers trailing up your legs to spread your lips further apart.

his eyes look up at you, your head thrown back, arms shaking, one hand on your breast, teasing the supple mound through your pajama shirt. he groans into your cunt, tounge thrusting faster, pulling you closer and closer to orgasm.

and you came.

riki clamps his mouth onto you, sucking your slickness into his mouth, drinking you as your hips jerked and your head lolled to the side, hands grasping the comforter in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

riki let go of your legs, climbing up over you to kiss you again, lips locking onto yours. his chin was damp with you, but he couldn't care less.

he just kissed you.

when his hands went to pull his suit off, you moved to kiss his jaw, then below his ear.

you nipped at his earlobe, teeth feeling the empty piercing he had, and he moans, chest heaving as he grinded his now freed dick onto your cunt.

his hardened shaft slipped between your folds, teasing your already overstimulated pussy. every sound that left your sore throat was caught in his mouth, his lips moving against yours as his cock pushed into your clenching hole.

the stretch was impossible, his thick length filling you up, your cunt clenching around him.

your hips roll against his, and his hands bring your knees to your chest so he could thrust deeper into you.

his teeth bite your lip when he starts picking up the pace, dick drilling into your sensitive cunt.

you whimper, "fuck, fuck, fuck.... shit-" you feel your orgasm approaching again, and riki notices.

"cum for me baby, come on.... let go... please, please"

you snap, legs shaking and hips jerking as you cum on his cock that was still pumping into you as you spasmed. when riki feels his orgasm coming too, he pulls out of your cunt and releases on your stomach, hot, thick ropes of white cum painting your equally hot and sweaty skin.

"riki.... shit, you feel so good"

"so do you, baby, so tight."

he stands from the bed and grabs your panties, wiping your cunt with them as your fingers gather his cum and shove it into his mouth. he tasted salty, warm and sticky. he groans at the sight of you eating his cum, lips wrapped around your finger.

he pulls his boxers on, stepping back into his suit and pulling it over his arms, pressing a plate on the silver spider that tightened it around his body.

"you're leaving?" you say, tired and spent on your wet sheets.

"i'll be back," he smirks, pulling the mask over his head and tightening it. "see you later, y/n"

he opens the door to the balcony, waves, and shoots a web into the night sky.

he left you in the bed, legs still shaking and cunt clenching from two amazing orgasms.

and he took your panties too.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

three days.

three whole fucking days.

you finished the essay and started a new one for your business class in those three days.

you read two books cover to cover in those three days, but couldn't answer a single question about them.

every noise made you jump, thinking it was riki. whenever you got a knock at your door you thought it was riki.

everything reminded you of riki.

your silk pajamas, the clorox wipes, your bed, the fucking floor.

how much longer was this going to go on?

it was 10pm on a saturday. you should be going out with friends, you should go out on a date you promised the boy from your graphic design class.

but you couldn't.

you just sat at your desk, staring at the page of paper that should have been filled with notes but was instead covered in little hearts and doodles of riki.

you traced the hem of your shorts, remembering riki's touch on your bare skin, his fingers ghosting over your thighs.

you glance out the window for the millionth time, hoping to see riki, but not really expecting to.

and you jump.

because he's there, grinning and leaning against the railing of your balcony, mask pulled off and hanging from his finger, hair wet from the heavy rain that had refused to let up since the last night you saw him.

you run to the door, sliding it open and stepping onto the balcony.

and you slap riki on the cheek.

hard.

"where the fuck were you?! you said you'd be back, little shit!"

riki's smirk fades quickly, a dark look gathering in his eyes the longer he looks at you.

"sorry, i was busy saving the damn city. did you stop to think i might have been a little tied up?"

"you could have let me know. i fucking waited for you, riki."

his fingers reach up to his cheek, tracing the blooming red mark from your blow.

and then he grips your wrist, shoving you back into your dorm.

you squeak, tripping over your feet as riki pushes you into the wall on the other side of your room, pinning you between his arms.

"you fucking slapped me." his voice is a growl now.

you manage to nod your head, but it was hard with riki's face only inches from yours. you could feel his breath on your face, uneven and angry.

"i came to talk to you-" he says, hands running harshly down your shoulders and to your breasts, squeezing them in his palms. "and you slap me. for your information-" he manhandles your waist now, turning you around and pushing you towards the bed. "givré escaped and i was trying to find the little shit. went all the fucking way to australia, still couldn't find him."

you whimper when he bends you over the bed, shoving your face into the comforter and grabbing your ass from behind.

"let me use you" he whispers into the dim room. "please"

you barely say yes before he's already pulling your shorts and panties off, exposing your cunt.

"shaved for me? little slut..." he mutters, taking off his suit and boxers, pumping his hard cock a few times before parting your lips with his thumbs and pushing into you.

your cunt stretched around his length, a burning pain that was relieved when riki started thrusting in and out, pulling completely out of your tight hole just to pound back in, over and over and over again.

tears filled your eyes with every thrust into you, each time he hit the spot that made you see stars released a sharp sob from your throat. his hand squeezed one of your ass cheeks before he leaned over you, chest pressed against your clothed back and gripping your neck, shoving you deeper into the mattress.

"please, riki, gonna cum... fuck"

he slaps your ass and you cry out in pain and white hot pleasure. "not cumming til i cum, slut" he murmurs in your ear, pounding his dick into you harder.

and he orgasms, a loud gasp leaving his mouth as he collapses on top of you, his seed filling whatever space was left in you, warm and thick.

he pulls out, watching his cum drip out of your used hole and onto the floor.

"fucking hell... you look so perfect like this, my cum filling you up, huh?"

and then you cum too, your body trembling as you squirt all over him, his chest painted with your slick, his lips hungry for more.

he grabs your hips and turns you around, pushing you onto the bed, letting you lay down before climbing in next to you, pulling you close to him and wrapping his arms around your waist.

your bodies lay entwined for a while, riki holding you so close that you could feel his heartbeat.

"riki?"

"hmm?"

"what did you want to talk about?"

"shit," he sits up, standing from the bed and walking over to the door, where he left a thick black briefcase you hadn't noticed he brought. "okay," he pulls his boxers back on and walks over to sit on the bed with you, where you were already rising to see what he was doing. "promise you'll listen before you answer"

you nod, a little scared.

he opens the case, revealing two syringes and another suit. a white one with a gold spider.

he pulls out the mask, handing it to you. "when i went to australia, i learned some things about givré. the first was that his base is in singapore. the second is that he also has powers. can turn whoever he looks at into ice as long as it looks him in the eyes."

"like medusa"

"yeah, like medusa." riki continues, "and the third, is that he's trying to take the technology that gave me powers and combine it with his genetics to make an army of weird ice-spider people."

"and this relates to me... how?"

"i can't take givré down on my own. his base is too heavily gaurded and there's no way i would be able to take him out alone. your... feminine charms... are exactly what i need, along with agility and just extra hands. so i want to turn you into a spiderman, spiderwoman, too."

"absolutely not." you look at him as if he had lost his mind, which he probably had.

"y/n," he looks at you with a softness in his eyes. "you know i wouldn't ask you to do this if i didn't think you could handle it, right? and i can help you. you're the only person i trust to do this with me."

"no, i'm the only person, period. you don't have anyone else who will help, do you?"

he shakes his head, a somber expression on his gorgeous face. "please," he pleads. "we could be a team." he raises a playful eyebrow, nudging your shoulder with his.

you sit in silence for a few minutes before giving him an answer.

"i'll do it, but only because i hate givré for hurting you," you trace a finger over the stitches healing on his shoulder. "he deserves to die."

riki nods, handing you the rest of the suit; letting you examine it.

"damn, that's nice."

riki nods. "you can put it on, but i need to inject these into you first." he points to the syringes, pulling one out and uncapping it.

"what are they?"

"one's the venom stuff that gives you weird spider powers, the other is a instant-reaction inducer that i perfected so that you get the powers faster. should only take an hour instead of a week."

"should?" you eye the other syringe, filled with purpleish pink liquid.

"i've... never tried it before. but it isn't particularly dangerous."

you give a wary nod, eyes refusing to leave the suspicious syringe in case it grew a pair of legs and plunged itself into your leg.

"we'll start with this one on your arm" riki uses an alcohol swab to wipe your arm before pressing the needle to it, plunging it into your skin and pushing the clear liquid into you.

you shake your arm, feeling a tingle run through your body that wasn't from the cold.

"and then this one." riki wipes another spot on your arm, and quickly pumps the needle and magenta serum into your bloodstream.

you shake your arm again, this time a sharp pain shooting from the puncture through your entire body.

"riki, it's stinging," you say, tears falling from your eyes. "fuck, i shouldn't have done this. shit shit shit."

riki laughs and pats your shoulder. "relax. the rats i tested it on had the same reaction. it goes away in about two minutes."

you raise your voice, practically yelling at riki in a stress-induced rage. "are you calling me a rat?!?!?!"

he bites back another laugh. "no, baby, you're much prettier than a rat. and smarter. and cleaner."

you frown, but already feel the pain lessening.

"put the suit on, let's see how it fits."

you slip the white fabric over your legs, unbuttoning your pajama shirt and pulling the rest over your shoulders.

"this is ridiculous" you say, the weird fabric at least two sizes too big to fit you.

"press the center of the spider."

you do as he says, and the fabric tightens around your body, fitting perfectly against your curves. the lining on the inside was smooth and silky, not chafing against your bare skin at all as you walk around the room. "damn, this feels awesome"

riki stares at you, transfixed.

"what?" you ask, chuckling.

"you look... gorgeous." he stands from the bed and grips your hips, his large hands holding you as he took in your accentuated curves. "like a goddess."

you blush, cheeks flaming. "thank you"

his lips press down into yours in a soft kiss, not urgent, just pure love.

love.

riki loved you.

but he didn't fully know what the feeling meant yet.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

"just jump!"

"thats like... seventy feet! what do you mean 'just jump'???"

"come onnn y/n, it's not as far as you think."

riki is crouched on the edge of the dorm building's roof, his mask back on as he tries to convince you to throw yourself off the edge.

"just get a running start. you know i can catch you if you fall"

you walk backwards, all the way to the other side of the roof, take one last glance at riki, and run.

every sense is heightened when you push off the edge, throwing yourself to the other building.

the wind, the rain, the sounds of people thirty stories below, the lights from akasaka and the convenience store on the main floor of the building across the street.

everything.

and as soon as it started, it was over.

you roll into a somersault onto the other roof, and land sitting with your legs spread, your hands bracing between them to stop your skull from smacking into the concrete.

riki cheers from the building you hurtled off of, standing up and clapping his hands wildly.

"lets gooo!!" he screams through the darkness, barely visible when you turn around to look at him.

you laugh and shoot a thumbs-up.

"what's next"

"let's use those webs"

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

a few hours later, you and riki collapse in your room, laughing from exhaustion and the amount of webs stuck to riki's suit.

you definetly needed to work on your aim.

"your hand-eye coordination sucked" says riki, pulling his mask off and hanging it on the post of your bed. his head rested against the wall with his shoulders pressed into the bed while you were sprawled out on the floor, hair a mess around your face.

it wasn't easy to pull all of it into the mask, but with riki's help you managed to fit all of it under the fabric with only a few strands sticking out.

not bad, it would just take some getting used to.

"sorry, i've only had the powers for two hours. i had to get used to it." you laugh, kicking the part of his leg you could reach.

he rolls his eyes, flipping around to lay on his stomach and kiss you off the side of the bed.

you turned to face him better, your lips pressing into his, hands reaching up and grabbing his jaw. he whined into your mouth, and his cheeks went red when you opened your eyes to look at him.

he was flustered.

cute.

"did you... whimper?" you giggle, hands still tracing his jawline.

he rolls his eyes again, pulling away from you and trying to play it off. "it felt good. sue me."

you laugh again, wrapping your fingers around the back of his head and pulling him into your lips again, taking the lead again.

he folded easily in your arms when you crawled up into the bed, your head in the pillows with his nestled into your shoulder and his hands wrapped around your waist.

you rub your hand through his hair, and he whines again in absolute bliss.

your heart hurt.

he was so sweet. so considerate. so loving.

he tossed a leg over yours, cuddling closer to you, even with both of your suits on.

and thats how you two fell asleep, limbs tangled and riki's head resting in the crook of your neck.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

"we should go to singapore soon."

you look up at riki from where you hung by your legs on the balcony, blood rushing out of your head.

"really? it's only been three days!" you say, climbing to sit upright on the ledge. riki leans against the wall, randomly shooting webs into the early morning sky.

"givré's not gonna wait for us. you're better now too. i think we need to go as soon as possible."

you walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his chest and looking up at him, resting your chin against his chest.

"i'm scared." your voice is small, shaky.

riki smiles softly, his finger brushing a stray hair from your face. "me too." he kisses your forehead. "i won't lose you."

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

you were on the plane three hours later.

riki knew you'd go. he had already booked the flights, already had a bag packed.

you had never been on a plane before. you hadn't done a lot of things before, but riki taught you.

neither of you packed much. just a change of clothes, your phones and chargers, some water bottles, and the suits in a backpack.

riki sat next to you on the plane, giving you the window seat and sitting next to the aisle. his hand rested on your thigh posessively. your skin tingled under his touch.

when the plane took off, you squeezed riki's hand. he smirked when you shut your eyes during turbulence. you opened them to find him smiling, and you hit his arm lightly.

"you're cute" he says, rubbing your leg.

"i'm nervous"

his fingers trail further and further up your thigh, almost touching the apex of your legs.

"then relax" he whispers, knuckles grazing your throbbing clit.

a defeated moan leaves your mouth, and he leans in to whisper in your ear.

"be quiet for me baby. don't want anyone hearing what i do to you. those noises are fucking mine."

you clap a hand over your mouth when he slips a hand into your shorts, sliding his finger between your folds and dragging it up and down.

he laughs darkly, kissing your jaw when he plunges a finger into your aching hole.

every sound you suppress makes you clench around his finger even more, his thumb rubbing your clit for more stimulation. he pushes another finger into your cunt, stretching your walls as your hips buck slightly into his hand.

"shh baby, stay quiet for me. stay quiet and you can cum."

you bite your palm, as he curls his fingers inside you, hitting deep and hard.

and when you fell apart on him, he grinned triumphantly, feeling your pussy clamp onto his fingers as you came over his hand.

he laughed, pulling his hand out of your pants and licking your slick off of them, a tiny groan leaving your lips as he sucks you off of his digits.

just as he finishes, a flight attendant walks down the aisle, and hands you both a bag of crackers and a napkin.

"in case you need to clean up" she says as she walks away, leaving you with a red face and another sly smile on riki's face.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

you were asleep when the plane landed.

riki was surprised you actually were able to rest. he spent the seven hours on his computer, buying acces to the plane's wifi and scouring the internet for any information on givré.

he found almost nothing.

but he did find something.

he poked your cheek with his middle finger, waking you up with a chuckle.

"w-what?" you ask, rubbing your eyes and clearing your throat.

"we landed. and i found some stuff on givré."

"really?"

"yup. apparently, he went to college." he says, turning the laptop to you where a website of a prestigious university in france was open.

"how did he do that without any other records? he doesn't exist!"

"thats what i thought." says riki, typing away on the keyboard. "then i did research into the workers at the college. i scoured the benefactors recognition page and found this guy."

he shows you the screen. there was a picture of a black haired man, he had a long face and pale skin, with grey hairs and glasses, he looked important.

"okay...and he's significant because...." you say, confused.

"he's significant because he's givré's father."

you stare at riki, your eyebrows raised skeptically.

"this guy, gabriel dubois, is a well known scientist. graduated high school at 10, went to that school because his mom went too and had connections, not like he needed them. graduated with his bachelors when he was 12 and got a masters in genetics when he was 15. he worked for a lab in germany for a long time before he got married at 21."

you nod along with riki's words, following his story.

"he started his own study in genetics, using a grant he got from the university to start helping the french government in growing reproduction rates and using genetics to strengthen traits and stuff. he had two daughters, twins, and when he died he donated half of his will to the university. they built a memorial for him too."

"so where's givré in this story?"

"givré is the illegitimate affair child of another woman." riki says, a half smile on his face.

"how the fuck could you possibly know that"

"emails from gabriel and the lady, sarah. it wasn't too hard to get into gabriel's google account. found the messgaes along with pictures and updates on givré. gabriel made sarah keep givré hidden, not wanting anything to happen to himself or the kid. gabriel was able to use his status in the college to pull strings and get givré into the school even though he didn't 'exist.'"

"wow. nepo baby much?" you say, laughing.

"exactly, anyways, givré apparently inherited his daddy's genes, ironically, because he got a masters in genetics too. thats the only trace of him i could find. so now we just have to figure out what the fuck he's working on in singapore. with his base empty it'll be easy to take a peek."

you stand up with riki when everyone starts exiting the plane, filing out of the tight chamber and into the singapore airport.

when you leave the gate, you almost instantly see the waterfall.

"oh my god!" you gasp, staring at the massive structure. an open circle in the ceiling of the huge building. crystal water flowed straight to the ground, a massive pond catching the flow. foliage in all shades of green decorated the whole place, surrounding the stores and balconies.

it was absolutely beautiful.

riki's hand slipped around your waist, pulling you close to him.

"i saw it last time and wished you were here with me," he said, kissing your cheek when a grin spread across your lips.

you giggle, turning your head to peck his lips, and then start walking to the escalator, pulling riki with you.

he follows you to the base of the fountain, watching you stick your hands in the clear water.

he pulls his phone out and takes a picture of you, your back to him, hair in a messy ponytail and your backpack slung over one shoulder.

he puts his phone back in his pocket when you turn to walk back to him, taking a mental note to set that as his wallpaper when he has the chance.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

"so when do we storm the castle?" you ask, your head hanging off the edge of the motel bed as you scroll through instagram.

riki's on the other side of the bed, head resting on the headboard and your foot in his hands.

when you sat down and took off your shoes, you mentioned they hurt. five seconds later, he was massaging your sore feet.

it was sweet.

"tonight. we should go around eleven. it's gonna be better if it's dark."

you nod, lifting your head to look at him.

"we can do whatever for nine whole hours bro"

"bro?" he asks, looking wounded. "bro!?"

you laugh and roll your eyes. "chill bro."

he grabs your calves, dragging you up and into his lap. your cheeks flush, embarrassment so plain on your face.

he presses his forehead to yours, whispering in the small gap between you.

"don't fucking call me bro. your bro doesn't get to fuck you. your bro doesn't get to kiss you like i do. i'm not your fucking bro."

you squeal when he flips over you, pressing you into the mattress and kissing you like his life depended on it.

like he was teaching you a lesson.

your hands trace the outline of his abs through his hoodie, nails scratching through the thick fabric as best as they could. his lips trail down to your neck, sucking on your skin and licking the marks he left.

you push him away, and he gives you a confused look.

"i'm hungry, bro"

he grips your hip as he moves to kneel between your legs and stare furiously at you.

"you're so fucking lucky we need to save our energy for tonight, or my dick would already be halfway down your throat."

you laugh sultrily, rolling over and onto your stomach and going right back to scrolling on your phone.

riki scowls and lays next to you, kissing you on your temple as he turns on the tv and secretly takes a picture of you with a loosened ponytail and your phone in hand.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

riki took you to dinner that night.

nothing fancy, just a hole in the wall sushi place in a strip mall that had good reviews on yelp.

but he was sweet. he remembered you said you didn't like fish eggs, so he ate them for you. he asked about school, apologized for taking you away even with the workload you had, and told you stories about his life.

something you hadn't known much about.

he had two sisters, a dog, friends. people who didn't know about his secret life at night.

that made you feel special.

he liked to dance, even taught classes with his older sister to kids and teens.

adorable.

he dabbled in art, painted and drew a little bit. when the check came he sketched a picture of an anime character on the back.

you kept it, folded it and put it in your pocket.

he noticed.

you went and got ice cream afterwards, huge cones that you could barely hold without dropping.

riki got one with durian on it, you warned him not to, having heard the horrors of the rotting garbage scented fruit, but he was set on it.

you laughed when he spat it out onto the dirt, wiping his tounge with a napkin.

"i didn't know it would be that bad!" he said, licking his vanilla ice cream in a desperate attempt to get the taste out of his mouth.

you shake your head in dissapointment, handing him your stronger, chocolate flavored dessert so he could taste something else.

you walked back to the motel, sitting cross legged on the bed and talking about life, family, dreams.

he held your head in his lap when you got sleepy, rubbing neck and advising you to get some rest before you had to start getting ready to find givré's hideout.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

"do you have everything?" riki asks, pulling the sleeve of his suit over his shoulder and tightening it to fit his body.

you nod, suit already on and your hidden utility belt filled with extra web fluid, a small tazer, a tranq blowdart thing that riki developed, and a bunch of other weapons and devices.

riki stands behind you when you look in the mirror, studying the suit.

"what's up?" he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist and putting his head on your shoulder.

you shrug. "it's just weird, having powers, bring a hero. i don't even feel like one. i don't want to lose you, so i feel like the only way not to is to help.

he nods, kissing you on your temple- his new favorite spot. "i feel the same way. honestly, i'm so proud of you for being brave. for helping me, for being here. i promise i'll protect you."

you stand in silence together, staring at eachother through the mirror.

then he pulls away, grabbing his phone and taking a picture of the two of you in the mirror, your head tilted up and to the side as you smile at him and his hand resting on your hip.

you giggle, telling him to text the photo to you and walking away from the mirror.

he favorites the photo, wanting to remember this moment forever.

×××××××

it was 11:13 when the two of you arrived at the warehouse.

riki found gabriel's will and saw the property was left to sarah, listed as a childhood family friend, but givré was the one who used it.

the building was about the size of an airplane hangar, gaurds at every entrance. the main one had three, and the two side ones had two each.

you and riki were crouched on a water tower, riki steadily watching the side entrance closest to you.

the technology in the masks made it easier to see, the high contrast filter and enlarging lens made it easier for riki to keep tabs on the gaurds.

you fiddled with your suit, shooting webs onto the water tower and molding them into little animals while you waited for riki.

"okay, i have a plan." riki says, not taking his eyes off of the men below.

"shoot." you say, putting down your web cow.

"they rotate every thirty minutes. there are two inside the warehouse every rotation, its like a big circle."

you listen intently, waiting for his direction.

"i need a distraction from one door so i can slip into the warehouse and take a look around. that's where you come in. i need you to get the two gaurds to pay attention to you."

"how do you want me to do that?"

"preferably something that's gonna cloud their judgement. also, the suit turns into an anklet if that's a piece of information you'd like to use."

you can feel the smirk in his voice. but you nod, jump off the tower, and swing into the forest next to the warehouse.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

riki waited for you.

he sat on the water tower, one of the web fishes you made in his hand, and watched the gaurds.

he thought he was ready for you.

but he wasn't.

he watches as a figure stumbles out of the treeline, dirty, ragged, and running towards the gaurds.

he zooms in.

you.

fucking naked.

he knew that's what you were going to do. that's what he wanted you to do. but now he wasn't so sure that's what he really wanted.

because he didn't want other people to see you the way he got to see you. you were his.

he was yours.

but he pushes through, watching as you catch the gaurds' attention.

they fucking noticed.

you grab one of their arms, pleading for help, begging him to save you.

riki saw the gleam in their eyes.

fucking assholes.

you told them you were kidnapped. raped. you had run from the man, and needed shelter.

and they believed you, each one grabbed your arm and pulled you into the warehouse.

riki dropped down to the ground and darted to the door just before it closed, stopping it with his foot and peeking in.

he had to bite back a laugh.

because there you were. your suit was back on and you already had one gaurd on the ground, the other in a headlock with your legs wrapped around his waist and a web covering his mouth.

riki jumped in, tazing the guy in the neck and letting you climb off of him. your hair was a wild mess, covered in mud and knotted at the ends.

riki pulled his own off and kissed you, the mud from your nose smearing on his cheek and his hands holding you tightly.

when he pulled away, he laughed. "you're a fucking brilliant actress"

"yeah, you would think so."

"hey, not my fault you were gorgeous. you actually convinced them."

he helps you pull your hair up and put the mask back on, hiding your face along with his.

"what is this place?" you ask, finally looking around the room you were in.

"looks like a storage closet?" riki holds up a lab coat from a hanger. your hand traced a box filled with safety goggles and gloves.

"let's keep looking." you open the door and poke your head out of the closet, checking for anyone in the hallway.

you motion for riki to follow you, walking past windowed rooms with thousands of mice, rats, and guinea pigs.

the smell was horrid.

like death, shit, and chemicals.

riki pressed a button on his belt, breathing faster now.

you cocked your head at him, and he reached over to press the same button on yours.

you didn't smell it anymore.

an air filter.

you kept walking, past doors with complex locks, windows that were covered yet had light seeping through curtians, and branching hallways.

it reminded you of a hospital.

riki pointed at a door with a lock that was slightly ajar, carefully slipping his fingers into the crevice

your heart pounded.

riki opened the door, and was met with an armored gaurd.

he instantly tazed the bulky man in the neck, the spot the least covered and most vulnerable.

he collapsed, and you kept walking, stepping over the body while riki tied him up with webs.

you gasped. the room was filled with rows and rows of vials, bright blue goo filling the thin tubes.

riki looked up, picking a vial from the row closest to him and twirling it in his fingers.

"this is it."

you watch riki as he drops the vial to the ground crushing it under his foot.

"we should take a few" you say, grabbing a couple from the stand.

"yeah. here are some stoppers" riki says, handing you some corks from the counter against the wall.

you slip three tubes into your belt, tucking them safely away with a few webs to cushion them.

"should we burn the place?" you ask, turning around to riki.

but it isn't just riki in the room.

givré is right behind him, glasses covering his eyes, blue streak prominent as ever, and his turtleneck wrinkled.

"what the hell are you doing here?" you ask, causing riki to spin around and look at givré.

"i should be asking you that question. i didn't know spidey had a girlfriend!"

givré struts around the room, making his way towards a counter.

you shoot a web, covering a gun that was sitting on the tiled surface.

givré chuckles, tounge poking out of his hollow cheek.

"okay. okay. what do you want to know?"

riki holds his ground, pulling a gun from under the table.

"we already know what this is for. obviously you escaped prison, obviously you want to do something to somebody. who else know's whats happening here?" he aims the weapon at givré. a threat.

"there's no one else. i couldn't risk people finding out.looks like that didn't matter" says givré. you can see the nervousness plain on his face, hands shaking.

"okay. great. oh, one more thing," says riki, hand steady. "i think i deserve a little revenge, huh?" he points the gun at givré's heart, cocking it with his free hand.

givré whimpers, falling to his knees.

"please, please don't kill me. please"

"oh, i won't." says riki, chuckling. "but the fire will."

he shoots givré in the shoulder, blood sprouting on the white of his sweater.

you tie him up with webs, sticking him to the ground as riki smashes all the vials he could reach, destroying almost everything that givré worked towards.

"you have a match?"

"yup. this stuff is 100% flammable, it'll be easy to destroy everything. lets light her up."

and that's when you run, flames erupting behind you and riki as you race down the hall and out of the storage room, swinging up to the water tower and watching the warehouse erupt.

"i feel kind of bad for the animals" you say, pulling off your mask.

"it's better they die than be tested on. trust me, i only had a few and i still regret testing on them."

you watch the building burn, walls crumbling and the gaurds racing around, trying to find givré and the missing ones.

riki pulls out a knife, pries open the in the water tower, and lets the cold liquid flow down into the wreckage.

it's over.

for now.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ eight months later ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

"you have got to be kidding me"

riki is standing in your doorway, holding a boquet of lego flowers shaped like spiders, a stupid grin on his face and a box of chocolates under his arm.

"happy eight months to my little eight legged partner in crime!"

"what the actual fuck?" you say, laughing when you open the chocolates and see little plastic spiders decorating the inside.

riki walks in and kisses you, and you kiss him right back, putting the flowers and chocolates on your desk just before he picks you up and carries you out onto the balcony.

"you like them?" he whispers, pressing another kiss to your lips.

"i love them. i love you. my little spiderman."

"woah woah woah," he says, dropping you onto the floor of the balcony. "i wouldn't say little."

"i mean...." you giggle and grab his hand. "i think your hand is bigger than your dick."

"they're like... the same size!" he protests, looking at his hand compared to yours and laughing even in frustration.

"i think you need to prove it."

riki chuckles and picks you back up. "i was planning to watch the sunset with you but now i'd rather watch you under me."

he puts you on the bed, climbing over you and kissing you. "happy anniversary"

"happy anniversary riks" you say breathlessly.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ₊

a.n- AHAHAHHA SPIDERMAN RIKI AHAHHAHAHA im fine im fine im fineeee.... tysm for reading! comment if youd like to join my tagilst and lmk if you have any reqs in my asks!

masterlist you might also like: assigned- n.rk

[forwhomthewordsflow]

Stars In My Eyes

(a part two to this fic!)

modern music teacher!eddie munson x art teacher fem!reader

18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

warnings: fluff, so fluffy, first dates, first kisses, some anxiety/stress, a little dash of coach!steve harrington, suggestiveness

author's note: i feel like this took me ages to write! so sorry for the wait...i do sort of love how this turned out :) writing a first kiss scene is hard!!!

please let me know what your thoughts are on this series!

word count: 7.7k

Eddie Munson couldn’t believe his luck.

Like, sure he’s gotten lucky a few times before.  There was that one time an officer let him off with a warning after he rolled through a stop sign, he’d played the “I’m a teacher during finals week” card and it had seemed to work out pretty well for him.  There were also a few times when a stranger in front of him at the Starbucks drive thru had paid for his morning coffee, only for him to turn around and see there was no one behind him to pay it forward to.  

And then, there was that time back during his final senior year where Stacy Cowell was going through a “rebel phase” and decided to give Eddie a string of random blowjobs over the course of a week and a half to make herself feel like she was living on “the wild side.”  She quickly transitioned out of that phase when Eddie had asked her out on a date, he figured they should probably make an effort to learn a little about each other if she was going to be deepthroating him in the back of his van every other day after school.  She turned him down with a disgusted sneer, leaving Eddie a little heartbroken by the fact that a girl could be so offended at the idea of a date with him.  

But none of that even mattered to Eddie anymore.  All of those situations touched by a bit of luck have been reduced down to mere coincidences now that he has you in his life.  Even though it was only one IKEA date trip that the two of you went on last weekend, Eddie couldn’t stop himself from imagining a long, happy future with you because of how fucking perfect it all went.

- 

You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervously giddy over anything in your entire life.  There had never really been any boys that you were crazy for when you were younger.  Sure, you’d been in love a couple times before, but nothing was ever…”wow.” 

 You’d never felt any real sparks, never met anyone truly special enough to change your life like all of the women you’d seen in movies or read about in books.  

But Eddie…he was very much wow.

After you’d worked out the details for your IKEA trip that afternoon in your classroom, you found it hard to stop blushing for the remainder of the week.  The both of you decided that you’d go on Saturday morning, and Eddie had insisted on picking you up and driving there together.  He bowed his head and lightly pressed his lips to your hand in a dramatic and silly fashion before leaving your classroom.  Your knees felt weak and a bright red blush bloomed on your face as Eddie stood back up to his full height to face you. 

“You know,” he started, still holding your hand, "you're really cute when you blush like that.”

A tiny squeak is all that comes out of your mouth when you open it to respond.  

You struggle to put together a coherent sentence and settle for the smile and girlish giggle that bubbled its way out of your chest.  

“I’ll see you later.”

Eddie started to walk backwards, keeping your hand in his grasp until he was too far away and then turning around to exit your classroom.  There wasn’t much else you could do except stare at the hand that had just been held by him, while holding your other over your mouth in shock.  

Eddie waited the appropriate five seconds after being out of your line of sight before erupting into a silent “fist-punching-head-banging-fuck yeah!” celebration in the hallway.  He couldn’t believe he kissed your hand.  The thought to kiss your hand had barely graced his mind before his body had made the decision to go through with it.  Eddie was terrified that his nerdy qualities would cause you to run for the hills, or that you’d think he was weird or stupid.

But instead, you’d blushed bright red and blessed his ears with a giggle, and all of Eddie’s worries and fears were banished from his mind at the sound of it.  

Eddie decided he was going to really enjoy taking every opportunity to make you blush.  

-

There were only two days until your IKEA trip with Eddie, and somehow you kept missing each other in the hallways at school.  On the rare occasion that Eddie had a spare moment, you were at some kind of art teacher workshop.  Whenever you could pull yourself away from decorating your classroom and lesson-planning, Eddie was leaving early for the day to go look at different types of Tubano drums for his classroom.  

There were a couple of staff meetings that everyone had to attend, but the two of you never ended up sitting next to each other.  Instead, you would indulge in a game of eye tag, making yourself feel like you were in high school all over again with a big fat crush.  

While you were really looking forward to your day out with Eddie, a tiny part of you was glad that you weren’t running into him constantly.  You found yourself overpouring your coffee in the morning because of the way the deep brown shade of the coffee matched the color of Eddie’s eyes.  You accidentally took a sip out of your paint water cup instead of your drinking cup because you were staring off at the lamps in your room, wondering which one had been Eddie’s favorite.  Two days was just what you needed to collect yourself enough to act like a normal human being before you saw Eddie again.  You weren’t even allowing yourself the time to think about being in a car with him for the hour that it took to get to IKEA.  All of the workshops, lesson plans and other preparation for the start of school kept you calm and collected.

Eddie, on the other hand, was reduced to a pile of chunky silver rings and nerves.  He couldn’t stop thinking about everything he had to get done before your trip…date?  Was it a date?  Did you say the word date when you asked him?  Is it even a date when the girl asks the guy-

Eddie’s frantic pacing is interrupted by a shark knock on his propped open classroom door.

“Yo, Munson.  How’s the…” Steve trailed off as he took in Eddie’s disheveled state.  “Dude.”

“I know, I know, man.” Eddie responds, plopping down in a chair that was meant for one of his students.  He puts his head in his hands, tugging on the roots to try and get a grip.

“What’s goin’ on, Ed?  I haven’t seen you this distraught since One Direction broke up.”  Steve sits on top of a desk next to Eddie, jabbing him softly in the shoulder after his lame attempt at getting a smile out of Eddie.  

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head at the stupid joke.  He looks up at Steve with a deep sigh, then stands up and grabs him by the shoulders.

“If I tell you, it stays between us.”  Eddie fixes Steve with a hard look and raised eyebrows, not any different from the look he gives his students when they’re getting up to no good.  “I’m so dead serious.”

Steve’s eyes widen at the sudden seriousness, making a cross over his chest with his finger.  “Yeah man, cross my heart and all that.”

Eddie lets go of Steve, slumping back into the chair with a huff.  

“How do you know that a date is a date, and not just a friend thing?”

Steve smiles cockily and leans forward, always interested in Eddie’s love life…or lack thereof.

“Well, I don’t know…I think I might have to hear a little more about this special lady in order for me to provide some of my good ol’ Harrington Love Advice.”  Steve wiggles his eyebrows at Eddie, throwing in a wink for the sake of being annoying.

Eddie rolls his eyes, he knew it was a mistake to bring up girls around this guy.  Steve was always giving Eddie pointers on how to get chicks the way he did, but Eddie was in no way similar to Steve when it came to relationships.  Steve never had nothing to do on the weekends, always with a new girl, sometimes even the single moms at school.  He’d meet them out at a bar, woo them, take them to dinner and then even sometimes back to his place.  Despite his fuck-boy tendencies, Eddie knows it’s never that meaningful for either party.  Steve’s been pining after one of the English teachers for years, and these flings are only serving as a way to satiate his intensely flirtatious side.  

As annoying as he may be, it would be nice to rant about all of his pent up loverboy feelings for you to Steve.  Eddie knows he’s just giving him a hard time, it’s one of the many love languages they share as best friends.

“I-it’s just…she’s so beautiful man, like…holy fuck.”  Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, looking off into the distance as he rambles on about you.  “I mean just…she looks like some kind of Elven princess-angel-goddess-fairy–”

“Dude, Ed.  None of that nerd shit please, say it to me in English.”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head with a sigh.  

“Okay.  I really like her.  I haven’t felt this way in years, maybe ever.  We met officially yesterday and just…clicked.”

Steve smiles at Eddie as he talks about you, happy to see his friend so excited about someone.

“We made plans to go to IKEA this weekend, but I don’t know what to make of it?  Is it a date?  Should I bring her flowers?  What if I do bring her flowers and she gets weirded out because it was actually never a date at all?”

Steve holds his hands up like he’s trying to calm down an animal.  

“Woah there, buddy.  No need to get all freaked out about it.”  Steve can’t help but to laugh a little at the helpless look on his friend’s face.  “Let’s just start with the details, okay?  Who asked who?”

“She asked me.  I said I liked her lamps and then she said she got them at IKEA and then I said that I needed some for my room and then she said that we should go to IKEAandshopforsometogether-”

“Okay, okay man.  Take a deep breath.”  Steve motions for Eddie to inhale for a couple seconds.  

“Then let it all out.”  Eddie expels the breath from his lips in a hard huff, looking a little calmer.  “Alright.  So, she asked you?”

Eddie nods.

“That’s good, it means she’s interested!  Not a lot of women are making the first move these days, it means that she definitely wants a slice of Munson.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at Steve, but still waits for him to go on.

“Are you picking her up for the trip to IKEA?”

“Yeah, I offered to pick her up and drive us both there since it’s about an hour away.”

Steve scratches his five o’clock stubble.

“Hmm…okay.  Did she like…jump at the chance for you to drive her or was there some hesitation before she agreed?”

Eddie thinks back to that moment.  How the two of you were standing slightly too close for new friends, the way your eyes seemed to sparkle as you looked up at him, how he was surprised you couldn’t hear his heart beating out of his chest.  

He remembers offering to drive the both of you to the store, surprising himself by saying it way calmer than he was feeling.  Your face lit up a little, like you were shocked that he’d even offer to pick you up and drive you there.  You smiled and nodded your head sweetly before agreeing out loud.

Eddie feels himself smiling at the tiny memory.

“It wasn’t like she immediately answered…but she definitely was smiling when she agreed.  She didn’t seem nervous about it or anything, it was more like she was excited or something.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up as a smirk emerges on his face.

“So let me see if I’m getting this straight.  She asked you to go to IKEA, probably knowing it was a long drive, and then she happily agreed to let you pick her up and drive the two of you there?  For a whole two hours there and back?”

Eddie nods, anxiously awaiting Steve’s opinion on all of this.

“I mean, it’ll probably be a good four or five hours that you spend together driving and shopping.”

Steve fixes Eddie with a look that says ‘c’mon man, it’s obvious.’

Eddie’s had enough of his edging.  “Will you just get to the fucking point please for the love of god?”

Steve sighs and claps a hand on Eddie's shoulder. 

“Ed, it’s a date.”

Eddie barks out a triumphant laugh and Steve does the same.  The two men high five and Steve wraps a beefy arm around Eddie’s shoulder to pat him on the chest.  Eddie can’t help but to let out a big sigh of relief now that he can stop worrying about how to act on this trip date.

-

On Friday, you could’ve sworn you went slightly neurotic.  

Since Tuesday you’d been considering your day with Eddie as a date, but it suddenly hit you that maybe he didn’t feel the same way.  What if you’d been doing all this worrying and freaking out for no reason?  What if he ends up calling you ‘dude’ the entire day?  What if he has a girlfriend already, and he just agreed to take you to IKEA so that you wouldn’t get your feelings hurt?

You’d been running circles in your head trying to prepare yourself for any and all possible outcomes that Saturday could hold for you, but none of it seemed to be doing you any good.

So, you did what you always did whenever you found yourself flipping out over something new.

You made a to-do list. 

Pick out an outfit.  Dress! too fancy…jeans?  Dress, definitely dress. not too fancy though…

Drink wine 

Watch movie

Clean house…again

Drink more wine

Possibly reconsider outfit…

After all was said and done, you plopped down on your worn-in couch, sufficiently drunk with a clean house and an outfit neatly hung up outside of your closet.  You decide to pour your third and final glass of wine for the evening, and to surrender your anxiety to the gods of love.  You hope and pray that they like you enough to let you have this one. 

-

It was finally Saturday.  Eddie stands in front of his closet furiously, wondering why in the fuck he can’t find a single thing to wear for his date with you today.  He’s got enough clothes to fill his entire closet, dresser, and a $20 clothing rack he picked up at Target years ago.  Steve said to just go with what felt the most like ‘Eddie’, but he’s suddenly unable to remember what his style even looks like.  

He wants to punch himself in the nuts for not taking the time last night to plan this all out like a normal person.  

He ends up settling for a fitted white tee, a pair of trusty black jeans, and black boots.  On a FaceTime call with Steve (so he could approve Eddie’s choice), Steve mentioned that the outfit was casual, but still fairly nice, and that the white shirt showed off his tattoos and muscles.

“Chicks dig the muscles and white tee combo, man.  Trust.”

Eddie chuckles at his friend’s ‘frat boy’ lingo, but the comment makes him feel better about his appearance anyways.  Last year, Steve had managed to convince Eddie to start going to the gym with him after school during the week, and it pains him to admit that he sort of really likes it now.  He likes how much stronger he feels, he likes sweating out all of his frustrations, and most of all he likes the way he fills out his t-shirts now.

After hanging up the call with Steve, Eddie flexes a little in his mirror before leaving to go pick you up.  He decides to do a few last minute push ups and to moisturize the tattoos on his arms so that he looks extra good for you.

-

Perhaps being slightly neurotic about this date was a good idea.

Thanks to all of your meticulous planning, you managed to get completely ready with a half hour to spare.  You decided against sitting on your couch until Eddie arrived since the nervous butterflies in your stomach made you want to throw up, so you opted to wander around your house for the remainder of the time.

You pass by your mirror, doing a final check and making sure your outfit and makeup are up to par.  You’d decided on a simple white dress, with a denim button up thrown over it and your pair of black chelsea boots that had yet to let you down.  You smile at your reflection, happy that you’d managed to choose a comfy and cute outfit that felt like you.

There’d been too many dates before this one where you’d gone out and spent insane amounts of money on brand new outfits that you weren’t even sure you really liked, all in the name of impressing your date and hoping he likes you enough to ask you out on a second one.  When prepping for those dates, you spent hours upon hours running around like a mad woman.  Shaving, plucking, tweezing, waxing.  Making sure your hair curled just right and that your eyeliner was sexy, but not slutty.

You couldn’t figure out why Eddie felt so different to you.  Even though the nerves of a first date had really freaked you out the night before, this morning was fairly calm.  Sure, you took plenty of time in the shower and doing your hair and makeup, but it didn’t feel like you were trying to morph into a different version of yourself to please a man. 

It felt more like you were trying your best to look like your favorite version of yourself. 

You want Eddie to know who you are inside and outside of work, and you really hope that he likes what he finds. 

-

Eddie stays parked outside of your house for a minute or two to try and settle his nerves.  

You lived in a small, red brick house in a family neighborhood.  There were flowers planted in the beds under your windows, and your front door was painted a deep turquoise color.  Eddie sucks in a breath when he sees your figure moving around through the gauzy white curtains covering your windows.  

How can a hazy silhouette still be so beautiful?

Looking into his rearview mirror, Eddie takes a deep breath.

“You got this man.  Be cool.”

He turns his car off and makes his way to your front door, knocking three times and then taking a step back to wait for you.

It takes all of two seconds for your front door to swing open, revealing you on the other side.

Eddie immediately feels weak in the knees.  You looked so cute in your little boots, and he couldn’t help but to let his eyes trail up the smooth skin of your legs.  He gulped a bit at the short hem of your dress, and then realized he should probably say something.

“Hey you.”

“Hi,” You smile up at him bashfully as he looks you up and down.  You take the opportunity to look him over as well, and damn.  You already knew he was sexy, but his tight tee shirt and pulled back hair made you want to drag him into your house and do things to him…

You only notice that he’s been holding a hand behind his back when he brings it out in front of him, revealing a beautiful bouquet of flowers.  

“These are for you.  I didn’t know which was your favorite, so I just asked the lady to throw together a bunch of different kinds and to make it look pretty.”  Eddie holds the colorful bouquet out to you and smiles sheepishly.  

Your mouth hangs open as you reach out to take them, being so careful for no real reason.  You look up at Eddie with those big, sparkling eyes.

“Thank you so much, Eddie.  These are so incredibly beautiful,” he watches you looking down at the flowers, gently brushing your fingers against their petals.  “Let me run inside and find a vase for them real quick.  Come on in!”

You wave him in behind you and hurry inside.

Eddie tries to suppress the excitement he feels at being invited into your home.  He felt like he already got a good glimpse at who you are and how you express yourself when he was inside your classroom, but he’s now getting to see where you spend the majority of your time, where you live.  As he steps over the threshold and into your house, he readies his brain to take mental pictures of everything he sets his eyes on, just in case he never sees it again.

Instantly, he’s hit with a sense of “home.”  The inside of your house is the perfect temperature and it smells so good and womanly, like your perfume and also like you’ve been baking something but somehow also like flowers…Eddie loves it already.

You scurry off into the kitchen, trying not to think about the fact that Eddie Munson is looking around your house right now.

Where in the hell have all of your vases run off to?

Eddie walks around cooly with his hands clasped behind his back, taking in everything about your space.  Much like your classroom, Eddie is able to spot at least four different sized lamps and light fixtures placed around your entryway and living room.  There were warm white Christmas lights hung up along the ceiling, multiple green-leaved plants in different corners, and Eddie even thinks he spotted a black cat sprinting under your soft looking white sectional.

Overall, he’d give your interior design skills an 11/10. 

He’s just starting to miss you a little when you come out from your kitchen holding your flowers in a sparkly glass vase.  

It’s an odd feeling, seeing Eddie in your house.  His ‘edgier’ look seems like it wouldn’t fit with your overall aesthetic, but to your surprise he looks like he belongs here.  You walk up to him almost in a daze, admiring the silver hoop earrings he’s wearing, the smile on his lips, and the way some of his hair has made its way out of his low bun to frame his face.  

The two of you stand there for a moment looking at each other, with you holding your flowers in between your bodies.  You engage in a staring match for almost a second too long before you break the silence.

“No one’s ever gotten me flowers before,” you sheepishly admit, looking down at them instead of at him.  Eddie grins at the blush that blooms onto your cheeks after your prolonged eye contact.

Eddie scoffs before he can stop himself.

“Seriously?  That’s a damn shame, sweetheart.”

You look up at him again and try not to faint at how easily the word fell from his perfect lips.  Unable to take another second of his eyes on yours, you retreat into your living room to find the perfect place for your new flowers.  You decide to put them on your coffee table, then turn around to find that Eddie had followed you in.  

He offers his arm out to you, “Shall we?”

This time, you can’t fight the smile.

You take his arm and swipe your purse from the coat hanger next to your front door on your way out.

-

Eddie was the perfect gentleman for the entire duration of the car ride to IKEA.  He had opened the car door for you, he let you pick the music, and he definitely did not sneak a glimpse at your bare, voluminous thighs when your dress shifted as you sat down.  The sweet smell of your perfume spread throughout the interior of his truck, he hopes that smell never fades away.

He couldn’t help glancing over at you every other minute, looking so beautiful in his passenger seat while you bobbed your head to whatever song you had queued up on his phone. 

“Would it be a total invasion of privacy if I played your On Repeat playlist?  I’m dying to know what the music teacher’s favorite music is right now.”  Eddie turned to see that you were smiling pleadingly at him, and how could he say no to that face?

“I suppose,” Eddie sighs dramatically.  “But, you are not allowed to judge me for whatever pops up.”  He playfully points a finger at you while keeping his eyes on the road.  You giggle girlishly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You hit ‘shuffle’ on Eddie’s playlist and aren’t surprised when the first song that plays through the speakers is ‘The Unforgiven ll’ by Metallica.  You already knew Eddie was a fan of the band thanks to the music he always has playing a tad too loudly whenever you pass by his classroom.

“Oh, I know this song!”

Eddie’s face whips towards you sporting a shocked ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me’ expression.  He was definitely expecting you to be the ‘indie music’ type.  Your eyebrows furrow adorably angrily at the look on his face.  

“What?  A girl can’t like Metallica?” You fix him with a look that tells Eddie he should think twice about his response.

“W-well…I just didn’t expect you to be into them…that’s all.”  You roll your eyes playfully at him and cross your arms.  “But!  I’m very pleasantly surprised that you are!  Girls rule, alright?  Men like…totally suck and stuff.”

You chuckle at his frantic attempt at avoiding a lecture on gender inequality and feminism while settling back into your seat.  And because you actually do know and love this song, you start mouthing the words, which eventually evolves into singing them under your breath.

When Eddie thought he spotted you mouthing the words out of the corner of his eye, he was sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him.  But just barely hearing you singing the words to his favorite Metallica song just further confirmed a fact that he already knew.

Eddie Munson was totally going to fall in love with you.

The rest of the car ride consisted of sharing music, talking about work and life, childhood memories, and other random topics.  Eddie discovered that you love thunderstorms, your cat’s name is Pascal (after the chameleon from Tangled), and that you moved here at the beginning of summer from Chicago.

Eddie swears there’s never been a conversation in history that flowed as well as yours and his.  He felt like he’s known you for years, and he hopes you’re feeling the same way.

You totally are.

-

Once the two of you made it to IKEA and inside the giant store, Eddie quickly realized that he never really put any thought into what he actually wanted to buy for his classroom.  You swiftly came to his rescue and pulled out your phone to open up Pinterest.

Together, you found a couple pictures that matched the general vibe of Eddie’s classroom.  He grabbed a map of the store and a cart, and set off into the maze of furniture.  

You were back to being shy again, now that you were out in the wild with Eddie.  He found that making jokes about all of the funny names got you giggling, and so he didn’t miss an opportunity.

He made you laugh the hardest next to the Koppang drawers.

You bumped your shoulder into his around the Baggebo bookcases.

His hand brushed yours next to a Tornviken kitchen island. 

And Eddie finally worked up the courage to hold your hand next to a Klippan loveseat.

You gasped a little when you felt his warm hand slide into yours, interlocking your fingers together.  A red hot blush worked its way up your neck as you snuck a glance over at him, only to find that he was already looking at you with a smirk.  He knows exactly what this hand holding is doing to you.

He chuckles smugly as the two of you arrive at the lights section of the store.  As he pushes the cart through the aisles, you’re enamored by the twinkling lights that are draped overhead.  You’re lucky he’s holding your hand, or else you probably would’ve fallen flat on your face.  Eddie can’t help but to stare at you as you stare up at all the different light fixtures.  The different colors and hues of light shine beautifully onto your face, and the soft smile on your lips makes Eddie wish he could just grab you and kiss you right here in the aisle.  But, he figures that would cause you to explode after your reaction to his hand-holding.

He watches as you look further down the aisle at the lamps that are on display there, your face lighting up in recognition.

“Oh!  That’s one that I’ve got in my room!”  You point at an orange, donut shaped light called a Varmblixt.  Eddie recognizes it, you do indeed have one hanging on the wall behind your desk.

“I must have it,” Eddie says with a flourish ,”Never have I seen a more extraordinary donut lamp.”

You giggle and go to grab one to place in the cart, but the box proves to be way heavier than you remember.  Eddie notices as soon as you inhale to exert more effort, and he steps in immediately. 

 No fair maiden such as you should be forced to exert any effort whatsoever in his presence.

“I’ve got it, sweetheart.”

You try not to let the name affect you but once again, you fail.  You’re left blushing and biting your lip, speechless.  You stare unashamed at Eddie as he picks up the heavy box and goes to place it in the cart with ease.  The overhead lights were really doing him favors, every ridge and contour of his body was lit to perfection.  You could see the delicious bulge of his biceps, the ripple of his forearm muscles, and the outline of his chest in his shirt….why is your mouth watering?

Eddie easily places the box in the cart, turning to face you again.  He finds you blushing up at him with wide eyes, and is unable to contain the smug smirk on his face.  The sudden lack of distance between the two of you did not go unnoticed by him, he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart pounding in his chest.

The ‘normal you’ would’ve noticed that you were obviously in Eddie’s personal bubble, and you would’ve taken a step back like the respectable adult that you are.  But the ‘normal you’ was long gone in Eddie’s presence.  This version of you was not unlike the version that existed when you were an awkward teenager who was on the brink of passing out anytime a boy even breathed in your direction. 

While you were busy ogling Eddie’s physique, you’d failed to notice the close proximity between the two of you, which led you to your current situation.  

You and him were so close together, you could feel the warm puffs of air from between his parted lips gently hitting your face.  His gaze trailed down from your eyes to your lips, but you wouldn’t have noticed anyways because you were one step ahead of him.

His lips looked so pillowy and soft, you wondered how they’d feel pressed against yours.  Would he kiss you slowly, gently holding your face in his big hands and brushing his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks?  Or would he be rougher than that, grabbing you by the waist and tugging you into him, kissing you with fire and passion?

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow as he watches you suck your bottom lip into your mouth to bite it.  You’re so goddamn beautiful, and you looked like an angel in this aisle of lights.  A lamp from behind you lights up the silhouette of your hair like a halo, and he can see the lights above his head reflected in your eyes like stars.  

Eddie knows he shouldn’t kiss you right now, not in the middle of IKEA where he can hear kids whining to their parents and couples arguing over which shade of beige would match their living room better.  He knows this, but he can’t stop himself from reaching his hand up to gently grasp your jaw.  His thumb slides from your chin to your bottom lip, tugging it free from your teeth.

His hand snakes down to the side of your neck, and you can feel the slight tremor in his hand.  You’re glad that the situation is affecting him too, because you are freaking out.  

Is he going to kiss you right now?  

In IKEA?

On your first date? 

Is this even a date?  

Do you even want him to kiss you?  Idiot, of course you want him to.

Eddie’s eyebrows lift slightly, almost questioning you.  Asking you, ‘Do you want this? Is this okay?’

You answer him with a soft smile, and you feel his hand move behind your neck to pull you in.

It is at this moment that a baby starts to wail one aisle over, effectively ruining any sort of moment you and Eddie had been sharing.

He lets out a frustrated huff, and touches his forehead to yours with closed eyes.  

“Of course,” he groans.

You’re secretly giddy at the fact that he so obviously wanted to kiss you badly.  You bring your hand up to his arm that’s still resting on your neck to give it a reassuring squeeze, and in a surprising burst of confidence, you rise up on your toes to peck him on the cheek.

Eddie’s eyes shoot open at the feeling of your soft lips on his cheek.  He pulls back to stare down at you as his face turns red.

You giggle at him, then turn around to walk down the aisle.

“C’mon, I think I saw another one of my lamps down this way!”

Eddie snaps himself out of his daze with a shake of his head, he’s sure that he’s got hearts in his eyes as he watches you walk away from him.  Grabbing the cart with one hand, he holds his other gently to his cheek, touching the spot that’s still warm from your lips.

-

Eddie ends up purchasing five lamps from IKEA after an hour and a half of wandering through the aisles with you.  

He can’t help but to act like the loverboy he is when he’s looking at furniture with you.  He fantasizes about a life with you, imagining that the two of you are actually here to pick out items to furnish your shared house.  

He wonders which kind of wood floors you’d pick out and which backsplash you’d want in the kitchen.  You’d probably want to decorate with colorful rugs and throw pillows, and Eddie wouldn’t complain.  Not as long as you’re happy.   He’d live in a pink house decorated with bows and lace trim as long as he was living in it with you.  

Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, it’s only your first date together right?

If only he knew you were having similar thoughts as you strolled up and down the aisles, hand in hand.  You thought about what kind of decorating he did in his house, you figured it was styled in some way considering the amount of effort he puts into making his classroom look as cool as it does.  Does he have shelves full of records or different posters framed and hung up on his wall?  Which side of the bed does he sleep on?  You hope he likes plants, there’s no way you could part with your beloved greenery if the two of you were to live together.

You’re quick to silence the random thoughts buzzing around in your head, it’s silly to think about these things on your very first date…you don’t even know his middle name yet!

You and Eddie both seem to snap out of your stupors at the same time, sighing simultaneously.  You both turn to look at each other and then begin to laugh, unsure on whether or not the ‘jinx’ rules apply in a sighing situation.  

-

Eddie pays for the lights, and soon enough you’re both back in his truck.  

It dawns on you that your date is almost over, but you’re quickly redirected when you hear the starting notes to the next song that starts playing when Eddie’s phone connects to his radio.

Is that…Taylor Swift?

You turn to him slowly, confused at why a Taylor Swift song is on his ‘On Repeat’ Spotify playlist.

Eddie’s already staring at you mortified.  He holds a hand up, pausing any words that might’ve come out of your mouth.

“Before you say anything,” he begins ,”I really admire her lyricism.  Girl’s a wizard with words.”

The two of you sit in a charged silence for a moment before you can’t hold in your reaction any longer.  A laugh breaks free from your chest, and Eddie can’t  help but to laugh along with you.

You’re wiping tears from your eyes as your laughter dies down, and Eddie just grins at you.

“I can’t believe it.  The rock and roll music teacher listens to enough Taylor Swift for it to end up on his ‘On Repeat’ playlist.”  You shake your head at him with a wide smile on your face that Eddie wants to take a picture of and frame.  

“Yeah, yeah…laugh it up.  As a music teacher, it’s my duty to appreciate all types of music.”

You nod along to his explanation, “Yes, of course.  How else are you supposed to connect with the teenage girls these days?”

“Right! Yes!”  Eddie exclaims.  “I do this lesson on lyrics and Taylor’s music is a great example of what storytelling in music can look like.  I respect her, hard.”

You stifle another laugh at his emotional Taylor Swift themed outburst.

“This stays between you and I alright?” Eddie points a finger at you playfully.  “If Harrington gets word of this I’ll never live it down.”

“Of course, my lips are sealed.”  You mime zipping your lips shut and throwing away the key.

Eddie settles back into his seat with a huff, boyishly smiling over at you.

“I have a very important question for you Eddie.”

He leans in, intrigued by your seriousness. 

“Which era are you in right now?”

Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back with a groan.  This sends you into another laughing fit, Eddie can’t help but to join in again.  He’s coming to find out that your joy is such an infectious thing.

“Hmm let’s see…,” he muses.  He turns to look at you with one hand on the wheel and a smirk on his face as he puts his keys in the ignition.  

“Right now…I’d have to go with ‘Lover,’” he says with a wink.

Your laughter is cut off abruptly as you gasp and bite your lip, attempting to subdue the cheesy grin that’s surely made its way onto your face by now.  

You stare unashamed as Eddie puts his right hand over the back of your seat to turn around and look through the rear window as he reverses the car out of its parking spot.  You can smell the cologne he must’ve sprayed on this morning, which immediately awakens the butterflies in your stomach.

As soon as Eddie is set on the route back to your house, he holds out his hand expectantly over his center console.  You look at it, then at him, then back at his hand before shyly placing your hand in his.  He’s quick to lace his fingers through yours, holding on tight and running his thumb back and forth.

You’re both thinking that you could get used to this.

-

Eddie (reluctantly) only lets go of your hand in order to rush around the front of his truck to open your car door for you after he’s pulled into your driveway.  He’s quiet as he walks you to your front door, wondering which way is the best way to ask you out on another date.  

You stop when you reach your door, looking down at your hand in his.  The silence begins to feel just a tad awkward as you both search for something to fill it.

“Thank you,” you start quietly ,”for today.  I had a wonderful time.”

Eddie lets out a relieved breath and grins widely down at you.

“I did too,” he begins, readying himself for his next question.  “Would you…I mean–would you like to…uh…shit, would you want to maybe do it again sometime?”

You know what he means, but it’s still so tempting to tease him when he’s blushing like this.

“Would I want to go to IKEA with you again?”

“N-no!  I mean, if you wanted to we could I guess…b-but I was thinking something more along the lines of dinner?”

You find it adorable how nervous he is to ask you out on a second date, as if you wouldn’t agree to go out to dinner with him tonight.

“I’d love that.”

Eddie’s face lights up with a triumphant smile as he lets out the anxious breath he’d been holding in.  

“Good, that’s really good.”  The way you’re smiling up at him right now is causing him to lose his train of thought.  “Um…how’s tomorrow night?  Around 7?”

“Tomorrow night is perfect.”

“Awesome.  Great, yeah I’ll just…I’ll pick you up, okay?”

You’re beaming as you nod your head, much too ecstatic at the idea of going out with Eddie again to form a coherent sentence.

Eddie finds himself smiling and nodding with you, you’re just too adorable. 

“Hey could I uh…c-could I get your number?” Eddie stammers the question out like he’s a prepubescent teenager, mentally face palming the whole time.

He’s relieved when you chuckle and hold your hand out for him to place his phone in.  He fumbles around trying to give you his phone as quickly as possible, he can’t believe how nervous he feels right now. 

He finally somehow manages to pass over his phone with a new contact page pulled up and ready for you.  You type in your number and name, making sure to add the artist’s palette emoji afterwards.  Eddie laughs through his nose when he sees it, then pockets his phone again.  

There’s a weird tension in the air that can only be brought upon by two people who so obviously want to kiss each other, but are too nervous to make the first move.  Eddie wracks his brain for a way to ask you if it’d be okay for him to kiss you without looking like a total idiot.  It’s really unfortunate that the way you bite your lip causes his mind to completely shut off and switch to autopilot.  

“I really wanna kiss you right now,” he blurts out.

You look up at him, shocked at his bluntness.  Eddie’s even more shocked than you are.

“Y-you probably should then,” you bashfully admit.

Eddie can’t believe that worked.

He steps towards you and softly places one hand on your cheek, the other going to gently grasp the side of your neck similarly to the way he had in IKEA during your almost-kiss.

Your eyes flutter closed as you feel his lips graze yours for the first time.  The feeling is electrifying, and you can’t help but to venture forward for more.  

Your lips were just as soft, if not softer, than Eddie imagined. 

You plunge forward to press your lips against his, instantly deepening the kiss.  Eddie found himself instantly addicted to the feel of your lips and the way you sigh into the kiss.  It’s a shy kiss at first, where the two of you slowly begin to figure out your shared rhythm.  But it wasn’t long before you sank into a synchronized dance, mirroring each other’s movements in a way that crafted the most perfect, earth shattering first kiss.  

You let Eddie Munson kiss you at your front door in a way that you had longed to be kissed for your entire life.  This was how the women you saw in movies or read about in books were kissed.  You’d read about magic and sparks flying, and you think you’re finally starting to believe in all of it.  

Eddie moves his hand from your cheek to your waist, gripping it and pulling you closer to him.  The gasp you let out gave him the sweet opportunity to run his tongue against your bottom lip, asking, pleading for an entrance which you of course granted.  You tasted like autumn and felt like home, he decided he could kiss you for hours on end.

You both stood there for a good five minutes at your front door, making out like giddy teenagers and feeling like them too.  Eddie finally pulls away from your lips, pleased to find you subtly chasing his mouth with your own.  You open your eyes and come out of your kiss-induced haze to find him smiling adoringly down at you with both hands now circling your waist.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you once more. 

“Actually, I’m gonna call you tonight.”  He kisses you again.  “Is that okay?”  Another peck.

You're giggling as he places a final kiss on your forehead, “Yes, please.”

“Good.”

Eddie steps back, grabbing your hand to kiss it like he did on Tuesday.  He pulls you back in with that same hand to plant one last kiss on your lips, then jogs back to his truck.  He waves and quickly honks his horn twice as he pulls away.  

You’re left standing at your front door, watching his truck disappear down your street and reliving every moment of your first kiss with Eddie Munson.

When you finally make your way inside, you make sure to smell your brand new beautiful flowers before scurrying off to your bedroom to pick out an outfit for your second date with Eddie tomorrow night.  

TAGLIST:

@josephquinnsfreckles @the-fairy-anon @anukulee @littlebebebunny @meetmeatyourworst @lalalala-melmosworld @someantics @lokis-army-77 @loserboysandlithium @strangerstilinski @mystra-midnight @lesservillain @queenimmadolla @luveline @munson-blurbs @fairyysoup @urhoneycombwitch @oneforthemunny @rebelfell @taintedcigs @wroteclassicaly @eiightysixbaby @bettyfrommars @loveshotzz @lovebugism @carolmunson @rustedhearts @lonelysatellites

[dem-obscure-imagines]

The Lighthouse Vol. 1

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Note: Howdy. Finally finished it. I really love how this one turned out. Very domestic fluff, forced proximity type stuff. Bob is so very dear to me, so I hope you enjoy it. I will also be posting this to my Ao3 for easier navigation; right here.

Summary: After the battle with Thanos, getting dusted for five years followed directly by another battle with Thanos, you were more than content living in your small, small town on the coast of Maine, overlooked by a beautiful lighthouse. Your life was perfect, you thought. Quiet, sure, but perfect. Until Bucky Barnes showed up on your doorstep with Bob Reynolds in tow.

Warnings: canon-typical drug mention (Bob’s former drug use), mental health discussion (but nothing super super serious; Bob has depression and Bipolar), little bit of canon-typical violence as a treat, some swearing.

Word Count: 29k (Split into Two Volumes, Vol. 2 here)

Reader Is: Female (only mentioned a few times, I think, I tried to be vague-ish), late-twenties

An Unexpected Bucky

“Crashing against him like…like a wave on the…no. No, that’s so bad,” You murmured to yourself, finger repeatedly tapping the backspace key. Maybe writing a book was harder than you thought it would be. How had Scott Lang pulled it off, you wondered. Granted, Scott’s book was an autobiography and you were dabbling in fiction, which was harder, you were sure.

You took a long sip of your drink. Something warm and caffeinated to power you through the next chapter or so, you hoped.

Outside, there were actual waves crashing against the actual shore, not too far from the little east coast house you called home. It was a dreary kind of day, the sky full of clouds. It wasn’t supposed to rain, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it did. You didn’t mind. The rain helped you think sometimes, and god knew you could use it.

Your eyes scanned the last paragraph you had, fingers itching for the next words. Sometimes, it was just so hard to let it flow. And you weren’t exactly in the ideal position to be writing a kissing scene, let alone anything steamier than that, given how long it had been since you’d partaken in any of those activities. Maybe you’d have to read some and come back to it.

Before you had the chance to decide, your phone rang.

You didn’t get many calls these days. Not important ones, anyway. Mostly spam concerning your car’s extended warranty or robo-calls from those scam Avengers Insurance agencies. No one was going to cover your car if it got smashed by the Incredible Hulk. That was merely a risk people took living in New York, you were afraid. It was why you’d moved away. You’d seen something on the news the other day about some new incident out that way. A giant, looming shadow that had been, miraculously defeated. Once you knew you didn’t need to head out to help, you’d turned it off. You hadn’t done much hero work lately; you were probably rusty anyway.

Instead, you’d picked a quiet life in Seaberg, Maine. Left New York and hadn’t looked back.

You picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, kid. Your doorbell still broken?”

“Congressman Barnes, good to hear from you. And yeah, I think it is. Why, do you know a guy?”

“Nah, but could you come open the door?”

Oh. That changed things. You slipped off of your barstool and straightened your shirt out, glancing down at yourself. Yeah, your oversized tee and your Stitch pajama pants would have to do, you supposed. You unlatched the door, undoing the three locks holding it shut and pulled it open to find Bucky, looking different than he’d looked in the news circuit since he’d been elected. A little rougher around the edges.

Still, he smiled when he saw you, pulling you in for a hug. “Hey. How are you doing?”

“I’m good, Bucky. How are you?”

He hesitated. “Loaded question. Can we come in?”

We? Sure enough, when he stepped to the side, he revealed another guy, standing there in his shadow, a mop of curly brown hair hiding some of his face. He waved, hand swallowed up by the sleeve of the sweater he was wearing. From underneath the curls, a pair of kind, curious eyes peered out. Harmless, you ruled. Utterly harmless.

“Hi there. Yeah, uh, come on in.”

The aforementioned guy followed Bucky into the house, dragging a small orange suitcase behind him. You raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. You knew answers were coming.

Bucky made himself comfortable. Opened your fridge, grabbed a bottle of beer from the door of it. Used that fancy vibranium arm to crack it open with a hiss.

“How’s Congress?” You asked, sitting back at your island.

He huffed a laugh. “Done with that now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was a quick term! What happened?”

“You been watching the news?”

“Here and there.” You shrugged, stirring your straw in your drink. You glanced at the guy again. At his suitcase. He wandered a little further into your house, drawn to your shelf of DVDs. “What’s going on?”

“You hear about the, uh…incident in New York last week?”

“Some of it. Shadow guy or something. Seemed like it was handled and I didn’t get a call, so I figured…”

Bucky tilted his head towards the guy, eyes saying everything his words didn’t.

Your eyebrows furrowed, glancing over at him. He was crouched in front of the shelf, reading the names of the movies off of the spines. Utterly, utterly harmless. And yet…

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. We’re renovating the Tower. He needs a place to lay low for a few weeks. I figured I’d see if you had any objections. I know you have a guest room.”

“The Tower? The Tower? What the hell…?” You knew you’d been checked out for a few weeks, but that was news.

“Yeah, so that’s the other bit.” Bucky took a sip from his beer. “We’re starting the team back up. We could use a healer, if you’re up for it. I know you seem very…comfortable here, but…” He pointed to the decor you had up. “It’s nice, by the way. Looks really nice.”

“Thanks.” You looked at the guy again, and he was looking back this time, sitting criss-cross on the floor in your living room. He gave a pleasant smile.

“I’m Bob, by the way. You’re (Y/N)?”

“Yep, I’m (Y/N). Nice to meet you, Bob.” You turned back to Bucky. “Is he…like you used to be?”

“In a sense, yeah.” Bucky nodded. “We don’t know the extent of it, but you’re the expert.”

“No, the Wakandans were the experts. I was the contingency plan. You do know that, right?” It was true. They were the ones that had broken through Bucky’s mental conditioning. You were just there to put him to sleep. You were a healer, among other things. One of your abilities lulled people unconscious, which came in handy when the Winter Soldier was on a rampage.

“Well, I called. They’re kind of dealing with something over there. So…”

“I’m next on the phone tree. Well, I’m honored you thought of me. I haven’t heard from anyone since…well, since Tony’s funeral, really. We’re all scattered to the winds now.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I’m serious, though. They’re all very green. We could use someone with a little experience.” He said.

You exhaled a long breath, looking around at your things. Just pack it all up? Just leave? Snip the roots you’d put down and go? And then you looked at Bob again, who had moved on to inspect your collection of Wii games, nodding to himself as his eyes skimmed over Mario Galaxy and your Just Dance collection.

“Oh wow…” He murmured, looking impressed.

“I have a job here. I’d need someone to help me pack all this shit up. I’m not leaving my records and my Legos in Maine.”

“I’m sure Bob would love to help you downsize. He likes organizing stuff. And I’ll bring some help to get it all moved in two weeks.” Bucky offered, giving that little expectant look that you were sure had all the dames in the forties swooning over him. Yes, Bucky, whatever you say, Bucky. It was unfair, really. No wonder he’d won the election, even though you were pretty sure he’d killed JFK.

You gave another sigh. A more resigned sigh. You shook your head, not as your answer, but just in spite of yourself. Chuckled, even. “Yeah, alright, fine. I’ll put in my two weeks. And I’ll have a list of groceries I want in that pantry the second I step over that Tower threshold.”

He grinned. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Greener Pastures

You swore every cart in this grocery store had at least one shitty wheel. It was a rule of the universe, you were sure. Still, you steered the cart up and down the aisles, letting Bob guide you. Everything the two of you would need for the next two weeks. So far, this included lots of mac and cheese, some chips and queso, a bag of baby carrots and dip, a few assorted snacks, some microwave popcorn, and a package of Oreos.

“What kind of pasta do you like?” You asked, eyes scanning the shelf.

“I’m not picky about that kind of thing. The spirals are fun, though.”

“Spirals it is.” You put a few boxes in the cart.

After the grocery store, you stopped at the rundown little theater at the end of the main drag of town, where you worked. Bob followed you into the lobby, looking around at the old marquis mounted to the front of the concession stand. You marched over to the managers’ desk, where one of your favorites was on duty. Leah.

“You seeing something today?” she asked.

You shook your head, grimacing as you handed over the slip of paper that sealed the deal.

She frowned. “You’re kidding. No. Noooooo. This feels like divorce papers.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You shrugged, giving a sad little smile. “Greener pastures, I hope.”

“The bookstore poached you, didn’t they? I know you’ve been wanting a job there forever, but they’re never hiring.”

“Actually…I’m moving. It’s kind of last minute, but…I figured I’d put my two weeks in in case it doesn’t work out.”

Leah scoffed. “Pfft. Like we wouldn’t just hire you back anyway. You’ve been here for years.”

You nodded, glancing back at Bob, who was looking at the posters of upcoming movies. “Yeah. Feels like home here. But…I’ve gotta go back. I’ve been avoiding it too long.”

“Thought you’d say that. Well, I’ll let the GM know. Good luck with the move. I’m sure I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“Thanks. Come on, Bob. We’re all set here.”

“Alright.” He nodded, hands in his pockets, following you out the front doors. He climbed into the passenger seat of your car. You buckled up, turning the radio back on, adjusting the AC. The groceries were piled in the back seat, but nothing was frozen, so it was probably fine.

Out of the parking lot and onto the main drag of town, you passed several storefronts, people milling about, waving at each other. It was a small town. Everyone really did know everyone. And though you’d been an outsider when you’d moved there, you weren’t anymore. Instead, you had some friends, you’d like to think. Members of the community who you depended on for certain things.

The guy you bought your chives from at the farmer’s market, the old lady that ran the used bookstore, the guy at the record place who held the really cool ones until you got a look.

“This place is really nice.” Bob said quietly, watching the windows go by. “A lot of flowers here. Cool lighthouse.”

“It is. It gets really touristy in the summer, but…you came at a nice, quiet time.” You said, putting your blinker on and making a turn. “Anything else you need while we’re out?”

He shook his head. “I brought most of it. Thank you, though. For the groceries and stuff.”

“I was getting low.” You shrugged. Your modesty didn’t seem to get rid of the smile on his face, though.

Once you were back home, he helped carry the groceries in. The guy was…well, stronger than he looked, frankly. Bucky hadn’t explained everything there was hiding beneath his surface, left a lot of that for you to figure out, but you could add super strength to that growing list. With everything brought inside, you showed him up to the guest room so he could get settled while you put everything away.

It was a small room, the walls painted blue. There was a framed painting of a lighthouse you’d gotten at an art fair the previous summer, a set of dark blue sheets and a plush comforter. There was a small TV perched on the edge of a mahogany dresser. It had been decently cheap secondhand due to the large scratch on one of the legs.

“There’s a bathroom through that door there. I’ll show you how to use the shower. Feel free to put stuff in the drawers, I don’t care. And if you get cold, there are blankets tucked in the hope chest at the end of the bed.” You said, pulling open the lid to show him.

He nodded, committing the information to memory. You showed him the shower, like you promised, which was relatively straightforward compared to other models you’d operated, and then left him to his unpacking, heading downstairs.

It didn’t take long to put everything away. In fact, by the time you were done, the water on the stove had just started to boil. You poured in a box of mac and cheese. The noodles cooked, you drained them after, and added them back to the pot with some butter, milk, the cheese powder, and a hearty spoonful of queso, stirring it all together.

“That smells really good.” Bob smiled, padding down the stairs, hair wet from a shower. He had changed into yet another oversized sweater. You were beginning to think that suitcase of his was just full of them.

“It’s just mac and cheese. Thought I’d keep it simple for night one.” You replied, sliding the pot off the hot burner, turning the dial down. You handed him a bowl and a spoon, serving yourself first and leaving him more than half of the pot.

You walked down the step and a half into your living room, flicking on the TV. There was a channel that just ran animated movies all day. You didn’t have the full rundown on Bob or whatever trauma was hidden behind those kind, sad eyes, but kids’ movies were usually a safe bet with most folks, so you let it run. You figured he’d let you know if Monsters Inc. was too intense for him.

For the most part, you ate in silence, the sounds of your forks on the ceramic bowls quietly percussing in the small room. You wanted to say something, but didn’t know where to start with…all that, so you didn’t.

When the bowls were empty, you took them back to the kitchen, slipping them in the dishwasher. You soaked the pot, returned to the couch. It occurred to you that you should put some time into finishing your projects. The crafts you had been putting off. Some of them probably wouldn’t survive the move to the big city. Well, that, and you’d lose all motivation once you set foot beyond the confines of Maine. Your giant crochet blanket was as good a place to start as any.

You pulled it out of the storage ottoman in front of your armchair, setting to work. It was a nice, thick blanket, made of giant, fluffy yarn. The hook you were using for it was a massive plastic one, rather than a smaller, traditional one. 

Bob glanced over at you every once in a while, curious. “Is that knitting or crochet?”

“This is crochet,” you explained, holding up the stitches as though it would help. “Knitting is two sticks, crochet is just one. I can do both, but…honestly, crochet is kind of easier. It works up faster, too. But knitting is better if you want something…more substantial. Like socks or something. Tighter, closer stitches.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen yarn that big,” he said with a chuckle, looking at it.

“They call this ‘blanket yarn.’ It’s the big guns.”

“I can see why. Does that take long?”

“If you keep at it? No. But I am a master procrastinator, so…you’re gonna see me do a lot of random hobbies these next couple weeks, get everything wrapped up.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

You worked for a while longer before you noticed him shaking a little. You glanced over, eyes scanning him for symptoms. You didn’t mean to; it was the healer in you. Finding a problem, fixing it.

“You okay?”

“’M fine.” He reassured, offering a soft but unconvincing smile. He considered for a moment before trying again. “I, uh…get the shakes at night. I’m okay. They’ve been better lately.”

You put the blanket aside, putting in a stitch marker. “Can I try something?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, uh, sure. Yeah. Try…what, exactly?”

“Did Bucky tell you what I do?”

He shook his head, curls waving in front of his face, making him look so soft and small.

“I used to be the healer on the team. It’s why he left you with me. Come sit here.” You pushed the ottoman further away from the armchair, patting the cushioned seat. He obliged, getting up and crossing the room, sitting there, gazing up at you with those curious eyes. You sat on the chair just behind him. “I’m gonna touch you a little, okay? Let me know if it’s too much and I’ll stop. People find it overwhelming sometimes.”

“O-okay.” He nodded, shoulders hunched.

You watched the way his muscles seized ever so slightly. Tensing and untensing. Withdrawal, for sure. He was probably a few weeks clean. From what, it wasn’t your place to ask. But you could help, at the very least.

Deep breath in. 

You focused, reaching in for the first time in a long time. A gentle white glow bloomed from your chest, your palms. Sometimes you forgot how bright you were. Other times, your inner light was stretched across the ceiling, dancing like an aquarium. 

You reached out, hands extended, smoothing across Bob’s shrouded shoulders, down his arms. The moment you made contact, he let out a long breath, head falling back as he looked up at the reflections of your light, blocked only by the imprint of his shadow. His tremors stopped, muscles relaxing.

“Ohhh.” He exhaled, melting beneath your touch as your hands worked, fingers digging into the knots on his back, the tension around his neck. The energy combined with your expert touch was enough to put even the Winter Soldier on his ass. Speaking from experience.

After a few minutes, you pulled back, letting your glow fade back to neutral.

“Better?”

“How’d you…do that?” He murmured. He wasn’t shaking anymore, eyes scanning down his arms, honed in on his fingers.

“Lots of practice. It’s not a permanent fix, but it’ll help you sleep, at least.” You promised, getting up from the armchair and walking around to get a look at his face. His eyes were half-lidded, that soft, sleepy smile cemented onto his features, it would seem.

He nodded, taking a long breath and letting it roll out of him. “Thank you. For that. For…everything, really. It was really nice of you to let me stay here. You definitely didn’t have to, having it just kind of sprung on you like that.”

You shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. If you need more, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll do this for you every night if you need it.”

He chuckled, tilting his head, catlike amusement on his face. “Don’t tempt me with a good time. That was…wow. I’ve never been to a massage place or anything, but I have to imagine that’s five-star service right there.”

You laughed at that. A genuine, honest-to-god laugh. Huh. That was new.

“Anyway, I think I’m gonna head up for the night while I’m still all drowsy and stuff. Don’t wanna blow it.” He stood, straighter than he had the whole time he’d been there. He was kinda tall, apparently.

“Have a good night, Bob. My room is just down the hall if you need anything.”

He smiled. “Alright.”

And as he walked up the stairs to the second floor, it occurred to you that…maybe having a roommate wouldn’t be so bad. Honestly…maybe you’d been kind of lonely? All this time? Odd how that happened.

Well, one way or the other, you had one now. With any luck, the two of you would make it through the next thirteen days unscathed.

I mean, one could hope, right?

Local Honey

You made a concerted effort to wake up a little earlier the next morning. You didn’t know what time Bob would, and you didn’t want him to be alone on his first morning there, so you got out of bed, got dressed for work, and sat at the island in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal, typing away on your laptop.

He didn’t come down until ten or so, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was wearing a pair of pajamas with fish on them. You couldn’t help but chuckle a little. This was supposed to be the most dangerous guy in the world? You didn’t buy it.

“Good morning.” You said, giving a welcoming smile. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a rock. Those waves outside are something, huh? Like a free noise machine.” He stretched, yawning. He opened the cupboards, looking for breakfast. He found it relatively quickly, picking a packet of oatmeal. He explored a little, looking in the other cabinets until he found a bowl and a spoon. “Can I use this honey?”

“Mmhmm, go for it.” You nodded. “I get it at the farmer’s market. The guy who does it is local. It’s supposed to be good for your allergies, eating local honey. Gets you used to the pollen or something.”

He brightened at that factoid. “I never knew that! Makes sense, though.” He stirred the oatmeal mix together with some water and popped it into the microwave to thicken. Once it came out, he drizzled some honey on top along with some banana slices. “Can I sit with you?”

“You don’t have to ask. Make yourself at home,” you said. “Sit where you want, eat what you want. If we run out of something, we can just go get more. That said, I have work at noon. I’ll be back sometime around six. Are you gonna be okay here alone?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He nodded, making a perfect scoop of his oatmeal. “Do you want me to do anything while you’re gone? Like…laundry or something?”

“No, that’s okay. Thank you, though. I should get my schedule today, too, so we can figure out how much I work these next few weeks. Shouldn’t be much. It’s been really slow.”

“Seems like a fun job. Movie theater.”

“It is. I get free posters. Free tickets. Half-off snacks. It’s a decent gig. Doesn’t pay much, but…”

“I get it. I was a sign-spinning chicken as a summer job.” He confessed, giving a self-depreciating chuckle. “So, you know…”

“Sounds warm.”

“It was. A very sweaty experience.” He shrugged, face morphing into that little earnest smile of his. “I’d much rather scoop popcorn, I think.”

***

And scoop popcorn you did. Work was rather uneventful. Slow as all hell, in other words. Nothing good was out, so your only customers were a handful of old ladies trying to haggle for a lower ticket price, which was not how that worked at all.

“Heard you put in your two weeks,” one of the managers said. “Why’s that?”

“Going back to New York. One of my friends,” Bucky Barnes, aka the former Winter Soldier, “is…looking for a new roommate,” healer for his new Avengers lineup “and…I’ve missed it, I guess.” You said with a shrug. 

You didn’t miss the city. You did miss…being part of something. Now that the seed had been planted in your head, and you’d slept on it, you were coming around on it. Living in the tower. Having a built-in…family, or something similar. A team, at the very least. And Bob was nice. You hoped the others would be the same, whoever they were. You still refused to read up on it, for fear of psyching yourself out of it.

After work, you hit a drive-thru and headed home, setting the bag and two drinks on the island. You almost did a double-take when you saw the shoes in front of the door until you remembered you had a house guest.

“Bob! I got dinner!”

He came around the corner, grinning. His sweater of the day was green. It suited him. He eyed up the bag on the counter. “I could have made us something.”

You ignored the flutter your heart did when he said that. You couldn’t remember the last time a man had offered to cook for you, in any sense of the word. “Oh, that’s okay. I never feel up to it after work, so I just figured…”

“Nuggets?”

“I got ranch and barbeque.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

“How was your day? Get up to anything fun in my absence?”

“Nah, not really. Just explored the house a little. Watched a movie. You have a lot of board games.”

“I collect Monopoly boards. I collect a lot of things, actually, which is going to be our main project…starting tomorrow. I need to sit down.”

“Long day?”

“Boring day. Thursdays are always slow as hell.” You replied, kicking your shoes off. You walked out into the living room, setting up a pair of TV trays, for once grateful that you had more than one. “What do you want to watch?”

“Oh, I don’t really care. You can put on whatever.” Bob sat down in front of one of the trays, pulling his feet under his legs as you distributed the food. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Yeah, of course. I should have texted, but then I realized when I clocked out that I don’t have your phone number.”

“I don’t have a phone. They said they’d get me one when I go back.” He said softly, as though he didn’t believe the words. You wondered why.

“Ah. Gotcha, okay.” You nodded. “I can set up my iPad here. Text it from my phone. And you can use it to message me back.”

At that, he gave a genuine smile. “Yeah, that works. Thank you.”

“Quit thanking me. I’m just trying to be a good host to my guest.”

He chuckled, shrugging. “Right. I’m just not used to it, is all.”

You could tell he meant it. And it broke your heart. You didn’t know what all he’d been through on his way to you, but you knew this boy was not used to kindness, even though he had all the kindness in the world tucked behind those sparkling eyes.

“Get used to it.”

“Okay, deal.”

***

That night, you were a little restless. One of those nights where you just toss and turn, and then readjust your blankets, flip your pillow, and toss and turn some more. But you swore, one of those times, when you sat up and opened your eyes just the tiniest bit, that there was a shadow, looming in the corner of your room.

Two glowing yellow eyes.

When you lit your hand—a common alternative to a flashlight, in your case—there was no one there. Just a hoodie hanging over your closet door.

So you laid down and went to sleep.

Knight of Cups

Rain pitter-pattered steadily on the roof the next morning. Dreary gray skies floated beyond your fluttering curtains. The perfect day to stay inside. Really, the perfect day to begin the impossible journey of weeding out the junk in your house.

You got dressed, pulling on a striped shirt and a pair of overalls with a bee embroidered into the denim. That, you’d done yourself. You let your anchor necklace settle between your collarbones, adjusting it with your fingers before heading downstairs.

It took a while for Bob to come down. He gave a sleepy little chuckle, hoping to distract from the bags beneath his eyes. It didn’t work. But you didn’t ask questions. You had to trust him to come to you if he needed help.

The two of you ate breakfast. He kept fixating on your honeybee and he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face, that soft, soft look in his eyes.

“I did it myself. The bee. Embroidered it.”

His smile widened. “Really? You embroider?”

“Not a lot, but yeah. Got a kit on clearance at the craft store.”

“It looks great. I couldn’t even tell.” He murmured, eyes sliding from the bee up to meet yours. “Looks super professional. What, uh…what’s the plan today?”

“I figured we’d tackle that bookshelf first. The big one.”

“Aye aye.” He took your empty plate and rinsed it off, setting it in the dishwasher.

You got your hair out of the way and walked over to said bookshelf, planting yourself in front of it, hands on your hips, eyes scanning the spines. It was a large shelf, had come with the house. It was made of an old rowboat. Wide and sturdy, absolutely filled with books, almost floor to ceiling. Not to mention the knickknacks scattered about. The stray Funko Pop or action figure.

A tiny plastic Winter Soldier stood guard in front of your leatherbound copy of the Hobbit. Bucky would get a kick out of that.

“Where do we start?” Bob asked, suddenly behind you.

You jolted a little, turning to look at him, hand slapped over your heart. You chuckled a little. “Jeez, you’re quiet.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You grinned, turning back to the shelf. “I’ll, uh…go grab some boxes. I think we’ll just stick to the classic keep, trash, donate. You can start taking stacks of them off the shelf and I’ll start sorting.”

“Got it.”

The two of you split. You rummaged around in a closet and found some empty tubs, dragging them back out to the living room, where Bob was stacking books on the coffee table for your consideration. He stopped in his tracks, wound up for a second, and then sneezed like a kitten.

Most dangerous man in the world my ass. “Sorry. It’s probably pretty dusty over there. I’m not great at staying on top of it.”

“’S fine.” He rubbed the end of his nose, scrunching it in an attempt to get his sinuses back in order. “You got a lot of, uh…vampire romance there.”

“I had a phase.” You chuckled, scooping most of them into the donation box. You saved a few of the good ones, though. It continued like that, Bob bringing you an armful of books at a time and you would split them up accordingly.

“Aww, man, Animorphs, I used to read these all the time!” He grinned, looking at the art on one of the covers, finger tracing over Rachel’s transformation into a starfish.

“You can have them if you want. I’ve only got a handful and they’re all out of order. I never did read them all.”

“You mean that?”

“Yeah, knock yourself out. I’ll get another box.” You said with a grin, walking out of the room with yet another box that you set in the corner of the room. You used a piece of tape and a Sharpie to label it BOB, which he grinned at, setting the small set of paperbacks inside.

“So uh…How do you know Bucky?”

“Old friend.” You replied, gathering your words as you flipped through a pile of murder mysteries, choosing to part with most of them. “He, uh…right, so…Sam found me, actually. Sam Wilson. Scouted me out back in…well, it was before the blip. Bucky was brainwashed by HYDRA and worked for them for a while. So I was there to…put him to sleep, basically. I can’t undo brainwashing, but I can mellow someone out.”

“Yeah, you’re good at that. Damn near knocked me out with it.” He said with a chuckle.

“I was hitting you with Level 2 waves. When I get up to like a 5 or so, it would indeed knock you out.” You replied, meeting his eyes. “So yeah, I went with Bucky to Wakanda while they untangled his mind, in case things got out of hand. Fought Thanos, got dusted, and then everyone split up and it’s been radio silence since then. I keep tabs, but…not enough, I guess.”

“And that’s why they sent me here, then, I’m guessing. So…you can knock me out if I…you know…if the other guy makes an appearance…?” Bob asked softly. You could tell it had been on his mind.

“Other guy?” You asked, genuinely baffled for a moment until you remembered his shadowy counterpart. The one you’d seen on the news. The floating black silhouette with the cape and the glowing eyes. The one who was supposedly standing right in front of you. “Right. I mean, I guess so. I also just like to think I’m good company.”

You shuffled through another few stacks of books, sorting through things. Books you were never going to read, books you had read and didn’t like very much, all went into the donation box. Maybe you were in the mood for it, or maybe you really were more of a pack rat than you’d previously thought, but it was…easy to part with a lot of it now, with either hindsight or the free time to finally go through it.

Every once a while, you’d walk over and set one in Bob’s box, stuff you thought he would like, but he spent some time in front of the donation box, too, picking things out for himself. It brought a smile to your face, him crouched there, searching for treasures.

“Tell me about yourself.” You said suddenly.

“What do you…want to know?” Bob asked, sitting himself down cross-legged on the carpet. “I don’t know much about my…powers or…”

“Oh, no no no. Tell me about…you. Like, um…what’s your favorite color? Favorite movie? That kinda stuff.”

“Oh. Uh, blue. And Finding Nemo. I…grew up in Florida. I hate rollercoasters. I threw up in a haunted house one time. I’m afraid of heights. I like sitcoms, but I have trouble remembering stuff that happened in the early seasons. I like to read. Hence the uh, stack I’m collecting here. I hope you’re not donating these anywhere important. I’m poaching all your good picks.”

“Nah, take whatever you want. The rest are going to the used bookstore in town. She gives store credit for them, so we can pick up one or two new ones while we’re there, if you see anything you like.” You reassured him.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“Favorite color, movie, all that stuff.” Bob insisted, eyes glimmering.

“Yellow. Movie is tough. I love a lot of movies. Probably Howl’s Moving Castle right now.” You replied, grabbing the last of the books from the shelf. You tucked the Hobbit along with the tiny Bucky into the Keep box. You’d give them to him when he came back. “I’m from New York. Lived there most of my life. I like the quiet life, though. The waves on the shore, the familiar faces. In a big city, everyone blends. You’re the tiniest drop in the biggest bucket. But here…I could go down a whole row of shops and tell you the names of every shopkeep. I know all the old ladies in the farmers’ market.”

He nodded like you’d said something profound. “I…yeah. That drop in the bucket stuff. I get that. I like it here, too. Little town. It’s easier to…breathe.” He turned one of the books over, reading the back of it before tucking it into his box. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off of his face, looking at his haul. It made your chest warm. “Thanks for these. And don’t tell me not to thank you because these are a gift, not standard host stuff. I’m allowed to thank you for that.”

You laughed, nodding. “Alright, fair. And you’re welcome. We might need to get you a bigger box. I’ve got a lot of shit in this house. I have no doubt you’ll pick up some more trinkets by the time we leave.”

He grinned. “Promise?”

***

Once the books were sorted, Bob helped you load the boxes of outgoing copies into the back of your car. He was…stronger than he looked. You tried not to read too much into it. You didn’t want him to think you were sizing him up as a threat. You were sure those looks were the ones he was hoping to escape in your middle-of-nowhere little town.

It wasn’t a long drive. Just a few minutes down the road, further down the coast. You parallel parked with ease.

“Okay, now that is a superpower.” Bob said, impressed. “I’ve never seen anyone do it that easily before.”

“I’ll give you some pointers before we leave.” You chuckled, slipping out of your seat and checking both ways before stepping into the street, walking around to the trunk of the car and grabbing a box. Bob followed you through the front door, the little bell above the door jingling as you did.

Inside, was the coziest bookstore in the world, to be sure. Suncatchers in the windows reflected little rainbows on every surface. It was low-lit, but fairy lights and a handful of lanterns made up for it, illuminating the place with a glow that could only be explained as magic, you were sure.

The shopkeep was an eccentric old lady named Earlene, who had a beaded glasses strap hanging around her neck. She was wearing a loose tie-dye blouse and more rings than you could count, big giant hoop earrings attached to her ears.

She was who you wanted to be when you grew up.

“Well, if it isn’t our glowing girl herself. How the hell are you, (Y/N)?” Earlene asked, motioning you into the shop, arms open wide. You set your box on the counter, slipping around the side of it to hug her.

“Doing great, Earlene. Brought some new stock for you.”

“I see that. You cleaning house or what?”

“Something like that. Heading back to New York for a while, I think.” You confessed, putting it out in the open. Ripping it off like a Band-Aid.

She frowned at that, shaking her head. “Damn. It’s always the good ones. You’re gonna visit, though? My niece got me on that…Instagram.”

“Oh, I will add you for sure.” You promised. “And I’m sure I’ll visit.” There was some rustling behind you, Bob looking at the shelf of classics.

Earlene pointed with a manicured finger. “Is this one the boyfriend?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No. There is no boyfriend.”

“Well, there should be. You’re a beautiful young lady and you aren’t getting any younger.” She said, earning a laugh from your companion, who set the box of books he had on the floor in front of the counter.

“Earlene, this is Bob. Bob, this is Earlene.”

“Think of me as the town wine aunt. Well, great-aunt now, I suppose. I’m not getting any younger, either.”

“She hosts Tipsy Tarot nights once a month.”

“And I promise you, honey, that Knight of Cups is coming in any day now.”

You scoffed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I like your shop.” Bob said, pointing to the lights. “Really cool vibes in here.”

“Well, thank you, Bob. Take a look around. With all these books (Y/N) is unloading, you can take at least a few.” She said with a grin.

“I’ll go get the last box.” You volunteered, heading back outside to get the last one out of the trunk. When you returned, Bob was crouched in front of the classics shelf, looking at the cover of something. Frankenstein, you were pretty sure.

Earlene motioned you over towards the counter with a curled finger, beckoning, not unlike a witch in a children’s fairytale. You followed anyway, standing behind the counter with her. She took one of your hands in hers, reaching into her pocket to hand you a small, rectangular box. You knew from the cover art alone what it was. A tarot deck. A classic, vintage, Rider-Waite tarot deck.

“Earlene, I can’t, this is—”

“This has been sitting behind that glass counter for years, hon. Trust me. No one in this town wants it. Take it to the big city with you. Find your Knight. They say it’s good luck to have your first deck given to you.”

You held it carefully, turning it over to look at the other side. Warmth welled up in your chest, and a soft little sigh was all you could do to stop it from welling up in your eyes as well.

“Thank you. I’ll treasure them.” You promised.

Earlene squeezed your hands, getting a little misty herself. “I know you will. Now, you better be good in that city, glowing girl. I don’t want to see you on the news.”

Bob laughed at that and you shook your head, giving a sardonic little smile. “No promises.”

***

You sat on the living room floor that night, doing a facemask when Bob walked into the room, fiddling hands swallowed up by the soft cotton of his sweater. Rain pitter-pattered on the roof still. Light and delicate. He tilted his head, looking at you curiously.

“You’re green.”

You giggled, nodding. “I am. Clay mask. I’m not huge on the skincare stuff, but it helps sometimes, with all this salty sea air.”

He reached up and rubbed his face. “Huh. Should I be doing that too? Not important. Anyway, uh, I was just, uhhhhh…” He paused for a long time. You could practically see the dialogue options scrolling behind his eyes before he finally settled on one. “Heading up to bed.”

“Okay. Good night. Let me know if you need anything.” You told him, almost expectant for him to say more.

He didn’t though, just nodded, gave that soft sleepy smile, and said, “Goodnight.” He padded up the stairs back to his room. You listened to the rain in his absence, staring up the dark hallway, watching as the light clicked on and then off again. You smiled softly.

You hoped he was finding some peace and quiet in your little town, even if it was just for a little while.

The Beacon

The rain put you out like a light that night. You slept in the next morning for the first time in what felt like forever, woke up peacefully to the birds chirping, sunlight stretched across your pillowcase.

Something sizzled in the distance. Smelled like breakfast. You grinned, slipping out of bed and getting dressed before wandering down the stairs. Bob was indeed standing at the stove, cracking an egg into a sizzling hot pan. You watched as he scrambled them, stirring them around with a fork. He wasn’t super confident with the movements, but he was doing good.

He glanced up at you as you stepped down into the room, eyes almost glittering as he took you in. “Morning. Just making us some breakfast. I’m not much of a cook, but I can make eggs.” He hissed as he lost focus, hand grazing the edge of the hot pan. When he pulled it away to look, though, there was…nothing. No redness, no burn. Just his hand, as it was before. Odd, you thought.

“Does it hurt?” You asked, taking a step closer.

He shrugged. Lied. “A little.”

You reached out, letting your glowing palm smooth over the spot, giving him the tiniest bit of energy out of habit, clearing up the pain as easily as someone wiping a whiteboard.

He smiled a slow and earnest smile, those thick eyelashes fluttering down over his ocean eyes. “Thanks. Cool trick.”

“No problem. Thanks for breakfast.”

He chuckled and gave a shrug, stirring the eggs around again. Once they were cooked, he plated them up, bringing them over to the table and setting them on your thrifted placemats. You sprinkled some salt and pepper on yours, sipping some morning tea.

“Hey, um…I saw on the calendar you work tomorrow. I can cook dinner, if you want. So it’s nice and warm when you get back. I make a mean pasta.” He offered, poking his eggs with a fork. He bit his lip, eyes locked on the edge of the plate, flicking up to yours after a long moment.

You smiled, nodding. “We can go to the farmer’s market today, get some veggies.”

His face broke into a grin. “I’d love that.”

***

You led Bob up the rows of local vendors, pulling a little wagon behind you. He browsed thoroughly, hands playing with the ends of his sleeves. You picked out your favorites at the honey stand, a few more bottles than you usually did. The old man who ran it, Mr. McAllister, raised a bushy gray eyebrow.

“Stocking up there, (Y/N)?”

“I’m moving back to New York, actually.” You explained, giving a shrug. “So I’ll need some for the road.”

He frowned, but added another jar of honey to your bag with a wink. “On the house. Safe travels.”

You smiled softly. “Thank you.”

It was like that at every booth.

The guys you bought your chives and onions from with the awesome handlebar mustaches. The girl at the crochet booth. The longest stop was at the tea booth you so adored. The middle-aged woman that ran the booth motioned you closer, slipping a brown beaded bracelet off of her wrist and onto yours.

“Tiger’s Eye. For good luck in the big city.” She said.

You gave her hand a squeeze, thanking her for it. It was always the small town ladies that turned out to be witches, but the magic was appreciated nonetheless.

And as much as the locals loved you, they also loved Bob. He wandered the booths, asking questions, weighing tomatoes in his hands, feeling them to find the good ones. The Chive Brothers gave him a chive to chew on, which he did, munching it like a farmer with a piece of straw.

“Is this the boyfriend?” The old lady selling earrings with her granddaughter asked, motioning to Bob, who was asking the honey vendor about his bees.

You shook your head, watching him fondly. It wasn’t impossible to see why they’d think so. Especially when he turned around to catch your eyes from across the aisle. He pointed excitedly to some candles made from beeswax.

You grinned and followed him over, putting a hand on his arm to let him know you were standing there.

“They’re made of the beeswax they collect.” He said with a grin. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just thought it was cool.”

“You want one?”

His eyebrows shot up, looking like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “What? Oh, no. I’m fine. I…I don’t have…”

Bob had come into your home with that suitcase and only that suitcase. He didn’t have any money on him. Didn’t even have an ID. You still weren’t sure what to make of him, where he’d come from, what he’d been through to get to you. And of course, Bucky was never one for thorough explanations.

Without missing a beat, you looked at the candles on the table. “Well, what scent do you want?”

“You don’t have to…you’ve already done so much for me, it’s just a silly candle.”

You shrugged, handing Mr. McAllister a ten dollar bill. “Well, then tell him which one you want.”

Bob rolled his eyes, a reluctant grin tugging at the edge of his lip. “Alright, fine. I’ll take the eucalyptus one, please.”

***

The foghorn blared across the waves, the sound of it echoing for miles. In the distance, the lighthouse, spinning like a top, around and around and around. Its light stretched into the fog, arms reaching out towards the harbor. One big ship slugged through, crawling. A towering shadow. Two discernible lights roved. Like eyes.

You sat on the back deck, watching, knees curled up to your chest, chin resting there. You were glowing at a Level 3. White, dancing light, licking at your form like flames. Rainbows refracted on the beechwood railing. You took a long breath, letting it roll out of you, floating off into the fog.

The back door squeaked as it slid open and you turned, light dampening back to neutral.

“Hey.”

“Hey. You were…glowing.” Bob said, planted in his spot just inside the doorway.

“I do that sometimes, yeah.” You turned your head, ear tucked against your knees. “Wanna sit, or…just stand there?”

He chuckled, walking out onto the deck and sitting next to you on the back step. “Do you, uh…glow often?”

“Sometimes. I get headaches if I hold it in.”

Bob nodded. “Bucky called you Beacon. Kinda thought he said ‘bacon,’ actually. But…Beacon, like…lighthouse?”

You met his eyes, amusement flickering across your face. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

His curls rustled as he shook his head. “No, not really. I mean, I know the stuff you told me about like…helping Bucky and stuff, but…”

“The name didn’t really stick. Beacon. It was all we could come up with. I had a shirt with a lighthouse on it and…that was that.” You explained.

“So, you’re named after the shirt? Just like…”

“Well, I glow, too. Pretty bright, if I get all worked up. I, uh…live this close to one in case of that, actually. If I needed to get away. Glow super bright. Far enough away from people, hidden in plain sight. That, and the rent is super cheap because of the—” The foghorn blared, causing you to chuckle, pointing vaguely in that direction. “That. Because of that.”

He laughed, nodding. “Good trade-off, I’d say.”

You stared at the swivelling light. The other beacon. “I hope you never have to see me like that.”

He looked bewildered. “Why?”

“Well, it’s…kind of blinding, really. Like staring at the sun.” You breathed. “My lower glow is healing and gentle. When I’m all bright like that, it…hurts people.”

“Bad people, though.” Bob thought about it for a long moment. “I think it’d be kinda pretty. Like…well, like a lighthouse.” He shrugged. “We’ve gotta find you a better name than Beacon, though.”

A laugh bubbled from your lips. “We’ve got some time to workshop it.”

The Stray

There was nothing you enjoyed less than trying to explain ticket prices to old people. If your theater ran a promotion one time, they’d come around expecting that price forever because of an ad they saw on Facebook. And you’d had that conversation about twelve times that day. In addition to being yelled at because a boomer got confused over which theater he was supposed to be in. You were right. He was wrong. But that never seemed to matter in the end; not to them.

You ducked into the backroom and sent a text to your iPad, checking in on Bob. It was the longest day you’d left him alone for. A 9 to 6.

“Hey, buddy. Everything good at home?”

You didn’t see his reply until a few hours later, when it was slow enough to slip into the back again.

“I am good :) See u for dinner :P Bring your appetite, glowy lady.”

You laughed, unable to wipe the smile off your face as you typed your reply. “Is ‘glowy lady’ an official name pitch or…?”

And he sent back, “Do u not like it? :(”

Giggling, you typed another quick text. “I’ll add it to the list for consideration.”

One of your coworkers pushed through the swinging door between the counter and the backroom, looking you over. “You back on the apps again?”

“Huh? No. Why?” You replied, clicking the phone off and tucking it into your back pocket again.

“I haven’t seen you grin at your phone like that since you were dating. You got a hot date tonight or something?”

A warm flush spread across your cheeks, down your neck. “Nah, my, uh, houseguest is making dinner tonight. That’s all. He’s funny.”

“Funny, huh?”

“Yeah, funny. Sweet.” You shrugged, ignoring the swarm of butterflies that had kicked up in your stomach. Swirling and swirling.

“How’d you meet this guy again?”

“Friend of a friend.”

“Sounds like more than that now.”

A smile tugged at your lip, unable to defend yourself, really. “Getting there.”

***

You pulled into your driveway at a crisp 6:15, and for the first time in a long time, your house smelled like home. You opened the door, kicking your shoes onto the mat.

Bob was standing at the stove, using a wooden spatula to stir together a pasta dish in a casserole pan, chopping up chunks of softened cheese and stirring it in with the cooked tomatoes and herbs.

“Almost done over here.” He said over his shoulder. “How was work?”

“Long. And bad, also. Lots of cranky customers. I’m better now, though. That smells good as hell.”

“It’s not hard. I can teach you.” He poured the noodles into the dish and stirred them in the sauce, making sure everything was coated.

You watched him move, a fond smile crossing your face. He was wearing your apron, his hair tied back in a scrunchie you’d left in the living room, the ends sticking out all choppy because of the length.

And it was wrong. It was so wrong, but you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining walking up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, and burying your face in his shoulder. You tried to convince yourself it was because you’d been living alone for so long. You’d been single for so long, but the truth was, it was just something about him. Those soft eyes. He looked at you like you were glowing all the time. Like you were made of starlight.

But you doubted Bob was in the headspace for that kind of thing. Which is what made it feel so wrong.

He scooped out two bowls, motioning to the table he’d set with your leftover Halloween napkins and a few forks. You grabbed a drink from the fridge and slipped into the seat across from him.

“How was your day?”

Bob smiled, giving a shaky shrug. “Fine. It was good. Got some reading done. Kept hearing something by the back door, but I went to check, and I didn’t see anything.”

“Mmm, I’ll check it out later.”

“I know I keep saying it, but, uh, it’s really, uh…really nice here.” Bob said, poking around his pasta. He took a bite, smiling shyly.

“It is, isn’t it?” You ate some, too, the taste of the homemade sauce enveloping your tongue. “This is really good. Thank you for cooking for me.”

“Yeah, of course. You, uh…had a lot to work with. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a…fridge full of food.” He said it so easily, but you could tell he meant it. That made it sadder, you were sure.

You didn’t know what to say to that, eyebrows furrowing together.

He saved you the trouble. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine. I know how that…sounds. I…I’m doing a lot better now.” He took a long breath, holding it before letting it out. His eyes slid across the wall, over a cross-stitch tapestry of a pirate ship. “I like it here.”

“We can still visit. I’m planning on leaving some of the essentials here. We might need a safe house every now and again. I like it here, too.”

He seemed to make peace with that. That he could come back. “Cool. I’d like that.”

After dinner, you boxed up the leftovers, a little less than half the pan, and helped with the dishes. Bob wiped down the counters, stopping when he heard something outside the side door. He turned, peering out the window.

“I don’t see anything, but I swear I hear a—”

Bob was interrupted by a crisp Meow.

You smiled, turning away from the sink and walking over towards the cupboard, opening it to reveal a container of kibble. You scooped a heaping cup of it and opened the door, motioning Bob over. “You’re not allergic, right?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

You pulled the door open and there he was, Reginald the Lighthouse Keeper, the local stray. Immediately, he was against your ankles, rubbing his little cheeks against whatever skin he could find. You reached down, scratching behind his ears as he meowed insistently.

“I know, I know.” You walked out onto the step, pouring kibble into his little metal bowl, sheltered from the somewhat frequent rain by the awning above the door. “Here you go.”

“Whoooo is thisss???” Bob asked, face awash with affection as he looked down at the skinny orange cat with the big brown eyes, eagerly gobbling up the kibble.

You snatched up the second bowl, walking into the kitchen to get him fresh water from the sink and returned to find Bob crouched there, petting him, cooing babytalk. “That’s Reginald. He’s the local stray. Beloved pillar of the community.”

“Why doesn’t anyone take him in?”

“Oh, we’ve all tried. He doesn’t want it. Prefers to wander. But we all take care of him, make sure he’s not…eating too many birds, you know. And the local vet keeps him up to date on his shots.”

Bob pet him, hands confident for perhaps the first time since you’d met him, from his head, down to his tail, the end of it curling around his wrist. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “I love cats.”

“I think he loves you.” You grinned, leaning against the doorway. It was true. Reginald purred like a motor, leaning into Bob’s palms, nudging against his hand any time he dared to stop his motions.

“Animals are like that, you know. Just…bottomless, unconditional love. He just met me and already, he loves me.” Bob chuckled, petting his little head. “It’s hard not to love them right back.”

That was how you were starting to feel about Bob, really. You just met him. And yet…

Nothing Scary

It was another quiet day in Seaberg. After breakfast, you stood in the living room, stretching out your back and staring at the shelf where you kept all your records. Surely some of them could go, right?

“Records, huh? You have a lot of them.”

“Yeah, I’m a pack rat. We can do my CDs today, too. Maybe the DVDs.”

“Big day.” Bob nodded, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. “Let’s do it.”

You pulled out each milk crate, evaluating each album with care as you sorted them. These were a lot harder to part with, but you did find a few that you didn’t resonate with anymore. Some, you’d have to leave here at the house, you decided, but there were a good few you wanted to bring to New York with you.

Of the losers, Bob did snag a few for his box. One of them, he very carefully slipped out of its cardboard and set it on your little turntable, dropping the needle. It crackled for a moment before swelling to life. An 80s soft rock album.

You grinned, watching him sway. “Bruce Springsteen?”

“I just love this song.” He admitted as the sound filled the room with warmth. Or maybe that was just the smile on his face.

And that was how it continued. You discarded records and Bob would scan through them and take songs on a test drive, listening to how they sounded. Some of them, he scrunched his nose at and put in your donation box. Others, he slipped into his own with that fond little smile on his face.

After the tenth box, you stood and stretched, twisting the tension out of your back. Bob put another song on, the familiar sound floating from the speaker. Dancing in the Moonlight, from an album of assorted 70s hits.

“Love this song.” You murmured, shoulders shimmying almost beyond your control. Your feet followed suit.

Bob chuckled, unable to drag his eyes away. Like a train crash, you were sure. And though you expected him to stay planted there, watch you make a fool of yourself, instead he wandered further into the room, following your lead. You giggled, dancing beside him. You offered your hand and he took it, spinning you around, which caught you off-guard. He had moves, kind of. Awkward moves, but moves no less.

He took one of your hands in each of his, pushing and pulling your arms to the rhythm of the song, eyes sparkling. You may have been the glowing girl, but he was glowing. Happy and unashamed.

At the end of the song, he let go of your hands, sweeping into a bow, curls falling in his face. He straightened up, cheeks flushed. “I, uh, I’m gonna get a drink.”

You stood in the empty living room as the next song kicked on, your heart racing still from your little activity. Well, that and other things. You’d…never seen him look so free before. Like while the music played, all of Bob’s baggage was far, far away, and he was just…light.

He came back into the room with two glasses of ice water and handed one to you. You took a few generous sips before setting it on a coaster on the coffee table.

“We should do something tonight.” Bob resolved. “See a movie or…?”

“There’s a drive-in not far from here.” You chimed. “I’d take you to my workplace, but we don’t do late showtimes on weekdays and we won’t be done organizing all this crap until like seven minimum.”

“Nothing scary?”

“Let me check.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket, pulling up their website to see what they were showing that evening. “Nope, nothing scary. 80s movies double-feature. Back to the Future and Weird Science.”

“Oh, sweet. That sounds fun. Maybe pick up some food on the way?” He suggested.

You nodded, lips curling around the words before they spilled out. “It’s a date.”

***

It took hours, but eventually, you’d weeded through all the media in your house and Bob had a giant stack of DVDs in his box. The rest, you took to the thrift store on your way out of town. It was a little chilly tonight, so you packed a hoodie, and tucked the blanket you were still crocheting into the back of the car to work on during the movie.

You hit a drive-thru at the burger place at the edge of town and then drove the ten or twenty minutes out to the drive-in. It was further up the coast, in a big empty field on a hill. You were sure anyone who lived anywhere near there got a free show every night, even if they couldn’t hear it.

You paid admission at the gate and then backed into your favorite spot, in the middle of one of the middle rows. Not too close, not too far. Off to the right side, there was a concession stand and the bathrooms, which were housed inside a building. It was nice. You hated porta-potties.

Bob grinned, looking around. “I’ve never been to one of these before. Didn’t know they still did them, actually.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat! They show good stuff sometimes. And the popcorn is super cheap. Bathrooms are right over there.” You told him, opening the car door and walking around to the trunk. You pulled it open, making sure the car was off properly so the battery wouldn’t drain, and arranged a few blankets and pillows, making the ideal nest for a double feature.

Bob carried the bag of food around and set it in the middle, slotting the drinks into the cupholders on either side, up by the tiny back windows of your SUV. He pulled out his fries, eating the few that were left. He’d started on them on the drive over, while they were still hot.

You ate too, making quick work of your burger, taking intermittent sips of your soda, so that by the time the movie started, you had your hands free to work on your blanket.

Bob took his time, savoring every bite, sucking the salt from his fingertips before moving on to the next thing. He took a long sip of his milkshake and then sat back for a bit, hands folded on his stomach, leaning back against the pillows. He watched as you worked on the blanket, using a massive, plastic crochet hook to weave the fluffy stuff together.

He reached a tentative hand out, touching it. He gave one of the rows a squish, eyes lighting up at the feeling of it between his fingers. “Woah! I did not expect that to feel like this.”

“They’re nice as cushioning. I made one for one of my college chairs to sit on. Made it like, twice as comfortable.” You told him.

“You did college?”

“Mmhmm. Just barely finished before I got a call from Sam Wilson. Creative Writing, which does me a lot of good out here, you can imagine.”

“Creative Writing.” Bob repeated. He chuckled, shrugging. “I mean, this seems like as good a place for it as any. This town feels like it was plucked straight out of a romance novel. Must help with the writing. The…vibes of it.”

“You’re telling me. I keep emailing Hallmark, but they don’t seem to want to film anything here. Missed opportunity.”

He laughed at that. “I, uh…never did college. Kinda…dropped out of high school. Been thinking about getting my GED, but…” He gave that shy little shrug that was so common when he was opening up about something rough. The ‘hey, it’s fine’ shrug. But you could always tell it wasn’t fine.

“I’m sure that’s something that could be arranged. When we get to New York.” You said, tilting your head.

He nodded, giving a strained little smile that you couldn’t quite decipher. It was about either the GED or New York, but one of the two was stressing him out, so you decided not to press it further.

The trailers started up and you glanced at the convenience stand. There was a short little line formed there. “You want popcorn?”

“I could go for popcorn.” He agreed, grateful for the change in subject.

You reached into your wallet, handing him a ten dollar bill and telling him to get whatever he wanted. He returned a few minutes later with a big popcorn and a bigger smile, settling back into the car. It rocked a little as he settled his weight, getting comfortable again. He set the tub of corn between the two of you, snacking idly as the trailers gave way to the intro of Back to the Future. You couldn’t help but grin as Marty got blasted back by the massive speakers in Doc’s garage.

It went by pretty fast. The movie and the blanket. You finished it about halfway through, knotting the end and weaving it in with your hand, pulling it through loops until the little tail disappeared into the fluff.

Bob glanced over, impressed. “Wow, you finished it!”

“Only took me like four months of procrastination.” You chuckled, folding it in half and draping it over the seats behind you, so it would be softer to lean on.

“Hey, better late than never, though. I couldn’t do something like that.”

As the movie continued, you could feel Bob’s train of thought veering off course. He was getting lost in thought, that contemplative little frown on his face. You watched, clinical. Scanning for the same signs you used to look for in Bucky. That there was someone else sitting at the steering wheel. But that wasn’t the case. He was just thinking. Spiraling, even. About what, you weren’t sure.

When you reached into the popcorn bucket, your hand brushed his and—

You were somewhere else now. 

Shoes crunching through the snow as you approached the light streaming through the trees. Headlights. Screaming. They were screaming your name, the ones that were conscious.

“Hello?” You looked around, cold, cold air nipping at your cheeks, snowflakes catching in your tangled hair. “Hello?”

There was someone standing in the trees, watching. You searched, but couldn’t find them. You knew you were alone. Yet, the screaming persisted.

You picked up the pace, pushing past winter-soaked pines and unforgiving trunks, and then—

Sorry. I’m sorry. (Y/N)? A long sigh. Always making things worse…

Like being underwater. You pushed through the tunnel vision, resurfacing. You blinked a few times, taking a big breath.

Bob was leaning closer, staring at you, blue eyes blown wide with worry. The streetlights over by the concessions cast warm shadows on his face. But shadows no less. He peered out from behind his soft curls, waiting for you to say something.

“I’m okay. I…wow. Yeah, I’m fine.”

He breathed, sitting back a bit, tugging his sleeves down over his hands so it wouldn’t happen again. “Sorry. I-I don’t know how to control it. It’s just—”

“It’s okay.” You reassured, voice soft and even. “It’s okay. I…didn’t know you could do that.”

His fingers curled beneath the fabric of his sweater. He gave that sad little shrug again. “I…I’m…not really sure w-what all I can do, actually. ’S all kinda fuzzy, still. I thought it would come back to me, being out here, and some of it has, but…some of it, I’ve only seen footage of. I don’t…remember doing it.”

You nodded, listening. You reached out gently, touching his sleeve. He stared at your hand like he was afraid he’d burn you through his sweater, but he didn’t move. Sat frozen, letting it happen. 

“It’s okay.” You repeated again. “It’s okay.” Then, because he still had that look in his eyes, like he was bracing for impact, “No one is mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

That one took. He blinked. Breathed a little. Nodded, some of the tension rolling out of his shoulders. He managed the tiniest smile in the world, but it was still a smile, and you could tell it was a real one. “I needed to hear that.”

You gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I know you did.”

***

That night, as you laid awake in bed, you heard some rustling downstairs, shuffling around in the kitchen. You rolled over to look at your alarm clock. 2:22 in the morning.

The footfalls sounded up the stairs, extra loud on the creaky one. He stopped in front of your door for a long moment, hovering. You could almost feel his energy there through the door. 

And then it passed, retreating back into the guest room.

Relieved, you laid back down, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere deep in the back of your mind, you knew that hadn’t been Bob, precisely. Exhausted, you quieted the voice, closing your eyes and going back to sleep.

Tags: @eywas-heir, @honig-bienchen, @thek8archive

[octaneink]

Food Market Dates

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Summary : A totally cute, innocent date at the market where they try out new foods Warnings: Implied sexual themes towards the end and a discussion about pineapple being on pizza Notes: I am sorry gang idk what happened to me when I was writing this. It was like I was possessed, mostly for that part at the end.

The train rattled along the tracks, the dreary UK weather outside the window a mix of grey skies and the occasional drizzle. Will sat next to you, his long legs stretched out into the aisle, his hand resting comfortably in yours. His thumb traced lazy circles over your knuckles, a small, absentminded gesture that made your stomach flutter. He was scrolling through his phone with his free hand, the faint sound of whatever video he was watching barely audible over the hum of the train.

You, on the other hand, were engrossed in a book—paperback you’d picked up at the station earlier. It was one of those novels you loved, the kind that end up with a dog-eared cover and pages that smelt faintly of coffee. You were halfway through a particularly juicy scene when Will suddenly squeezed your hand, pulling your attention away from the page.

"You know what I’m most excited about today?" he asked, his voice breaking the quiet hum of the train.

You looked up, marking your page with a finger. "What? Finally admitting that I have impeccable taste in food?"

He snorted, shaking his head. "Impeccable taste? That’s a stretch. Remember the time you tried to convince me that pineapple belongs on pizza?"

"Because it does!"

"Because you’re wrong," he shot back, grinning.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. "Fine. So what are you most excited about, then?"

He leaned back in his seat, his hand still warm in yours. "The food, obviously. But also… just this. You, me, no plans, no stress. Just a normal, chill day. No arguments about pizza toppings, no you stealing the last bite of dessert—"

"Hey, that was one time!"

"—and no me having to remind you that pineapple is a crime against pizza," he finished, his grin widening.

You nudged him with your shoulder, laughing softly. "Well, for the record, I’m excited too. Even if you do have terrible opinions about food."

"Oi, my opinions are flawless," he said, though the twinkle in his eyes suggested he knew exactly how flawed they were.

You shook your head, leaning into him slightly. The train swayed gently, and you let your eyes drift back to the window, watching the grey landscape blur past. Will’s hand tightened around yours, a silent reassurance that pulled your attention back to him.

"So," he said, his tone light and teasing, "what’s the first thing we’re getting at the market? And don’t say something weird like… I don’t know, candied eels."

You laughed, the sound soft and warm in the quiet carriage. "I was thinking skewers. Or maybe that tea place we saw last time. You know, the one with the really colourful drinks?"

"Ah, the one you made me try even though I said I didn’t like boba?"

"You loved it!"

"I tolerated it," he corrected, though the smile on his face betrayed him.

"Sure you did," you said, rolling your eyes. "And I’m sure you’ll tolerate it again today."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and you felt his thumb brush over your knuckles again. "Fine. But only because you’re cute when you’re smug."

You shook your head, laughing softly, and let your gaze drift back to the window, the train rattled on, the rhythm of the tracks steady and comforting.

The market was a riot of colours and sounds—stalls draped in vibrant fabrics, the sharp hiss of oil hitting a hot griddle, and vendors’ voices rising above the hum of the crowd. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, sweet sauces, and the occasional waft of fresh herbs. Will walked beside you, his hand brushing yours every so often, his touch light but deliberate, as if he couldn’t quite resist the pull to be closer. The two of you wandered through the bustling aisles, the smell of freshly steamed dough and savoury fillings drawing you toward a stall selling bao buns.

You stopped in front of the stall, the golden, fluffy buns piled high on the griddle, their tops glistening under the soft glow of the stall’s lights. You pointed at the pork-filled ones, turning to Will with a grin. "Can we get these?"

He nodded, already pulling out his wallet. "Anything for you," he said, handing over the cash to the vendor with a quick smile. His voice was soft, almost tender, and it sent a little shiver down your spine. Turning to you, he added, “But don’t let it go to your head.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way his lips quirked into a smile made it hard to stay annoyed. There was something about the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the entire market—that made your heart skip a beat.

The vendor handed you a paper tray with two fluffy bao, the steam rising in delicate curls. Will leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as he studied the buns. "Alright, let’s see if these are as good as they look," you said, picking one up and blowing on it gently before taking the first bite.

The rich, savoury filling hit your tongue, the flavours of tender pork, sweet hoisin, and a hint of ginger mingling perfectly. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, a small, contented hum escaping you. When you opened your eyes, Will was watching you, his gaze soft and intent, as if he were memorising the way your face lit up.

"That good, huh?" He asked, his voice low and warm, like the first sip of tea on a cold morning.

You nodded, carefully breaking off a piece of the bao, making sure to get a bit of the tender pork, the sweet hoisin, and a hint of ginger in one perfect bite. Holding it out to him, you grinned. "Your turn."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your fingers as he took a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Alright, that’s incredible. Another one."

You laughed, breaking off another piece and holding it out to him. He took it from your fingers, his lips grazing your skin again, and this time, you felt the warmth of his breath against your hand. The simple act felt strangely intimate, and you couldn’t help the way your pulse quickened.

The two of you went back and forth, sharing the bao bun between you—breaking off pieces, you feeding Will, and laughing as you tried to avoid getting sauce on your hands. The warmth of the buns contrasted with the crisp autumn air, but it was nothing compared to the warmth spreading through your chest every time Will’s fingers brushed yours or his eyes met yours with that soft, knowing look.

By the time the bao was almost gone, you held up the last bite, raising an eyebrow at Will. "Final piece. Who gets it?"

He grinned, his eyes locking onto yours as he leaned in. His lips grazed your fingers again, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary as he took the bite. "Cheers, love," he said, his voice low and teasing, the endearment slipping out so naturally it made your breath catch.

Your fingers froze midair, the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin. You quickly looked away, pretending to fuss with the napkin, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. Will caught your reaction—the way your eyes flickered, the slight smile you tried to hide, the way your fingers lingered in the air for a second too long. He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a knowing smirk.

Before you could recover, he leaned in again, this time pressing a quick, soft peck to your lips. You blinked, startled, but before you could say anything, he pulled back slightly, his tongue darting out to lick his own lower lip. "Sorry," he said, his voice teasing, "you had a bit of sauce there."

You stared at him, your face burning. "There was no sauce," you protested, licking your lips.

He shrugged, his smirk widening as he followed your lips. "Could’ve sworn there was. Ah well, there's none now. You're welcome, by the way."

You shook your head, laughing softly to cover your fluster. Will glanced around the stall, taking in the steam rising from the griddle and the vibrant colours of the surrounding market. "Alright," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "What’s next?"

You and Will wandered through the aisles, the vibrant colours of the stalls and the chatter of vendors creating a lively backdrop. You had just left the bao stand, the taste of the fluffy buns still lingering on your tongue. Will walked beside you, his arm brushing against yours as you navigated the busy aisles. His hand occasionally grazed yours, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that felt deliberate, like he was testing the waters, seeing how close he could get without fully taking your hand. Each touch sent a little spark through you, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

"So," he said, glancing down at you with a grin, "what’s next? You’re the food expert here."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’m not an expert. I just like eating."

"Same thing," he replied, his tone teasing. "You’ve got that… vibe. Like you know what’s good."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile. "Alright, Mr. Compliments. Let’s see…"

You scanned the stalls as you walked, the two of you weaving through the crowd. The market was a maze of options—sizzling skewers, steaming dumplings, colourful desserts, and more. Will kept pace beside you, his hands in his pockets, but sometimes, he’d bump your shoulder or let his fingers brush against yours, sending little jolts of warmth through you. It was like he couldn’t help himself, and honestly, neither could you.

"Remember that time we tried to make bao buns at home?" he asked suddenly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "Don’t remind me. That was a disaster."

"Disaster?" he repeated, laughing. "Mate, we set off the smoke alarm. Twice."

"Yeah, because someone thought it was a good idea to crank the oven up to max," you shot back, grinning.

"Hey, I was following your instructions!"

"You were not!"

The two of you laughed, the memory of flour-covered counters and charred buns still fresh in your minds. Will nudged you with his elbow, his grin widening. "We should try it again sometime. Third time’s the charm, yeah?"

"Only if you promise not to touch the oven," you said, raising an eyebrow.

"Deal," he replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. His fingers brushed against yours as he lowered them, and you felt the warmth of his touch linger even after he pulled away. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the noise of the market seemed to fade into the background. There was something in his gaze—something soft and unguarded—that made your heart skip a beat.

As you continued walking, the smell of grilled meat caught your attention. You glanced toward a stall selling skewers—yakitori, grilled prawns, and lamb kebabs. The skewers were glistening with a sticky glaze, the aroma irresistible.

"Skewers?" you asked, nodding toward the stall.

Will followed your gaze, his eyes lighting up. "Skewers it is."

You approached the stall, the vendor busy flipping skewers on a hot grill. Will leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as he studied the options. "Can we try one of each?" you asked, turning to Will.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Greedy today, aren’t we?" He teased, but he was already pulling out his wallet and handing over the cash. His fingers brushed against yours as he handed you the tray, and you felt a little shiver run down your spine.

The vendor handed you a paper tray with the skewers, the smell of charred meat and sweet marinade making your mouth water. Will watched as you picked up the lamb skewer, taking the first bite.

The rich, slightly gamey flavour of the lamb skewer hit your tongue, and you wrinkled your nose, clearly not a fan. You glanced at Will, who was already watching you with that amused glint in his eyes, like he’d been waiting for your reaction.

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed. "Not your thing, huh?"

You shook your head, handing the skewer to him. "Here, you can have it."

He took it without hesitation, biting into it as he kept his gaze on your face. "What’s wrong with it?" he asked, mouth full, his voice muffled but still teasing.

You shrugged, already reaching for the yakitori. "Just not my thing. Too… gamey."

Will chuckled, still chewing. "You’re just using me as a human bin, aren’t you?"

You grinned, taking a bite of the yakitori. The tender chicken, glazed with a sweet soy sauce, was perfect—juicy, flavourful, and exactly what you’d been craving. "Pretty much," you said, your mouth half-full. "But hey, you don’t seem to mind."

He finished the lamb skewer in a few quick bites, licking a bit of sauce from his thumb in a way that was unfairly distracting. "I don’t," he said, his tone light but his eyes lingering on you a beat too long. "But don’t think I won’t remember this next time you’re eyeing my fries."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Noted."

He reached for the grilled prawn next, holding it out to you. "Your turn."

You took a bite, the smoky flavour of the prawn hitting your tongue. It wasn’t bad—grilled to perfection with a hint of chilli and garlic—but it wasn’t your favourite either. You gently pushed the skewer back toward him. "Here, you can have this one too," you said, laughing.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression playful. "Are you sure? These look banging."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’m sure," you said, though a small part of you wondered if he’d noticed how your pulse quickened when his fingers brushed yours. You took another bite of the yakitori, the savoury flavour grounding you. "I’m sticking with this."

He shrugged, taking a bite of the prawn. His eyes lit up as he chewed. "Alright, you’re missing out. This is delicious."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I’ll take your word for it."

Will reached for the yakitori, taking a small bite. His eyes widened as he chewed, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Okay, you’re right," he said, his voice warm and a little teasing. "This is superb."

You grinned, holding out the skewer to him. "I know, right? Want more?"

He shook his head, pushing it back toward you with a soft smile. "Nah, that one’s yours. I’ve got the prawns."

You smiled, taking another bite of the yakitori as Will glanced around the skewer stall, taking in the sizzling grill and the vibrant display of meats. His eyes lingered on the vendor flipping skewers with practiced ease, the flames from the grill casting a warm glow on his face. For a moment, you just watched him—the way his lips curved into a small smile, the way his shoulders relaxed as he leaned casually against the stall. He looked… happy. Content. And it made your chest feel impossibly warm.

"Right," he said, turning back to you with a grin. "What’s next? Drinks?"

You nodded, finishing the last bite of yakitori and tossing the skewer into a nearby bin. "Drinks sound perfect. But only if you’re paying."

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you felt his hand brush against yours again as he stepped closer. "You’re relentless, you know that?"

"Yep," you said, grinning up at him. "And you love it."

He didn’t deny it, just shook his head with that same soft smile as he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. "C’mon, then," he said, tugging you gently toward the next stall. "Let’s find something sweet to wash all this down."

As you wandered further into the market, you spotted a stand selling bubble tea. Visual samples of colourful drinks were lined up in tall plastic cups, the boba pearls glistening like little jewels at the bottom. You pulled Will over, studying the menu, your fingers still loosely intertwined with his. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, a small, absentminded gesture that made your stomach flutter.

After a moment, you pointed at the Thai iced tea and the classic milk tea with boba.

Will raised an eyebrow, his smirk playful. "Two drinks? Greedy, aren’t we?"

You smirked back, already reaching for your wallet, but he beat you to it, pulling out his own with a wink. "My treat," he said, handing over the cash before you could protest.

The vendor handed you the drinks, and you immediately took a sip of the Thai iced tea. It was sweet and creamy, the perfect balance of flavours. The rich, spiced tea blended perfectly with the condensed milk, and you couldn’t help but hum in approval, your eyes meeting his, Will was watching you his expression soft and amused.

"That good, huh?" he asked, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, holding out the drink to him. "Your turn."

He took a sip, his eyes widening as the flavours hit his tongue. "Wow," he said, his tone genuinely surprised. "That’s… incredible. Not too sweet."

You laughed, taking the drink back. "Told you."

Next, he reached for the milk tea, taking a cautious sip. The chewy boba pearls rolled into his mouth as he chewed, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Okay, this is amazing too. How do you always know what’s good?"

You grinned, taking a sip of the milk tea yourself. The chewy boba was a pleasant surprise, and you couldn’t help but smile. "It’s a gift," you said, your tone teasing.

Will noticed your reaction, holding out his hand for the milk tea. "Let me try that again."

You handed it to him, and he took another sip, his eyes lighting up as he savoured it. "Yeah, no, this is definitely a winner. You’ve got impeccable taste."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I know."

Then he reached for the Thai iced tea again, taking a longer sip this time. His face lit up even more, a look of pure delight crossing his features. "Okay, wait, this one might be even better. How is that possible?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Of course you like the one I wanted. Typical."

Will grinned, holding the Thai iced tea out of your reach. "Finders keepers."

"Oi!" you protested, trying to grab it back.

He held it high above his head, laughing as you jumped to reach it. "You’re such a child," you said, though you couldn’t stop smiling.

Will finally relented, handing the drink back to you with a smirk. "Alright, alright. You can have it. But only because you’re cute when you pout."

You rolled your eyes, taking the Thai iced tea and taking another sip. Will glanced around the drink stall, taking in the colourful display of drinks, but his hand never left yours. His fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but notice how warm and solid his grip felt.

"Right," he said, turning back to you with a grin. "What’s next? Dessert?"

You nodded, "Dessert sounds perfect."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and you felt it vibrate through your chest. "You’re relentless, you know that?"

"Yep," you said, grinning up at him. "And you love it."

He didn’t deny it, just shook his head with that same soft smile as he tugged you gently toward the next stall. The market lights flickered on as the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow over everything. The air was cooler now, but you barely noticed, too focused on the warmth of his hand in yours and the way his shoulder brushed against yours as you walked.

The dessert stall was a colourful explosion of sweets—mochi, taiyaki, and towering soft serve cones in flavours like matcha, black sesame, and hojicha. You pointed at the matcha soft serve, the vibrant green ice cream swirling into a perfect peak, its colour so vivid it almost glowed under the soft lights of the stall. The earthy aroma of matcha wafted toward you, mingling with the sweet scent of condensed milk. "Can we get one of those?" you asked, turning to Will with a hopeful smile.

Will glanced at the cone, then back at you, his expression softening as he took in the way your eyes lit up. He didn’t say anything at first, just reached for his wallet, his fingers brushing against yours as he pulled it out. You couldn’t help but notice the way his lips curved into a small, private smile.

"If it makes you smile like that, of course," he said, his voice low and warm, like the first sip of tea on a cold morning. He handed over the cash to the vendor, his movements unhurried, as if he were savouring the moment as much as you were.

You and Will moved away from the stall, weaving through the bustling crowd until you found a quieter spot near the edge of the market. It wasn’t much—just a small alcove between two stalls, sheltered from the main flow of foot traffic—but it felt like your own little haven.

Will leaned casually against the wall, his shoulder brushing yours as you stood side by side. The hum of the market was still there, but it felt distant now, like background noise to the quiet moment you were sharing. You held the cone between you, the coolness of the ice cream a sharp contrast to the warmth of his body so close to yours.

"Alright, let’s see if this lives up to the hype," you said, leaning in and gently wrapping your lips around the creamy peak, sucking lightly to pull a bite of the cold, velvety ice cream into your mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the soft serve like a whisper of spring—earthy, sweet, and impossibly smooth. The bitterness of the matcha balanced perfectly with the creamy sweetness, and you couldn’t help but let out a small, contented hum.

When you opened your eyes, you caught Will staring at you, his gaze lingering on your lips for a second too long. There was something in his expression—something soft and unguarded—that made your stomach flip.

"Your turn," you said, holding the cone out to him, pretending not to notice the faint flush creeping up your neck.

He blinked, snapping out of whatever thought had momentarily distracted him, and took the cone from you. But instead of taking a bite, he held it carefully in one hand, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft serve was starting to melt slightly, a tiny drip sliding down the side of the cone, but Will didn’t seem to care.

Before you could say anything, he stepped closer, his free hand sliding around your waist to pull you in. "I think I’d rather taste it this way," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

And then he kissed you.

His lips were warm and insistent, capturing yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. You could feel the cool sweetness of the matcha still lingering on your lips, and Will seemed determined to savour every bit of it. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling gently in your hair as he tilted your head just slightly, deepening the kiss.

At first, his tongue brushed against yours tentatively, a slow, teasing exploration that sent shivers down your spine. But then, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, the kiss grew more insistent, more passionate. His tongue swept against yours, warm and searching, as if he were trying to memorise the taste of you mixed with the earthy sweetness of the matcha. You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, the fabric of his jumper soft under your fingertips. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, quickening just like yours.

The world around you seemed to fade away—the low chatter of the market, the sizzle of food on grills, the faint hum of music from a nearby stall. All that mattered was the way his lips moved against yours, the way his breath mingled with yours, the way his body pressed close, solid and reassuring.

When he finally pulled back, it was only slightly, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath. His blue eyes were dark, his pupils wide and blown with want, his gaze heavy with something that made your stomach flip. It wasn’t just unspoken—it was hunger, pure and undeniable. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment, sent a shiver down your spine.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice rough and a little unsteady, as if he were struggling to keep himself in check. "Definitely starting to see the appeal."

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, where a faint trace of matcha still lingered, and you could feel the slight tremor in his hand. It was as if he were holding himself back, but just barely. The air between you felt charged, electric, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—the way he wanted to kiss you again, to pull you closer, to lose himself in you completely.

"Will," you started, your voice soft, but he shook his head, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at his lips.

"Don’t," he said, his voice low. "If you say my name like that, I’m not going to be able to stop."

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared up at him. There was no mistaking the desire in his eyes, the way his gaze dropped to your lips again, like he was already imagining kissing you a second time. He wanted you—wanted you in a way that was almost overwhelming, and it was written all over his face.

But instead of giving in, he stepped back slightly, his hand sliding from your waist. He glanced down at the cone, as if grounding himself, and let out a soft laugh. "Guess I got a little distracted," he said, his tone lighter now, though his eyes still burnt with that same intensity.

"Just a little," you said, teasing, though your voice was a little breathless. You couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers flexed around the cone, like he was fighting the urge to reach for you again. Before he could say anything, you reached out and gently took the cone from his hand, your fingers brushing against his in the process. The contact sent a little spark through you, and you saw his eyes darken as he watched you.

"Careful," you said, your tone light but your gaze holding his. "You’re going to drop it if you keep getting distracted."

He let out a soft laugh, though it sounded a little strained, and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, you’re not exactly helping," he said. His eyes dropped to your lips again, and you could see the way he was struggling to keep himself in check.

You took a small bite of the ice cream, the cool sweetness a sharp contrast to the heat building between you. Will watched you, his gaze intense, and you couldn’t help but tease him a little. "Want a taste?" you asked, holding the cone out to him, your tone innocent but your eyes playful.

He shook his head, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at his lips. "I already had my taste," he said, his voice dropping lower. "And it’s going to be a problem if I have another."

Your face flushed, but you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. Will stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the cone. "But since you’re offering…" he said, his tone teasing as he took a small peice, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something in the way he looked at you, something raw and unguarded, that made your pulse quicken and your cheeks burn.

He handed the cone back to you with a smirk, his arm still wrapped around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. "Next time, though," he said, his tone playful but his eyes soft with something deeper, "I’m picking the flavour."

"Deal," you said, leaning into him, the warmth of his body a comforting contrast to the cool evening air. You took another bite of the ice cream, the earthy sweetness of the matcha mingling with the lingering taste of him on your lips. The market buzzed around you, but it felt distant, like the two of you were in your own little world.

Will’s thumb brushed lightly over your hip, his touch sending a shiver through you even through the layers of your clothes. "You know," he said, his voice low and warm, "I think this might be the best date we’ve ever had."

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. "Yeah," you agreed softly. "It’s pretty perfect."

He chuckled, the sound rich and full, and you felt it vibrate through your chest. "Glad you think so," he said, his tone light but his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Because I’m not done yet."

"Oh?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, though your voice was a little breathless.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Nope. Not even close."

Your face flushed, but you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. "You’re horrible." you said, though the way your heart raced betrayed how much his words affected you.

Will grinned, pulling you closer as you continued walking through the market. The lights twinkled above, casting a warm glow over the stalls, and the scent of spices and sweets filled the air. His hand never left yours, his fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

As you strolled, the sounds of the market fading into the background, you couldn’t help but think that moments like this—simple, sweet, and shared with him—were your favourite kind. Will’s hand in yours, his laughter in your ears, and the promise of more ahead made everything feel just a little bit magical.

😮‍💨 damn. I got carried away with this one… Was that kiss realistic? I've never kissed anyone that wasn't a peck, so I just guessed at what it would be like. Was that okay? Do people have any pointers for writing reasonable make out sessions? 🤭But anyways… I hope people enjoy!

[babyboywilson]

wilson found house in the nurses break room, the tv running an old episode of ‘prescription passion’ quietly in the background. but house wasn’t watching the tv. he was lying down on the couch on his back, a notebook on his chest. his left sleeve was rolled up and there appeared to be notes written across his forearm.

something about the scene sent a crashing wave of understanding through wilson. slowly, he eased himself down into an armchair positioned across from the couch.

he didn’t speak. wasn’t the one to break the silence between them. he waited, knowing something monumental was catapulting around in house’s brain.

a minute passed, then two, before house finally spoke.

“kid picked up my ball and started bouncing it off the wall exactly like i do,” house said.

wilson waited a beat, and then gestured at house with his hand in the universal sign for ‘go-on.’

“smart, too. super witty. followed along with my differentials. read my team like he was reading a book.”

wilson gathered house was talking about his current patient. a nineteen-year-old boy whose case had been transferred to house the day before yesterday.

wilson motioned towards the notebook, seeking house’s approval.

sitting up, house tossed the notebook over towards wilson. wilson caught it and skimmed over the points that house had been scribbling down.

patient:

-dislikes changes

-lacks connections to others

-difficulty communicating

-repetitive motions

-routines

-highly intelligent with specific areas of focus

-lacks impulse control

at the bottom of the page, a sentence was underlined three times.

behavior patterns repeatable in gregory house

wilson cast his eyes up to house and found house was already looking at him.

“kids autistic,” house said, tapping at the writing on his forearm where more symptoms were scrawled out. “he even pointed out when i was out in the hallway twirling my cane as i was thinking.”

taking a slow breath, wilson said softly, “stimming. repeated movements to focus or to express emotions.”

house nodded once, then dropped his head back against the couch arm.

“i’m on the spectrum,” house muttered, as if it was a revelation. something he hadn’t thought about before but had suddenly become aware of after seeing it reflected back at him.

wilson considered standing up and sitting down next to house. debated opening up the conversation to go into further details about autism and what symptoms house now saw in himself. but that wasn’t what house needed.

instead, wilson locked eyes with house, nodded once, and replied, “hungry? we can get dinner.”

an acknowledgement, an understanding, but not pushing house to talk more until he wanted to. wilson had found him after all. and when house was ready, he’d come find wilson in his office and he’d sprawl out over wilson’s couch and speak his mind. but house wasn’t ready for that yet.

house pushed his sleeve down and nodded. “starving.”

wilson snagged the cane, stood up, and held it out for house to take. when house reached out to take it, their fingers brushed. neither of them pulled away. house’s eyes met wilson’s.

they were good.

house gave wilson one of his rare half-smiles.

wilson held the break room door open for house.

everything in house’s head was tilted on its axis, backlit in a new light as he reevaluated his mind.

but nothing had changed between them.

[chikaras-garden]

Batboys as scenes from my favorite romance novels

Even when you’re alone, it’s like your love is torn from a page.

Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne x fem!reader

Contains: A very self-indulgent author. Scenes inspired by trashy Regency/Victorian romance novels. Oral sex (f!receiving) in Dick’s and (m!receiving) in Tim’s. Praise kink in Dick’s. Blindfolding, bondage, and vaginal fingering in Damian’s.

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked. Scenes are inspo only, not direct quotes. I swear I can write cute smut. I have so many other favorite books and could do this another two times at least.

BRUCE WAYNE 💋 When He Was Wicked by Julia Quinn

“Do you ever wonder what I think about?” Bruce murmurs, head buried in your neck. He refuses to touch you with his lips, only ghosting his nose over your sensitive skin; you feel his breath, warm and lightly spiced, fan over your collarbone.

He lets out a low sigh that covers your chest like a blanket, and your heart echoes the way his breath trembles. Whatever control he thinks he has most of the time—it’s completely gone with you.

“Do you wonder,” he continues, “what I wish I could do to you?”

You’re laying back in his bed and he kneels between your thighs, supporting your back with one hand while his fingers absentmindedly toy with the zipper on the back of your dress. Like this, he notices everything about you: the way your hair sits, the warm sparkle in your eyes, the way your lips part with every breath.

And you look so unbearably kissable that he’s fighting against his baser instincts.

“I would start right here,” he answers himself, finally pressing his lips against your shoulder. You shiver in reply, and a low chuckle slides out of his throat. “I would kiss every inch of you. Twice. I’d figure out where to bite you to make you squeal, where to lick to make you whimper. I’d have you come undone on my tongue—and I think you’d like it. Maybe you’d like it so much that I’d have to do it again.

“And then I’d sit you in my lap,” he rumbles, lips pressed underneath your ear while he finally, finally, unzips your dress. His eyes are half-lidded, his mind just as hazy as yours is. “I’d fill you so completely, darling; your heart, your thoughts. I’d make every one of your breaths mine—forever, if I could.”

DICK GRAYSON 💋 Heartbreaker by Sarah MacLean

“Here, baby, give me your— Yeah, just like that.”

The second Dick says that, your breath catches and you feel yourself tense. Heat washes over you from cheeks to toes, and you let out a soft whine that makes blue eyes dart up to your own. All he did was ask you to move your leg, then take your thigh in his hand to bring it over his shoulder.

His eyes glint and he smiles like a kid on Christmas. You just gave him a fun new trick to use on you.

“Oh baby,” he croons. “You’re gonna be such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You whimper. “Dick, please—”

While his cheek presses against your thigh, his smile is nothing less than devastatingly sweet. “I know, baby; I know.”

He watches you like you’re a work of art, like he’s in awe of every breath you take. Eyes locked on yours, he kisses his way from your knee to the juncture of your hip and thigh, then lets you watch as his tongue darts out from his lips and laves over your soft mound. You tense, shivering, and nudge your hips just a little closer to his lips.

“Oh, good girl,” he groans as if your eagerness is bringing him pleasure. He rewards you, then, with a languid lip up your folds, another groan, and a muffled murmur of, “Look how you squeeze me when I praise you, baby. Fuck, just like that; just like that. Wanna feel you nice and tight, can you do that for me?”

JASON TODD 💋 Scandal in Spring by Lisa Kleypas

“I’m here,” Jason murmurs near your ear, lifting his lips only as high as is necessary to whisper to you. In a second, his mouth is on you again, kissing down your jaw and throat until his face is buried where your neck and shoulder meet. In one swift, light motion, he tugs your shirt down so he can mouth over your skin, and your heart begins to race.

Because, just a few hours ago, you were under the impression he was dead.

Equal parts astonished and worried, you brush your hands over the angry bruises purpling on his skin. You don’t know what to say except, “Please be real.”

“I’m real,” he instantly replies in a shaking voice, kissing down your chest until he reaches the point of a nipple and sucks it into his mouth. Warmth blooms where his lips meet your skin, and you know for certain that this can’t be a dream; your imagination has never been so vivid.

“I’m real,” he repeats. “Feel me.”

“But you’re covered in cuts—”

His eyes, glinting in the moonlight that streams through your window, dart up to your face. He looks at you the same way you look at him: as if you’re newly aware of how lucky the two of you are.

“They don’t matter,” he promises. He takes your chin in one of his hands, and you feel his fingers—rough with scars, freezing cold—as they slide toward your neck. “You’re all that matters, baby. I’m not going anywhere without you, understand?”

TIM DRAKE 💋 Devil’s Daughter by Lisa Kleypas

“Oh fuck,” Tim murmurs behind you. At first, you think it’s in ecstasy, given the fact that he has you bent over a low bookshelf with his cock shoved mercilessly in your cunt.

But then he repeats himself, and you turn your head—but you can only catch a glimpse of how his lips are pressed tightly together. “What’s wrong?”

He huffs out a self-conscious laugh. “Do you have any tissues?”

Huh? “No, I don’t think so—”

“I forgot,” he declares around the thick lump of embarrassment of his throat, while letting his head unceremoniously fall on your shoulder, “a condom.”

“Oh,” you say, and then you start to laugh. Here you are, having sex where you definitely shouldn’t be—in a private study room in the library—and of course this happens. It’s too funny. Perfect, even.

“That’s okay,” you assure him before you wriggle and turn in his arms. With gentle hands, you touch his hips and nudge him backwards; now, he’s the one against the wall instead of you, and you smile up at him while you drop to your knees. Biting your lip, batting your eyelashes, you have the perfect solution in mind.

All his mortification goes up in a puff of smoke when you take his cock—so pretty, pink-tipped and bobbing against his thigh—in one of your very capable hands. Leaning forward, you kiss up the shaft until your nose meets coarse, intimate hair; then, you kiss down again and wrap your lips around him, drawing precum and a soft moan out of him with your first curious, teasing suck.

DAMIAN WAYNE 💋 Widow in Emerald by Scarlett Peckham

You don’t know him, but that makes it better. You’re blindfolded before he ever enters the room, and his hands are cool to the touch and efficient in every movement as he binds your wrists to the four-poster bed. 

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t kiss you. That’s the arrangement you have: you place your trust in this stranger as a means of learning how your body finds release. He, for whatever reason, wants to make music out of your whimpers and moans.

His weight shifts, and you feel him slide in between your thighs. His fingers spread atop your bare chest, and you marvel at how big his hands must be for his thumb to reach one nipple while his little finger grazes the other. He puts just a hint of pressure on your sternum, then drags his hand down your stomach until his palm cups your sex.

Cold. His fingers are cold as ice, and you wonder if he’s just like that, or if he did something to his hands before his time alone with you.

With a flick of what feels like a sturdy yet nimble wrist, two fingers spread your folds, gathering your beginning wetness and exposing you to the air of the room—no, that’s his breath, and you feel the sensation of menthol when he breathes a sigh against your clit. Those same two fingers slip into you now, and you shakily sigh. The pace of his breaths becomes your own as he sends waves of pleasure through you, fingers moving in and out in a slow rhythm that draws a veil between who you are outside this room and who you’re meant to be within it.

[gf2bellamy]

Hi hi hi!

I just want to say that I love your writing so much. The way you write Spencer is just so cozy and feels like a warm hug, if you get what I'm saying?

Anyways I'm wondering if you could write Spencer reacting to his non-bau/fbi girlfriend sending him handwritten love letters to his cubicle at work? With something extra like a bouquet of flowers or little care packages? And Derek being all 'the two of you are completely whipped' but is so happy for the both of you.

I just love it when boys are the ones being dotted on because yes - boys love getting flowers too and they should because they deserve them!

presents — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think a/n: thank you so much that's so so so sweet <33 that means alot to me !!! <3 i hope you like this ( i'm craving cookies now )

The bullpen was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon. The team was scattered—some at their desks, others in the briefing room—but Spencer was buried in a mountain of paperwork.

His desk was a chaotic mess of case files, books, and scribbled notes, his mind fully engrossed in the task at hand. He barely noticed the conversations around him or the occasional footsteps echoing through the room. 

Derek leaned against his own desk, sipping coffee and glancing over at Spencer with an amused smirk. “You know, Pretty Boy, if you keep staring at those files like that, they might just combust,” he teased, breaking the silence. 

Spencer didn’t look up, his pen still scratching across the page. “That’s highly unlikely,” he replied absently. Derek chuckled, shaking his head.

Just then, Anderson walked into the bullpen, holding a small bundle of items. He made a beeline for Spencer’s desk, his expression neutral but he still looked slightly curious.

Without a word, he dropped the items onto the corner of Spencer’s desk, right next to a stacked pile of books. 

“This is for you,” Anderson said simply before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving Spencer blinking in confusion. 

Spencer finally looked up, his brows furrowing as he took in the items now sitting in front of him. There was a small, neatly folded letter sealed with a sticker, a single flower tied with a delicate ribbon, and a tiny care package wrapped in brown paper.

His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the handwriting on the envelope.

Derek pushed off his desk and sauntered over, his smirk widening. “What’s this? Secret admirer, Reid?” he asked, his tone playful. 

Spencer ignored him for a moment as he picked up the letter. He carefully peeled back the sticker and unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the words written.

The letter was filled with love, each word carefully chosen to make him smile. You had written about how proud you were of him, how much you had missed him during his long hours at work, and how you couldn’t wait to see him again. At the end, you'd included a little doodle of the two of you holding hands, complete with a heart around it. 

Spencer’s cheeks flushed as he read, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He set the letter down gently and reached for the care package, unwrapping it to reveal a small box of his favorite tea, a bag of homemade cookies, and a tiny note that read, “For when you need a break.”

His heart swelled with gratitude and affection. You always knew exactly what he needed, even when he didn’t. 

Derek, who had been watching the entire scene unfold, let out a low whistle. “Man, you’ve got it bad,” he said, shaking his head but grinning. “The two of you are completely whipped, you know that?” 

Spencer looked up, his smile widening despite himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, though his tone betrayed him. He couldn’t help the way his chest warmed at the thought of you.

Derek clapped him on the shoulder, his grin softening into something more genuine. “I’m happy for you, man. She’s good for you. And hey, if she ever wants to send some of those cookies my way, I wouldn’t say no.” 

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, though he had no intention of sharing. These were his cookies, a gift from you, and he planned to savor every last one. 

As Derek walked back to his desk, still teasing him, Spencer carefully arranged the items on his desk. He placed the rose in a small vase he kept in his drawer (a gift from you, of course), set the tea and cookies within easy reach, and tucked the letter into his bag to read again later.

For the rest of the day, every time he glanced at them, he felt a little lighter.

[cobaltperun]

Hey, love your writing.

So I was thinking something about (Fem)R and Tara being exes. Reader studying for finals or sum and getting a call from Chad, Mindy doesn't matter, where they ask (practically beg) R to come take Tara cause she got drunk AF and kept talking about R. So R goes and takes care of her.

Something like that, you can make changes to the plot of course. And thank you.

One time too many

Tara Carpenter x Female Reader

Summary: Tara keeps getting drunk, and you're the only one who can get her to stop, at least for the night.

Masterlist / Part 2

Word count: 2.3k

It’s been three months since she messed up, since she made the biggest mistake ever, since she couldn’t control herself. Tara drunkenly glared at the bottle of vodka in her hand before taking a swing out of it. She already ruined everything, giving up on alcohol now wouldn’t change a damn thing.

“Tara, I think you had enough,” Mindy tried to take her bottle away, but she just pulled it closer, wrapping it in her hands and clutching on to it. What else did she have left? When she lost one person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with?

The smoke and smells all around her irritated her lungs, but she wanted to be normal, to be a healthy, not traumatized student that could maintain her relationships instead of ruining them. “I’m fine,” she slurred, taking another big swing and emptying the bottle. She looked at it, disappointed that there was none left.

Mindy groaned, stopping her before she could get up to get more alcohol. “Seriously, you drank the entire bottle alone. Would you stop if I got Y/N to come and get you?” she asked, as if that was possible.

You wouldn’t come. You and Tara haven’t spoken since you broke up, you made it clear the decision was final and Tara didn’t want to cause you even more pain. She already hurt you, and she could neither forgive herself for that, nor did she deserve forgiveness.

“Sure, as if that’ll happen,” so, knowing you wouldn’t come she accepted Mindy’s deal. “I’ll go and try to find some tequila now.”

Mindy sighed and told Chad to go and keep an eye on her while she calls you. She was wasting her time, and your time as well.

~X~

You groaned, burying your face in your hands and leaning back on the chair. Notes and books and presentations open on your laptop were going to be the death of you tonight. It wasn’t usually like that, you usually did well, found these subjects easy, but tonight your brain just refused to cooperate. You dragged your palms down and looked outside the window, you knew the reason.

You broke up with Tara exactly three months ago and you were in a turmoil over it. How was she doing? Was she still drinking? Did she think about you as often as you thought about her? You hoped she didn’t. She deserved to be happy, to find someone who would love her and accept all of her. You missed her, so much it hurt. You still loved her, so much more than you expected you’d love anyone in your life, yet that love wasn’t enough to keep the seven months long relationship going.

Your phone suddenly began buzzing and you figured you weren’t going to get any studying done anyway so you got up and went to your bed where you left your phone earlier. You noticed it was Mindy and raised an eyebrow. But more than confusion you felt fear, because of what happened to Tara two times already. You would never forgive yourself if Tara was hurt, you would always wonder if there was anything you could have done to prevent it. Even if logically there really wasn’t anything you could do.

“Yes?” you asked, keeping the fear and worry at bay for now.

“Hey, Y/N, sorry if I’m interrupting, but would you mind picking Tara up. She might actually get an alcohol poisoning if she keeps drinking like this,” she said, and you inhaled sharply. “I know you two broke up, but I don’t think anyone but you can get her out of here without making a scene.”

“Text me where she is,” you said, already tossing a jacket over your shoulder and grabbing your keys.

Mindy paused, as if she thought you wouldn’t agree, or that she’d need to try harder to convince you. “Thanks, Y/N,” she eventually said and hung up, and sure enough, she sent the location to you mere moments later.

When you broke up with Tara, you promised yourself that if she ever reached out to you for help, or if her friends or Sam did that for her, you’d be there, no matter what. You still loved her, you didn’t want her to get hurt, or to feel like she couldn’t turn to you. Maybe you should have told her that yourself, three months ago, but you feared that would make the breakup hurt even more.

You drove to the location Mindy sent to you and parked in front of some frat house or something. You took a deep breath and stepped outside of your car, ready for the smell of alcohol and smoke and whatnot. Tara had asthma, how she handled being in places like these was beyond you. You saw Mindy standing outside and waving toward you to get your attention. At least you wouldn’t have to spend a lot of time inside.

“Hey,” you greeted her, and she smiled at you gratefully, she was a bit tipsy as well, but you were much more worried about Tara.

“Thanks, I think tonight might have something to do with your breakup. She’s been talking about you ever since she got tipsy,” she told you as she led you inside, through the crowds of students, dimly lit party filled with alcohol and even some drugs from the smell of it. You knew Tara wouldn’t do drugs though, she got drunk, she didn’t get high. Finally, you saw her, slightly slumped against the table as Chad tried to get her to stop. She truly wasn’t listening to anyone. Ever.

“Tara,” you spoke up and she straightened her back, her drunk eyes clearing up a bit as she saw you.

“Y/N?” she breathed out, as if she couldn’t believe she was seeing you.

“Come on, let’s leave,” you offered her your hand and smiled a bit as she took it immediately, and though she wasn’t steady on her feet she got up and stared at you. The feeling of her hand in yours made you feel like the missing pieces of your puzzle were falling into place.

You wanted to hug her, and you saw that was exactly what she wanted, but that might further complicate things, so, you just kept holding her hand and walking to the front doors with her right behind you. She didn’t complain one bit and you nodded at the twins. The fresh air felt so good now that you were out of that suffocating party, and you gently pulled Tara along to your car, opening the back seat for her and stepping aside for her to get in.

She smiled a bit at you, that same slightly shy smile she had on her face the first time you opened the car doors for her, even before you started dating, while you were in the friendship stage. You smiled back, going around the car and getting in, but before you left you quickly pulled your phone out and sent Sam a quick message.

You: I picked up Tara from a party, I’ll let her sleep at my place if that’s okay with you?

Sam replied almost immediately and once again you were reminded of how things used to be, only this time you were reminded of the worst part of the relationship.

Sam: Of course, thanks, Y/N

And she responded the way she used to, a bit out of habit. You didn’t keep in touch with Mindy or Chad, but you and Sam occasionally talked. She would catch you up on what was going on with the group, and more importantly on how Tara was doing, and you’d tell her about your life. Tara knew about it, Sam would tell her and so both of you understood that, at least on some level, you were both still okay.

“I’m sorry,” Tara slurred, leaning against the car window. “I reek of alcohol,” she did, she reeked of alcohol and smoke, and you did not like either of the smells, but you still just nodded and drove off to your apartment.

When you came home you gave Tara some of your clothes and she changed in your bedroom while you went back to your notes. She was too drunk to put up a fight and argue that she should sleep on the couch, and instead just fell asleep on your bed.

You tried to study, you really did, but Tara kept mumbling apologies and your name in her sleep, and you eventually just gave up and got up. Only then did you notice she didn’t even lie down properly, her feet hung off the bed and she was lying on it diagonally, too drunk to even handle that. So, with a heavy sigh you went and lifted her up so you could move her and make her feel as comfortable as possible. You tucked her in and left the medicine next to the bed for her and you just left her to sleep.

You dropped down on the couch, and sighed, all the emotions within you bubbling to the surface. Tara and you got along, you only fought about one thing. Tara’s drinking. Other than that, it was an amazing relationship and you were, very much, in love.

But you couldn’t handle her drinking. You promised yourself that you could deal with most things, as long as the partner of your choice wasn’t abusive or a cheater. That you could talk most things out, that you had your own faults, and that everyone did, so some tolerance was necessary. But you couldn’t tolerate alcohol.

You grew up with alcoholic parents, and they got violent when drunk, and living with them for years, seeing their fights, seeing all of that made you hate alcohol more than anything. Tara wasn’t violent, far from it, she just got drunk, fell asleep and occasionally had to throw up. She didn’t have outbursts, or tried to pick fights. She had her own issues and drowned them in alcohol.

But your parents weren’t violent at the start either.

You repeatedly had that conversation with Tara, and no matter how often she promised it would be the last time, she still got drunk again. Until you just went and broke up with her. You tolerated it longer than you ever expected you would.

You couldn’t fall asleep that night.

~X~

She woke up in a familiar environment. How many times did she wake up in your room? Too many to count, now that she thought about it. Some were perfect, after a night of hanging out, watching movies and making love. Some, as usual as the perfect ones, were filled with regret, because she got drunk again.

Tara knew what it felt like to have an alcoholic parent, though it was only her mother in her case, and yet here she was. Going down the same path. After Bailey tried to kill her, Sam and their friends she went to therapy, and soon after that she met you. She was suspicious at first but she felt comfortable around you, she felt free with you, and a few months later you got together.

And then the therapy just stopped working. And though she knew everything, a stressful week was all it took for her to relapse into alcohol again. One drink after another, she got drunk and two months into your relationship she hurt you for the very first time. She still remembered the look in your eyes, the horror that no movie could cause. And she promised she wouldn’t do it again. Only to do it again, and again, and again, until you had enough.

And now, three months after your breakup, she was back here, after another drunk night. She hated herself for that. For every time she got drunk.

How many times did you try to help her? To support her through everything, to make it so that she didn’t need to drown her issues in alcohol, and she still did it. You were there for her, no matter what she needed. She had it all, she was happy, truly happy in a relationship for the first time in her life, and she threw it away.

It meant everything to her, and she threw it away as if it meant nothing.

She drank her medicine and went to the bathroom, only now noticing your clothes. She was so used to them while you were in a relationship. She loved wearing them, she felt warm in them, she felt safe. And then, when she came out and went to the living room she saw you, sitting on the couch with a mug of coffee in front of you. You probably didn’t sleep last night.

“Good morning,” you still smiled at her, that same loving smile she used to wake up to, only reminding her of what she lost.

“Good morning,” she replied, tears filling up her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d come and get me, I’m sorry you had to see that even now that we’re no longer together,” she said, she meant it, she truly did. “Why did you-“ her choked up slightly. “you didn’t have to,” she lowered her head and let the tears fall as you got up, went around the table and stopped in front of her, hugging her tightly and letting her cry. She didn’t deserve this, you being gentle and still there for her even after everything.

“I loved you, I still do, Tara,” you whispered, and thought you felt like that, though she loved you back, there were words neither of you spoke.

‘But you broke my trust one time too many.’

Masterlist / Part 2

[bambieyedoll]

HIIII bella annon here :3 you are so sweet oh my goodness ... do ya think you can write more abt bella & actress reader ? :3 any scenario really , but mabye one where the reader is doing 2 projects at the time & readers getting overwhelmed with it ?

omg— hi, babyyy ! i’ve missed you, i hope you’re doing well. of course, love. i’m sorry if i made you wait a bit longer than expected. i hope you like it, mwah x🐰

you knew juggling two major projects at once would be exhausting, but you underestimated just how much.

your days are a constant cycle of early morning call times, back-to-back filming, script memorization, and barely enough time to eat, let alone breathe.

bella notices immediately. they always do.

at first, they just watch you carefully—your slightly slower responses, the way you rub your temples more often, the way your texts become shorter, less filled with the usual emojis and dramatic exclamation points.

“babe, have you eaten today?” they ask one evening over facetime, voice soft but firm. you hesitate for too long, and that’s all the answer they need.

the next morning, a delivery shows up at your hotel: your favorite breakfast, along with a note in bella’s messy handwriting. “for the best actress in the world, who needs to be alive to win all her awards. love you.”

on the rare nights you actually make it home, bella insists on taking care of you.

they wrap you in the softest blanket, make you tea, and put on your comfort show.

you try to protest, saying you should be running lines instead. bella just tuts, taking your script and setting it aside. “not tonight, love. you need a break.”

they send you voice notes throughout the day, little check-ins:

“drink water. right now. i will know if you don’t.”

“babe, please remember to stretch, i don’t want you turning into a human pretzel from all that stress.”

“i love you. you’re incredible. but also, if you don’t sleep at least six hours tonight, i’m coming to drag you to bed myself.”

one night, you finally break. it’s late, you’re exhausted, and nothing about your performance feels good enough.

bella calls just as you’re sitting on the floor of your trailer, head in your hands. “i can’t do this,” you whisper, voice shaky.

bella immediately switches into full comforting mode. “hey, hey, no, don’t say that. you’re doing amazing. you’re working so hard, and i know it feels impossible right now, but i promise you—it’s not. you’re gonna get through this.”

the next weekend, they show up on set unannounced, having somehow arranged with your team to visit.

you nearly cry when you see them. bella just grins and holds out their arms. “told you i’d drag you to bed if i had to. now come here.”

they stay with you for a few days, making sure you actually rest.

at night, you fall asleep curled against them, bella whispering sweet reassurances against your hair. “you don’t have to do everything at once, love. just breathe. i’ve got you.”

with bella there, everything feels a little more manageable. the exhaustion doesn’t magically disappear, but suddenly, you’re not carrying it alone.

they make sure you eat properly, physically dragging you away from set one afternoon to sit outside with them and finish an entire meal. “i’m serious, babe, if you pass out mid-scene, i’m fighting your entire team.”

they also keep you grounded when your perfectionism threatens to take over. when you groan over a take you think wasn’t good enough, bella just nudges you. “you were great. your brain is lying to you. it’s okay, i’ll tell you the truth myself.”

at night, when you’re too wired to sleep, bella reads to you in a soft, steady voice.

sometimes it’s from whatever book they’re into at the moment; other times, it’s just their own improvised bedtime story about the two of you running away to a quiet cottage in the middle of nowhere. “no scripts, no call times. just us, a cat, and unlimited pancakes.”

“and a dog,” you mumble sleepily against their shoulder. bella laughs. “fine. a dog too.”

even when they have to leave, they make sure you’re not alone. you wake up to a playlist they made just for you, titled “for my overachieving love” with a mix of your favorite calming songs.

there’s also a text: “i’m still watching you, babe. eat. sleep. breathe. and please, call me when you have five minutes, i miss your voice.”

the next time you start spiraling, overwhelmed by everything on your plate, you remember bella’s voice in your ear, steady and certain. “just breathe. i’ve got you.”

and you know they do.