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watchtowerlibrary · 3 days ago

Text

are you listening? — SKNS

gif ©: w0rmdahl, madsofrps-blog

show: skins s1 (2007-2008)

synopsis: joey may have fallen first, but love fell on anwar.

word count: 4.1k

featuring: anwar kharral, (oc) joey park, maxxie oliver, mention of jal fazer, mention of tony stonem

warnings: (it's skins yk) strong language, sex, early 2000s

a/n: so much to say about this piece omg. check the replies for everything i have to tell you guys lol (p.s. i think swear i can write in present-ish tense but i can't begin without the bg set up womp womp)

next-door neighbors turned childhood best friends, anwar and joey were widely regarded (at least by the 13 people who knew them) as two peas in a pod; an inseparable duo that always happened to be together even when they weren't really supposed to. most — if not all parent-teacher conferences were chalk-full of complaints about their inability to stop talking to the other, and numerous family gatherings had been defined by the odd man out chatting happily as usual with their other half — their other half being a spikey haired anwar standing significantly shorter than he was now or the brace-faced joey who'd refused to make eye contact with anyone else.

over the near-seventeen years they were friends so tightly knit you couldn't even fit a coin between them, joey and anwar had obviously encountered their fair share of pros and cons that came with the territory. on one hand, they always got away with whatever mischievous schemes they'd come up with because no one ever expected them to be in on it together. however, the most pressing issue by far had always been the dating allegations.

for a long time even the mention of romantic feelings lingering around had them up in arms, vehemently denying the allegations with an iron fist as they cited how ridiculous it was to assume just because they were a boy and a girl. and though they began this uphill battle before even reaching double digits, the accusations would only grow worse the older they got and the further into their friendship they ventured.

anwar had always been the very first to deny, always saying the same thing; "you're sick and perverted, joey's my best mate! she's not even like a girl to me!" and for some reason young joey always found this to be hilarious. nowadays, however, not as funny. actually a little hurtful to be completely honest, but she knew why.

the god-honest truth was; joey had loved anwar since the start. she grew up with the hopeless gnawing of yearn at her fingertips, familiar with the fungus-like growth of blush on her cheeks as they walked home from school or shared a cigarette under the stars. she'd spent years tossing restlessly in bed every night in an attempt to tune out the annoying hum in her chest until it eventually became nothing more than white noise in her ears — somewhat manageable but still tender like a bruise when pressed.

by 14 she had figured out a way to better conceal the jealousy that bubbled inside whenever he drooled over the nearest being with boobs, that is, until she found herself whining under the covers like a sick dog. by 15 she finally came to terms with the fact that he'd never even look in her direction with romance in mind, and by her 16th birthday spent with the blubbering drunk, joey finally put the hopes of ‘something more’ to rest as she fell asleep with his elbow dug into her ribs and a lump of acceptance in her throat.

on the contrary, however, anwar was not afforded the luxury of carefully unraveling the warmth in his chest until the burden met his open palms. no — unlike joey's lifelong pining, poor dear anwar happened to be speaking with maxxie when the realization fell on top of him like bricks squashing a bug.

"i just — i don't get it! why does she do that?" he huffed before taking another swig of whatever liquor it was that they'd found at the park, sat leaned against his bed with the absence of her fairy lights reflecting into his window further grating his tender feelings. "of course i don't want to hear about some wanker trying to chat her up! that's disgusting!"

maxxie almost laughs at him, though he refrains. "oh, come on, anwar. you know joey's like mother teresa, i bet she didn't even let him dream about it. is it really that big of an issue?"

"it is! because now i have the image of this bloke shoving his tongue down her throat and if i think about it any longer i'm gonna spew!"

now pausing to catch the sad-faced-clowns gaze, maxxie snatched the bottle from him before shrugging, voice small like he already knew what would come next. "well..." he hummed, "have you ever thought about telling her?"

the aforementioned clowns eyebrows furrowed together. "telling her what?"

"come on, an, it's obvious. i've seen how you look at her. you'll never know until you give it a shot."

at first, anwar would fully brush him off. "maxxie," he'd say with the disapproval already written in his grimace "it's not like that — it's never been like that. i've never even thought of joey like that." but when his stripe-wearing friend finally went home and left him all alone to mull over their conversation, poor dear anwar would think of her like that. he'd find himself in a similar position that night, unbeknownst to either parties, curled into a ball under the covers as he clutched at his chest almost like he was ready to rip the frantic heart right out.

as jal would say months after this initial incident; "joey may have fallen in love first, but love fell on anwar." she was right, as always, but this wouldn't come to fruition until a period of continuous push-and-pulls between them.

of course, the days and weeks following proceeded as typical as usual; anwar and joey hung out for the majority of the day, partied on the weekends, found themselves waking up a tangled mess on the floor surrounded by the rest of the gang covered in a typical amount of vomit. nothing significant immediately changed — much to his dismay — but instead it seemed as though a list of strange circumstances added up over time to grow into the change they both so desperately longed for.

first it was anwar. joey noticed only a few days after he'd originally got upset with her that he started accommodating her more — at least more than usual. it started with the bag of chips they'd bought to share between their parallel windows. usually he'd try to convince her not to get the spicy chips due to the fact that it always ended with tears, but on this fateful day, anwar picked her absolute favorite without so much as a flinch before paying for it himself.

it didn't strike her as exceptionally abnormal until she finished her drink without realizing and was yet again left sniffling, eyes wet as she reached over the gap to hand it back to him with dust-covered fingers. he'd resume leaning against the window frame in search for his drink to hand over only to turn back and find her with a thumb between her lips, tears dripping down her pink cheeks. she laughed.

"they're just so good."

joey would wait for her expected response, something along the lines of 'you're a monster/addict/freak,' only to have his dumb grin be the entire response. she could see his gaze surveying her warm face before fixing on her eyes and staying there, utterly unmoving until she'd grumble.

"just say 'told you so' or something! don't make me stew in it."

anwar was careful not to stare for too long after that, he knew she didn't like feeling 'seen' anyway. but you'd best believe he was studying her features every time she wasn't looking, skin so much softer and lips so much rosier now that he saw her in the new light. he could've sworn she existed solely in a hazy glow colored by every new feature he witnessed pulling him in deeper. if only he could reach out to make sure — to check and see if she was really as radiant as he'd observed. how didn't he notice it before?

it would get to a point that, on a foggy drunken night, anwar would reach out to test his theory.

"— so, when i went home, i got to tell my mom all about how well i did and how many compliments i got from the teachers. she said she'd make my jjajangmyeon tomorrow, too!" from her seat on the counter, joey sat swinging her legs with a cup full of absolute jungle-juice swishing inside as she told him about her successful friday quizzes. "i'm just so happy it's over. i could drink myself to death!"

anwar swore he was listening — he swore he was paying attention to each and every detail about her exams and all the people and especially that bloke dominic — but from his inebriated place against the adjacent island of this posh house he could not for the life of him keep his mind off of the yearn to bring his pounding heart as close to hers as possible. with slow blinks emphasizing his glossy eyes, anwar set his drink down and pushed himself to stand up in one swift motion, arms already wrapped under her shoulder blades by the time she understood what was happening.

it wasn't like they'd never hugged before — they have hugged plenty of times, in fact. physical contact was not a foreign language to them after a long childhood of sleepovers ending with him using her as a blanket because they fell asleep on the floor, but it definitely became less frequent the older they got. waking up on the floor with his head on her stomach was still a common occurrence, but tender interactions like hugs were typically reserved for serious, gloomy moments that called for it. like when her cat died. not, for example, while she was around 7 shots in telling him about her awesome day.

"wh—what's up?" she chuckled nervously, pulse against his as her fingertips subconsciously found his spine, "this is super haram." there was an anxiousness to her voice that even an intoxicated anwar picked up on, especially when pressed so close he could hear the vibrations of her vocal cords. anwar took a deep breath before he pulled away to reclaim his spot against the marble.

"i'm happy you're alive."

a flash of furrowed brows appeared across her face before she was then setting her cup down, sliding off the counter to put her jacket back on. "okay, annie, time to go home. i want you to remember this in the morning when i nurse you back to health."

anwar declared to maxxie the following day (after recovering from his hangover) that he needed to be more careful with how he went about this with joey — if he was gonna muster the courage to talk about it, he had to be careful until that point came. he couldn't just find himself stumbling into it; he had to be smart about this and prove himself worthy as someone for joey, the famously proud virgin who ran off any guy looking in the wrong places for something 'haram' (as his dad and joey would say, though he was certain joey was only teasing.)

"how do i know she even likes guys? or anyone, for that matter!" anwar is almost spiraling with his eyes fixed on the ceiling fan, "the only people she's ever liked are all celebrities! sure, norman bates is an interesting choice, but everyone loves ralph macchio he's-the-fucking-karate-kid!!!"

maxxie, as per usual, was cool as a cucumber. "well, why don't you just do some spy work?” he suggested, “ask her sneaky questions...point her in that direction?"

this ingenious yet devious plan from the third musketeer would eventually be how joey accidentally stumbled into revealing a little too much, unknowingly lead into the territory by her best friend with a sinister motive as they waited on tony and michelle to stop shagging upstairs.

"hey," he'd inquire, innocent in the face as he looked over at her. "can i ask you something?"

"of course."

"the other day chris said mostly men have foot fetishes and mostly women have hand fetishes. is that true or..."

joey looked over at him already irritated, likely suspicious of a looming joke in poor taste. she sighed as she shrugged in an attempt to play off her genuine intrigue before actually pausing to think about it. it sounded true, didn't it?

"i mean...i have no sources, so don't quote me or anything, but i'd say it's probably true."

anwar leaned in a little closer. "but...so...you think a lot of women like hands?"

"i don't know, man," she chuckles and visibly leans away "i know some girls do. why are you so interested?"

"do you?"

now she's actually raising her guard, he can see it in her eyes as she grimaces at his questioning. "well..." joey starts, gaze flicking around the room so as to avoid his. "kind of."

anwar's mischevious smile would grow upon hearing this response, restraining the urge to tease and nudge her with an elbow in favor of continuing his spywork. "kind of?"

"i wouldn't even say it's a fetish like a foot fetish is —" she's speaking quickly the same way she did when trying to fight embarrassment, "it's just — girls can appreciate pretty hands when they see one — i can appreciate pretty hands. it's just an added bonus, you know? if you're hot that's awesome, if you're hot and you have nice hands..."

he didn't even have to think about his next line of questioning. "do i?" anwar asks, presenting forth a warm (and a little clammy from the nerves) palm toward her. joey's eyes would finally return to his, wide and utterly perplexed, before peering down at the fingers outstretched toward her.

"well..." she mutters, shaky fingertips grazing his knuckles as she turned his hand over. "i'd...say so. you have...um..." joey's almost crumbling under the pressure. her face is growing hotter by the second, covered only by the long locks of hair she let conceal her features while she tried to navigate this sticky situation. how to be honest while also not revealing that she had thought about his hands in detail plenty of times to recognize each and every vein and scar in the skin?

"well," her tone is stronger now that she's cleared her throat, "you don't have any visible diseases, so that's a start. your fingers are long — but not like, salad fingers long. and you have big hands, too, girls like that. — i think."

finally looking up from the back of the hand she knew well, joey's pupils are darker than before, a shy smile curling her red lips once she noticed his. 'sly' he thought, 'but not sly enough.' she'd set his hand back down in his lap as the creaking bed upstairs finally came to a halt.

"you're cheeky."

moments such as these, tense and somewhat awkward but certainly suggestive, would be given the time to grow into an entire catalogue (later discussed between maxxie and anwar) that eventually built up into one final, fateful friday.

it was a friday like any other for the pair, the beginning of the weekend spent walking home side-by-side after school in order to drop off their bags before heading to some posh party tony had invited them to. but, halfway through the getting-ready process, anwar would decide to make a catastrophic play;

"do you know if kelsey will be there?"

joey, from her place laid flat over his covers, almost scoffed. "um...why would i know?"

"she's in your last period," anwar shrugged nonchalance before pulling a different shirt over his head. "just thought you might have overheard her say something about it." from the corner of his vision he could see her sit up for the first time in 20 minutes, her arms propped behind her back as she looked over at him, though he couldn't see her expression.

"how do you know that?"

"she told me yesterday." he'd say simply. joey only inched closer, her full and individed attention on him now as she sat at the edge of the mattress.

"she told you? what does that mean?"

anwar couldn't help the smirk that found it's way to his lips at the obvious jealousy in her voice. he turned to look at her — wiping the grin from his face first, of course. "it means she came up to me yesterday before last period to ask to hang out." he stated plainly, watching as her gaze became sharper, "but i said no cause i didn't wanna cancel our movie night."

"oh, how thoughtful of you."

anwar was immediately certain he'd made a severe miscalculation by the absolute venom in her voice, low and barbed and filled to the brim with animosity as she rolled her eyes — a gesture he didn't see often. joey sat tense with her arms folded over her chest so tightly that her nails dug into the skin like she was holding the leash of a rabid dog.

she spoke again.

"so thoughtful, in fact, it makes me wonder why you even bothered to bring kelsey up at all. you could've just kept that to yourself — and yet here we are. why is that, anwar?"

he audibly gulped, his mouth agape as he searched for an explanation to offer other than the real one. joey was too quick, however, too well-versed in anwar-isms to not notice his obvious tells of dishonesty. within a beat and a half she's shooting to her feet with her pointer finger angled accusingly at him.

"you know what? i'm sick to death of your double standards, anwar, and i never got an apology after you totally brushed me off over the dominic thing — so it's funny that you decide now is a great time to tell me all about how badly that cunt kelsey wants in your pants. did you think i'd be happy you canceled because of me? that i'm the roadblock?"

in their near-seventeen years of friendship, never has anwar seen joey so angry. of course they'd argued in the past, especially over trivial things, but jo typically spoke in this distinct whine that came out whenever she felt cornered. maybe that was just how he made her feel at the time, and maybe that was how she effectively wanted to make him feel — but he didn't have the time to think about that now.

"n—no, no," anwar is backpedaling, his mind spinning the wheel on where to begin — what to do. "i wasn't—i just—it's different!" he's incomprehensible through the fire in her veins.

"what's different, anwar? your hypocrisy? — telling me all about how well you and kelsey kerr get along but i'm the bitch for telling you how massive of a cunt i was to dominic?" her eyebrows are almost touching, the lines of disgust visible by her flared nostrils, teeth bared like a violent beast. joey's almost yelling by this point, "you made me feel like bristol's town slut for telling that — that fucker off and yet here you are asking me if your stupid hookup is coming to this stupid fucking party!"

anwar begins sputtering for the right words to say, nearly unintelligible as multiple explanations meld together into a frantic jumbled mess. "jo — no — it's different now! i just mean — i didn't — i was just trying —"

she's over it. "you know what!?" joey interrupts, her volume close to the loudest he'd ever heard her voice (minus the spider on her shoulder.) "i don't want to hear it!" and without another word she's already turning on her heel, stomping her way out the door before slamming it behind her. thank allah his family was out.

of course anwar followed after her! what else was he supposed to do? he'd be hot on her heels the whole way down the stairs, blubbering a slew of apologies and explanations and pleads as they exited his front door and walked right up to hers. joey then turned as her fingers gripped the knob, face to face with him from her spot on the top step, and wholly severed any lingering conversation to be had.

"shut up, anwar! just shut the fuck up! i don't know if you think it's funny to piss me off or what — but now i'm pissed off! so what i need from you right now is to shut your mouth and fuck off because i don't want to say anything mean to you because i love you—so.for.the.love.of...god or allah or whatever! — go away!"

anwar went back to his room with his tail tucked between his legs, head hung as he flopped onto his bed. he'd turn to look out his window — the one that had always been their own personal menagerie for the other to watch and occasionally sneak into — only to find her blinds closed. with a heavy and distinctly discouraged sigh anwar would spend another hour or so going over everything that had happened — everything that could happen after this passed. he'd find that the longer he thought about it, the worse the outcome between them spiraled in his mind, his hands and his legs restless — itching to get up and do something about it. so he did.

first anwar tried tapping on the glass to see if anyone was actually inside there, rightfully earning himself a middle finger that emerged from below the windowsill. he took it on the chin with a short nod of acceptance before turning around just to brainstorm another option, then deciding to throw pebbles at the street-view glass. that was rom-com-ish, right? maybe he could charm her enough to hear him out, to just listen from the top of the tower she'd barracaded herself in, to understand the love inside that begged to be seen.

although this attempt was completely ignored instead, anwar was not discouraged, finding his own resolve by his side; he'd either burn every bridge to joey in one fell swoop, or he'd make it to the other side unscathed. using a trick from his sisters who'd gushed over john cusack after watching that one movie from the 80s, anwar would head back inside only to emerge with the biggest boombox he could find propped on his shoulder, the tape she'd made for his 14th birthday already playing one of her favorite songs.

it took a moment (the entire first chorus) for a response, but soon a glossy-eyed and puffy-faced joey appeared in the window, arms still folded over her chest and brows still furrowed despite his determination.

'and you do your best to show me love.'

he held the boombox taller, stronger atop his shoulder as he watched the grip on her own arms loosen.

'but you don't know what love is.'

anwar offered a weak, apologetic, pathetic smile.

'so are you listening?'

finally, the outline of her smile would be revived as she let go of her flesh to pull the window pane up, lifting it over her head to lean over the edge. she couldn’t resist paramore.

"trying to get arrested?" she asks, obviously teasing although her tone remained the same as before.

anwar wouldn't waste even a second, setting the still-booming speaker on the ground to dive head first into redemption, calling up to her with a muddled and quivering voice.

"joey, i'm sorry! i'm sorry i'm not a better friend to you! i'm sorry i'm a hypocrite and a dick and a caveman and a jackass — i swear i'm good inside! i can be tender! i can be kind! please let me show you! i — i have all these feelings inside me and to you it's just words and you know i'm not good with my words!!"

joey pauses. there's a lot to sort through here and not a lot of context, so she's mid-filling in the gaps when he starts hollering again.

"i'm sorry about dominic! i know it was shitty — i just — i couldn't stand the thought of him — !" anwar nearly chokes on the words "i just wanted to make you jealous! i wanted to see if you felt as awful as i did! and i'm sorry, jo! i'm sorry i l—" he stops himself to gauge her reaction.

there is a smile of utter disbelief on her face now, teeth growing more and more visible as she stares down at him from her place on the second floor. even under the familiar streetlight he can see her cheeks blushing a deep red, eyes sparkling with what he'd describe as hope. with a deep breath and a leap of faith, anwar would finally say the three simple words that sealed the deal.

“i love you!!” anwar calls up to joey from his place on the sidewalk, the prince at the bottom of the tower calling up to the princess. and what does she say?

“i think about you when i touch myself!!”

anwar had never been so sure about anything in his life.

#library #anwar kharral x oc #watchtowerlibrary

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watchtowerlibrary · 4 days ago

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i LOVE your work bestie 😩😩😩 can i request dress shopping turns into mirror sex with ur sugar daddy joshua madika 😳👉🏽👈🏽

you break it, you buy it (18+, joshua x reader)

a/n: oh my god. bestie. oh my god

Word count: 1,826

You first met Joshua Madika at the bus stop.

He was fairly well known, as a handsome man who started the worlds most popular dating app, ending Tinder's reign of terror. But in that moment, with you bawling your eyes out, you had no fucking clue who he was.

"Hey now, what's happened?" He asked softly, making his driver wait, pulled over in the rain.

He carefully listened to you babble and strung together how the Vet wouldn't see this stray dog that you found on the side of the road. How scared you were it was going to die, and you didn't think dogs should die if a human didn't have any money. You also said you hated being poor and how your one good jacket was covered in blood.

You also asked if you were still pretty, to which he said yes. A damnable lie, but still appreciated.

You agreed to get into a strangers car, and let him take you to a vet in Manhattan. He did that on purpose. He didn't have to pull over, but he did.

Chippy was saved, and now living safely in your apartment, back at a heathy weight of 10 pounds, 4 ounces.

The arrangement was accidental.

It was something you just fell into. He paid your rent, and you went with him to events where he had to publicly have a partner. He made it clear that he wasn't going to pressure you into anything, that he was the CEO of a dating app and he needed to have someone on his arm, but sex came naturally.

Sex. Clothes. Friendship.

What more could you want really? You were definitely a sugar baby, but the only thing is that you genuinely loved spending time with him. As a model in New York, fashion was at the forefront of your mind all the time, and he loved clothes almost as much as you did.

Things were good!

He was supposed to speak at some rich person event later that week, so you met up at the popup of some designer friend of his. Now normally, if it didn't show up on Google Maps, you wouldn't dare enter a building

But it was Joshua, and Joshua had gotten his designer friend to give you guys an hour before the popup actually started.

Also, he'd never hurt you.

The two of you worked through a few selections, and he hyped you up appropriately.

Shopping with Joshua was a bit of a double-edged sword because, his opinion didn't stray from "you look good in everything", which, as most know, can be a bit annoying when someone's trying to decide what to get. The other side of the sword meant he was also rich enough to buy you everything, so maybe the compliments weren't so bad.

You worked your way through the dresses, and Joshua gave you his usual toothy smile, and tell you the dress was excellent because you're wearing it.

You made it through every color of the rainbow, only reaching a hang-up at a dark green dress. It was stunning, almost iridescent with a few cutouts that made it less like a prom dress, and more fit for a business event.

You laughed at yourself in the mirror as your body contorted, trying to get the zipper up. It seemed like it was getting stuck on something.

"Hey Joshua?" You called through the thin door.

"Yeah, love? How's it going?" He replies.

"Can you help me get this zipper up?" You asked in a sweet voice, the one you use when you need him to get you something ridiculous. You last used this voice to get a waffle iron, and now all you eat are waffles.

"Yeah!" And you open the door, turning your back to him. You hum as you feel his warm hands trace down your spine, and do their best to get the zipper to work.

"Sorry, it's a no-go.

These stupid designers didn't make clothes for the masses, as a model you knew this. You were simply too big for such a gorgeous piece. But it was so pretty you couldn't leave it here!"

"I love this dress too much. If you get it for me, I'll get this zipper up in a week!"

You were just trying to be agreeable.

You could get in your head when it came to him, 'good girls don't make a fuss' and all that. But as soon as your words left your mouth, Joshua blinked, as if he'd just been slapped.

"Why would you say that?" His voice was small, and it made all the hairs on your arm stand up.

"I-" You start, but he pushed his way in and wrapped you in a giant hug. He was always warm, and somehow always smelled like oranges. He was taller, broader, stronger than you. He tucked you into him with ease and the two of you stayed like that for a little while.

But then you felt a twitch.

Gently, but firmly, Joshua turned you in his arms, so your back was flat against his front, he steered your chin so you could look at yourself in the mirror.

The goosebumps only grew stronger.

"I like you just as you are, understand?" He hummed the sweet words into your neck, and you bit your lip, wondering where the hell he was going with this?

You shiver as he smoothed his palms over your stomach, slowly. Too slow, you think. You lean back into him, letting him take your weight as your knees shook underneath you.

His hands smoothed down to your ass, up to your chest squeezing gently. He earned a whine when he saw fit to nibble at the base of your neck.

"Joshua." You gasped, digging your nails into his wrist.

"I like you just as you are, understand?" he repeated, a little harsher than last time. You nodded, sticking your lower lip out as he nudged you forward, planting both your hands against the mirror that had been your enemy only a few moments before.

"Joshua," you whined, as he backed away. You tried to blink, but the he always treated you so sweetly, carefully, it made your head spin.

You felt his hands on your back again, this time parting the tight fabric keeping you hostage.

"Why the fuck is this..." he mumbled into your neck as he tried his best to unhook you, making you laugh at his frustration. He looked so focused in the mirror, brow furrowed as he tried to understand how you had gotten the ties together by yourself, backwards.

"Oh fuck." He gasped as the dress fell apart in his hands, making the two of you fall apart into giggles as you shook yourself free.

Joshua's laugh dissipated as he realized that he had you, stark naked in the dressing room.

He cocked his head at your state of undress, "nothing?" he asked.

"Underwear might get caught on the dress!" you defended, heat rushing to your face, as he gently ran his hands over you, like he had before.

"Who am I to doubt a professional?" He groaned, putting both of your hands back where they were, sweetly grabbing and pulling just the way you liked.

"You want me?" He asked, already knowing the answer when his hands wandered between your legs.

"Yes." You sighed, grinding your hips back into him, as hard as you could manage.

You closed your eyes, and focused on the feeling of the cold mirror under your hands.

Joshua fumbled with his belt for a half moment, before draping himself over you once more.

You shivered as you felt his cock grind at your entrance, teasing. This wasn't fair. You didn't have sex in public, you'd never done this before and he was going to make you wait??

Fucker.

"YN. Look at yourself," he started," look at how fucking perfect you are." Joshua's hands took a firm grasp on your jaw, making you open your eyes to see yourself.

You were pretty, all bent over and gasping for him. He didn't need to do this, that wasn't what this was. Your self esteem was not his job, and still your bent over in a dressing room, about to take his dick like you were made for it. Someone as good and kind, and sweet as Joshua didn't do things for no reason.

You must be pretty fantastic, why else would he be with you like this?

"You need to say it," he ordered.

"I'm fucking perfect." The two of you smiled at each other in the mirror, as your words hung in the air.

"Don't forget it." He commanded, before pushing himself into you. You let out a loud moan, forcing your hand to cover your mouth.

Joshua began to pound into you, just the way that you liked, making you watch as all the best parts of you shook and trembled for him.

"Always so wet for me," he praised, running his warm fingers down to play with your clit.

You squeaked at the new contact, quickly reaching your arm back to grab at his ass.

Joshua groaned as he quickened his pace, the two of you getting close together. Talk about timing.

Your little whimpers and moans seemed to blend together as you let the man you met at the bus stop have his way with you, again. You enjoy every second of it, every single time.

But, there's a half-moment where the rational part of you made a decision. This pop-up was by a friend of Joshua's, a designer. If a designer knew that a dress was not only torn, but cum-stained, you'd be wrecked.

Plus, you were on the pill. This was responsible on all counts.

"NOT ON THE DRESS! I-" You shrieked, your words dying on your lips as Joshua slammed back inside you with a dazzling force that made you see colors on the back of your eyelids.

You reached back and tugged on his dark, curly hair as the two of you breathed each other in.

"You're so pretty when you come for me." Goddamn right.

"You're not so bad yourself." You replied, keeping your eyes closed, focusing on how he felt wrapped around you.

When it was finally time to move, the both of you moved slow. It felt as if something changed, but neither of you would say what.

Not talking seemed to be a theme for him.

"Arms up." He ordered softly, sliding your comfortable shift dress over your body. You were still dripping, but you had a feeling Joshua would handle that in the car home.

The two of you seemed to exhale together, the air still buzzing.

"I think I'll have a dress made for you." He leaned down to softly peck your lips.

You kept a hold of Joshua's shoulder as he grabbed the destroyed dress from the ground. You break it, you buy it.

"Lets go get breakfast."

#fic rec #joshua madika x reader #watchtowerlibrary

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watchtowerlibrary · 5 days ago

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𝐎𝐩𝐢𝐚

n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out.

✦ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Sir Gawain x GN!Reader

✦ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut + fluff

✦ 𝐰𝐜: 2.2k

✦ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Minors DO NOT INTERACT thanks. also DONT USE SALIVA AS LUBE THIS IS THE MIDDLE AGES WAAAAHH

✦ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Anyway I havent written anything in a hot second, especially smut, so i might've lost my touch but this man makes me insane. Hope its still enjoyable anyway and im working on some fluffy stuff as well whoop enjoy :)

Stupid quest. Stupid forest. Stupid rainwater puddle.

You didn't see it – you were too damn busy staring into those gorgeous brown eyes of his, lashes lowered ever so slightly in a way so tender it might as well have been what knocked you over.

“Oh goodness.” Sir Gawain exhales a second after the splash, arms reaching for you a little too late. Turns out he’d been lost staring at you as well. “A-Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I–” You start to deny it but think better of it. It’s Gawain, he’d know the answer just from looking at you. “I’m cold. And wet. And tired.”

“I see. Let’s find ourselves a place for the night, yes? The storm from last night might be coming back.” He tells you, reaching out a large hand to pull you up. You take it without hesitation.

Quickly finding yourselves a damp and dingy little cave to pass the night in, Gawain gets to work starting a fire as you shiver uncontrollably.

“You know–” He begins, fumbling with two rocks and a handful of dryish branches, looking up at you for a moment, “You look good, all soaking wet.”

The warmth of his gaze sweeps over your form, lingering on your shaking shoulders, passing by the water dripping off your linen shirt and how your arms curl around yourself to keep the heat in – heat he stokes with that cheeky look, the quickness of his breath, the biting of his lovely, soft, bottom lip…

A spark goes off, catching fire to the branches, cutting the tension like a hot knife over butter. But it does not dissipate, the fire does not cool, it merely wanes to a simmer.

“I bet you’d look even better.” You blurt out, just to get the last word in before sitting by the flames, not entirely aware of what you’ve just said and where his beautiful, hasty mind would take your words. Then again, you’re much more concerned with not freezing to death.

“Trying to warm up with wet clothes isn’t going to do you any good. It isn't going to do anything at all, really.”

“What do you suggest, then?” You sigh, knees tucked to your chest, sitting opposite the dashing young knight.

“You should take off whatever clothes are wet and let them dry by the fire.” He begins shrugging off his thick wooly cape to lay on the stone floor beside him, “And sit close to me – we can share body heat.” he adds on quickly, as if he hasn't made his intentions with you clear enough throughout this journey already.

You’re not sure when it started, when his dark eyes began wandering, when his touches started lingering, or even when you started doing the same. But it’s clear to the two of you; the want– the need too transparent to hide.

There’s more to it though, for you at least. It would be almost too easy to dive into him otherwise. Like a nymph’s bewitching calls into murky waters.

But it could never be that easy. Not with the one they may one day call King. That and his womanizinging reputation.

Expecting anything other than a purely lustful encounter out of this would be foolish to say the least, but perhaps you are a fool. Because the way he looks at you; the way he has been looking at you since– whenever you started noticing; makes you feel as if there might be a chance.

So you do as he suggests, stripping down to the basics under his unwavering gaze, shuffling over to his side and nuzzling against him.

Questions swirl endlessly within your mind while leaning on Gawain's warm body, his shirt so thin you could almost perfectly imagine what he'd look like without it in your mind's eye.

But then, those eyes, clear as spring water in their intentions, cage you in with their stare and suddenly you feel as if everything must be laid out plainly, “What are your intentions with me, Sir Gawain?”

The look on his face nearly makes you regret it, fearing you may have offended him, but surely he’s aware of his reputation – surely he must understand.

After a beat he exhales with a slight smile as his large hand comes around to your shoulder, “Are they not clear?”

“Clear as they may be, I like things to be absolutely transparent, especially when it comes to men of your… caliber.” He hums in acknowledgement with a smirk, before it slowly slides off his face, replaced with a thoughtful expression so rarely seen it could be possession.

“I understand what you mean, love. But, in truth, I cannot answer you as of yet.” At the inquisitive look you give him he begins trying to explain himself, “It is that… Well, I am to be King somewhat soon, I assume. So it would be reckless for me to act as carelessly as I once did. But then also, I do not yet know what my intentions are – beyond tonight, that is.” Your face warms slightly at his suggestive tone as his hand drifts down your naked back, “All I know, is that you intrigue me. Greatly. If anything, I know– I feel as if… once will not be enough…”

A dark hand of long, slender fingers lifts your chin to meet his fathomless stare, looking deep into your eyes and beyond that – to your vulnerable soul.

“I feel… the same.” You speak, suddenly breathless as your face nears his subconsciously, giving in to his siren call.

Lips meeting like a spark to a fire, a beginning. His hands wander over you, reverent, gentle, as yours grasp at the front of his tunic, urging him as close as humanly possible – as if close isn't nearly close enough.

The kiss grows fiercer, a push and pull of soft pink muscles attempting to gain control, before being forced to part, open around heaving breaths while eyes grow hazy with lust– no, yearning. Gawain draws back to shed that bothersome tunic before his hands attach themselves to your hips to pull you onto his lap. The ease with which he does it has you grinding down instantly, hands running over sweat-slick caramel skin.

His dark curls bounce as he tosses his head back under your movements, desperate for some control of the primal urges suddenly overloading his brain – to fuck you without mercy, to ruin you for anyone else – but no, that’s not how he wants this to go.

“God above, you're beautiful.” He breathes, hands stilling your hips to let his eyes sweep over your features slowly. The intensity of his gaze makes you squirm and the strength in his hands warms your inside more than the fire ever could.

Burying your face in his gorgeous, exposed neck you speak so low not even God could hear, “Shut up and take your pants off.”

You feel him smile against your hair, laying a kiss against it before drawing away to do as you ask, somewhat clumsily, but earnestly all the same. Sitting still on his cloak, you watch him avidly, eyes catching on every new inch of dawn-hued skin revealed.

The singularity of the moment strikes you suddenly; back at the castle, amongst duties and expectations, this would never be possible – this calm, this undemanding rhythm. You have no place to be, no one to meet, so you can just be. Together.

“Where did you go?” He whispers, caressing your face with a softness undeserving of a knight’s strength, making your eyes focus back on his features and immediately surge forward to connect your lips to his, “Nowhere important.”

Gentle as a breeze Gawain lays you back, body between your legs and arms beside your shoulders. His prominent nose brushes yours softly, sensually as he parts your legs even further, “Good. I want you here with me. For this will not be a moment you’ll want to ever forget.”

“Oh,” You chuckle teasingly, back arching almost subconsciously against his warm, wide chest while his hips start moving against yours, “You’re sure of that, are you?”

“Your reaction tells me all I need to be sure.” He replies, so cocksure you’re suddenly reminded of who he’d been before the Green Knight had showed up proposing a ridiculous game – knowing he hasn't changed completely is oddly comforting.

“You talk too much… Sir.” You grumble in lieu of remaining silent and further inflating his ego, getting a raised brow at the tacked-on title.

“But you like it, don't you? Don't lie to me, it's unbecoming.” The corners of his lovely lips twitching with the effort not to laugh. Quick as a flash, your legs lock around his waist, pulling his center down to yours and he’s forced to take a breath from between his teeth as his long lashes flutter, “Like I said; you talk too much.”

Gawain bites his tongue – there will be plenty of time to get back at you once you’re mindless and thoroughly spent – he reasons. For now, he just needs to get you there.

One large hand settles at the base of your throat as his luscious lips travel down your neck in flickers of contact that have you arching against his firm grip for more. Soft as a feather, he pulls away your undergarments as needed to kiss at your chest; sweetly at first and then so wet and sloppy you’re left gasping and whimpering, hands grasping at his strong shoulders for purchase.

Grabbing you below the knees, he gently pries your legs open while kissing down your body until you're tingling and trembling all over wishing he'd just get to it.

“Gawain…”

“Hmm? Are you going to beg? Go on.”

You pout petulantly; no you won't beg, he'd enjoy that far too much. But you can, however, tempt him into doing what you want.

“Gawain…” you moan seemingly helplessly, nails brushing his skin making him shiver in delight, “won't you take me? It's clear you want to.”

“It's clear, is it?” He chuckles breathlessly, ceasing completely to just watch you and it makes you want to smack the back of his head in frustration.

Breathing deep, your eyes move over him carefully, appreciating every inch of delicious, exposed skin so many yearn to catch a glimpse of before…

“Gawain,” you raise an amused brow, surely he noticed… “Yes?”

Oh, he's far too good at playing dumb.

You raise yourself until your lips barely brush his, brown hues watching you closely down the length of his nose before your hand boldly presses down on his stiff cock and those eyes glaze over before rolling back in overwhelming delight, “I'd call this pretty obvious.”

Hand squeezing in pulses, you're granted a low groan followed by a deep sigh, “God, you're too much. I cannot– wait.”

Gawain's mouth devours yours, hungry as a wolf, pushing down once more while his lithe fingers graze the inside of your thighs, grinning at what he finds. Cheeks warming at how your mouth chases his as he pulls back, he gives his palm a full lick before wrapping it around his throbbing cock and stroking. The flames illuminate this length of his gorgeous neck like an old painting and your tongue longs to glide over it and follow the path of his sweat so deeply you almost miss him speaking, “Will you beg now?”

You groan most crudely, far over his games and his perfect face and his disarming voice and his damned haughtiness– your hand grasps the curls at the back of his head, delighting in his whimpered response, “Take me now or so help me–,” your not proud of the way your voice wavers but you’re both past that now.

Gawain’s lips connect with yours surprisingly softly, leaning his forehead against yours and lining himself up with your center, “Shh, I’ve got you, just relax.”

A kiss to your hairline is the only warning you get before he starts pushing into you, slow as can be and yet still you cry out at the feeling in between the kisses he places to your lips to offer some comfort.

“There we go, breathe for me. It’ll feel better soon…”

“Gawain…” You moan, clinging onto him as the bite of initial pain melts into pleasure.

Sucking on your neck, his hips sway against yours rhythmically, wavering only when your nails dig into his sides while moaning desperately in his ear, “Gawain please…”

“Now–” his breathing stutters while his hips buck suddenly, pressing a collection of whispered curses from both of your mouths, “Now you beg?”

“Just please fuck me, please.”

The way his cock twitches inside you tells all you need to know on how he feels about your words.

Curls brush the side of your neck as he reaches to bite at your lobe, grunting and moaning into it while speeding up his hips so much your own moans become stuttered and desperate.

As the end nears, Gawain presses his lips to yours, nearly missing in his eagerness, and opens his mouth as if to say something but no words leave him, only a loud moan of your name ringing across the cave just as your body does the same.

Your mind is eerily quiet as you come down, blinking eyes you don't recall closing and feeling the next king breathe against your naked chest while gathering himself. After a moment he raises himself on shaky arms to gaze down at you, hand reaching to brush a stray hair from your cheek and sighing as if suddenly, all is right in the world.

#library #gawain x reader #sir gawain x reader #watchtowerlibrary

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watchtowerlibrary · 6 days ago

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Bliss In Vegas

Summary: The team landed a mission in Las Vegas, because what could possibly go wrong in the world’s most innocent city, right? Fast forward through a whirlwind of chaos, and somehow no one got hurt… but you woke up in bed with Adrian, nearly naked, and two ring pops on your fingers.

Warnings: 18+ Brief smut, hand stuff, spit stuff, alcohol consumption, crude language, I guess that’s it? (Morning breath! I’m so fucking sorry, it was all I could think about when I was writing this. Just ignore it exists for a while O_o)

Word count: 4.4k

Masterlist of my works

Note: Adrian in tighty whities with beer all over him made me incredibly feral and ready to finish this little thing I started few months ago. Eh, it is something I guess? I just wanted to get over it.

And listen, I have never written about 11th Street Kids before, except for Adrian; apologies if any of them feel weird.

You know the saying? What happens in Vegas…

“Don’t stay in Vegas,” Harcourt sternly noted at the end of her little briefing of the next so-called mission. The fact that they still needed to take care of some stray swarms of butterflies even after terminating the cow was inconvenient, said mildly. “We do our job and go back, no random stops in any of the facilities.”

Those butterfly survivors would eventually die of starvation, but ARGUS was suspicious of large groupings of them in certain areas. They could be spending their last days together as a species, or maybe, just maybe, they’re trying to find a way to stay alive and find a new source of food, which was a dangerous idea.

One of those groups was flying free between casinos and strip clubs in Vegas, Nevada. Really troublesome area to be sending this team. It was practically screaming disaster.

“Why are they sending us? I thought we were done!” Leota protested, exchanging a questioning look with John who was in the same shock as her. Vegas was way out of hand and the last thing she wanted was to spend time away from her wife and furbabies.

“The official reason is that we are now experts on butterflies when it comes to terminating them-“

“The real reason is that we are seriously underpaid and we’re a cheap workforce” Economos interrupted Harcourt in a matter of seconds, saying the real reason for the little trip awaiting you.

Chris with Adrian, on the other hand, were doing their best not to let anyone know how excited they were. You could feel Adrian vibrating out of his skin next to you. No doubt he was already thinking how he and Peacemaker will stop crime, get wasted, and cruise some bitches. The real question was how they would break free from Harcourt's gaze and go astray. “Wait, you guys are getting paid?”

One way or another, this outing in Vegas was bound to be legendary.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The whole mission felt like a dream, after shooting up butterflies it was already too late to be driving back home, so Harcourt allowed crashing at a hotel until morning. You would think everyone felt like you, exhausted after the long trip and crashing little alien bugs, but no.

Chris and Adrian were pretty much excited to be hitting the town, and a person would think Adrian would at least clean his boots that still had alien goo all over them after he cheerily stomped on butterflies all day.

It wasn’t just the casinos, bars, and strip clubs waiting to strip lost souls of all their money. On the lit-up alleys, lined up were hustlers with classic shell games, women imitating peacocks adorned with faux gold and feathers, shady watch sellers, and more or less inconspicuous pickpockets. And just like tigers in a zoo, it was best to simply watch them pacing impatiently in circles, but anyone who would stick their hand into the enclosure quickly lost it.

All these predators, performing various tricks to catch their prey, prove once and for all that human creativity and the desire for money know no bounds.

In the end, you could not just lie in your hotel bed when Las Vegas was right on the other side of your window, teasing and luring with colorful blinding lights and loud music playing from every corner, the better side of Vegas. Plus the second Adrian put on his puppy eyes and whiny begging tone you were a goner.

How could you say no?

And that was the beginning of the most memorable night you did not remember.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

When you stirred awake you felt too hot and cold at the same time, head pounding and the ringing in your ears didn’t make it easier to open your eyes. The strongest hangover you ever had was making itself known, though hangovers usually don’t make you feel you are being pushed into the mattress and making your hand sweaty?

No, no, that wasn’t sweat, was it?

The morning sun shining into the hotel room immediately blinded you when you tried to open your eyes, but you managed to at least get a look at what was causing at least half of your discomfort.

Adrian.

Nearly naked Adrian lying on top of you.

Adrian that was drooling all over your fingers as he sucked on the ring pop on your finger from his sleep.

What?

His frame completely enveloped your body, transferring his body heat to you and making you feel breathless. Adrian lounged in just his boxers and once you looked around your room you found piles of clothes all over the small cheap hotel room.

His jeans on the ground, glasses on the bedside table, His holey socks hanging from the edge of the bed with… your top and jeans? Then whose shirt were you wearing?

Adrian’s room was right next to you, why was he sleeping in your bed?

Too many questions, too little answers.

You tried to gently ease Adrian from your body and roll him to the side, but goddamn, was he heavy. You could try again and again and he just wouldn’t budge.

He groaned from his sleep because of your constant nagging but he didn’t move an inch, at least he stopped sucking on the lollipop, “Stop wiggling, I’m gonna get a boner." Gods, how could his voice sound so raspy and whiny at the same time?

“Adrian! What are you doing here?” You slapped his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, which finally worked, he lifted his head while he just barely opened his eyes, blinking away the blurriness of his vision. Those half-lidded green eyes and tousled hair did something for you, it was hard to admit it though.

“I would be sleeping if you weren’t slapping me and making my cock hard” He mumbled nonchalantly and settled back on your chest, nuzzling to your boobs like it was the most normal thing to do. “Your tits are amazing pillow, you know that?”

Another slap. Another yelp from Adrian.

Under different circumstances, you would have enjoyed cuddling with Adrian, it’s not like you were completely resistant to his charm, or whatever that illuminates him, which makes him so enamoring.

But not right now, not when you had no idea how you got to bed, how he got in your bed, why you were almost naked, when your head was pounding, and also…

Why did you both have ring pops on your fingers?

You didn’t notice it at first, but once you did, it made gears in your head turn really hard to put one and one together. You took his hand in yours, studying his blue raspberry ring pop and comparing it to your strawberry one, but other than the fact yours was way smaller and wet from Adrian’s constant sucking, nothing stood out.

And Adrian didn’t even notice something was on his finger until you lifted his hand. Unbothered king. He was getting on the rest of your nerves that remained after the wild night.

“Oh my god! Twinsies!” How was he so cheery in the morning? He must have drunk a similar amount of alcohol as you did, but it seems his body doesn’t believe in hangovers.

When you started pushing him from your body again, he finally rolled off onto his back with a loud huff. What a way to wake up, hangover in a Vegas hotel. The only thing missing was an Elvis impersonator singing under the balcony. ‘Thank you, thank you’ he would mumble with that deep voice as you would throw a few cents at him.

Adrian laid still extremely close to you, shoulders touching and all, and stared at the ceiling with a dumb smile on his face while you were panicking next to him. How did this happen?

“Do you remember anything?”

“Nope.”

“Aren’t you concerned?”

“Nope.”

“Do you think we fucked?”

“Nah, you would have felt it.”

“You mean with that thimble of yours?”

He just snorted, tilting his head to the side to laugh right in your face. You didn't even have the energy to question what was so amusing about his thimble dick. But for that moment of Adrian laughing at you for no apparent reason, it felt like a normal day. Like you were back at HQ, relaxing on one of the worn-out couches with Adrian in his armor beside you, chatting about something ridiculous while polishing his knives and rolling his head to look at you, trying not to smile.

However, it all vanished away when Adrian lifted and knelt on the bed and a bunch of casino chips started falling from his boxers. Chip after chip pooling around his thick thighs. And it looked like he was surprised in the same way you were.

The right question would probably be why he stored his wins in underwear, second, why he went to sleep with them, and the third one…

“How did you win so much?”

“My brother taught me how to count cards, it’s really easy once you get the hang of it. But that doesn’t matter right now, what matters is that I need to exchange these crotch doubloons for real money,” He collected his chips and started admiring them in the morning light shining directly at him. “I am gonna be so rich, dude.”

Those little coins with fluorescent details flooded the room with colorful reflections. Spots of blue, green, red and pink decorated the furniture as well as your skin. If your skin wasn’t already buzzing from Adrian’s touch, you would be able to imagine the light tickling you.

“Come on, we’re going to get even more drunk to celebrate me being a fucking millionaire,” Adrian’s face lit up, what a fucking sunshine, you wanted to punch him in the face when he grabbed the blanket shielding your lower body from his greedy eyes. The cold air in the room was relentless, enveloping your body and leaving goosebumps in its wake. You could not get a break with the dumbass.

“Goddamn, do you wear this pathetic excuse for panties under your suit?” Adrian let out a wolf whistle and stared right between your legs without any shame. “You should have told me that sooner!”

Your panties? What was wrong with them?

One blurry look down and you know exactly what was wrong. “Those are not my panties.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t have white lace panties.”

“Wait, wait,” Adrian leaned extremely close to your crotch, examining the red embroidery that decorated the hem of mystery underwear. “Here it says… Congratulations to the happy couple from Bliss wedding chapel.”

“Say what?” Your eyes nearly bulged out of their eye sockets. The embroidery was a sign of something horribly dooming. White panties from the wedding chapel really weren’t a good thing for someone who did not intend to get married. And oh, the horror of wearing something gifted from a drive-through wedding chapel.

“What,” Adrian replied to your shocked words with a confused look. It seemed like he did not realize what it meant. Either that or he didn’t care at all about being married to his colleague.

“Ade, are you even registering what that means?” It was like your heart dropped down to your stomach. Did it mean what you thought it did? Were you fucking married? In Vegas? And without remembering anything?

“Oh my god, are you my wife?” He lifted from between your legs, which was fucking painful thing to do when the thing he wanted the most was to be buried between them. His face weirdly lit up, unclear if with shock or happiness, “Am I your husband?”

“No, that must be some misunderstanding, right?” You jolted up, scrambling out of bed with a bunch of uncoordinated jerks of limbs. It was a miracle you hadn’t fallen right on your face. Damn those sweet juicy drinks that weaken your brain!

“We need to talk with others, they must know something, right?” You were more or less talking to yourself, babbling how it is impossible you got married with freaking Adrian Chase without remembering anything.

Adrian was still too absorbed in those chips on the bed and the ring pop on your fingers. One of his focuses meant he won money, the other that he was married, and the third, pretty, pretty thing in front of him was his wife. He completely ignored your panic, it was whatever.

He never was the kind to believe in fate, but goddamn, he must have done something really good to get all of this in one night.

“Ade, are you listening to me?” You almost touched those chips, fingers mere inches away, before you realized that Adrian had these shiny knick-knacks stashed away in his boxers the whole night. Your hand hovered above them, eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Adrian watched you with a dumb smile, “Are you afraid of my crotch doubloons?”

“I don’t want to touch something that was near your dick” As simple as that, did he think it was normal?

“So you’re afraid of my dick” His smile widened with every word, he had that stupid expression on his face you still couldn’t look through. You had wondered several times what was going through his mind at those moments when his face twisted maliciously.

“I’m not afraid of your dick, Adrian.”

“Then touch it.”

“Why would I be touching your dick?”

“To prove you’re not a coward.” That stupid face was literally asking to be punched, but would that help your case? He looked abnormally good when he was hurt. “Plus, if we are married, we should consummate the marriage, right?”

“We’re not in the Middle Ages, Ade, we’re not married and I’m too hungover anyways”

Adrian noted in his mind that you didn’t say no because you didn’t like him outright, you said you had a hangover. This could mean two things; That you didn’t like him and hid it behind a lame excuse of drinking too much yesterday, or that you were actually hangover but did like him.

That must be the case. At least he hoped.

All this time, he was hoping you might get the hint that he liked you. He tried to be discreet, sending small signs like he saw in movies and read on Wikihow.

Make eye contact, look down, hold, slowly look back, look away, soft smile, scratch your neck, lick your lips, make eye contact again, wink…

And all this time you thought he was cursing you across the room when he tried this in team debriefings.

Being discreet was so unlike him, but he hoped it might seem normal, not like his usual attempts at flirting. And that was the problem. Adrian Chase, a guy desperate to share his every thought, sending subtle signs? Who could have caught that? Not you, that’s for certain.

“I mean… What is a hangover anyway? It’s when alcohol levels in your body drop to zero after heavy drinking. And one way to remedy that is drinking more,” He knew way too much for his own good, though after multiple horrible hangovers, he needed to know what was happening to him.

“Maybe if you finally got laid you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time, it's like a hangover” He finished his speech with a look that screamed anything but innocent.

Your blood suddenly grew hot, how dare he say you don’t have any game? Your hand shot up between his legs, touching him just like he dared you.

You fell right into a trap.

Say what you want about Adrian, he was stupid but not dumb. He hunts down criminals, he must know a thing or two how to trap his victim, how to get what he wants. Right now, he got you right where he wanted. On a hotel bed, dressed just in his shirt and wedding panties and your hand on his dick.

Lucky bastard.

And you… You were a lucky bastard in a way too.

You could fondle his cock any way you wanted. This image haunted your dreams more than once. And what fool would you be if you didn’t take that chance.

Though the surprised look on your face was not something you imagined, when you got a good feel of Adrian ‘Thimble’ Chase. He was already semi-hard, and it made you wonder what caused it. Was it when you were nudging him in his sleep? Or when his nose caught a whiff of you while reading your underwear testament?

Maybe you would have to spread the word that your now husband was Mr. Definitely not Thimble.

You began running your hand up and down over him, slowly but surely making him even harder than he was. Adrian managed to keep his wide and confident smile just for few seconds. One gentle squeeze on his base, one swipe of your thumb over his covered tip, and he was a goner. His sparkling eyes fluttered closed, and this time, when he licked his lips, it didn’t look like he was licking away sauce from pasta at Fennel Fields.

While his hips gently rutted further into your touch, his hands shot to your hips. Strangely, he was slick with his touches, before you even knew it, his fingers were running under the sides of your white lace panties, just oh so desperate to feel your soft skin without anything else in the way.

“Is my tongue still red?” Adrian asked before sticking his tongue out, baring the surface of his tongue colored in deep red. What a weird question to be asking when you’re getting your dick fondled, though at this point you shouldn’t be surprised.

“Still very much red, why are you asking now?”

Adrian just grinned and eyed you up like a predator. Something was stirring in his mind.

Before you could ask him for the meaning of his question again, he lifted his hand with the big ring pop on his finger and pushed it into your mouth.

The second flavor of blue raspberry burst on your tongue you couldn’t blame him for sucking on your ring pop all night and drooling on your fingers.

While you enjoyed the artificial taste coating your taste buds, Adrian stared at you with a slack jaw and soft whimpers falling from his mouth. “Fuck, I wish you were sucking me like that”

Suddenly, he pulled away his hand, making you whine at the loss of your lolly. It didn’t take long before you had something else to focus on with your mouth though.

He practically lunged at you with his lips, pressing them against yours and setting a pace too fast for your sluggish mind. Adrian’s tongue demanded entrance in your mouth and before you could even register what he wanted, he was pulling at your chin, opening up your mouth for his wandering tongue.

You desperately wanted to match his frenzied pace, it was all too much and yet so good.

Adrian didn’t lick around your mouth like you would have expected, no, quite the opposite. He flattened his tongue over yours, making sure surfaces painted in red and blue brushed against each other.

Oh, so that’s what he was doing…

He wanted to combine them. Red and blue create purple. It would be a beautiful symbol for your new, and very very strange, marriage. Purple can, among other things, symbolize mystery, exactly that clouded over last night. It was still a mystery how you two ended up together. Did it matter anyway?

In the end, he was licking into your mouth like a dog. Panting like one, too.

When he pulled away from the kiss, a string of spit connected your swollen lips. Stretching, stretching, and stretching until it broke and landed on both of your chins. As you were reaching to wipe it off Adrian latched his lips onto your chin with unseen eagerness. The main idea was to help you with the excessive saliva, though he only made it worse.

He trailed open-mouthed kisses from your chin, across jaw, over cheeks, and ended by your ear, “Should I prove I’m not afraid of your pussy?” He whispered before licking the shell of your ear. One of his hands trailed the ring pop over your arm, leaving a sticky trail, while the other began prying between your legs.

“Wow, look at that,” He dared to chuckle after he slipped his fingers under the crotch of your panties, feeling your heat for the first time. You believed Adrian would comment on how wet you were for him, for Vigilante. But no, of course not.

“Your pussy doesn’t have teeth like I thought it would!”

And at that moment you promised yourself you will kill him right after he makes you cum. Not sooner nor later. As a simple warning, you tightened your grip you had on him over the boxers that were, much to your surprise, already stained with precum.

Let’s see how happy Adrian will be when he realizes his wife is a praying mantis in disguise.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

You didn’t bite Adrian’s head off after all, he looked too cute after you made him finish in his underwear. That boyish grin, puffy lips wet with your cum after he licked his fingers off with proud bravado, lively eyes that shined almost the same way as his casino chips…

No, you might just keep him a bit longer.

At least he stopped with his nagging while you took a shower together and dressed in clean clothes. All this time, Adrian watched you like a lost puppy, begging for affection. Each time you gave him a chaste kiss, he stopped whining for a mere second.

While Adrian was hungry for more kisses, and undoubtedly something more, you were actually hungry for some food and coffee or green tea to get you going for the day. So you made your way to the hotel’s small dining room.

Adrian threw all his casino chips on the table between breakfast plates and mugs, they clinked against the ceramics almost too loudly for your poor pounding head.

Everyone’s eyes fell on shiny colorful chips, Leota put down her butter bread so she could reach for them, thankfully you grabbed her wrist right before she could get her fingers on the chip lying next to her plate “Don’t touch that.”

She shot you a questioning look but trusted your judgment. No need to tell her where these chips were, especially if they were in the middle of the table and too close to food.

“Did I get married to Adrian yesterday?” You asked without any humor in your voice, eyes flickering between every single one of those guilty faces of your colleagues. Adrian, though, did not care at all about this little investigation. He was too blissful with married life to even question it.

“It was one of the weirdest ceremonies I have ever seen,” Leota cracked first, “You didn’t even want me as your bridesmaid! You chose John!”

Your eyes landed on Economos, sipping his coffee to hide from you, “I did my duty well” was all he added.

Then you took a good look at others, Harcourt kept staring forward, digging her fork in some scrambled eggs. Chris, on the other hand, was already showing Adrian photos on his phone and Adrian was smiling widely, pointing out small details from your wedding and muttering how beautiful you looked, wearing cheap-looking veil you rented and holding a bottle of vodka instead of a wedding bouquet.

You joined him, and all that anger and confusion blurred for a brief moment. You looked happy in those photos. Laughing, chatting, eyes sparkling like they haven’t for a while. Every single photo was suddenly so precious.

Those were your lost memories.

And the way you were holding onto Adrian, so tightly and lovingly… All those small details didn’t escape either of you. Adrian nudged you with his elbow “We look good together”.

And you did. You really did.

Flushed, drunk, happy.

With the promise of the team explaining on the way home, you dropped your investigation of last night and settled to finally have some breakfast. Both you and Adrian get the leftovers in the form of yogurt. “Snoozers losers,” Chris added.

It was like you and Adrian had already synchronized, peeling the lid off, and licking some leftover yogurt at the same time. And in the meantime, everyone around the table could get a pretty good look at your purple tongues.

“See?! See that?” Chris called out way too loudly while pointing at you, “Did you stick your dick in her?”

You nearly choked on your own saliva at that question. Who even asks that? Especially during hotel breakfast? Some people from other tables turned around when they heard it, eager to know what the hell was going on.

But Adrian smiled, lifted his hand and wiggled his digits “Just my fingers.”

A symphony of disgusted noises came from your team, suddenly your yoghurt didn’t look as appealing as it should. But hey, maybe there will be a time when you won’t be able to eat yoghurt without thinking of Adrian and his-

“I made sure the guy marrying you didn’t have a license for it to be legitimate,” Harcourt finally spoke up, much to the dismay of the rest of the team.

“Which was a fucking mistake! You know how hilarious it would be if these two goons were married for real?” Chris chimed in with a booming laugh just from the idea of the night of the outing ending in one happy couple, drunk out of their minds.

Weight dropped from your shoulders upon hearing you weren’t married for real to Vigilante over there. It was like the air finally cleared, and you could take a deep breath of that crisp morning air. You caught Adrian doing the same, sighing in relief.

But if you were for real, it also stung a little. Somehow, while you made your way to breakfast earlier, you already started planning what to do next. Who will move to whom, when you should go and change your name on your ID to Chase, if you should get rid of your coffee machine so Adrian wouldn’t have too much disposal of caffeine…

While you were lost in your head, thinking whenever you were actually happy or sad the dumbass next to you wasn't your partner for real, Adrian simply leaned closer to you and whispered with that dopey smile, “It’s fine. Next time I’ll be marrying you, I want to remember it.”

#library #adrian chase x reader #watchtowerlibrary

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watchtowerlibrary · 7 days ago

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The Bat is in love! … with Mrs. Wayne?

summary: in which the Justice League notice that Batman is infatuated with Bruce Wayne’s wife, and need to help him get over her (impossible)

pairing: husband!bruce wayne/batman x wife!reader

warnings: none? maybe mentions of slight violence. fluff.

a/n: inspired by this fic by @ilianasbruce

dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

MASTERLIST

it started when batman and superman were at the watchtower together.

they were doing their own work silently, at opposite ends of the table.

superman was pretending that he wasn’t secretly writing an article for the daily planet that was due within the week (that he had completely forgotten about), and batman was pretending that he wasn’t secretly texting his wife under the table.

bruce: how is the opera, my love? i’m sorry i couldn’t be there, the league has demands.

a lie. he just had a headache earlier and felt like jumping out of a window at the thought of having to put on a smile for the folk and sit through an opera. he did feel guilty about you being on your own, though.

you: it’s alright. i actually know some people here, and they aren’t all bad, bruce.

bruce: you say that now, but wait until they each give you a rundown on each car in their garage.

you: like how you give me a rundown on each gadget you come up with in the batcave?

bruce: that’s different.

you: of course it is. i actually like listening to you.

the familiar ‘ping!’ of one of batman’s gadgets interrupted the silence.

superman looked up, eager to be doing something other than whatever paper in front of him that he wasn’t even focusing on.

“what is that?” his words came out immediately, and before batman could answer, he was speaking again. “robbery? alien invasion?”

“Poison Ivy in Gotham.” Batman is already standing, beginning his exit of the watchtower. Superman follows him.

“Can I come? Please?”

Batman turns, looking at him. “What?”

“It’s boring in here!” Superman gestures around. “And if I’m on my own it’ll be even more boring. C’mon, Batman, I can help you.”

Batman considers it for a moment before sighing. “Fine. But we’re going in the Batmobile.”

“But I can-“

“You are not flying me there, Superman.”

A few minutes later, they’re in the opera hall. Ivy seems to have taken over the stage, giving a speech on ways for the average person to decrease their carbon footprint.

Batman can see a few different people caught between her weeds. Long, thick plants have people in their grip. He scans the room quickly for you, breathing a silent sigh of relief when he sees that you are not captured, but instead just huddled in the corner with a group of others.

Superman doesn’t notice the way that Batman isn’t looking at Ivy, and begins his attack. Batman quickly follows. After a swift battle (turns out having Superman as an ally cuts down on battle time), Ivy is restrained and authorities arrive. The two start on recovering civilians before they both encounter you.

You’re comforting one of the women that was tangled in the weeds. You’re sitting beside her, nodding as she talked. You recognise the familiar pair of boots coming from the side of you. Your head lifts up slightly as you catch sight of the two men.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Wayne?” Superman speaks first, the familiar concern he has for everyone clear in his voice and expression. He recognises you from articles, and he’s heard enough from Cat Grant at the Daily Planet to know you’re married to Bruce Wayne.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you answer with a small smile. Your eyes move to Batman. “Thank you.”

Superman gives Batman a side glance as he hears Batmans heart skip a beat when you smile at him. He tries to not to make his suspicion obvious. However, he turns a little when he hears that Batmans heartbeat is now quicker than it had been five minutes ago.

However, nothing on Batmans mostly covered face gave away any feelings. He just nodded and said a quick: “Stay safe, ma’am.”

And Superman didn’t bring it up again. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. A heart skip doesn’t always mean feelings of infatuation, right?

The second time is with Flash and Green Lantern.

Batman is a stark contrast to the pair. Barry and Hal are close friends, and joke around when put together. Bruce will sigh, and tell them to be quiet, and then Barry tries to be serious, but Hal will mutter a sarcastic comment that makes him start laughing again and the cycle repeats.

So Batman is already tense from working with the two.

They’re investigating a case together, and encounter you somehow. (sorry that’s so vague i literally cannot think of a specific scenario here to save my life)

Flash asks you a few questions if you’ve seen or heard anything suspicious, and you shake your head and answer. Barry notices Batmans shoulders softening a little beside him.

It isn’t hugely noticeable, but Barry senses it. Batmans shoulders loose some of their tension as he talks to you, this civilian. And when Hal opens his mouth to make an implying comment, he tenses right back up again.

Barry’s eyes narrow. It isn’t often that the Bat actually feels emotions, so when he does, his friends take an interest.

On the way back, Barry nudges Hal.

“Hey, you notice the way Bats was acting around that woman earlier?” He whispers so the third man in front of them doesn’t hear.

“You mean that really hot one? Who wouldn’t act like that around her? Did you see her, Bar?”

Barry gives him a look, “yeah, but this is Batman. Brooding, stays-in-the-shadows, feels-nothing-but-rage-24/7, Batman.”

Hal ponders before shrugging. “I don’t know, maybe Spooky’s changed. Never underestimate the power of a beautiful woman, Barry.”

Barry thinks. “She looked kinda familiar, didn’t she? I can’t think of where I’ve seen her before.”

And when they see that the familiar face they were talking to was Bruce Wayne’s wife, they give each other an alarmed look before looking at Batman from across the room.

The third time was with Oliver goddamn Queen.

A charity gala. Bruce couldn’t go because he had intel that Scarecrow was planning on infiltrating the building while everyone was distracted, something about wanting to ‘test out a new gas’, and he had to be on watch as Batman for the evening.

You, however, decided to go. You had a nice dress and were getting close to some of the women there your age. It was nice to not be a total stranger in the room anymore.

So, as you filtered around the room, you met Oliver Queen. He sometimes teases Bruce on purpose by asking for a dance with you at other galas, but without Bruce he was simply a friend to enjoy a chat with.

When Scarecrow did burst in, you actually had been dancing with Oliver. A friendly turn around the room like the others were doing. By the time Batman had taken him down, and everyone emerged from the corners or hidden rooms, Oliver checked to see if you were okay. Lord knows Bruce would probably blame him if anything happened to you.

You were fine, thank God. Oliver’s sentence was interrupted by the Bat himself.

“Was anybody harmed?” the gruff voice asked, his gaze trying not to linger on you for too long.

“I don’t think so,” you replied. Oliver looked at Batman with a certain questioning that nobody seemed to notice.

“Good.” Batman was silent for a moment before speaking again. “Perhaps you all should start making your ways home. Scarecrow might return, or someone worse.”

You don’t miss a beat. “It’s a good thing we have someone like you to protect us, Batman.”

“Only a fool wouldn’t protect you, ma’am.”

Oliver blinked. Is Batman . . . flirting? With a married woman? Also, was that sentence a sneaky diss on him?

and Oliver could’ve sworn on his entire fortune that Batman’s lips were almost in a grin during his next sentence.

“Your husband is probably waiting on you, Mrs. Wayne.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows at your response. You laughed a little under your breath before speaking, “probably. I wouldn’t want to keep him up.”

Oliver looks between you and Batman. Perhaps he’s imagining things. You turn to him as if you’ve just remembered that he’s still there.

“Oliver, you have a safe way home, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll call my driver.”

He doesn’t bring it up the next time he sees Batman as Green Arrow. Batman doesn’t speak of it either. But his eyes narrow a little at the Bats whenever Bruce Wayne or his wife is mentioned.

Eventually, it comes up in conversation when Batman isn’t there.

They’re in the common room, and Diana is flipping through the newspaper. She’s on a page that features a picture of you at the latest event with a description of your outfit beside it. Beside her, Hal recognises you.

“Hey, Flash,” he begins, stabbing the page with his finger. “Isn’t that who we were talking to a couple days earlier?”

Barry is behind the couch in a second, nodding. “Yeah, we asked her a couple questions with Batman.” He looks up a takes a quick glance to see if anyone’s expression changes. “He seemed . . . different around her.”

Clark closes the book in his hand with a loud snap, looking at the three on the couch.

“You’ve noticed too?”

Hal laughs, “that Bats has the hots for a married woman? Yeah.”

Diana frowns a little. “That is unlike Batman. He’s known for his self-restraint. It doesn’t seem likely he would harbour a liking for someone else’s wife, especially Bruce Wayne’s. Doesn’t Wayne sponsor him or something?”

Oliver joins in. “Wonder Woman, you haven’t seen him with her. I mean, it was only a few seconds but he was a totally different person.”

“How so?” Diana asked curiously.

“He . . . relaxed a little.”

She raised her eyebrows. Barry cut in.

“Wonder, you need to see it to understand it. It’s like no one else even enters his mind when he’s looking at her. I think everything else sorta faded away, you know?”

“Like in those rom-coms I’ve been shown?” She suggests.

“Yeah!”

Clark thinks for a moment, wondering what to do to help his obviously hopeless friend. How do you break the news to an emotionally constipated Bat that he has to squash his feelings before anything terrible happens?

So, they organise an intervention. A very unorganised organised intervention.

Your name gets mentioned during a briefing. About how you could be potential target for a kidnapping due to your status.

Hal’s mouth works quicker than his mind.

“What about Bruce Wayne?”

“What about Bruce Wayne?” Batman asks in his low voice, his back still turned to the team.

“Just saying, he’s probably a potential target too, right?” Green Lantern points out. “He’s her husband, after all.”

Batman turns. They all seem to be looking for his reaction.

“Right, I was just getting to that.” He says stiffly. “So I think until Joker is tracked down again, a pair of eyes should be on them. Since Gotham is my city, I can-“

“Ohhhh, hold on,” Flash says, leaning forward. “Central City has been very quiet lately, so I’m free too.”

Wonder Woman joins in. “I’m interested too. I think the more people, the quicker we could get this done.”

Batman blinks. “Why the sudden interest in Gotham from you two?”

They both shrug, mumbling incoherent words that overlap each other. Something about “new environments” and “change of pace”.

Green Arrow smirks. “I wouldn’t mind accompanying. (Name) and her husband should get all the protection they can get.”

Batman isn’t showing it, but he’s confused. Less members have volunteered themselves for prison breaks. Why are three other members wanting to go to Gotham for an unconfirmed threat? And why do they keep looking at him like that?

“Yes,” Superman clears his throat. “Mrs (Name) is a kind woman who shouldn’t be in danger. And Bruce Wayne is similar in nature. He is valuable to Gotham City.”

Batman prepared his disliking-Bruce-Wayne act with practised ease. “Bruce Wayne is a spoiled idiot.”

“Of course you think that.” Green Lantern mutters with a smug smirk. Flash nudges him.

“What do you mean?” Batman asks, and Hal practically explodes.

“We know you’re attracted to (Name) Wayne!” He says, making Barry cover his eyes with his hands. Not how the conversation was supposed to go.

“Excuse me?” Batman is -frankly- appalled. Hal grimaces, instantly reminded of who exactly he’s talking to.

“You’re, uh . . .” he splutters before quickly mumbling, “you’re in love with (name).” He gains some of his confidence, and straightens up again, “and you were about to let Bruce Wayne get kidnapped, so you could swoop in and seduce her!” He tops it all off with hand gestures of the supposed ‘swooping’.

Batmans gaze sweeps the table. Nobody meets his eye except Diana, who just seems to be staring at him for his response. A few of them have to stop themselves from laughing at the idea of Batman ‘seducing’ someone.

“And what exactly gave you that idea?”

Barry is filled with a newfound confidence. “Oh, c’mon Bats, a blind man would see how you act around her!” He smirked a little. “You went a little . . . soft.”

Green Arrow snorts. “Sometimes I think you’re only protecting Gotham because she’s in it.”

Batman thinks. Has he been that transparent? He’s always careful about his expressions and body reactions. Maybe he is getting soft. He obviously didn’t take enough care.

A fleeting image passes his mind, where he declares his love for you to the team. How could he not show you off? He would love to tell them that you were with him.

But, of course, he doesn’t do that. He just blinks.

“I am not in love with (name), that’s ridiculous.” He scoffs. “Number one, I don’t fall in love with anyone. Number two, she’s married, so I think that means she’s out of the dating pool.”

Not one face looking back at him looks convinced.

However, a cold stare and a swift change of topic ensured that nobody tries to start the conversation again.

They do, however, take a bigger interest in Gotham nowadays. Whenever a mission includes you somehow, there’s always one of them volunteering to go. They all think that distance will make sure Batman goes back to his cold and steely ways of not having a crush on anyone’s wife.

Bruce crawls under the covers with a small groan, shuffling next to you. His arms go around your warm body as he rests his face near yours. He’s desperate to soak up your warmth after being out in the cold all night.

“Long night?” you ask, your voice still quiet from sleep.

“Long day,” he responds, tucking himself into you. You keep your arms around him. “The League accused Batman of being attracted to Bruce Wayne’s wife today.”

It takes you a moment to realise what he’s talking about. You breathe out a laugh. “Is Batman not in love with me?”

Bruce grins against your skin. “He might be.” He murmurs. “Just a little, though.”

You raise your eyebrows, turning to look at Bruce. “Does Batman know I’m married? And that I’m very loyal to my husband?”

“Oh, yes,” he responded, and sits up a little. he pressed his forehead to yours. “and Batman knows that there’s nobody else on this earth that loves you more than I do.”

You smile, your fingers in his hair now. he leans closer to press his lips to yours, an action that you return. Bruce keeps himself against you for a long time. He likes falling asleep with you in his arms. He likes feeling like the protector.

It’s why he needs to sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door. It’s why he needs to know where you are each night. It’s why he needs to know you’re safe. And if your safety comes along with each League member giving him looks because they think he’s harbouring a crush for another man’s wife, then so be it.

He’d do anything for you, anyway.

#fic rec #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #husband!bruce wayne #watchtowerlibrary

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watchtowerlibrary · 8 days ago

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sleeping with the enemy (one-shot)

pairing basketballplayer! rafe cameron x cheerleader! female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary after getting dumped by the captain of the basketball team you cheer for, you find revenge in the form of rafe cameron, your ex-boyfriend’s worst enemy.

» masterlist

» all blurbs in this au

“How bad is it that I want us to lose?” you mutter, fiddling with your pompoms as you stand courtside.

“Against them?” Your friend looks out at group of athletes in red warming up for the game. “Pretty bad.”

The rivalry between the Hawks and the Wolves is one of the most vicious in college basketball history. You proudly cheered for your team up until a couple of nights ago, when the Hawks power forward dumped you over text.

Your relationship with Max had been relatively new, lasting just over a month. Still, it pissed you off that he didn’t have the respect to break up face-to-face.

The worst part of it was that he was trying to convince you to sleep with him for the first time the night before he ended things. He got frustrated and left your dorm in a huff. Then, he texted you that he isn’t looking for a relationship.

You’re sure it was his plan to get you in bed then bail all along, but he gave up once he got too impatient.

You wanted to take things slow. You thought maybe you could have something real with him. What a waste of time.

Now, as you stand on the sidelines of your college’s basketball court, the tension is palpable as both teams warm up for another game against their worst enemies. The crowds’ conversations loudly blend into a dull murmur in the stands behind you.

“I don’t think it’s bad at all,” the cheerleader on your other side chimes in. “Max is a jerk. He deserves to lose.”

You scowl at your ex as he rushes through a running drill on the other side of the loud gym. You had told your close friends on the squad about what happened. They may hate him even more than you do.

You glance at the opposite side of the court where the visiting team is warming up. You spot player #10, Cameron sprawled over the back of his red jersey, as he runs warm-up passes with one of his teammates.

Max loathes him. And it’s not just because of the college’s long-standing rivalry. Your ex told you countless times what an asshole Rafe is and how much he trash-talks on the court.

Regardless, you could see it for yourself. Rafe taunts his opponents. He laughs in their faces when his team wins. He never shakes hands at the end of a game. He even shoved Max a few times, earning fouls.

You realize you’re staring at Rafe when his teammate misses a pass, sending the ball rolling towards you.

You’re so angry at Max that you almost want to wish Rafe luck when he comes near, picking up the ball off the glossy floor.

His gaze flashes at you as he straightens, and when you notice his blue eyes trail down your body, your skin pricks with heat. You’re sure you see a hint of a smirk on Rafe’s face before he turns around.

You probably shouldn’t be excited that your side of the rivalry’s most hated athlete is looking at you like that. But you’re not feeling particularly loyal to your team right now.

A loud whistle blows through the gym. The game is starting.

In Rafe’s mind, the only bad thing about basketball is that the sport has no tolerance for scrapping. Aggression is part of football. It’s encouraged in hockey. But the foul system in basketball is stupid. He never gave a fuck about sportsmanlike conduct.

He could have considered other sports, but he’s a natural at this. He has the height and agility and confidence for this sport. It’s what made him captain after his first year as a shooting guard.

Rafe paces to the center of the court for the coin toss, staring down at his opponent. Max Hammond’s always been easy to fuck with.

And honestly, it pisses Rafe off that lately, he’s seen the cheerleader on his rivals’ team that he’s been eyeing all season on Max’s arm. All the more reason to fuck with him.

“How’s that knee?” Rafe taunts. Their last game, he dunked over Max hard enough to send him hurling to the floor. Rafe laughed when he saw his opponent clutching his knee.

“Shut up,” Max mutters with a scowl. Rafe smiles pompously. Then, he wins the coin toss.

You halfheartedly chant through the cheers you’ve memorized when the game starts. The players rush up and down the court, shoes squeaking against the floor, sweat sheening their skin.

It feels weird keeping your gaze off of Max. You used to follow him with lovestruck eyes throughout every game. If only you knew what a douche he’d turn out to be.

So, for this game, you watch Rafe. You shouldn’t feel so satisfied every time he pushes past Max and earns a point for the rivals you’re supposed to be booing, but you do.

Shadows move with the edges of Rafe’s muscles under the bright gym lights. His lips are parted as he rushes down the court, feet moving quickly, hands controlling the ball with expert precision.

When the game ends with a loss for the Hawks, you’re not all that upset. Mainly because Max looks so devastated.

Afterwards, you decide to go out to a local bar with a few of your friends. You want to let loose. Maybe you’ll even find a meaningless hook-up. After the mess with Max, you want some fun, and you’re definitely not up for looking for any sort of emotional connection.

Both college campuses aren’t far apart, so the bars and clubs in town often see an overlap of students. Most people don’t care about the rivalry, especially when they’re off-campus.

But the athletes and cheerleaders never allow the tension to dissipate, especially after a game. The winners are always loud and celebratory, while the losers stare daggers at their enemies. Tonight’s no different.

The bar is dark and packed and loud and humid, your fingers wrapped around an emptied glass as you sit at a table with a couple of your friends.

When Max walks into the bar, unease rolls through you. You wonder how long it’ll take for you not to be so frustrated by his presence.

He finds seats across the bar with a few of the other Hawks players. One of your friends notices your discomfort and follows your eye-line.

“Do you want to leave?” she asks.

“No.” You’re determined not to let Max ruin your night. “I’m getting another drink.”

After making sure your friends don’t want a second drink just yet, which only serves as a reminder of how fast you downed yours, you drift over to the bar.

You find an open pocket in the crowd and you squeeze through, your hands resting on the hard edge of the bar top. You watch the bartender take orders, not yet aware of you.

You sigh to yourself, drumming your fingers, hoping you’re just one more drink away from feeling better.

Rafe watches the stranger beside him fidget impatiently. When he looks up from your tapping fingers, he realizes you’re not a stranger at all.

You’re the cheerleader he’s always checking out. The one who’s been on Max’s arm after games. But he usually sees you wearing a big smile, and there’s nothing happy about the way you look right now.

You can see from the corner of your eye that the person beside you is looking at you. You meet Rafe’s gaze, blinking a few times to make sure it’s really him.

You’re a bit embarrassed, considering you’d stared at him through tonight’s game. He’s in a dark t-shirt instead of the jersey you’re used to seeing him in. You can tell that is hair is just a bit damp, surely from the shower he took after the game.

You try not to think about him in the shower.

Rafe takes you in, the way your lips purse before you speak.

“You played well,” you say.

Rafe’s lids lower. You’re wearing a dress even shorter than the little cheerleading skirt he’s used to seeing you in.

“Me?” he drawls, his lips curling up in a surprised smirk.

You meet his eyes for longer this time, nodding at him with an indifferent expression.

“Aren’t you Hammond’s girl?” he says, clearly amused, a contrast from how angry you’ve heard him on the court.

You’re surprised that he knows you were dating Max. Maybe he noticed you more often than you thought.

“Nope,” you mutter. You tell him you have a name, then give him it.

Rafe’s eyes continue to travel over you, his pulse quickening as he takes you in. He knew you were hot, but he never got a chance to really look at you up close.

How the hell did Hammond fuck things up with you? He needs to know so he won’t make the same mistake.

“What happened?” he murmurs.

“With Max?” you ask. “He’s a dick.”

“Could’ve told you that.” You watch Rafe slightly tip his head back as he takes a drag of his beer.

“Really? I’ve heard the same about you,” you say. You realize you might be more tipsy that you thought once your brazen words spill out of your mouth.

“And what, you think it’s true?” Rafe asks with his eyes on your lips.

“I don’t know. You get fouled more than any player I’ve seen.”

Rafe huffs a breathy chuckle, obviously nowhere near offended by your words. He actually seems flattered.

Out of instinct, your eyes dart to the table you saw Max sitting at. His gaze is fixed on you. He’s likely shocked that you’re talking to someone you’re supposed to hate.

Rafe turns to see what you’re looking at. He smirks when he notices just how pissed off Max looks. He turns his attention back at you.

“Your boyfriend’s pissed,” Rafe says, a hint of mocking in his voice.

“I already told you that he’s not my boyfriend. And I couldn’t care less if he’s mad that I’m talking to you,” you answer, crossing your arms. Blue eyes dart down to your cleavage.

“So, you’re not using me to get back at him?” he teases.

“I didn’t even know you were here,” you say. “But it’s not a bad idea.”

Rafe cocks his head, his tongue jutting under his cheek. Getting to flirt with a hot girl and annoying someone he hates at the same time is a win-win situation.

“What can I get you?” you hear. You look over at the bartender and regain your composure to order your drink.

“Put it on my tab,” Rafe tells him. He watches your lashes flutter when you meet his eyes again.

“Thanks,” you say, lips lifting into a smile. You’ve been so deep in your anger that you haven’t realized that Rafe could be the meaningless hook-up you’re looking for tonight.

“That’s the first time you smiled since you came over here,” he notices.

“I’m in a pretty bad mood,” you admit.

“What’d he do?” Rafe asks, tilting his head back to Max.

“Probably something you do to girls all the time,” you say boldly. “He made me think he wanted a relationship, but turns out, he just wanted to get laid.”

Rafe’s eyes glint with something you haven’t seen in him under the muted bar lights. For a split second, his guard goes down.

“You think I do that?”

“Am I wrong?” you challenge. His laugh is dry and humorless. He leans closer to you, his cologne cool and sharp as he towers over you.

“You are,” he says.

The tension between you hardens. You stare up at him.

“Okay,” you say. At this point, you’re jaded and uninterested in dancing around the subject. “So, what do you do?”

You lift your glass to take a sip. Rafe watches the way your lips lock around the straw. He’s entranced by you, by how straightforward you are.

“I’m upfront that I’m not looking for a girlfriend,” he says. “I don’t have to play games.”

You know he’s being honest. Someone that looks as good as he does definitely doesn’t have to manipulate his way into sex.

“What are you looking for, then?” you ask.

“Fun,” Rafe replies. “And I think you need some fun, too.”

You feel your blood go hot. He’s right. This man and the no-strings-attached sex he’s proposing is exactly what you need right now.

You lock eyes with him as you swallow the last sip of your drink and put it on the bar with a clack.

“I do,” you answer.

When Rafe asks you if you want to go over to his place, you don’t need to even think about it.

You let your friends know you’re leaving and you follow Rafe out, his hand finding yours, callouses from his training hard over his palm.

It’s all such a thrill. The way Rafe looks at you. The promise of casual sex with him. The glare of your ex-boyfriend as you leave. And the fact that you completely forgot about how this started as revenge on Max because you’re so tangled up in the feeling Rafe is giving you.

When you step into Rafe’s single dorm, he crosses the small room to switch on the desk lamp, casting a dim glow over the space.

You notice a few toiletries scattered on top of his dresser, his jersey slung over the back of his chair. This is technically enemy territory, but you couldn’t care less.

It’s quite bare and not very lived in, but you didn’t expect him to be the type who cares to decorate.

“I’m guessing you’re not in here all that much,” you say, leaning against the door once it shuts behind you.

“You finally got something right about me,” Rafe replies, earning a giggle from you. He sits on the edge of his bed, staring at you. “Come here.”

His dominance, not just through his words but by the way he takes up space so confidently, makes arousal swirl in your stomach. You settle beside him, the mattress shifting with your weight.

“Are you always this bossy?” you ask.

Rafe takes in your pretty features. This might be one of the best nights he’s had. He played a great game, won against the team he hates most, and the girl he’s been eyeing all season is sitting on his bed.

“Right again,” he says. Now that you left the crowds and music back in the bar, his deep voice cutting through silence reverberates through you.

You breathe a quiet laugh. You first approached him feeling so bitter, but just like that, he turned your mood around.

His eyes trail the hemline of your dress. You watch as he places his hand over your thigh, moving slowly, his thumb stroking just below where the fabric of your dress ends.

Rafe’s skin is hot, his hand heavy, and your heart-rate quickens in a second.

“You know how distracting you are?” he rasps, recalling the countless times he saw you by the court as you danced around in your skimpy outfit.

“What?” you ask.

“It’s so fucking hard to focus on playing when you’re there.”

Your breath hitches as he leans in closer, his nose brushing against yours. You had no idea you’d caught his attention before tonight, but by the sound of it, this isn’t the first time he’s looked at you through lustful eyes.

When his lips capture yours, he squeezes your thigh, firm fingers sinking into your flesh. He kisses you again and again and again, every time deeper than the last, tongues meeting with heated ardency.

You let out a moan so soft when he bites your bottom lip that he takes your hand from where it’s resting to the bulge in his jeans, showing you how hard he is for you.

Your body flushes even hotter when you feel him, gently starting to stroke him over the denim.

Your phone buzzes loudly in your purse, vibrating in a rhythmic pattern you recognize as a call.

Rafe shifts back, his mouth an inch away from yours.

“You don’t have to get that, do you?” His tone signifies more of a statement than a question.

You pull out your phone, confused over who would call you now. You grimace when you see Max’s photo on your screen.

Rafe notices. You breathe out a quiet laugh of surprise when takes your phone, hitting “Message” and sending She’s busy, then declining the call.

You feel each other’s smiles under your kiss, this time moving even faster. Rafe drags his hand higher under your dress and inhales sharply once you instinctually spread your legs, allowing him to feel you.

The pressure of his fingers rubbing over your panties makes you ache.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” he rasps against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whisper. He pushes the fabric to the side, feeling how slick and soft you are.

“Goddamn, you’re so wet already,” Rafe groans, enjoying the ego trip from knowing he got you like this so quickly. His lips trail to your neck, kissing and sucking your skin as he glides between your folds, tracing circles.

He shifts, losing contact with you for a moment to pull your dress off. When he sees you in just your bra and underwear, he nearly grunts in frustration from not being inside you already.

His hold on your hips is so firm it hurts as he guides you onto your back. Hovering over you, Rafe pulls his t-shirt off with urgency. Your lips quirk into a smile at how impatient and hungry he is.

You find the button of his jeans, quickly pulling it through the loop. He does the rest, unzipping and throwing his pants onto the floor. He stands to find a condom in his nightstand, tossing it beside you.

You run your hands over the curve of his muscular back when he lowers to grind over you, his cock hard and twitching.

When Rafe feels your thighs squeeze around him, he tells himself to slow his breathing, almost worried he won’t last long. This doesn’t happen to him. Ever.

But then again, he’s never craved a girl this badly, for this long. Having you under him like this, bucking your hips because you want it just as bad, is unreal.

He roughly pulls the cup of your bra down, closing his wet mouth over your nipple, earning a shudder from you. As he flicks his tongue, he shifts to pull down his boxers.

You take off your panties beneath him, squirming out of them, watching him sit up and roll the condom over his length.

“You gonna show me how good you can take it?” he mumbles, leaning over you again. You meet heavy-lidded blue eyes as he holds himself up over you, biting your lip and nodding.

The world stops spinning when he pushes into you, filling you.

“Fuck,” he groans against your cheek as you squeeze him. “Even better than I thought.”

You tilt your head back and moan, taking all of him, stretching as he buries deeper and deeper, dazed at the fact that he feels so good, that he clearly fantasized about this before.

Rafe bottoms out and you dig your nails into his shoulder blades as he pulls back and thrusts into you harder, his breath hot on your skin.

You wrap your limbs around him as tight as you can as he starts to rock his hips at a faster pace. He puts his lips on yours again, your kisses wet and hungry.

The sounds of his skin slamming against yours and your disjointed, shallow breaths fill the room, making you squeeze your eyes shut in pleasure.

Your moans get louder as the coil in your stomach begins to tighten. Rafe starts pounding even faster and harder when he feels you fluttering around his cock.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs, shifting lower to put more of his weight on you, his fingers finding the roots of your hair. “You gonna come for me?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes.”

You tremble beneath him as you fall into your orgasm, holding your breath for a second before letting go. What finally sends him over the edge is when you moan his name.

Rafe comes with a low, drawn out groan, his thrusts quicker and sloppier, hips stuttering against yours. He stays inside you for a bit, his head buzzing as he comes back down from the high.

You sit up in his bed once he stands, your pulse still fast. You watch him pull his boxers back on, his skin shining with sweat.

You spot your underwear on his crumpled duvet and slide them on after fixing your bra.

You decide not to put your dress back on yet, shifting his pillow to sit back on the headboard, finding where he tossed your phone after he texted your ex for you.

You watch Rafe lean down to open the door of the mini-fridge on the floor. He pulls out a bottle and tilts his head back as he swallows down water.

The image of his tall, muscular, half-naked frame in the middle of his room, his jaw sharp as he tips his head back, his numbered jersey hanging off the back of his chair right next to him, is too nice not to capture.

You take a photo of the sight, the bottom half of your bare legs in the frame. Rafe hands you the cold bottle and as you take it in your hand, you show him your screen.

“Like it?” you say, still dazed.

He grins, dimples dipping into his cheeks, as he sinks onto the bed on his knees to sit beside you.

“You posting that?” he asks. You can tell he’s pleased by the idea, so you share it on your Snap story with the caption Post-workout.

Minutes later, the replies from your friends flood in.

IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS

omfg this is WILD

actually diabolical lmaoooo

Max’s message is the most satisfying of the bunch: Are you serious right now?? Call me back.

You shift to grab your dress off the floor. You’re never calling him. He lost his chance.

“I guess I’ll see you around,” you say, standing to pull your dress on.

“You know how distracted on the court I’ll be now?” Rafe mumbles, earning a laugh from you. “Let me get your number.”

You enter your number into his phone and smooth down your hair in his mirror.

Casual, easy pleasure. This is just what you needed and you found it in Rafe Cameron of all people. You look back at him as you put your purse over your shoulder.

“We’ll do this again,” Rafe says, drinking you in. That was mind-blowing. It can’t be the only time he does this with you.

“Bossy,” you agree with a smile. You slip out of his room, your legs weak and wobbly.

You’ll be sore tomorrow. And the cheerleaders and athletes who take the rivalry seriously might even give you shit for what you did tonight. But it was all worth it. You’d do it all over again.

(continuation blurbs)

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

#fic rec #rafe cameron x reader #watchtowerlibrary

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watchtowerlibrary · 9 days ago

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sleeping with the enemy ✮ au

pairing basketballplayer! rafe cameron x cheerleader! female reader

summary after getting dumped by the captain of the basketball team you cheer for, you find revenge in the form of rafe cameron, your ex-boyfriend’s worst enemy. based on this one-shot

rating explicit 18+

tropes both afraid of commitment, college rivalry, friends with benefits to best friends to lovers, everybody sees it, he falls first

timeline when they meet, she’s a junior and he’s a senior at rival colleges. they’re friends with benefits for three months before they start dating. they’re together for five months, then he gets signed with the nba and moves away. they stay together long-distance and she moves in with him a year and a half later. she gets pregnant six months after moving in, when they’ve been together for a little over two years. they get married four years later.

legend ⊗ smut / ❥ fluff / × angst

˚　꩜ ︴friends with benefits 　︵　🏀

✮ ࿐ they meet and hook-up ⊗

✮ ࿐ rafe texts her after they meet ❥

✮ ࿐ her ex sees them together ❥

✮ ࿐she learns about his past ❥

✮ ࿐ she hears people talking badly about her ×

✮ ࿐ he takes her out to dinner ❥

✮ ࿐ he fights to defend her ×

✮ ࿐ she rides his thigh ⊗

✮ ࿐ she keeps his shirt ×

✮ ࿐ they hook up in the library ⊗

✮ ࿐ his first time getting jealous ×

✮ ࿐ their favorite position ⊗

✮ ࿐ she cleans him up after a fight ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ a new player on his team hits on her × ⊗

✮ ࿐ he takes care of her when she’s drunk ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ he accidentally calls her his girlfriend ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ they become official ❥ ×

˚　꩜ ︴in a relationship 　︵　🏀

college days

✮ ࿐ he tells his friends they’re dating ❥

✮ ࿐ their first time having sex as a couple ⊗ ❥

✮ ࿐ people see the marks she left on him ❥

✮ ࿐ they compete ⊗

✮ ࿐ he does a body shot off of her ⊗ ❥

✮ ࿐ their first fight as a couple ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ he helps her when she’s stressed about school ❥

✮ ࿐ he consoles her after she fails a midterm ❥

✮ ࿐ they meet each other’s families ❥

✮ ࿐ they fight before he leaves ×

long distance

✮ ࿐ their roughest patch ×

✮ ࿐ he has a photo of her in his locker ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ her first night visiting him ⊗ ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ their first ‘i love you’s’ ❥

✮ ࿐ they almost break up ×

✮ ࿐ he misses her after she visits ❥

✮ ࿐ her ex hits on her ❥

✮ ࿐ she gets jealous ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ she drunk calls him ❥

after she moves in with him

✮ ࿐ he supports her career ❥

✮ ࿐ she tells him she’s pregnant ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ the public finds out she’s pregnant ×

✮ ࿐ he supports her through her pregnancy ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ he gets his first tattoo ❥

✮ ࿐ she gives birth ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ they announce the birth ❥

✮ ࿐ he sets up the nursery ❥

✮ ࿐ paparazzi find them at the hospital ❥

✮ ࿐ they struggle being new parents ×

✮ ࿐ rafe snaps at paparazzi following them ×

✮ ࿐ they deal with rumors that he’s cheating ×

✮ ࿐ a clip of her feeds the rumors ×

✮ ࿐ she sits courtside with their babies ❥

✮ ࿐ he’s away from the babies for too long ×

✮ ࿐ they’re overprotective parents ❥

✮ ࿐ rafe as a dad ❥

✮ ࿐ rafe does his babies’ hair ❥

✮ ࿐ their first night away after becoming parents ⊗ ❥

✮ ࿐ they hook up at a wedding ⊗ ❥

✮ ࿐ his daughter attends a conference with him ❥

✮ ࿐ rafe has a rough day with the kids ❥

✮ ࿐ their daughter loves attention ❥

✮ ࿐ he’s afraid to propose ×

˚　꩜ ︴married 　︵　🏀

✮ ࿐ they have a problem on their wedding day ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ she gets possessive of him ❥

✮ ࿐ rafe tells their son’s friend to stop looking at her ❥

✮ ࿐ he’s overprotective of their daughter ❥

✮ ࿐ what they fight about as parents ×

#fic rec #rafe cameron x reader #watchtowerlibrary

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watchtowerlibrary · 10 days ago

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not the zoey you wanted (masterlist)

pairing: zach maclaren x female reader!

summary: you waited all weekend for your boyfriend, Zach, to call or text, anything, to explain why he had just went and ghosted you when you were supposed to go with him on a family ski trip to meet his parents, his sister Avery, and his cousin, Miles.

content warnings: angst; victims of catfishing; miscommunication trope

taglist

#fic rec #zach maclaren x reader #watchtowerlibrary

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watchtowerlibrary · 11 days ago

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wish you’d ask me (one-shot)

pairing zach maclaren x female reader

summary you and your friend zach are on your way to a weekend retreat when suddenly, you wake up in the hospital with a concussion. zach is relieved you’re okay, until he realizes that you’re under the impression that he’s your boyfriend.

tags plot-flip of ‘the other zoey’ where reader loses her memory. college setting. friends to lovers. mutual pining. mentioned song is ‘red love’ by dream ivory (zach gives indie soft boy yfm). angst and fluff. no smut. hugs to my zach girlies @juniebugg & @nemesyaaa <3 divider credit.

» masterlist

››› friday

“Uh oh,” you mumble.

“What is it?” Zach asks. His gaze is fixed ahead, the snowy road a stretch of glittering white under the afternoon sun. You bring your phone up closer to your face.

“Chase just texted the group,” you explain. “Apparently, the furnace broke.”

“Uh oh,” he echoes.

“Exactly,” you say with a defeated laugh. “What now? Do we cancel? We can’t be out there all weekend with no heat.”

Zach checks the time on his dashboard to see you have thirty minutes left of the drive to the cabin you rented with your friends. The four of them are already there, waiting for you two.

“Nevermind,” you say. “Esha texted. The only thing broken is Chase’s sense of humor. I’m this close to throwing him outside and locking the door.”

You hold up your hand in a pinching motion.

“And she used this emoji,” you explain with a giggle.

Zach’s eyes drift to you, an endeared smile pulling on his lips.

“Appreciate the demonstration,” he says.

He reaches a red light and forces himself not to stare at you. He’s afraid that one day, his feelings for you will refuse to stay stuck in his heart and he’ll just blurt them out.

The past hour in the car with you has been a dream. Really, any time he spends with you is a dream. You’re usually all together as a group, so he cherishes the rare moments he gets to be alone with you.

He knows admitting his feelings to you comes with the risk of losing your friendship and fracturing the bond you both have in the group. But sometimes, it’s like keeping them in actually physically hurts.

“What’s your favorite emoji?” you ask. “No, wait.” You think back to the texts you’ve exchanged over the many months you’ve been friends. “I already know. It’s the guy running. Your version of saying on my way.”

“It’s efficient,” he replies with a shrug.

“Okay, so, what’s your second favorite emoji?” you say.

Zach laughs heartily and says, “You never run out of questions.”

“Do you mean that in a ‘you’re so much fun’ way,” you ask, “or in a ‘I’m too nice to say it, but shut up’ way?”

“Please don’t shut up,” he says in a rush. “You’re keeping me entertained.”

“It’s the least I can do after you stayed back for me.”

You were the only person in your friend group who had a class you couldn’t miss today. Zach offered to leave for the cabin with you, saying he had an important essay he wanted to finish this morning anyway, while everyone else drove up last night.

He had already finished that essay two days ago.

“It was no problem,” he replies. He means it. Nothing is too difficult for him if it’s for you.

“I’ll still pay you back,” you say. You stifle a yawn, fighting off the fatigue that’s been melting into you for the past hour. “What can I get you? What do you want most in the world?”

Zach chews on his bottom lip, pretending to think, when really, what he wants most in the world is sitting in his passenger seat, the prettiest and kindest girl he’s ever known, her gaze burning into him in his peripheral vision.

“A life-changing cup of hot cocoa,” he replies.

“Big ask, but you got it,” you agree with a laugh. “You can enjoy it in your grandpa pj’s.”

Zach smirks. A few nights ago, on a group video call, you amusedly pointed out the plaid button-up he was wearing in bed.

“They’re comfortable,” he counters.

“They’re still pajamas an old man would wear,” you tease. Your phone buzzes in your lap. “It’s Chase. Esha ruined my prank. Scaring us that we’ll freeze? What kind of prank is that?”

“He’s ridiculous,” Zach laughs.

The six of you met back when you were put together for a group project. You all got along so well that you started hanging out outside of class. Zach has grown to deeply care for everyone in the group. You, especially.

“I’ve been playing my music this whole ride,” you realize. “It’s only fair that you get to choose the songs for the last stretch.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures. “You’re a good dj.”

“For once in your life, stop being so nice and just play what you want,” you tease. “Since your phone is the GPS, we can keep using mine. Do you have any public playlists?”

He scratches his cheek, nerves filling his chest.

“You’ll make fun of me,” he says.

“Zachary,” you gasp. “When have I ever made fun of you?”

“Like, a minute ago.”

“Other than that.”

“Five minutes ago?”

You laugh again and Zach swears it’s the nicest sound he’s ever heard. Nicer than any song either of you could put on.

“My music is either workout stuff or just… sappy,” he admits.

“I’d expect nothing less,” you respond with a chuckle. “No pressure, but I promise, I won’t judge.”

He breathes a laugh and tells you his username, praying he can keep a straight face if the songs he listens to when he’s thinking about you play.

You tap on the playlist he titled ‘Relaxing’ and sink back in your seat as you gaze out the window. The glass is a little fogged, the world looking like it was dusted with powdered sugar.

The gentle guitar spills out of the speakers as your eyes travel over snow-covered peaks of evergreens that line the road.

Your heart pulls once you hear the song’s first lines, curious if Zach relates to them.

I’m the type of guy, trying not to fight

Not so perfect but I always try to bring the light

He’s easygoing and optimistic – that much is true. But not so perfect? If you had the chance, you’d tell him how perfect he is, over and over again.

Your eyes slowly flutter shut, lulled by the melody. You tell yourself not to daydream about the man sitting next to you when you’re certain he doesn’t feel the same way you do, but it’s easier said than done.

You can’t help it. The longer you’re Zach’s friend, the more you have to yearn for. You’re convinced he has the purest heart you’ve ever known.

But through the conversations you’ve had with your friends about your love lives, you’ve learned that Zach is a romantic, never nervous to pursue a girl he likes. And if he liked you, you’re sure he’d have told you by now.

When you swore Esha and Maggie to secrecy regarding your crush on him, they were confident he feels the same way. You still aren’t.

I don’t wanna feel insecure about a thing

But she makes me feel like I don’t even know what’s happening

Pull me closer and it’s like I forget what was wrong

The thought of pulling Zach closer, of making his insecurities and problems go away makes your stomach twist with warmth.

And then, you’re lying in bed with him, cocooned in a fluffy duvet, your hand on his cheek as you gaze at him. Your heart is full, the air buzzing with love. He worryingly asks you if you slept enough. You nod and he tells you how beautiful you are and you press your lips on his.

Sudden stillness stirs you awake. You meet his sweet blue eyes.

Oh. You fell asleep. And you had a dream about Zach so tender that your heart is still racing, your lips tingling from the kisses he never even gave you.

“Did we make it?” you murmur, tumbling back into reality, grounding yourself in the fact that you’re in a parked car, not a cozy bed.

“Not yet,” Zach says. “I wanted to make a quick stop. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You look through the windshield to see a convenience store sign, the bottom skirted in translucent icicles.

“It’s okay,” you stutter, unbuckling your seatbelt. “It’ll be good to stretch my legs.”

Cold air pricks your cheeks when you step out of the car. Even though Zach has no idea what your subconscious just threw you into, it’s embarrassing to be around him after such an romantic dream.

You round the car and approach the front door, which Zach is holding open for you. In your daze, you realize you forgot your wallet.

“My wallet,” you say in a hush, turning back.

“I’ll cover it,” Zach offers.

But you’re already scurrying to the car. And then, you lose your balance.

.❅❅❅.

The weight in Zach’s stomach is catastrophically heavy.

You’ve been in a confused daze since your fall. And he’s worried sick.

He stands next to you as you sit in bed, blinking slowly. Since he helped pick you up off the icy concrete and drove you to the nearest hospital, you’ve been slowly coming to your senses.

The doctor comes in and asks a few questions. You get the first few right – your full name, your date of birth, your major, your address. All said confidently, even through the fog blocking your mind.

That’s a relief.

But then, you’re not sure what day of the week it is. You can’t tell her what you had for breakfast. And, most confusing of all, when the doctor asks if you know who he is, you say, “Zach. My boyfriend.”

He swallows hard, the word fluttering in his mind. Boyfriend?

The doctor runs a few tests, checking your coordination and reflexes, then offers a sympathetic grimace.

“You have a mild concussion. You’re not showing any serious signs I’m concerned about, but we should do a CT scan just in case.” The doctor looks to Zach. “Can you come with me to help book it?”

He nods, giving you one more worried glance before he trails the doctor out of the room.

After he tucks the appointment card in his wallet, he listens to the doctor’s instructions. Rest. Hydrate. Reduce stress. No screens. Come back if symptoms worsen.

“What if she’s remembering things wrong?” Zach asks. “I… uh, I’m not her boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

“Her memory will likely come back to her in pieces,” the doctor reassures. “It’s normal that things are jumbled. She’ll be fragile for a bit.”

“What do I do? Is it best for her healing if I play along?”

“The less stress on her brain, the better,” she says. “You can calmly tell her what she has wrong or let her believe the minor, harmless things until she’s herself again. I’m sure she’ll be better soon and you won’t even have to correct her.”

Zach’s chest strains in anxiety, worried that he’ll mess something up. The last thing he wants to do is impede your healing by stressing you out.

When he comes back into the room, your eyes light up in a way they never have for him before. He tries not to let it get to him.

“Hey,” you say lazily, gazing at him with adoration. “Is it booked? Can we go now? We’re so late.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” he says softly. “You’re injured.”

You giggle, stretching your arm out. Hesitatingly, Zach steps closer, letting you warmly hold his hand atop the thin blanket. He feels guilty for enjoying it.

“Did you tell them what happened?” you ask.

“Yeah, I – uh, I…” He begins to stammer as you gently run your fingers over his knuckles. “I should update them, actually.”

He pulls away abruptly, taking his phone out, brows furrowed. A simple touch from you is overwhelming enough, let alone when you’re only doing it because you’re concussed and confused.

You watch him text, his expression tense. He’s always like this, so worried about you. You think back to a few days ago, when he was concerned you didn’t get enough sleep as you lazed in bed together.

“Relax,” you say gently. “She said it was mild, right?”

“Yeah.” Zach keeps his eyes on the screen, unsure of how to tell your friends you’re under the impression you’re dating. “You just need to take it easy. You’ll be back to normal soon.”

.❅❅❅.

You catch up on the group texts you missed after your fall when you settle in Zach’s car. You’re reading the last message, which is Esha saying something about seeing you soon when Zach turns on the engine.

You can’t quite make out the words. Then you realize Zach’s been trying to talk to you.

“What?” you say.

“You shouldn’t look at a screen,” he says gently.

“Right.” You lower your phone. “I can barely read right now anyway.”

“Can you put your seatbelt on?”

“Yes.” You turn, the motion suddenly making you dizzy. Your eyes pinch shut and you hold your head with a pained sigh.

Zach has never been more upset at himself. He’s supposed to be taking care of you. The doctor called you fragile. He’s already messing up.

“Sorry,” he says. “Just relax, okay? I’ll take care of it.”

He leans over, pulling your seatbelt into the buckle. You keep your eyes shut, feeling his forehead brush against your cheek, enjoying the warm, rich fragrance that’s so Zach.

You might not remember everything, but you remember how much you love the way he smells.

“Thanks, baby,” you murmur and plant a kiss on his temple.

Zach’s stomach goes wild with butterflies. Heavy guilt sets in again. He can’t go on like this. It feels wrong to play along.

He pulls back and you look at him past heavy lids.

“We should talk,” he says, “about our friendship.”

He has no idea how to navigate this conversation. The doctor said to correct you calmly. There’s nothing calm about the way his heart is pounding right now.

“We haven’t told them, have we?” you ask. “I can’t remember ever acting like a couple around them. Is that what you mean?”

You think he’s talking about your friendships with the group waiting at the cabin.

This might be the best way to do this.

He’ll let you believe that you’re keeping your relationship under wraps. He’ll avoid any opportunity to be alone with you until your mind is straight again. And eventually, it’ll come to you that you and him aren’t actually together.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “We have to act like we’re just friends in front of them.”

“Why’d we decide to do that again?” you ask.

Zach nervously taps his knee.

“Malek had a really bad breakup,” he explains. “We didn’t want to rub it in his face.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say. The memory comes to you, choppy but clear enough. “Dumped via text. Poor guy.”

He flashes a relieved smile. It’s reassuring that you remember something that happened a week ago.

“Right,” he says. He puts the car in drive. The sooner he gets to the cabin, the sooner he can stop putting on this act. “We should get going.”

.❅❅❅.

Your friends are quiet and reluctant to come too close when you step into the cabin.

“Guys, I’m fine,” you laugh.

“How are you feeling?” Maggie asks, wide-eyed. “Do you remember me?”

“Of course,” you say. “It’s just a headache now.”

“You should sit down,” Zach urges behind you. He puts down the bags he brought in from the car that he refused to let you carry.

“It feels like I’ve been sitting all day,” you say. “Except for the part when I fell.”

“So, we can joke about it?” Chase asks with a grin.

“No,” Zach says. “Too soon.”

You look at him over your shoulder, chuckling.

“I think Zach’s more traumatized than I am,” you say.

“What happened exactly?” Esha asks, waving you in.

You step further into the cabin, struck by the enormous living room windows. They present a stunning view of snowy hills and picturesque cottages under the setting sun.

If it weren’t for the stubborn ache pulsing in your forehead, you’d want to explore more of the cabin. But Zach’s right. You should sit down. That walk from the car was enough exercise. You’re already dizzy again.

“It’s my fault,” Zach replies. “I stopped at some random store and that’s where she fell.”

You meet his eyes, heart breaking at the pained expression on his face. You wish you weren’t putting on a farce right now, because if you could do what you wanted, you’d pull him into a hug.

“It’s not your fault I don’t know how to walk,” you joke.

“You fell in the store?” Chase asks.

“Parking lot,” you say. “To get my wallet. Even though Zach said I didn’t need to. So, technically, it’s on me.”

You can tell by the look on his face that he’s not convinced. He’s blaming himself for this entirely.

You sit down for dinner, downing the water Zach encouraged you to drink, while he catches everyone up on how to help support your healing process.

“How do you know all this?” Maggie asks. “Concussions from playing soccer?”

“I asked the doctor,” he clarifies.

When you’re sure nobody’s looking, you reassuringly squeeze his knee under the table. He tenses up under your touch.

.❅❅❅.

After dinner, you’re bundled up in a blanket on the plush living room couch as flames crackle in the stone fireplace.

Nobody has allowed you to lift a finger. Every chore, down to putting away your dinner plate, has been taken over by one of your friends encouraging you to rest.

Zach’s on the other end of the sectional, tapping his fingers against the armrest. You remember that it’s something he does when he’s nervous. Why is he nervous? And why does he have to be so far away? You’re pretending to be just friends, but simply sitting next to you wouldn’t be suspicious, would it?

You know you’re not yourself. Your thoughts are muddy and patchy, but you’re already feeling much better than you did at the hospital because another memory suddenly blooms in your mind.

“Hot cocoa,” you say. Five heads turn to look at you as you point at Zach. “I owe you hot cocoa for staying back to drive me.”

“Yeah,” Zach says, his dimpled grin making your heart skip. “Your memories are coming back.”

You nod with a bright smile. At this moment, as he gazes at you from across the room, he realizes just how much he worries about you, he thinks of the kiss you left on his skin, and he accepts that he was wrong.

He’s not falling for you – he’s already in deep, completely enamored with no hope of pulling himself out.

.❅❅❅.

After you brush your teeth, you pad downstairs to the kitchen before you head to sleep in the bedroom you’re sharing with the girls.

You’re walking back through the dimly lit house when you hear the floorboards creak under someone’s weight. Zach rounds the corner at the bottom of the staircase.

“Hi,” you say sweetly. He towers over you and your eyes drift down to the red and black flannel he’s wearing. “The famous grandpa pj’s.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, happy you remember yet another thing.

His chest twists, conflicted because he enjoys the familiar comfort of being alone with you, but is also anxious in case you still have the wrong idea about the nature of your relationship.

“Proud of me for hydrating?” you ask, holding up the cup of water you just got for yourself.

“Very proud.” He walks past you. “Sleep well.”

You’re confused. It’s unlike him. You remember enough to know he’s typically kind and talkative.

“Hey,” you say, turning to look at him. He meets your gaze, lips slightly parted, visibly tense. “What’s wrong? You don’t really blame yourself, do you? I’m fine.”

His lips curl into a frown. He’s not convinced.

“Please don’t worry,” you continue softly, stepping towards him. “You’ve been taking such good care of me. You’re the best friend a concussed girl could have.”

Friend. Does that mean you no longer think he’s your boyfriend? Have you forgotten about the whole thing entirely?

Before he can ask to be sure, he realizes you were being playful with the word, because you quickly look over your shoulder, then unexpectedly pop up on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips.

“I made sure nobody saw,” you say in an amused whisper. “Good night.”

You rush upstairs, an electric current zipping through you even though you’ve kissed him a million times before.

Zach is standing still in the hallway, heart hammering, blood running hot. He’s lost count of how many times he daydreamed about kissing you. Now, he felt your lips against his for real, and his mind and body are a jumbled mess.

There’s a chance you like him back and now feel uninhibited to offer him the affection you’ve always wanted to give him. Or you’re just confused and you’ll be horrified to learn that he let you believe you’re dating when you were dazed and vulnerable.

If your memory isn’t solid by tomorrow, he’ll have to correct it himself. And he can only hope he won’t ruin your friendship in the process.

››› saturday

You’re walking towards the kitchen, the taste of toothpaste fresh on your tongue. You’re glad you woke up with a much clearer mind. You remember more of yesterday; it’s almost a complete picture in your head.

Zach and Malek are sitting at the breakfast table, cradling mugs of coffee. Zach’s eyes dart away from yours the moment he sees you. It makes your heart sink.

“Hi,” you say to them.

“Morning,” Malek replies.

“Feeling better?” Zach asks.

“Headache’s gone,” you answer. He nods, but doesn’t look at you again.

He’s been acting weird and you’re not sure if it’s just guilt over your fall. The memory of you lying in bed with him a few days ago is so clear. What happened between then and yesterday?

You must have had a fight that you’re forgetting about. You’re sure Zach would be selfless enough to pretend that you’re on good terms while you’re concussed, but he can’t hide that he’s on edge.

“Bad sleep?” you ask, looking down at his drink. “You only drink coffee when you’re desperate.”

His eyes finally find yours again, softening when they do. It’s the early morning and he’s wearing sweats and a hoodie and his dark honey hair is a tousled mess, yet he still looks so handsome and it feels unfair to not be able to kiss him.

“You remember that, too,” he says with relief. “Anything else come up?”

“Nothing that feels important,” you admit with a shrug. Disappointment flashes over his features and you chew on your lip in saddened confusion.

Zach hates seeing the hurt on your face. He needs to have this conversation now and get it over with.

“Do you want to get some fresh air?” he asks.

“That sounds nice,” you answer.

“You’re insane,” Malek says. “It’s like the North Pole out there.”

“Exactly,” you reply with a laugh. “It makes you appreciate being inside even more.”

.❅❅❅.

You stand side-by-side on the snow-covered balcony leading out to the back of the cabin, bundled up in your coats, hats, and mittens.

“It’s so pretty out here,” you whisper, gazing out at the frozen lake hugged by patches of trees.

“It is,” Zach says. His breath comes out in a small puff of fog as he ruminates over how to tell you what he needs to tell you.

“All that ice,” you mumble, “and so many different ways to fall on it.”

He cracks a smile.

“Still too soon to joke about it,” he says.

“Even I don’t get a free pass?” you chuckle.

You reach for his hand, feeling his warmth through your mittens. Zach clears his throat and pulls out of your grasp.

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” he begins. His cheeks redden. “And please hear me out. I was doing what I thought was–”

The sound of the door sliding open interrupts him. You both look back to see Malek ambling out onto the balcony with his hands stuffed in his coat pockets.

“Maybe you guys are onto something,” he says. “We didn’t come all the way out here not to appreciate the views, right?”

He stands between you two and despite the tension, you and Zach share a smile, knowingly both irritated yet amused at your friend’s clueless intrusion.

.❅❅❅.

When you head back inside, everyone else has woken up, loudly chattering in the kitchen. You’re pulled into a conversation with Esha and Maggie while Chase asks Zach to help him with starting the fire.

It’s hard to absorb the words your friends are saying after the way you and Zach left things a few minutes ago.

“Can someone turn on some music?” Maggie eventually asks. “I left my phone upstairs.”

“Sure,” you offer.

“No screens!” Esha shouts.

“It’ll just be for a second,” you laugh. You connect to the speaker. When you realize you have an unfamiliar playlist open, you curiously scroll through the songs.

Zach comes back into the kitchen, dusting off his hands.

You tap on the first track in the playlist. A slow, gentle song buzzes from the living room.

Then, it hits you like a wave.

This song played in his car on the way here. You dozed off listening to it. You woke up from a dream.

A dream.

Zach isn’t your boyfriend. He never was.

The puzzle pieces have finally snapped together, and the picture isn’t pretty.

You stare at him, the realization harsh and unsettling. The possibility of a fight you forgot about had run through your head, but the fact that you were never even together is startling.

Zach can see it immediately, the discomfort on your face. He thought he wanted you to figure it out on your own. Now that you have, he regrets not telling you the truth right away.

“Uh, my… phone is about to die,” you stammer, stopping the song. “Be right back.”

You leave the room, and while everyone else carries on conversation, Zach’s heart is in his stomach. He messed up. Possibly irreversibly.

He trails behind you, whispering your name as you rush up the stairs. You turn to face him once you reach your bedroom, nearly breathless.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, the embarrassment wringing out your insides.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Can you sit down? You need to take it easy.”

“Zach,” you assert. He sighs in worry.

“I was about to tell you outside, but then we got interrupted.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me right away?” you say. “I… oh, my God. I kissed you last night.”

Zach rakes his hand through his hair as you step back and exhale in disbelief.

“The doctor said I shouldn’t stress you out,” he explains. “I didn’t want to confuse you or embarrass you–”

“Too late,” you interrupt with a note of sadness.

It’s a punch to Zach’s gut seeing you so upset because of something he did. He’d actually prefer a real punch right now. At least then, he’d know the pain will fade. The guilt filling his chest feels like it’ll be there forever.

“I – I was doing what I thought was best,” he says. “She said you were fragile and it freaked me out and I promise, the last thing I want to do is upset you or mess with your healing.”

You can see that he’s in distress, but so are you. You spilled your heart out to him, you touched and kissed him while under the impression that you shared a love that wasn’t there.

“Please don’t think I’m a creep or something – I just – I honestly didn’t expect that kiss,” he admits. “I would’ve stopped it if I did.”

You have to look away. Why would he have stopped it? Because you weren’t in your right mind? Or because he wouldn’t ever want you to kiss him?

You hope he has it in him to at least admit if he feels anything for you. This is the time to do it after you embarrassed yourself so immensely. You stare down at the floor, silently praying that he’ll reassure you.

Zach’s throat tightens. Seeing you like this makes his shame so overpowering that his eyes start to burn with tears.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. He steps out of the room before you can see him cry. He doesn’t want to make this about him. He wants to give you space.

You’re left standing alone in the silence, your heart cracked right down the middle.

.❅❅❅.

Zach doesn’t let his gaze linger on you for the rest of the day. He’s terrified he’ll have to face his fear of losing you.

What’ll life look like without you? You met and then all of a sudden, you became a ray of light in his world, always able to make him smile, always on his mind. He can’t stomach making you uncomfortable. You looked so disgusted that he went along with a lie.

After dinner, you’re all sitting in the living room and helping Maggie set up a board game. That’s when Zach finally allows himself to look at you.

You’re sitting in front of the fireplace, quietly reading the instructions to yourself, lips moving with the words. Worrisome curiosity gnaws at him, eager to find out if your mind is clear again.

“Does reading still feel weird or is it okay now?” he asks you from across the room.

“Oh – yeah,” you say, caught off guard. You haven’t spoken since your fight this morning. “It’s okay now.”

“Where have you been, MacLaren?” Maggie laughs. “We established she’s back to normal like three hours ago.”

“Do we need to check your head?” Chase jokes.

Zach forces a laugh. He’s been too lost in his thoughts to absorb himself in the conversations happening around him all day. The possibility of making you uncomfortable simply by being in the same room as you is too heavy to ignore at this point.

“Maybe,” he says. “I should probably turn in.”

“What?” Malek shouts. “I was going to kick your ass at… what’s this game called again?”

“You can kick my ass later,” Zach mumbles, standing up. “Sorry, guys.”

“Lame,” Maggie sighs.

You keep your gaze on him as he leaves the room, but his eyes stay on the floor the entire time.

.❅❅❅.

You gently knock on the boys’ bedroom door, listening to your friends’ enthusiastic competition-fuelled conversations echoing from downstairs.

It’s been fifteen minutes since you started the board game and two since you purposely knocked yourself out of it. You excused yourself to take a shower, but your intention was always to come up and talk to Zach. Even though you’d left things so tense, you need to make sure of one thing.

“Yeah?” His voice on the other side of the door is muffled. You step into the dark room, the hallway light spilling in.

“It’s me,” you whisper into the dimness. “Sorry. You’re not sleeping, are you?”

“No. I can’t,” he admits. You hear a mattress creak. A light turns on with a click. Zach’s standing by a lamp, almost looking wounded.

You step inside, shutting the door behind you, nervous as you settle on the edge of one of the beds. He sits on another bed and faces you.

“I don’t think you’re a creep,” you say. “I just had to make sure you know that, okay?”

Zach lets out a shaky sigh. He purses his lips, nodding slowly, and when you see a shine pool over his eyes, you still.

“Thanks,” he breathes. “I hated the idea of you thinking I took advantage of you or something and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to be around me if you–”

“What? Zach, no. No way.”

When he quietly sniffles, you’re certain he’s holding back tears. You knew he was sensitive, but witnessing him cry over the possibility of making you uncomfortable stings. Especially since he surely felt awkward with you touching him and kissing him, and still played along for you.

He doesn’t deserve to feel like this. You shuffle over, sitting next to him on his bed.

“Listen, I was just really embarrassed,” you say, desperate to console him. “I still am, to be honest.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to be. You were injured.”

“Yeah, but… how would you feel if you ran around kissing me just for me to tell you I never wanted you to?”

Zach’s jaw tenses. Is that what you think? That he doesn't want to kiss you? God, he’d spend all day kissing you if you let him.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” you continue, “and I get why you went along with it. I know you were just looking out for me. Sorry that I got so upset.”

“Please don’t be sorry,” he says. “I’m the one who should apologize.”

“We’ll never agree on this,” you say with a quiet laugh. “We’re good, okay? I’m gonna go take a shower and if you’re up for it, you should go downstairs. I’ll come down after and make you that cocoa I promised.”

Zach laughs, genuine and warm, and it makes your heart feel like it’s floating.

“Cool,” he says.

“Cool,” you echo. You stand up, almost out the door when he stops you.

“Hey, can you…”

“What?” you ask.

“Just… be careful in the shower. Don’t slip.”

“I’ll be fine. Jeez, you fall on your head one time,” you quip. He laughs. And his smile doesn’t fade for a while after you leave the room.

.❅❅❅.

You’ve just washed the soap off your skin and are about to turn the water off when you’re plunged into darkness. Standing in the tub, naked, completely blind.

For a moment, you’re afraid this is a symptom of your concussion. But then you realize the power must have gone out. You feel for the tile wall, pushing the shower curtain to the side, more nervous to fall than you’d normally be.

“Hey, you okay in there?” Zach asks through the door. He’s nearly breathless. As soon as the lights went out, he raced up the stairs in worry, using his phone flashlight as a guide.

“Yeah,” you call. “Did the power go out?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Do you need any help or anything? I can get Esha or Maggie.”

You smile to yourself in the dark, not surprised that he’s being so considerate of your comfort. You feel for the robe you left on the counter and wrap yourself in its warmth, then open the door.

Zach’s standing in the hallway, phone flashlight aimed at the floor, concern etched into his face.

“Do we know what happened?” you ask.

Seeing you fresh out the shower feels oddly vulnerable. This is an intimate state for him to witness you in, but you’re not nervous at all, and it’s reassuring to have the hard proof that you’re not uncomfortable around him.

“I think it’s the wind,” he says. “It must have knocked a power line down.”

“Uh oh,” you reply in same way you did when Chase texted about the furnace breaking. He chuckles. At least he can find comfort in the fact that you really do remember everything.

“I’ll get dressed and meet you down there,” you say. “Thanks for checking on me.”

“Of course.”

The lights are still out when you come downstairs in your pajamas. Your friends are huddled around the fire, amber lights and gray shadows casting over their faces and on the walls. The crescent moon gleams in the cloudy sky past the massive windows.

“Were you at least at the end of your shower?” Esha asks with a defeated laugh.

“Yeah,” you say. “I was just about to get out when the room went dark. I was scared my concussion came back.”

“That’d be great timing,” Esha jokes.

“Right? While I’m naked in a tub,” you laugh, settling on the floor next to her. Zach is glad nobody’s looking at him right now, because his cheeks are burning at the mention of you being naked. “Did anyone message the owner?”

“Yeah,” Maggie says. “He’s not answering, but I don’t know what he could even do. I checked online and the whole grid is out. I think we’ll just have to wait it out.”

“Chase cursed us,” Esha says.

“How is this my fault?” he asks.

“You tempted fate with your stupid joke yesterday,” she replies. “The furnace broke. Now everything is broken. Are you happy?”

“Honestly, thrilled,” he replies. “Pretty cool to have the power to control the weather.”

You continue to chat with your friends, feeling the temperature in the cabin slowly fall. Before you know it, it’s been half an hour and the power still isn’t back on. You’re shaking from the cold.

Zach notices the way you’re curled up, arms wrapped around your legs, surely colder than everyone else since you just showered.

“We should keep the fire going,” he says. “I don’t think the power will come back on any time soon.”

“What happened to the annoying optimism we’ve grown to know and love?” Maggie asks.

“I told you guys, I traumatized him when I fell yesterday,” you say. “I broke my brain and his.”

“No offense, but I probably would’ve laughed my ass off if I saw you fall like that,” Chase jokes.

“That’s why I’m glad I was with Zach,” you retort. He smirks to himself as he builds the fire, hoping it’ll radiate more heat for you soon. “I bet when my memory was messed up, you would’ve convinced me that I owed you money or something.”

“Shit,” Chase says. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Shameless,” Esha mutters. “Guys, I think we’re going to have to sleep here in front of the fire. I bet the bedrooms are freezing.”

“Aw, it’ll be like a real sleepover,” Maggie says excitedly. “Let’s do it.”

You’re all in a fit of laughter as you bring mattresses and pillows and blankets down the stairs, already sure that this is going to be a cherished memory. What happened yesterday has given you a new perspective on life, a realization that something as simple as your memory should be appreciated.

And it’s also made your crush on Zach even deeper. He’s done nothing but look out for you, down to pretending to be your boyfriend to ease you into your healing. Now that the embarrassment has faded, you feel guilty that you were ever upset at him.

The six of you lie in front of the crackling fire, wrapped up in duvets as the wind howls outside. You’re closest to Zach, your back inches away from his chest. As you gaze at the flames, you think about the way his lips felt on yours last night.

No wonder you felt so stunned after kissing him. Your mind didn’t know it was your first kiss, but your body did. The thought that it was also your last kiss makes your stomach sink. He’s had every opportunity to tell you if he likes you. He hasn’t. You’re just a friend to him and nothing more.

“Who wants to bet on when the power’s going to be back on?” Malek asks. You hear the click of him unlocking his phone. “It’s 11:30 now. I don’t…”

He suddenly stops talking.

“Did he die? I’m too tired to turn around and check,” Esha says.

“My ex texted me,” Malek says.

“Don’t fall into the trap, man,” Chase says. “What’s done is done.”

“What’s it say?” Zach asks. He stares at you as you lie in front of him, backlit by the fire.

“She’s apologizing,” Malek says. “She wants to get back together.”

“No,” Maggie says sternly. “She dumped you over text, dude.”

You listen to your friends chat, your eyelids growing heavy. Admittedly, you’re worried you’ll dream of Zach again. Having his heart in a delusion just to wake up and realize it’s not really yours hurts too much.

You shuffle your feet to get comfortable, accidentally bumping Zach.

“Sorry,” you whisper over your shoulder. “Was that your kicking foot?”

“Yeah,” Zach replies. “You just blew my entire season.”

You giggle quietly, tightening your blanket around you. You wish you could hold on to a shred of hope that eventually, your feelings for him will fade. The sinking feeling in your gut tells you that’ll never happen.

.❅❅❅.

A harsh droning pulls you out of your sleep. Your eyes squeeze shut, then flicker open when you realize someone is snoring. Loudly.

“Who is that?” Esha whispers into the pitch dark. The fire must have died down.

“Malek,” Chase mutters. “He sounds like a fucking dragon.”

“Malek,” Esha whines. His snoring suddenly stops and you figure she must have kicked him awake.

You chuckle to yourself, gently shuffling in place. That’s when you realize you’re up against a warm, firm surface, your nose brushing against the comforting fragrance you love so much.

You’re cuddled up to Zach. You pull back an inch, your entire body tense.

“How’d I get here?” you try to joke in a whisper. “Sorry.”

“Stay,” he mumbles sleepily. He pulls you in by your hip, squeezing gently in his daze. Your heart thrums and you obey, giving into what you want most.

››› sunday

You can feel the brightness of the sun behind your eyelids. The air isn’t cold. The furnace is buzzing. The power is back on.

You gain your bearings and slowly sit up. Everyone else is still asleep. You smile in admiration as you look at your sleeping friends. You love them all so much. You turn to see Zach, his lips in a cute pout, and you accept the fact that you love him, too, in a deeper way.

Friends. You’re friends. You’ll keep telling yourself that until your heart believes it.

You quietly make your way to the kitchen, determined to cook a big breakfast for everyone. Five minutes pass before Maggie walks in with a tired smile, commenting that something smells good.

“Sit down,” you invite her. “Coffee? Tea? I’m making a thank-you breakfast.”

“What for?” she asks.

“You all took such good care of me,” you say.

“Yeah, because Zach basically threatened us to when you first got here,” she laughs. “I’ve never seen him so intense. Last night, when the power went out? He booked it upstairs to find you. He’s been so worried about you.”

“Yeah, I think he still feels responsible for me falling,” you say.

She sits up to look over the wall into the hallway to check that the coast is clear, then waves you closer. You turn off the range and sit next to her.

“I think it’s more than that,” she says.

“No,” you say with a small laugh. “No way.”

.❅❅❅.

Zach shuffles awake, exhaling deeply. He drags his hand over the blanket next to him, looking for you before he realizes that’s what he’s doing.

It felt so nice when you turned towards him in a half-asleep daze, nuzzling your head into his chest. It took him a while to fall asleep simply because of how hard his heart was drumming.

He steps over his sleeping friends. Then, he hears a hushed conversation getting louder as he heads down the hallway.

“...think so?” Maggie says.

“No,” you respond. “Okay, I wasn’t going to tell you and Esha until after we got back, but… I was so out of it at the hospital that I thought he was my boyfriend and… he actually went along with it.”

“What?” she says.

You’re talking about him. He’s about to clear his throat to announce himself and pretend like he hasn’t heard anything, but then he hears your next words.

“I know he didn’t want me acting like that with him, but he tolerated it just so I wouldn’t get freaked out when I realized my memory was messed up,” you confess. “He was so awkward about it after. Trust me. He does not like me back.”

Zach slowly steps back towards the living room and goes up the stairs, trying to absorb what he just heard, trying to make sense of the fact that you not only truly think that he doesn’t want your affection, but also that you’re genuinely disappointed about it.

Back. You don’t think he likes you back.

This might just be the happiest he’s ever felt.

.❅❅❅.

You love how pleased your friends look at the breakfast spread you’ve made for them as they trickle into the kitchen.

“It’s a good thing it was so cold overnight,” you announce. “Nothing in the fridge went bad.”

Zach is the last one to come in and your heart, the traitor, skitters when you meet his striking blue eyes. How long until you can look into those eyes and not think about how it feels to be held by him, how it feels to kiss him?

“Sleep well?” you ask to make casual conversation. He settles in the last empty chair at the table.

“Yeah. My old man pajamas are really toasty,” he says.

You nod, skin buzzing. Does he remember cuddling you in the middle of the night? By the way his eyes linger on you, you think he just might, and in this simple, small moment, you feel a pinch of hope that he feels the same way you do.

You glance up at the clock hanging above the table to see it’s just past nine, leaving less than two hours before check-out. You try to enjoy the last little bit you have with your friends before you split up to clean and leave the cabin the way you found it.

.❅❅❅.

The cabin is spotless, the cars are packed up, and you’re hugging your friends goodbye as light snowflakes gently fall from the white sky.

You’ve been giddy with anticipation at the thought of having an hour and a half drive back to campus with Zach, even though he left such a confusing knot in your chest. Despite everything, he’s still a friend you love to spend time with.

“Have a nice drive!” Chase says as he heads towards Esha’s car, raising his brows at Zach.

After breakfast, Chase had asked him to join you two on the ride home to have more space than he would have sharing a backseat with Malek, but Zach apologized and told him he’d rather not.

When Chase insisted he tell him why, Zach didn’t see any reason to keep it in any longer. He admitted to liking you and said he’d finally tell you on the way home.

“Bold,” Chase had said. “And if she doesn’t like you, too? That’ll be like, the most awkward car ride ever.”

“I’ll take the risk,” Zach replied with a smile.

.❅❅❅.

“Wow,” you say as you drive out onto the main road. “I never made you that hot cocoa, did I?”

“You didn’t,” he says, pretending to be deeply displeased.

“Will you ever forgive me?” you play along.

“I’ll need to do some reflecting first,” Zach replies. You laugh, relieved that you two are joking like old times before this past weekend through you for a loop.

“Fair,” you say. You plug your phone into his speaker system. “Let’s see if I can unlock any other memories. And don’t tell me it’s still too soon to joke about it.”

Zach chuckles, cocking his head.

“I’ll let it slide,” he says. “I woke up in a good mood.”

“You’re basically always in a good mood,” you respond.

Zach can understand why you’d think that. It’s because he’s never been in a bad mood around you. Life is bright and easy and rich when you’re around. And it’s been even richer since he overheard what you said this morning.

“We passed a waterfall while you slept on the way up here,” Zach says. “Would you want to make a stop to check out the view?”

“Yeah,” you agree, pushing away the reminder of what you’d dreamt about during that nap. “Sounds cool.”

.❅❅❅.

Crystal blue water rushes down in an endless torrent, crashing down to the surface with a dull roar. You’re in awe of how ethereal the waterfall is, white mist bubbling over the stream bordered by snowy land. The snow is still falling gently, the atmosphere cool but not cold, as if the earth is apologizing for the windstorm last night.

You and Zach stand at a height behind a railing, his car parked a few feet away on the side of the road. He purposely slowed down so your friends would drive far enough ahead to not notice you’d made a stop.

Now that he’s here, he’s painfully nervous. Worst case scenario, you’re not interested in dating him, and it’ll lead to, like Chase said, the most awkward car ride ever. He’s sure the remaining hour journey back to campus would feel like ten hours if this goes wrong.

But he’s always been optimistic and last night as he fell asleep with you in his arms, he thought back to every moment in your friendship when he had a spark of hope that he had a place in your heart like you do in his.

Over the months he’s known you, he got into the habit of trying to dull the spark, reminding himself of how much he had to lose if you didn’t return his feelings.

Deep down, he always knew he’d eventually give in; he has so much love to give you and the thought of keeping it contained when you might want it was getting harder to bear.

You could break his heart if you don’t want him, but it’d break his heart even more if you do and he doesn’t do anything about it.

“Wow,” you say in a whisper, taking a photo of the waterfall with your phone. “I shouldn’t post this, should I? Our friends might be mad that we didn't include them.”

“I think they’ll understand,” Zach replies. “I told Chase… uh…”

You lower your phone, looking up at him, unable to stifle your smirk because of how cute he looks from the way the breeze has messed up his hair. The road behind you is clear and quiet, the mid-morning sun offering mild warmth.

“You told Chase…?” you say.

Zach licks his lips, his mouth gently opening before he finds the words. He shifts to face you, eyes searching your pretty features, heart in his throat.

“I told him I wanted to be alone with you,” he says. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop this morning, I swear… but I… I do like you. Back.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You look down at the snowy concrete, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“I heard you right… right?” Zach mumbles.

“Back,” you repeat softly, finding the bravery to look back up at him. “Yeah. That’s what I said.”

A sweet, honeyed smile grows on his face. He tilts his head slightly, looking at you the exact way you’d dreamt he would. How you always wanted him to, but convinced yourself he wouldn’t.

“I didn’t tolerate you acting like we were dating,” he says. “I liked it and I felt bad for liking it because it wasn’t real.”

You mirror his smile, your heart full of love and joy and the comfort that he’s been giving you since the day you met him.

“I was just doing what I always wanted to do,” you confess. His eyes glint with endearment as he brings a hand up to gently cup your face.

“I really enjoyed being your pretend boyfriend,” Zach says, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as you look up at him through your lashes. “Can I be your real one now, though?”

You sigh softly, nodding as he stares at you in nothing short of infatuation. He leans closer by a half-inch, silently testing if you’re okay with it.

You close the distance and your lips meet with a sweet, gentle tenderness like they’ve done this before. You pull back, remembering that they have.

“Can we count that as our first kiss?” you say.

“Absolutely,” he chuckles.

››› one week later

You’re stepping out of the kitchen in Zach’s apartment, tightly gripping the tray of six mugs filled with hot cocoa.

“Whoa,” Zach says, quickly standing up from his spot on the floor when you enter the living room. “Careful.”

“Her concussion is gone, man,” Chase says. “You have the test results to prove it. She can handle carrying a tray.”

“He’s helping her because he’s a gentleman,” Esha states. “Do you know what that word means or are you committed to being a caveman forever?”

“Caveman,” he repeats with a grin.

“Don’t give him any,” Esha mutters. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

You laugh as you set the tray down on the coffee table with Zach’s help. You settle in your spot on the couch as Zach sits on the floor in front of you again, tucked in between your legs, the insides of your knees pressed against his shoulders.

“I have to say, I called it,” Maggie says as she gazes between you and Zach with a big smile on her face. “Tell everyone how I called it.”

“You called it,” you say, putting your hands on your boyfriend’s broad shoulders, gently squeezing.

Her eyes dart to Esha and you share a knowing grin. You’d had private conversations about how if you and Zach were always a little obvious, Esha and Chase are the definition of the word.

“Ow,” Malek snips, holding the steaming mug away from his face. “I burned myself.”

“It’s hot cocoa, Malek,” Chase says. “It’s literally in the name.”

“Really good, though,” Malek says, giving you a thumbs up.

“Thanks,” you laugh.

The tray is eventually littered with empty mugs and you stand to clear away the mess, your heart glowing with the feeling it always has when you’re surrounded by your friends.

You’re scrubbing a soapy sponge over a mug when you hear Zach’s voice behind you.

“You don’t have to wash anything.”

You look over your shoulder, smiling.

“It’s okay,” you say. He approaches you, hugging you from behind as you stand at the sink, surrounding you in his warmth as your friends talk a room away.

He always enjoyed moments of privacy with you, but since that day by the waterfall, every second with you is more than perfect.

“So?” you say. “Did you get your wish? Was the cocoa life-changing?”

“Ask me again what you asked on the way up to the cabin,” he murmurs. “What I want most in the world.”

“What do you want most–”

“You,” he interrupts. You laugh breathily as he kisses the side of your neck. “I just couldn’t answer honestly the first time you asked. But it was always you.”

You turn the faucet off and tilt your head back, looking up at the ceiling with a smile on your face as he leaves kisses on your neck and holds you tighter.

It was always him, too.

(the end)

#fic rec #zach maclaren x reader #watchtowerlibrary

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watchtowerlibrary · 12 days ago

Note

Saw your post asking for Zach Maclaren request so here I am!

What about reader getting run over by the car instead of Zach and she looses her memory kinda like the movie but reversed? She thinks Zach is her bf cause she has a bf named Zach but he’s an asshole.

The Other Zach

Pairing: Zach MacLaren x Reader

Warnings: Swearing and Getting Hit By A Car

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3.2K

Masterlist

Yet another argument with her boyfriend. Yet another time she is walking home upset. Even worse, it’s three in the afternoon so everyone on the street can watch her sad walk home. She feels like everyone around her is staring, judging her for staying with such a dick. As she walks across the parking lot with her head in the clouds, a soccer ball comes rolling toward her. Y/N’s eyes dart up to see Zach MacLaren walking over to her with a big smile, pointing down at the ball to ask her to send it over. She bends down to pick it up, but as she starts to straighten out, a sudden force from behind her sends her head smashing to the pavement.

Zach watches the whole thing happen before his very eyes. He screams at his sister’s soccer team to stay there and runs to make sure the driver doesn’t try to keep reversing over Y/N. Everyone knew her. She works at the cafe on campus and is known to brighten everyone’s day. Once the driver knows he hit someone and is on the phone with the dispatcher, Zach goes to check on Y/N. She is out cold and this causes him to panic. He checks for a pulse. Relief floods him when he finds one and it is only a matter of her waking up. Her eyes flutter open and her vision is blurry. There is a face over her that she can’t make out. “My name is Zach,” she overhears the unidentifiable face. Her boyfriend. He must have gone after her to apologize. She starts to see more clearly and she wraps her arms around his neck. Her lips try to find him, but he pulls away. “Hey, take it easy. You got hit pretty hard in the noggin,” he advises, looking up at the sound of the ambulance.

——

The paramedics are about to take Y/N away, but she stops them from taking her. She looks at Zack, “Aren’t you going to come with me?.” He looks at her and his heart is pulling him to enter the vehicle, but he doesn’t feel it is right. He has no relation to her in any way. The paramedic counsels it might be better if he comes to help keep her calm and now, he feels he has no choice. “Of course, I just need to make sure an adult can stay with my soccer team. I’ll be right back,” he informs. He heads over to the field’s sidelines, talking to one of the waiting moms about what happened. He is reassured that she will make sure all the kids get home safely, so he heads back to the ambulance.

After the doctor does his assessment, Zach and Y/N learn she has a concussion and probably amnesia. Zach could definitely a test to the last part since she seems to think he is her boyfriend. “Sweetie, what happened are you okay?” an older woman, who looks like Y/N, frets, rushing to her. Zach assumes this is Y/N’s mom and goes in to reassure her, “She has a mild concussion and amnesia.” The man with the mother raises his eyebrow. “And are you her doctor?” he questions. Zach shakes his head, “No, I’m Zach. I was with her when she got hit by the car.” The man nods and her mother’s eyes light up. “So you’re the boyfriend. It is so nice to meet you, I’m Kim and this is Gary. We are Y/N’s parents. She’s told us so much about you,” Kim introduces. Y/N goes on to complain, “Way to keep it cool, Mom.” “I’m sorry, Sweetie. But he is so cute and seems nice,” Kim apologizes. Zach feels strange about just letting the family believe he is actually Y/N’s boyfriend, but there isn’t exactly a good time to say that while in the hospital. The doctor returns to speak with her parent, so Zach excuses himself to call someone for advice.

“Guess where I am,” he whispers into the phone. Zoey checks the time, “Coaching your sister’s soccer practice?” “No. I’m at the hospital,” he replies. She sits up from her lying position on the couch, “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine. It’s just that Y/N Y/L/N got hit by a car. Now, she and her whole family think I am her boyfriend.”

“Elle says she is dating a Zach. Zach Davis. He’s the captain of the hockey team. She just sent you his Insta.”

While Zach scrolls through the other Zach’s profile, the doctor catches his attention. “Oh, and Mr. Boyfriend. Make sure she stays calm. We wouldn’t want anything stressing her out and making her conduction worse,” she instructs before walking off. Zach groans into the phone, “What am I supposed to do if I can’t stress her out?” “Okay, calm down. Just take her parents aside and let them break the news to her,” Zoey explains. Calm washes over his face, “Yes, that’s a great idea. You are one smart cookie, Zoey Miller.” They bid their goodbyes and he heads back to the Y/L/Ns.

“Zach, you’re back. We were just talking about you. How would you like to come over for dinner tonight?” Kim asks, helping Y/N sit up so she can get ready to be discharged. It’s like the perfect opportunity falls into his lap.

——

He walks into the Y/L/N’s residence, helping Y/N onto the couch. “Your parents have a nice house,” he looks around the room. As soon as they are settled on the couch, a little boy pops up from behind the couch with a scream. A man a little bit older than Zach sets himself on the chair beside the couch. “Connor, don’t scare her. She has a concussion,” he chides the younger boy. Y/N sighs, “Zach, this is my little brother, Connor. And my older brother, uhh…” “Jared. His name is Jared,” Connor offers with a devious smile. Y/N nods, “Right, Jared. This is my older brother, Jared.” Zach sees Connor’s giggles and leans towards her, “I think he is messing with you, Baby.” “Oh. I think you are right,” she rubs her forehead, trying to remember her brother’s name. “Jack. His name is Jack.” Jack lets out a cheer and holds out his hand for Zach to take.

Soon, dinner is served and Zach sits beside Y/N. As Connor is recounting his day, Y/N goes to whisper in his ear, “Thank you for keeping up with my strange family. I know you didn’t want to meet them, but it means a lot that you are here.” Zach feels bad at the words she says. Why wouldn’t her real boyfriend want to meet her family? They are so kind and funny. And Y/N is amazing. Even with a concussion, she is so bright and genuine. He has always had a little bit of a crush on her, ever since she gave him a coffee on the house when she saw he was having a hard day. She wrote his name with a happy face and little hearts, which made his day. Sometimes he finds himself going where she works just to see her smile.

“No problem. I think your family is great,” he says, looking at her with a smile. She grins back at him and slides her fingers through his hand on his lap. “Well, if you think we are so great, why don’t you come skiing with us this weekend?” Gary suggests, overhearing the whispers between his daughter and her (not) boyfriend. Zach knows the words about to come out of his mouth shouldn’t be the ones that follow, but he really does like her family and he wants to get the opportunity to get to know her better. He knows it is wrong to take Y/N’s moment of confusion and to take it as a chance to fill his delusion. However, he really doesn’t see any harm in pretending for the weekend.

——

“Are you sure you don’t want to hit the slopes? You don’t have to stay behind just for me,” Y/N double-checks, looking at him behind the couch. He sits on the back of the couch and lets himself flop back on the seat cushion. He nods, “Yep. I think it would be nice to hang out with you.” “Really? Well, I’m a very busy gal, I have to check my schedule,” she teases, taking out her phone to look at her calendar. “Oh, look at that the only thing I have planned is to have a concussion. I guess we can hang out.” He grins at her and sits up, scooting closer to her. She scoots over to sit beside him, putting herself under his arms, which makes him happy. “What should we do?” he inquires, looking down at her with a smile. She plays at putting thought into it and drags him to the game room.

They head over to the air hockey table, but she notices Zach’s gaze toward the foosball table. “We can play foosball if you’d like. I just thought you would like air hockey more since you are on the team,” she explains, changing way toward the other table. Zach has to quickly cover his tracks, “Uh, yeah. I do like hockey, but I’m better at foosball than air hockey.”

The game they play fills the room with laughter. Zach would yell at her for cheating by spinning her knob, while she would argue she is just using her tools to her advantage. After her last spin causes the tiny ball to sail through the hole for the goal, Zach runs around to her side and picks her up by the waist. “That is the last time you cheat!” he playfully reprimands. Her laughter stops and her hand flies to her head. She starts to move in a dizzy-like motion with her hand still stuck to her head. “Are you okay? Did I grab you too hard? What can I do?” he worries, removing his hands from her to look into her eyes. The tiny giggles she lets out make him feel like she is evil, “I’m just playing with you. I’m sorry. But you can make us something to eat. I can’t use any screens and I have absolutely no recipes memorized.”

——

She watched him in amazement as he made the pizza. She found it incredibly hot to watch him toss the pizza dough in the air. He flicked a little flour at her and she ran away with a shriek. After getting the pizza out of the oven, he helps her up onto the counter and cuts the food. She takes the first bite and the moan she lets out absolutely kills Zach. He finds the pizza held out in front of his mouth, taking a bite at her encouragement. He really hopes the food hides his blush. “This tastes great! Where did you learn how to cook?” she praises, going in for another bite. His blush deepens, “I took lessons as a kid. It was really fun.” Her eyebrows raised. “Really? I always saw you as a more, I will only do hockey because hockey is my life kind of guy.”

“Right, hockey. I love socc- I love so much hockey, but I don’t think hockey is what I’m going to do after graduation.”

“Why not? If you like it so much, why don’t you go pro?”

“I do like it, but let’s be honest, I’m not good enough to get drafted. Truth is I don’t know what I’m going to do after graduation.”

“I haven’t seen you play hockey much or really understand how it is played, but I’m sure that isn’t true. But anyway, if you don’t think hockey is your thing, I think opening a pizza place is your path. This is great.”

Although she doesn’t know he is talking about soccer, he loves that she can see him passed the athlete and see a different part of him. Most people he knows are just interested in him because of his sport. “So what do you want to do after graduation?” he questions, picking up another slice for himself. Her eyes light up, “I’m not too sure yet. I know I’m a computer science major, but I really just chose it because it can be a useful fallback. I think maybe I want to travel around the world and take pictures.” He is touched that she is so open and honest with her answer. He likes that even though her future seems uncertain, she is still hopeful about it. “That sounds amazing. If you need a travelling partner, then I would gladly go with you. I’m sure you are an amazing photographer,” he encourages. Again, a confused look crosses her face, “I thought you hated going outside of the US. You said that nothing good happens outside of America.” Zach fears that his lies are going to start to unravel. The universe seems to come in for the assist because her family comes back at that moment.

“Hey, you two. What did you do today?” Kim ponders, giving Y/N a kiss on her cheek. She smiles at her mom, “What didn’t we do?” Everyone over the age of eighteen widens their eyes and Zach helps clear things up. “All PG.” Completely missing the moment Connor pats his pockets. “I left my gloves at the lodge. We have to go back,” he panics. Zach jumps off the counter and pats his back, “Don’t worry, Con. Y/N and I can go with you to get it.”

They get to the lodge and Connor runs inside to get his gloves. Zach turns to Y/N to find her making a snowman. “Need some help?” he proposes, walking over to her. She nods with a smile and they get to work on the snowman. She makes the middle part while he forms the bottom and once she is done, she picks it up to bring it to him. She trips over her feet and goes flying toward him. He catches her as he falls back. The snow from her ball smushes between them. They both sit up while laughing. Her hair falls over her face and he brushes it out of the way, leaving his warm hand on her cheek. The sun lightens her hair and this moment feels perfect. He has been avoiding kissing her to not take advantage of her, but it felt right in the moment. His lips find hers and fireworks spark between them. He scoots forward to deepen the kiss, bringing his other hand up to her cheek until Connor comes out and ruins the kiss.

——

The weekend comes to an end too fast for Zach. The group recounts their highlights of the mini-vacation, laughing that Connor’s favourite part was playing Battletoads with Zach. Zach is helping Y/N with her bags when the engine of a car catches their attention. “Y/N Y/L/N, you haven’t been answering my texts,” a low voice growls. Y/N freezes at the voice and turns toward the man. Distress washes over her, “Who are you?” She takes a step closer to Zach and he wants to curl his arms around her to make her feel protected. “Who am I? I’m Zach Davis, your boyfriend,” he shouts with his eyebrow knitted. Now, her family looks confused. “You can’t be her boyfriend because he is her boyfriend,” Gary points out, looking toward Zach. Her real boyfriend lets out a low laugh, “Of course, that bitch is cheating on me. Why am I not surprised?” Anger flushes through Zach.

“Hey! Don’t talk about her like that. She isn’t cheating on you. It’s my fault she isn’t answering your texts; I lied to her. She got hit by a car and lost her memory. My name is also Zach and she thought I was her boyfriend. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth,” Zach clarifies. “I’m sorry for lying, Y/N. I just wanted to get to know you and I’m glad I got to because you really are the most amazing person I have ever met. I’m going to go now before I make this more awkward.” Before Zach is out of hearing distance, he can hear Connor complaining that he is better than Y/N’s actual boyfriend. This causes a sad smile to form on Zach’s face.

——

It has been weeks since he last saw Y/N. He has been too embarrassed to go back to her parents’ house and only goes to class then back home. Zach is used to being the gossip of the campus because he is on the soccer team, but it feels a little different when people are talking about his deception. Zoey enters his dorm to find Zach watching a cooking show while eating ice cream. “You can’t just stay up here for the rest of your life,” she critiques, opening his curtains. He ignores her gaze, “Yes, I can. She said that I could open a pizza store.” His mind is blank except for thoughts of her. “I know she did. You’ve told me that a hundred times already,” Zoey gives him a tight-lipped smile.

“Why did I have to mess up so badly?”

“Because you were blinded by love. I can’t believe I just said that. But you like her. That’s why.”

“Right, and I had to lie to her, which broke her trust. Now, she is happily off with Zach Davis.”

“You know they broke up, right? Like literally right after the ski trip.”

“Really? Why?”

“That’s only a question that she can answer.”

——

Zach has been thinking about it all day and has decided to go see Y/N. Her bright smile is the first thing he sees when he enters the coffee shop. It makes his heart leap when it doesn’t drop at the sight of him. Instead, it softens, somehow getting warmer. “Hi,” he awkwardly greets, hand shooting up to the back of his neck. She breaths out, “Hey, I’ve been looking for you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. You disappeared on me the other day.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you would want to see me after you found out the truth.”

She whispers something to her co-worker and rounds the counter, taking off her apron on the way. She stands in front of him and takes his hand in hers. “I was a little upset at first, but then I realized that I couldn’t be mad at you. Do you want to know why?” she confesses. He nods his head like a child in anticipation. “Cause you are the Zach I want to be with. You helped me realize how much of an asshole Davis was to me. You treated me with so much love and made me feel safe.” Zach is ecstatic at her words and rushes forward to give her the kiss they have both been waiting for. It is soft but passionate, showing the need they both felt for each other. His arms round her body, engulfing her in the safety of his embrace. Zach Maclaren can’t believe he has found love with the girl he has always wanted.

#library #zach maclaren x reader #watchtowerlibrary

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watchtowerlibrary · 13 days ago

Text

In my veins || (Spencer Dutton au! x reader)

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N's hand had been proposed to by a well-off man eager to make her his fiancée. The girl was excited to get married, as she always wanted a wedding to remember and a husband who loved her, although in this case she didn't know him well, because it was an arranged marriage.

Y/N must travel to the Walker mansion to meet her future husband, and who better to take her there than the family's faithful foreman: Spencer Dutton.

The man who crawl under her skin just to bothered her.

Author's note: Hello! I want it to write something like from a long time ago, so here i am.

I need to tell you guys i haven't watched the show, but i got inspired by his character in 1923's, so I apologize if I write something wrong or that the character doesn't do; i'll try my best <3

P.S: This story is set in the 19th century.

《tags: fluff, enemies to lovers trope, angst, mentions of bad words and body parts, sexual tension, reader and spencer hating each other, +18》

It was a hot day.

Summer had arrived, and with it the perfect weather for Y/N to wear her floral dresses with fake underskirts that made her look even more extravagant and elegant. She liked dressing up, but even more so for this occasion.

Her father had given her the news a couple of days ago of the marriage arrangement between her and the Walker family's son, John. Although she didn't know him well, her heart couldn't contain the excitement of finally meeting the man of her dreams. The man who would become her husband.

She had always dreamed of falling in love with and marrying the Prince Charming from the stories her mother used to tell her, but she had never received many letters from suitors asking to meet the girl. So she wouldn't waste this opportunity.

Right now, she was waiting for the person who would take her to the Walker mansion, as it would take about a week to get there. Her housekeeper helped her carry her suitcases filled with fine clothes and everything she needed for the journey. Y/N couldn't hide her excitement and nerves at being so close to leaving and beginning this new experience in her life. She only hoped to meet James and that he would be a gentleman and love her as she was.

"My dear daughter, everything is ready for you to go," her father announces as he comes to her side. She smiles. "Everything will be fine. You just have to do your part and be the lady we taught you to be."

She nods.

"I will, Father. I just hope we have something in common," she says in a soft voice with a hint of emotion. "I don't know whether to talk to him about the books, or the plays we've seen. Do you remember the one about...?"

Her father looks at her disapprovingly.

"Darling, we already talked about this." She lowers her gaze, embarrassed. "No man likes a woman who babbles and talks nonstop about meaningless things. Just smile and be nice. Nothing more."

Y/N smiles feeling disappointed.

"I will, father" she says.

The carriage arrives a few seconds later, and she feels nervousness consuming her. Her housekeeper begins packing her belongings while she watches the foreman's back. Her father greets him politely and begins to discuss some things with him, while Y/N smooths her skirt.

"Y/N, my dear. Everything is ready for your departure," her father tells her, returning to her side. Now she notices how the rider begins to dismount from the seat. "I've decided to entrust you to my most loyal man, who will take you safely to the Walker's. Spencer, come here, man."

Y/N freezes as she sees the man walking confidently and indifferently toward them.

Spencer Dutton.

The man who, just by opening his mouth, made her blood boil with hatred. He made it his mission to mock her every chance he got, calling her a princess for living in luxury and never having picked up a shovel in her life, just because she had people who did everything for her and her family.

It wasn't Y/N's fault, of course. But Spencer enjoy seeing her angry, or atleast trying to look angry.

The man was handsome, that was something Y/N couldn't deny. The worst part was that he knew it, he knew it damn well and he didn't hesitate to use it against her, but he never went too far or made her feel uncomfortable. After all, this job was what provided him with food.

Spencer smirks in amusement and bows slightly to Y/N.

"Miss Y/L/N. It's a pleasure to see you," he says.

"Likewise" she says with a force smile.

"Dutton, I want you to get her to the Walker mansion without a scratch or a trace of fatigue. You know what's going to happen to you if you don't listen to me, kid."

Spencer plasters a tight smile on his lips.

"As if it's the last thing I do, sir. You have my word," the man promises.

The older man just smiles and kisses his daughter's head before disappearing without staying to say goodbye. Y/N is a little disappointed, but she knows he's a busy businessman, so she ignores the ache in her chest.

The man smiles at her and reaches out to help her into the carriage.

"May I?" he asks, his tone mocking.

Y/N rolls her eyes. "Don't think just because you're driving me means I'll let you get away with it, Dutton" she warns.

He laughs as if it's funny.

"Princess," he begins, leaning closer to her, "you know it's more fun that way. It's how our relationship works, right?"

Ignoring his hand, she climbs into the carriage on her own and waits for it to depart. It will undoubtedly be a long journey.

———

The sound of the horse galloping was the only thing heard on the road. Neither Spencer nor Y/N spoke to each other, their egos too big to put aside their differences. Y/N read a book while she felt the carriage move.

The truth is that their hatred for each other wasn't fully explained, but it mainly had to do with the class differences between them. While Spencer had to work his ass off to live, Y/N had everything without lifting a finger. It wasn't that Y/N was rude to the workers in her house; in fact, she was the only one in the family who treated them with respect and dignity. But Spencer had a fixation on Y/N, and that's why he bothered her so much.

Suddenly, the carriage comes to a screeching halt, and Y/N jumps, dropping the book from her hands. She rushes to stick her head out the carriage window, but Spencer's firm voice stops her.

"I don't want to fight, gentlemen," he says outside.

"Give us everything and you won't get hurt, man. You don't want to mess with us," says another deep voice.

Y/N is slightly startled by the tone of the conversation, and has an idea of what might be happening outside.

Before she can even move, she feels a gun placed against her temple. She freezes, her heart racing, and she immediately raises her hands in surrender.

"Look what we have here," the man says, still pointing the gun at her.

The stranger forces the girl out of the carriage, so she does so with trembling knees. It hadn't crossed her mind to have to live through this situation now, and she hated it.

The girl's frightened gaze meets Spencer's who doesn't take his eyes off her.

"She's a cutie, boss. What should we do with her?" The man moves his mouth to her neck.

"Hey!" Spencer warns, while the other man, who is apparently the boss, points a gun at him. "Take whatever you want, but leave her alone."

The disgusting man laughs, causing Spencer to clench his jaw.

"I'd say she's more worthy of us taking, huh?"

"What's in the carriage could let you live worry-free for the rest of your lives," he says in a firm voice. The pair of thieves seemed to be considering it, given the doubt on their faces. "Take everything, except her."

They didn't like the idea very much, but they finally agreed, letting their greed take over.

The bastard suddenly released Y/N, pushing her into Spencer's arms, who immediately caught her. In that moment, the hatred seemed to be camouflaged by the adrenaline of what was happening.

They remained like that for a few moments until they saw the carriage disappear, hearing the pair's triumphant laughter getting away with her belongings and food for the travel.

She immediately breaks away from Spencer and fixes her dress, blurting out in frustration.

"Oh my God, I had all my dresses and jewelry in there," she complains, sounding like a brat. "And the food. My books! What are we going to do now?"

Spencer snorts and starts walking away from her.

"Find a place to spend the night before it gets dark." he says.

Y/N chases after him, grabbing the hem of the only dress she has left.

"I can't walk that far in heels. It's the only pair of shoes I have left," she says, and he stops, turning suddenly and approaching her. "We need to do something, call for help... what do you think you're doing?!"

Spencer has lifted her over his shoulder, making sure the hem of the oversized dress doesn't ride up, so he wraps his arm around it.

"Spencer Dutton, you better put me down right now!" she orders, hearing a laugh escape his lips.

"It'll be a long walk to the nearest town. I say you settle in, princess," he offers as he continues walking.

Y/N opens her mouth indignantly to snap at him, but stops when she feels his arm around her body forcefully tuck her onto his shoulder. She sighs and tries to stay still to avoid falling, because she still doesn't trust the man.

Or maybe it's because she feels warmth when she feels his hand clinging to her waist.

Spencer, for his part, has a smile plastered on his face as he hears the girl's angry little snorts on his shoulder, every time he tried to make her fall. It was the closest the two of them had ever been to each other, and he was surprised Y/N didn't throw a tantrum to get him to stop holding her.

"Tell me, princess," he says, moving forward, "what is the name of your dream man?"

Y/N seems interested in that question after being silent for a couple of minutes on the road.

"James Walker," she answers simply. Spencer lets out a laugh. "What are you laughing at, if I may ask?"

"I just realized you only know his name; you don't even know what this James guy looks like," he replies.

Y/N frowns, ready to intervene, but she's left wondering how true his words are.

"I'm sure he's more of a gentleman and handsome than you," she says with a shrug, without him seeing her.

Spencer nods. "I hope you're right, because I'd hate to see you make a mistake and be disappointed that your future husband is an old man."

Y/N lightly pats his back, falling silent. And she just hopes that James Walker isn't an old man. At all.

———

They arrive at a tavern that has rooms available for the night. On one hand, she's relieved to have a place to sleep, but on the other, she feels uncomfortable feeling the gaze of several men on her while Spencer eats the food with his hands as if they're chasing him.

She grimaces at her plate.

"You could at least have some table manners," she chides the man, who looks up at her. "Is this how you behave around a lady?"

He lets out a laugh and pops a piece of bread into his mouth.

"I don't usually behave around them. They say the like it that way," he says, his words hinting at something else.

Y/N blushes and looks away from the man, who seems amused by her reaction. She doesn't understand why she suddenly feels a heat spread through her stomach when she imagines him like that.

"Eat," he says, looking at her plate without touching it. "Later, your stomach will hurt from not eating."

"I highly doubt it's because of that and not because of how the food was made," she says, eating a piece of bread.

Not even five seconds pass before a man approaches their table to flirt with Y/N.

"Hey, beautiful," the man says, "what's a lady like you doing in a place like this?"

Spencer clears his throat and looks at him seriously.

"She's with me," Spencer says firmly.

For some reason, Y/N feels a sense of satisfaction when she hears those words come out of his mouth. The other man laughs mockingly and spits on the floor. Y/N backs away a little, feeling uncomfortable. She'd never been so exposed to this kind of environment, and she now understands why.

"I could make you feel better, miss," the redhead says with a disgusting smile. "You look miserable next to this idiot."

Spencer suddenly stands up from the table and towers over the redhead in front of him by several inches. The difference between them is noticeable, with Spencer looking more toned and muscular compared to the other. Y/N senses a tension between them and hears how the atmosphere seems to quiet down and focus on both men, who stare at each other defiantly. The girl stands up and stands between them, placing a hand on Spencer's chest, who continues to stare at the redhead.

"Spencer, it's better if we go to the bedroom. It's not worth fighting over this," she tells him.

Spencer lowers his gaze to her for a few seconds and seems to soften his gaze when he feels the touch of Y/N's fingers against his chest, since the top buttons of his shirt are undone. Then, he nods with his head.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. She's just a little bitch," the redhead says mockingly.

Spencer turns around and punches the other guy in the nose. Y/N backs away and watches as Spencer takes care of him, encouraged by the other men in the bar. The girl doesn't interfere because she knows it'll be pointless to even separate them, so she waits for them to finish. After a few seconds, the brunette drops the redhead on the floor, complaining about having his nose broken. Spencer licks his lips and goes to grab his jacket and hat, taking Y/N's hand to lead her to the room they rented for the night.

Entering the room, Spencer locks the door while Y/N paces the room, frantically mumbling.

"I can't believe what beasts you men are," she says. "The guy could have killed you."

Spencer lets out a laugh, leaving his garment on the chair.

"He didn't even have a chance," he replies, going to sit on the bed.

Y/N rolls her eyes and takes the cloth from the pocket of her dress that she always carries with her and wets it with the water from the wall faucet. While she does this, Spencer takes off her shirt.

"I can't believe we've already been robbed and had a fight. What's next, huh? I don't even want to know, no..." Y/N turns around and freezes when she sees Spencer shirtless and smoking a cigarette.

The man looks at her amused, seeing her paralyzed, standing a few feet away from him.

"What's wrong? Have you never seen a man without a shirt?" Y/N clears her throat and approaches him, sitting on the bed and gently running the handkerchief along the corner of Spencer's lip, while he looks at her intently.

"You're an idiot," she says simply, ignoring the heat spreading to her cheeks.

"You've already told me that, but what else?" Y/N ignores him and continues cleaning the wound, avoiding looking at his hairy chest.

After a while, they get ready for bed, and Y/N remains in her dress sitting on the bed while Spencer arranges a pillow and blanket on the floor. She was going to be a married woman in a few days and couldn't share the bed with him, not to mention the fact that she hated him enough to let him be so close to her.

Spencer stares at her.

"You're not going to sleep in that, are you?" Y/N looks at him.

"No, of course not," she says immediately. "It's just... I can't undo it in the back."

After a few seconds, he says:

"Stand up,"

She frowns and stands up. He takes her by the waist and turns her around, starting to work on the knots of her corset so she can remove it more easily. Y/N stills as she feels his fingers skillfully working the knots, and when he finishes, she allows herself to let out the breath she'd been pent up.

"Thank you," she says, turning her back on him.

Spencer makes a sound in his throat and lies down on the floor to sleep, ignoring the tingling he feels in his fingers after nearly touching her. Only a layer of clothing separated him from her skin.

———

They continue their walk early in the morning, but first they decide to go to the town market to see if they can get something to eat.

Spencer had spent what was left of his money on the room rent, so they didn't have any breakfast.

"It's impossible," he says, coming up to the girl's side. "No one wants to give us even a piece of bread. And I won't steal, so let's go."

Y/N bites her lip and suddenly has an idea.

"Wait here. I have an idea." Spencer frowns slightly as he watches the girl wander through the stalls with a sweet smile, chatting with the vendors.

What surprises the man is how easily he notices the girl is given fruit, bread, and a little water. After a moment, she arrives at his side, acting nice to people, her hands full of food and a triumphant smile.

"Our breakfast," Spencer smiles and rolls his eyes in amusement.

"I would have avoided embarrassment if you'd thought of it first, Princess," he says, taking an apple from the girl and helping her with the rest of the things.

She shrugs. "That's why I'm smarter than you."

They both continue on their way, breakfast, lunch, and dinner ready for the day. After that, they both seem more comfortable with each other's presence. Y/N talks more with Spencer, leaving the teasing comments aside. With a twinkle in her eye, she tells him about a book she just finished reading, which she'd lost after being stolen.

"It's a beautiful love story, where the girl ends up with the person she least imagined she'd end up with," she tells him with a hopeful smile.

"Who's the lucky one?" Spencer asks, giving her a sideways glance.

"Her faithful guard," she answers timidly. "The one who protected her and took her everywhere without anything happening to her."

Spencer makes a sound with his mouth, to which Y/N looks at him amused.

"Sounds like me, doesn't it?"

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"It could be..." she begins to play along, "but he was more polite and tender with her, something you lack."

Spencer chuckles. "Oh, princess. How you enjoy making me suffer."

They both share a laugh.

He tells her some things about his life, as they arrive at a small river that can be heard in the silence of the road. The water is crystal clear and feels refreshing compared to the heat burning the back of their necks. Y/N feels the dress stick to her skin from the sweat running down her body, reminding her once again that it's time to get clean.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Spencer begin to remove his clothes, leaving them on the floor without a care in the world.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asks, watching as the man proceeds to take off his pants.

She looks away.

"I should take advantage of the water to get rid of the smell; the heat doesn't help much," he replies, and Y/N hears him jump into the water.

The girl turns around and can see the water reaching the beginning of the V-line of his body. She takes a few steps and sits down at the edge of the river, feeling the heat of the dress growing. She doesn't know if it's because of the weather or something else.

"Come on. Get in. You're not thinking of sitting in the sun until you burn to death, are you?" Spencer questions, swimming until he is in front of her, immersed in the water.

"I can't go in there naked. I'm getting married in a couple of days. What would people think of me if they knew I was naked with another man in the river?"

Spencer raises an eyebrow and shrugs.

"There's no one here," he says in a low, almost dangerous tone. "Just you and me."

The girl decides to do so, unable to bear the sticky feeling of her body any longer. She stands up and begins to remove her dress as best she can, struggling to undo the knots. The she hears the water moving and notices Spencer approaching her to help her.

"You could just ask for help, you know?" he says in a suggestive tone.

Y/N turns around and lets him take care of the garment. If he had offered help a few days ago, she would have flatly refused, but now that she was alone with him, she had no choice but to accept. After a few seconds, she feels the garment fall from her body and holds the dress to keep it from falling. Y/N turns to look at the man and notices the closeness between them, then notices the drop of water running down his bare chest.

She clears her throat. "Thank you," she says in a soft voice.

Spencer smiles sideways.

"I'm starting to get used to hearing you say thank you to me." Y/N can't help but smile.

He mimics her and crosses his arms in front of her, revealing his much more defined arms, making her wonder what it would feel like to be surrounded by them in a hug. She pushes those thoughts out of her head and clears her throat.

"I don't want you to see me," she tells him.

Spencer lifts his hands and begins to walk backwards until he gets back into the water, then turns around to give the girl space. She decides to stay in her underwear and puts one foot in the water, then her whole body in.

"You can turn around," she says.

The man turns around and stares at her, while she stays on the edge of the lake away from him.

"I don't bite," he mocks.

Y/N shakes her head. "I'm fine here," she declares.

Spencer laughs and begins to swim deeper, suddenly sinking while the girl watches.

"I won't fall for that." But Spencer doesn't float for a while, which worries the girl. "Spencer, it's not funny."

She swims to the spot and sees no sign of the man.

"Spencer!" She starts to worry and tries to search or feel the man's body, but it's in vain. "Spencer!"

Her heart races until she feels arms wrap around her waist, making her jump. Spencer's husky laugh makes her spin, held in the man's arms.

"It's not funny," she says, hitting his chest a couple of times before Spencer's hand wraps around hers to stop her.

"Were you worried about me, Y/N?" he asks, getting closer to her.

She catches a glimpse of the man's lips and shakes her head.

"Of course, you still have to take me to the Walker mansion."

Spencer brushes a strand of hair from her forehead, while the girl feels a shiver run through her body at the small gesture. He doesn't seem to want to let her go, and he's having a mental debate about him as he begins to feel more strongly about the girl in his arms.

———

After that moment, something had changed in their dynamic. The tension that began to build between them was palpable, shifting from the hatred they felt for each other to—so to speak—the acceptance of being with each other. All those touches, those subtle glances, and the racing hearts were turning into a pleasant sensation. A warm one, too, every time their hands brushed on the way to the nearest place to spend the night again. Silence had found them again on the road, but this time it was a pleasant silence, even though it still revealed certain emotions.

Y/N stood with her back to Spencer, carefully and gracefully arranging her dress, placing it on the chair. The man watched her for longer than he should have, recalling the feeling of having her so close to him at the lake. He was a man after all, and although his mother had raised him to be a gentleman, he couldn't help but glance at the girl's breasts, which were visible when they both got out of the water.

"So..." he begins. She turns away, and he avoids eye contact, thinking that if he does, he'll be unable to control his urges. "Are you excited about tomorrow?"

Y/N doesn't understand what he's talking about at first, but then she realizes he's talking about meeting her future husband. The truth is, she'd been forgetting the real reason for this trip, mostly because Spencer's company and everything they'd experienced together these past few days.

"Oh, that. Mhm, yeah," she says hesitantly. "I'm excited."

A smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes rests on her face. Spencer looks up and notices it, feeling her heart weigh.

"That's... that's good," he says, clearing his throat. He seems to want to say something else, but decides not to. "He'll be lucky to know you, Y/N."

She smiles faintly and licks her lips.

"It's not that big a deal," she says, playing with her fingers.

"It is," he chimes in confidently. "Anyone would be lucky to call you theirs."

Spencer turns around to take off his shirt and set it aside.

"Even you?" she ventures, which leaves the man frozen in place.

Y/N approaches him, while his back is still to her. He swallows and closes his eyes with a heavy sigh.

"Y/N..." he warns, turning and looking into her bright eyes.

"You can't ignore what's happening," she tells him. "I've been feeling it for days. And I know you have too."

"Y/N, you know it's not right. And you can't change the way you feel about someone overnight," he replies with a confident tone, or so he tries to. "We hated each other, remember?"

"Yes..." she says in a low tone, moving closer to him. "I remember. I still hate you."

Spencer lowers his gaze to her lips for a few seconds and curses himself for doing so, because now he wants to kiss them.

"I've been having doubts about what I want for myself," she confesses, and he listens attentively. "I don't know this man, and my father never listens to what I really want. I'm afraid of not knowing the world for myself and deciding what I want."

Spencer looks at her attentively and understands what she means. He decides to place his hand on her cheek.

"You are capable enough to do everything you set your mind to and more. Don't be afraid to express what you feel or avoid doing things because your father won't let you. You are incredible, Y/N. You are a great woman." he says sincerely.

Y/N smiles, feeling the tears in her eyes. Spencer quickly wipes one away with his thumb.

"So... can I say what I want?" she asks, looking at his lips. Spencer nods, trying to resist the urge to grab her and kiss her right away.

"Spencer. I want you." Spencer leans his face closer to hers, their noses touching.

He slides a hand around her waist and pulls her closer, leaving no space between their bodies.

"Be clear that if we start this, I'm afraid I won't be able to let you go," he says as he strokes the girl's back. "I won't be able to take you to that Walker guy, and I won't be able to watch you marry that bastard, because I'll want you for myself."

Y/N smiles against his lips as she moves her hands up to his bare chest, sending shivers down his spine.

"Then take me"

And it's enough for Spencer to devour her mouth and press her against his body, hearing the girl gasp at the action. Y/N clings to his shoulders as she feels a heat spread through her stomach, continuing through her lower intimate area.

Spencer lowers his hands to the girl's butt, pulling her closer to him and feeling his member rub against her stomach. Spencer takes her in his arms and sits with her on his lap on the bed. They lock lips again for a long time, exploring each other's bodies with their hands, he possessively grabbing every corner of her body. She pulls away from him enough to begin pulling her underwear down her torso and freeing her breasts. It doesn't take the man five seconds to suck on one and massage the other with his hand, while the girl throws her head back.

"Spencer," she moans, grabbing strands of his hair and tugging at the sensation of him sucking on her breasts.

"Yeah, princess?" he says in a raspy voice "Yo like that?"

"Hmh" she says in a moan.

"I need you to tell me. In words, gorgeous," he says, pulling away to look at her, immersed in pleasure.

"Yes.... I like it, Spencer," she says, hugging him to keep him going "Please, i need you"

Spencer laughs softly and continues playing with her tits. Then, he feels her begin to move in his lap, feeling his member harden at the touch. He moans and grabs her waist with his hands to keep moving her.

"Princess, you're going to drive me crazy," he says, and she smiles shyly. He finishes pulling down her underwear, leaving her naked before him. "See what you do to me? Feel it, princess."

She moans and nods, starting to feel how wet she is in his pants. Spencer kisses her and doesn't leave her side when he leans her onto the bed with him on top of her. He takes off his pants, leaving his erect penis on her stomach, and she licks her lips at the image of him, hard and big, and wonders if he'll fit her.

Spencer teases her by rubbing his tip against her pussy, kissing her lips again and swallowing the moan she lets out. Spencer intertwines one hand with hers, lifting it to rest on top of her head, while with the other he works to mold her pussy and prepare her for him. She moves her hips to continue feeling him and find relief from the pleasurable pain of having to wait for him. Spencer pulls away from her and places a kiss on her forehead.

"Believe me, I want to go crazy with you, but I'll be gentle. It's your first time, and I want you to enjoy it," he tells her, and she nods, feeling excited and nervous at the same time. "Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

She moves her head and, with her free hand, grabs onto his shoulder. Spencer enters her as gently as possible and notices the pain on her face at the new sensation. He begins to move slowly so she can get used to it, feeling how tight and wet she is. After a few seconds, Y/N feels a delight in the movement and her legs wrap tightly around his waist, opening herself wider to feel him completely.

"Spencer," she moans, closing her eyes.

"Yeah, baby? Are you alright?" he asks, continuing to move his hips, feeling her deeper.

"Move faster" she begs.

He moans loudly upon hearing her say this and quickly moves, listening to their bodies crash against each other. She whimpers, feeling a sensation in her pussy with each thrust he makes. Then she feels the hand entwined with Spencer's as he moves down to feel her stomach.

"Do you feel that? You're taking me so deep and delicious, princess," she moans with pleasure, and he kisses her lips, each time feeling the expected climax approaching. "You're doing so well. You'll almost feel yourself letting it all go. It'll feel delicious, I promise."

Y/N kisses him and feels his tongue explore the cavity of her mouth as their bodies move in sync.

She feels herself about to let go, and she can't hold it in any longer.

"I can already feel it coming, Spencer," she says against his lips.

He moans and begins to speed up his movements, touching her deepest spots.

"Yes, princess. Let it go, cum for me."

And the feeling of letting it all out and cumming is the most pleasurable thing Y/N has ever felt in her life. He takes it all like a champion claiming his prize, moving a few more times inside her before pulling out and releasing all his cum onto her thigh. Spencer drops his head to Y/N's breasts and kisses them softly while she catches her breath.

"That was.... amazing" she whispers.

Spencer looks up to her and smiles.

"Did it feel good?" She nods, and he kisses her passionately and lovingly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it as much as I did."

Spencer settles in to open the bed sheets and cover her and him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her face to face. She gently caresses his face, and he strokes her thighs, trying to clean the traces of him off her.

"What do we do now, Spencer?" she asks.

"What do you want to do, princess?" Y/N smiles.

"Now I want to stay like this for a while." Spencer kisses her lips, tasting her, feeling the girl melt before him.

"We can stay here for a while, yeah," he declares. "But what about that Walker guy, huh?"

She smiles amused. "He can keep waiting."

Spencer kisses her, and they both sink into the heat of the moment, enjoying each other's bodies and the feelings they can no longer deny.

#library #spencer dutton x reader #watchtowerlibrary

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watchtowerlibrary · 14 days ago

Text

Don't Ignore Me

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

Ava narrows her eyes in mock suspicion. “You give him head pats and scratches.” You furrow your eyebrows. Okay, yes… you did that. You often ran your fingers through his hair. But it wasn’t weird! It was soothing for both of you. “And?” “You take him on walks to the park,” Ava adds, arms crossing with dramatic flair. So what? You liked to walk off the stress after a long day with your hot boyfriend. And Bob liked you. And sunshine. And trees. And squirrels. Okay, that wasn't helping. Or You pull away from Bob because you're scared you're treating him like a dog and he confronts you about it.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Bob and reader have a misunderstanding, established relationship, reader is Bob's safe space and vice-versa, Bob being cute

WC: 1.6k

A/N: Link to the request here!

♡♡♡

You hadn’t known true comfort until you started dating Bob.

Falling asleep to the sound of his breathing and waking up to his hair on your cheek felt like living inside a dream you never wanted to end.

You’re sitting with him in the living room, music playing softly in the background, a discarded book on his lap as he relaxes against you. Your fingers card through his hair absently, soothing and repetitive, as you massage and scratch his scalp. The tension from his body disappearing with a pass of your hand, Bob felt like it was magic.

Though he thought everything you did was magic. Whether you were cooking dinner or just tying your shoes, he’d follow you around without even intending to, like a sunflower chasing the sun.

You were funny without trying, a little chaotic, beautiful, and had a knack for making the best out of a bad situation.

How could he not?

Even before you two started dating, you were a source of comfort for him.

You’d found him wandering up and down the halls of Avengers Tower like a little ghost when you popped your head out of your room and said, “A little late for a walk, isn’t it?”

He jumped, startled. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Bob wasn’t feeling great that night, his mind louder than he could bear, thoughts pinging off the inside of his skull.

“Not at all,” you said softly. You didn’t pry, or judge, or push. Just offered friendship. “Wanna hang out?”

And before he knew it, he was lying beside you on your bed, sharing quiet snacks and listening to you tell him stories.

“...and ever since that day, I’ve been scared of parakeets,” you finished with a shrug, like it wasn’t the most bizarre confession he’d ever heard. He let out a soft laugh as your fingers found their place in his hair, slow and soothing, like you already knew exactly what he needed.

Each stroke quieted the noise in his head. The bad thoughts dulled under your touch.

So your relationship has always been a two-way street.

He needed you just as much as you needed him.

It’s not long before you’re hearing soft snores fill the living room. Bob’s now fast asleep on your lap, his weight warm and heavy like a blanket. And you had to say no other blanket could compare.

Ava enters the room, slowing at the doorway at the familiar sight of you and Bob all cuddled up, tangled in each other.

“Not a word,” you murmur without looking up, already feeling the grin tugging at her lips.

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave you two to it,” she says, waving a hand as she walks toward the kitchen. Then she pauses, smirking. “He’s like your dog.”

“What?” you whisper sharply, eyes widening as you try to limit your freakout, God forbid you woke him up. “That’s absurd.”

Ava narrows her eyes in mock suspicion. “You give him head pats and scratches.”

You furrow your eyebrows. Okay, yes… you did that. You often ran your fingers through his hair. But it wasn’t weird! It was soothing for both of you.

“And?”

“You take him on walks to the park,” Ava adds, arms crossing with dramatic flair.

So what? You liked to walk off the stress after a long day with your hot boyfriend. And Bob liked you. And sunshine. And trees. And squirrels. Okay, that wasn't helping.

“You also carry snacks for him. And the way he looks at you like his tail is wagging, the way he waits by the elevator after your missions like a golden retriever waiting for its human—”

“Okay, okay, I get it…”

“I’m surprised you don’t call him your good boy.”

The absurd amount of proof was starting to pile up.

You glance down at Bob, still sleeping peacefully, arms curled around your waist, lips parted slightly in a soft breath.

Maybe Ava had a point.

You had a lot of re-evaluating to do.

♡♡♡

Bob’s confused.

All day, you’ve been off.

He woke up next to you, and instead of your usual good-morning ritual, your hands in his hair, lips brushing his forehead, you gave him… a high-five?

Then at lunch, you sat across from him instead of next to him. You barely made eye contact. Your responses were clipped, your laughter so awkward it sounded almost robotic. Every attempt he made to touch your hand, your arm, anything, dodged like a pro in a dodgeball tournament.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked.

“Stretching? It’s uh… good for circulation,” you replied far too quickly, already taking a step backwards. “I should go,” you added, and just like that, you scurried off.

Then, when he swung by your room later with your favourite smoothie and suggested taking a walk in the park, something you usually jumped at, you hesitated.

He swears he saw you flinch, or wince, like the very idea poked a sore spot.

“Maybe another day…,” you said, avoiding his eyes.

And then the door clicked shut.

Leaving Bob standing there in the middle of the hallway, holding two smoothies with a heavy heart.

So he was confused, and a little hurt, but mostly scared. What if he did something wrong?

What if he crossed a line without realising it? What if you were trying to break up with him, but couldn’t say the words?

What if this was the beginning of the end?

♡♡♡

You find Bob standing by the window, arms crossed loosely, shoulders drawn tight. He’s staring out like the glass might offer him answers he can’t find anywhere else.

He hears your footsteps before you even speak, and turns around.

You freeze.

Before you can retreat into your room, maybe hide under your blanket and avoid the whole mess, he stops you with a soft but firm, “Hey…”

You give him a small smile, sheepish and hesitant. But he doesn’t return it.

He looks too sad to smile.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, right away with no hesitation or preamble.

You blink, completely startled. That’s not what you expected.

You’d been avoiding him because you thought you were the one in the wrong.

“Are you mad at me?” he continues, stepping closer. His voice cracks, almost imperceptibly.

His hands take yours, fingers curling around yours carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. They’re trembling.

“Bob…” you whisper, throat tightening. His eyes are glossy and so distraught, the dictionary definition of puppy dog eyes, and you feel unbelievably guilty. You never wanted to be the cause of that.

“I’m not mad at you,” you say, voice quiet. “I just…”

You pause, grasping for words, but they tangle before you can make sense of them.

How do you explain that you’re terrified you’ve been patting him like your little golden retriever?

“You don’t like me anymore?” he asks.

The words hit like a punch.

“No!” you blurt, eyes wide. “I like you so much, I don’t even know what to do with myself. I like your laugh, and the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention, and—and the way you sometimes snort when you’re falling asleep. I like everything that makes you you.”

His expression shifts, a flicker of hope in there, breaking through the sadness.

“I just… I haven’t been treating you right,” you continue, cringing at yourself. “I realised I’ve been acting like you’re this… this adorable creature. Like a dog. And I don’t want you to feel like I’m babying you or… or making you small.”

Bob blinks, stunned, then cracks a soft, incredulous smile. A little breath of laughter escapes him as he shakes his head. And all you could think was, how could he be laughing when you’re the world’s worst girlfriend?

“You don’t have to worry about that, okay?”

“How am I not supposed to worry?” you exclaim. “I take you on walks. I give you head scratches. I literally carry snacks for you, Bob!”

Sensing your rising panic, he steps forward and wraps his arms around you.

There’s no resisting it. The feel of him, the warmth of his chest and the steady beat of his heart. It all just melts you instantly. Bob Reynolds, the man you are.

“That’s just the way we show affection,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m okay with that. I like that.”

Then he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes.

“What I’m not okay with… is you ignoring me.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, gentle and steady.

“It hurt,” he admits. “Not being able to hang out with you. Not being able to touch you.”

A shiver crawls up your spine as he leans in, nuzzling against your neck like he’s trying to remind your skin of what it’s missed. His nose brushes the soft curve of your throat, and you exhale shakily. He really knew just how to make you feel weak.

Your heart drops straight to your stomach.

“I won’t push you away,” you say, instantly. Your hands tighten around his. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I just ended up… being stupid.”

Bob shakes his head gently. “You’re not stupid. You’re just… caring. And I love that about you.”

The words hit so softly, so sweetly, they leave you weightless, like your heart’s untethered and floating somewhere just above your ribs.

“But…” he adds, a playful glint flickering in his eyes, “you do have to make it up to me.”

You raise a brow, lips twitching. “How?”

Instead of answering, he leans in and kisses you. It’s slow and deep, making your heart flutter and skip a beat or two. The kind of kiss that makes your knees forget how to function. And before you can recover, he lifts you effortlessly into his arms.

You squeak a little, arms looping around his neck. “Bob—!”

He’s just far enough to grin against your mouth, your noses brushing.

“We’ll figure it out.”

Main Masterlist || Marvel Masterlist

#library #bob reynolds x reader #watchtowerlibrary

2K notes · View notes

watchtowerlibrary · 15 days ago

Text

that's what i like

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

It's impossible to teach when you’re hopelessly, irreversibly, maddeningly in love with the one you’re training. “So what now?” he asks, rolling up his sleeves. Big mistake. Huge mistake. Because now you’re at serious risk of going into full cardiac arrest. You didn’t even know you had a thing for forearms until Bob Reynolds. And his? They’re absurd. Or You love everything Bob does, and he doesn't seem to notice.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, love confessions, friends to lovers, Bob and reader being cute, thirsting over the void a little

WC: 3.1k

A/N: Thank you again to @fire-joestar for the request/idea. Wrote something with the same kind of concept for John Walker, linked here. Enjoy!

***

Bob Reynolds is ruining your life.

Not in the dramatic, villain-of-your-story kind of way, but in the slow, quiet unravelling of your sanity. It’s too hard to be around him with all the smiling and casual charm and accidental intimacy that he does without even realising it.

And it’s always the little things which somehow make it worse.

His voice, for one. You were obsessed with his voice. He could be reading the back of a cereal box or listing off the ingredients in engine coolant, and it would still sound like poetry. Sometimes he’d actually read to you. You and Bob were the only members of the unofficial Avengers book club.

You’d often talk about books you’d read, trading recommendations like secrets, excitedly dissecting plot twists and favourite characters. It became a quiet ritual between you and Bob.

“There’s no audiobook,” you groaned one night, holding up the newest paperback in your stack. “I was hoping to listen to one so I could fall asleep.”

Bob, ever the calm in your chaos, looked over at you with that soft little smile he always wore when he was about to offer something way too generous.

“I can read it to you,” he said, casual like it wasn’t the most heart-stoppingly sweet thing you’d ever heard.

You blinked. “You sure you don’t mind?” you asked, voice tinged with both hope and hesitation.

But he just shook his head, already pulling a chair up beside your bed, brushing off any notion of it being a burden. “Not at all.”

His voice was too much. It filled the space in your room like a blanket. He didn’t touch you, not once, just sat a few feet away reading by the soft light of your bedside lamp. But somehow it still felt intimate, like his voice alone was petting you gently, like fingertips tracing down your spine, calming every frayed nerve.

But his voice wasn’t just soothing, it was sexy. You’d never tell him or the other Avengers this because of the whole traumatic experience and whatnot, but even when he became the void, his voice was something else.

It was dark and mocking, and it had you feeling some kind of way, only a little, because people were literally being turned into shadows and living out their trauma. But still, it pulled at something deep inside you and maybe made you discover a few things about yourself. Maybe something you should be concerned about, but nevertheless...

Although his voice isn’t the only thing that’s contributing to your downfall.

Just this morning, you’re barely awake and walk in to be greeted by the sight of Bob making breakfast, one of your favourite sights.

“Morning,” you mumble, suppressing a yawn.

“Morning…” he replies with an easy smile, going about his routine, setting up to make breakfast.

“Thank you, Bob,” you say, turning to him, feeling completely in control, your head still firmly attached to the rest of you.

But then you catch something, he’s cracking eggs one-handed. Now, you don’t know why that’s so captivating. Maybe it’s how strong and big his hands look, maybe it’s the effortless confidence in the motion. Or maybe it’s just because you’re so hopelessly in love with him that everything he does feels like it’s dipped in gold.

Either way, you liked it. A lot more than you probably should’ve.

“You could crack me like an egg,” you mumble quietly to yourself.

“Did you say something?” Bob asks, not hearing what you said, thank goodness.

“No, nothing at all. You’re looking good, the... the breakfast is looking good, I mean…” You stumble over your words, cheeks warming as you try to play it cool.

This crush you had on him certainly didn’t help when you had to help him train. He was like a baby cow, clumsy, unsure, and somehow always one step away from falling over his own feet. And everything he did just made him that much more endearing. The way he bit his lip when he was concentrating, the little apologetic smiles when he missed a step or fumbled a move, the way he always tried again without complaint. It was everything.

“You have to…um you have to…” You start, but your voice trails off as you catch the way he’s looking at you.

Another one of Bob’s quirks that has you going feral… the eye contact. He’s always so focused, so intent, like he’s really watching you, really seeing you. His eyes hold this sharp, unwavering attention that’s equal parts intense and disarming. It totally throws you off your game.

You’re brought back to your senses by him saying your name repeatedly.

“Where’d you go?” he says, putting his hand on your shoulder. You shake off the Bob-induced daze and look at him with full attention.

“I’m too hopeless a student?” He asks.

“Rather, I’m too hopeless of a teacher,” You reply with a chuckle, and it was true. It's impossible to teach when you’re hopelessly, irreversibly, maddeningly in love with the one you’re training.

“So what now?” he asks, rolling up his sleeves.

Big mistake.

Huge mistake.

Because now you’re at serious risk of going into full cardiac arrest.

You didn’t even know you had a thing for forearms until Bob Reynolds. And his? They’re absurd. The veins, the muscle, the smooth strength of his arms just disappearing under the fabric of his shirt. You can only imagine what his biceps look like. Or his shoulders. Or—

You shake your head quickly, trying to banish the rapidly spiralling thoughts. You know Bob is probably confused, waiting for an answer, but your eyes? Yeah, they’re glued to his damn forearms.

Damn his forearms.

“Break,” you blurt. “Ten-minute break. Minimum.”

Before he can respond, you practically launch yourself toward the water fountain, needing a distraction, a cooldown, and maybe divine intervention.

You take a long drink, trying not to think about veins. Or rolled-up sleeves. Or Bob at all.

But Bob lived in your mind; he had taken up residence there as soon as you met, and he wasn’t moving out anytime soon. It wasn’t fair that he was cute but also kind and helpful? It made you want to crash into a wall.

You were struggling with a particularly stubborn jar, the kind that mocks you with every twist. You could fight ten people with one hand tied behind your back, balance complex equations in your head, but you couldn’t defeat this jar of pickles.

Bob appears, quiet as ever, and silently offers to take it from your hands. You hesitate, then sigh and surrender.

He reaches over, his hand brushing yours, and takes it. In one fluid motion, he opens it like it's nothing. Like it hadn't just reduced you to near madness. Like your struggle had never even happened.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely making it past your lips.

He smiles softly, unbothered, warm. “What are friends for?” he says, placing his hand gently on your shoulder. It’s a brief touch that somehow says more than the words. And then he disappears down the hall, like it was nothing.

Right… friends.

***

You’re wandering the tower again. When you have nothing to do, your feet always seem to lead you to Bob.

You knock on his door, and after a muffled "Come in," you step inside.

You look around and there he is, shaving in front of a small mirror propped up on the windowsill.

“Hope I’m not intruding…” You say hesitantly.

He glances at you through the mirror, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His hair is slightly damp and tousled, a few strands falling stubbornly into his eyes. He’s probably just stepped out of the shower a few minutes prior, the smell of his shampoo and lotion filling the air.

He’s holding a razor, face half-lathered, brow furrowed in concentration. You liked him like this, all cute and focused. There was something about the way he moved with such care, guiding the blade with precise, practised strokes. It was intimate in a way you couldn’t explain.

“You don’t have to, but can you help me?” Bob asks, voice gentle but sure.

“Sure,” you reply, stepping closer.

And again, you’re hit with that electricity that crackles between you when your eyes meet. He watches you, patient and open, and you always wonder if he realises just how much that look affects you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” you whisper, picking up the towel and dabbing away some stray foam. Your hand is steady now, more confident, and with it comes a strange kind of comfort. The scent of him surrounds you, clean, warm, a little woodsy. It was comforting and something else, too. You wanted to dive into it. To stay wrapped up in that scent, in him. You could only imagine waking up to your sheets smelling like him.

How the hell was the way he smelled even sexy?

“You smell good,” you say, without thinking.

You both go extremely still, equally flustered.

“So do you,” he finally replies, and there's another little pause. You stare at each other, your heart performing an Olympic-level gymnastics routine inside your chest.

“W–where’s your aftershave?” you ask, trying to find something to focus on that isn’t the intensity of his gaze.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice lower now.

You nod, quickly turning away. A second later, you’re back with the bottle in hand. You open it, the scent hitting you all over again, it’s undeniably him.

Without asking, you step closer and start applying it for him, your fingers brushing gently against his jaw, his cheek, his neck. Every feature, each line of his face, every angle was something you could get addicted to. A slow study of a man who somehow never felt like too much.

You glance up.

He’s standing still, letting you do it, but he’s no longer meeting your eyes.

Now he’s the one who can’t make eye contact.

And it’s… adorable.

He’s quiet under your touch, eyes lowered, breath just a little more shallow than before. You can tell he’s holding back. Holding himself still, as if afraid that leaning into your hand might unravel something he’s worked hard to keep together.

The way his lashes flutter when your fingers graze the curve of his jaw. The way his shoulders tense, then ease, like he’s trying not to sink into the warmth of being seen.

He’s touch-starved. You can feel it, not in desperation, but in the aching restraint. The way his fists clenched and unclenched as if to distract himself.

And you’re not much better off. Your hand lingers, thumb brushing the edge of his cheekbone, and you’re forced to get a hold of yourself.

“I’m, uh… all done,” you say, pulling your hands away from his face. You see the way his shoulders drop just slightly as he deflates, but you don’t read into it.

Bob nods, almost like he’s coming out of a trance. Like he can finally breathe again. “Well… thanks,” he says, voice soft.

You offer a quick, awkward smile, and then you’re scurrying your way out of his room like you’ve just committed a felony.

Because, honestly? Being that close to Bob felt like grounds for something dangerous. Emotional trespassing, maybe. Or reckless heart behaviour.

He was too fine for his own good.

And way, way too fine for your good.

***

Bob was always there for you, the most supportive presence anyone could wish for. So when you crashed into his room late at night, just as he’d finally started to fall asleep, he wasn’t mad. Not even close.

“There’s a spider in my room!” you declared, breathless and dramatic.

“It’s midnight…” Bob mumbled, mid-yawn, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Exactly! Imagine my surprise when it came lunging at me from inside my wardrobe. I tried to catch it, but the stubborn fucker escaped and crawled up my wall like it owned the place.”

He blinked at you, then sighed and swung his legs out of bed, already standing. His hair was messy, and his t-shirt clung a little unevenly from sleep. His steady steps led toward your door.

“It’s fine. You can hide behind me,” he said with a soft smile.

Then he casually and instinctively took your hand.

And just like that, something settled in your chest. His hand was warm, steady, and strong. His fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. You could’ve let him hold it for hours.

You followed closely behind, using him shamelessly as a human shield. “Where is it?” he asked, already scanning your room like a man on a mission.

“There,” you pointed, spotting the tiny monster halfway up the far wall. “That’s him. The bold bastard.”

Bob narrowed his eyes and, without hesitation, lifted gently off the floor. You blinked. It still caught you off guard, seeing him use his powers. You hadn’t seen him even float since that day. And now here he was, levitating to defeat a spider for you.

It was more than just endearing.

It was… kind of ridiculously attractive.

He could’ve pulverised it. Turned it to dust without blinking. But instead, he hovered close, cupped it carefully in his hands like it was something fragile, and opened the window to let it go.

Why the fuck was that so hot?

“Thanks…” you said softly, watching him touch back down, the faintest smile still on his lips.

He looked at you, all sleepy eyes and soft concern. “It’s no problem,” he said, his voice low. “Plus, I kind of liked saving you.”

Your heart did a little twist. You swallowed.

“This is… and you are completely within your right to say no, but…”

He tilted his head slightly, curious.

“Would you stay the night?” you asked, trying to sound casual. “You know. Just to protect me from any future spider insurgencies.”

His smile widened, just a little. “Well,” he said, moving closer, “can’t leave you defenceless now, can I?”

You smile and shift slightly, making enough space for him in the bed. He hesitates for only a moment before settling beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight.

You stare at him, his face softly illuminated by the distant glow of streetlights and the scattered lights of other buildings outside the window. His messy hair is fanned out against your pillow, and you can feel his body heat slowly merging with yours, a quiet warmth that pulls you in like gravity.

“Why’d you come and get me? Why not someone else?” Bob asks, his voice gentle as he turns toward you, rolling a little closer.

“You’re the one I want protecting me from evil spiders,” you answer honestly. No one else even came to mind. The moment you were scared or the least bit unsure, you could always turn to Bob. It was like instinct.

“Why?” he presses, softer this time. He’s not looking at you now, his gaze shifted to the ceiling. You take a moment to just look at him—his side profile, the way his jaw tenses like he’s bracing for something, the small crease between his brows.

“Because…” you begin, the words slow. You pause, focusing on all the little things you like about him. His kindness, his dry humour, his quiet strength, and the way he always seems to make you feel calm.

Maybe it’s because it’s too late at night. Maybe it’s the safety of the dark. Maybe it’s the way your brain feels hazy and open and ready.

But the next words out of your mouth are:

“I like you.”

Bob freezes for a second, then jumps just a little, like the words caught him off guard. He slowly turns his head to look at you, his expression unreadable at first.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just stares.

And you wait. Heart in your throat. Every second, stretching. Either he was about to tell you he felt the same… or this was the moment your friendship shattered.

“I like you too,” he says.

His voice is soft and low, like he’s afraid saying it too loud might wake him from a dream. But his eyes are steady. And you can tell that he’s telling the truth.

You scoot closer, close enough to feel the way your breath mingles.

“So…” you murmur, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile, “what should we do about this little situation we’ve got ourselves in?”

Your heart is pounding so loudly, you’re sure he can hear it.

He leans in just a little, voice almost a whisper.

“I think we know.”

Tentatively, he reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek with a touch so careful it makes your breath catch. He looks at you like really looks at you as if trying to memorise the moment, commit it to something deeper than memory.

You exhale, slow and steady, and let yourself give in. You lean forward until your lips finally meet.

It’s soft at first, the kind of kiss that makes your heart soar and your whole body ache with relief. Bit by bit, it becomes more passionate as you melt into one another. He deepens it, cupping your face fully in his hands, pulling you closer like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

And before you know it, you’re climbing into his lap, your arms around his shoulders, his hands steady at your waist. Everything feels like too much and just enough all at once.

He pauses, just barely pulling back, breath ghosting against your lips.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice husky, careful, but laced with something vulnerable.

You meet his gaze, no hesitation. You were in this for the long haul.

“More than anything.”

The next day, upon seeing Bob’s door wide open and no Bob anywhere to be seen, the team went into immediate panic mode. They searched high and low, worried he’d disappeared on them in the middle of the night.

“Have you seen—?” Yelena begins, swinging open your door mid-sentence, only to stop dead in her tracks at the sight of you and Bob fast asleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

The rest of the team crowds in behind her, eyes wide, jaws dropping.

You jolt awake at the sound, blinking in confusion as you realise the entirety of the Avengers are now in your doorway.

You shriek, diving under the covers and yanking them up to your chin to salvage whatever dignity you have left. “Privacy! Ever heard of it?!”

“Called it,” Ava and John say in perfect sync, like they just won a bet.

You groan, your entire face heating as you sink lower into the sheets, mortified.

Meanwhile, Bob? Still fast asleep, completely unbothered by the intrusion, his arm still draped across your waist like nothing’s changed. How is he sleeping through this?

You glance at him in disbelief, then back at the group.

“Can everyone get out now?!”

Yelena smiles. “We’re so happy for you two.”

“Out!”

Masterlist

#library #bob reynolds x reader #watchtowerlibrary

3K notes · View notes

watchtowerlibrary · 19 days ago

Text

between book pages and baked pies (r.r.)

summary : He came in on Thursdays. Always looking for new books to read. Always smiled like he didn’t quite belong anywhere. Then, you asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend for one night. And he said yes.

Then you found out he’s the Sentry —

and suddenly, pretending doesn’t feel so simple anymore.

pairing : robert 'bob' reynolds x reader / sentry x reader

content : basically just fluff, fakedating!au, fakeboyfriend!au

warnings : none

word count : 7k

Thursday, 10:43 am.

You glance up, and there he is.

You’ve seen him before. Always on Thursdays, always around the same time. Always with that same energy — like he doesn’t quite belong to this world, or maybe just doesn’t expect to be noticed in it.

He has messy hair, a too-worn jacket, and the kind of posture that says please don’t ask me anything, but I’m also not in a hurry to leave.

Today, for the first time, he meets your eyes.

You smile. “Back again. That’s three Thursdays in a row.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised you’ve been keeping count.

“…I like it here,” he says, voice quiet but not shy. Just gentle.

“Most people say that when they’re avoiding something,” you joke lightly, leaning your elbows on the counter. “Bad day?”

He shrugs. “It’s a day.”

Fair.

He heads toward the fantasy section, the same corner he always drifts to. You try not to stare — you really do — but it’s hard not to watch the way he slows down at the shelves like they’re familiar terrain.

After a few minutes, he returns with two paperbacks — both epic fantasy, both with weathered covers and dramatic titles like The Hollow Crown and Ash and Sovereign.

You ring them up, sneaking a glance. “You like the ones where the world almost ends?”

He gives a faint smile. “Sometimes I like when it doesn’t.”

You pause, curious. “You a writer?”

He shakes his head. “No. Just… a fan.”

“I get it,” you say, handing him the bag. “Books are a safer way to live dangerously.”

He smiles at that. A little more real.

Then, on impulse, you ask, “So, what do you do?”

He hesitates just a second longer than most people would.

“…Sometimes I help save the world,” he says, deadpan.

You blink. And then you laugh, because there’s something about the way he says it — so dry and sincere — that it’s obviously a joke. Or at least… you think it is.

“Wow,” you grin. “That’s bold. You a firefighter or a Marvel cosplayer?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Something like that.”

You hand him his receipt, eyes narrowing playfully. “Well, mysterious world-saver, if you ever want book recommendations, let me know. We’ve got a great section for heroes with identity crises.”

He nods, turning toward the door. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’s almost gone when he pauses and looks back.

“What’s your name?” he asks you, and you tell him.

He nods once. “I’m Bob.”

Then he’s gone.

The bell chimes again — sharper this time. Final.

You stand there for a moment, watching the door swing closed behind him. Then you shake your head and go back to restocking the display.

Still, for some reason, you keep thinking about him.

Bob.

⋆˙⟡

Your phone lights up with the most dangerous contact in your list: Mom.

You stare at it for a second, debating whether to let it go to voicemail.

Then you sigh, hit accept, and brace yourself.

“Hi, sweetheart!” your mom’s voice practically sings as you answer. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to use a phone.”

You smile, mouth full of lukewarm noodles. “Hi, Mom. You called me yesterday.”

“I know, I just missed you. So sue me.”

There’s a beat where you brace yourself. And sure enough—

“So, listen,” she continues, far too casually. “Next Saturday we’re doing dinner at our place. Just the usual — your aunts, cousins, possibly Grandma if we can coax her out of her crosswords. Nothing formal, but, you know, nice.”

“Mmhmm.” You sip your drink, waiting.

“We were thinking 6 o’clock. And of course we’ll do something vegetarian for you—oh, and listen, your cousin Chelsea is bringing that new boyfriend. Super cute. Works in finance. Wears suits on weekends. Can you imagine?”

There it is.

“Anyway,” she adds, far too lightly, “I just thought I’d ask — are you seeing anyone these days? Anyone worth bringing?”

You snort. “Bringing where? Into the lion’s den of a family dinner?”

“Oh come on,” she laughs. “We’re not that bad.”

You give her a look she can’t see. “Last time Aunt Diane tried to set me up with her neighbor’s chiropractor, and Uncle Marty asked if I’d frozen my eggs.”

“She meant well. He didn’t, but—still.”

You roll your eyes. “No, Mom. I’m not bringing anyone.”

“You’re not?” Her voice dips into gentle disappointment. “Not even just as a friend? You have such a sweet personality. I feel like people must just gravitate to you.”

You hum noncommittally, casually glancing toward your bookshelf. Your eyes drift to the spot where you keep returns and holds — including two fantasy books still waiting for a certain quiet customer to pick up.

You think of Bob, his soft smile, the way he said “Sometimes I help save the world” like it wasn’t even strange.

But you say nothing.

“Anyway,” your mom chirps on. “No pressure. Just… you know. You’re not getting any less amazing with time.”

“That’s not how time works, Mom.”

“Semantics. Just let me know, okay? We’ll keep a seat open. Just in case.”

You sigh and mutter, “Okay.”

She’s already launching into a story about a raccoon in the neighbor’s shed by the time you close your eyes and groan into your throw pillow.

You definitely don’t have a date.

You definitely don’t need one.

…But your brain is already wondering what Bob looks like when he’s not rain-damp and bookstore quiet.

⋆˙⟡

Tuesday, 11:07 am.

The bell over the door rings, and — like clockwork — you glance up.

There he is.

Bob.

Same as always, but also… not. His jacket’s still weathered, but he looks a little more put-together today. Hair slightly neater. Like maybe he didn’t get caught in a wind tunnel on the way over. Less cryptid, more mysterious traveler passing through town.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just gives a quick scan of the room before heading straight for the back... for the fantasy section. His usual.

You try not to smile.

Try.

“Tuesday this time?” you call out from behind the counter, tone light. “Switching it up?”

Bob glances over, mouth tugging up slightly. “Had some time.”

You nod, watching as his hand drifts over the table display near the entrance — new paperbacks, some with gold foil titles and overdramatic taglines. He doesn’t stop there long. Just a brush of his fingers across the covers before moving on.

“You sure it’s not just the emotionally damaged swordsmen calling to you again?” you add, moving toward a nearby shelf with a stack of returns.

He raises a brow, pausing in front of a familiar book. “Maybe I like consistency.”

“Bold choice in this economy.”

That gets you a huff of amusement, soft and unexpected.

He picks up The Lantern War — you know the one. Mid-trilogy. Sad prince. Betrayals. You’ve read it twice and cried both times. He opens it, flipping through the first few pages with surprising care, like he’s searching for something he might have missed the last time he held it.

You lean against a nearby shelf, casually.

“You know,” you begin, tone half-teasing, “you don’t talk much, but you’ve got this whole mysterious loner with a tragic past thing going on.”

Bob looks up — startled, but not annoyed. Just a little caught off guard.

“People pay for that kind of vibe on dating apps,” you add quickly, before you lose your nerve.

He blinks.

You wince. “Sorry. That was weird. I’ve just… been talking to my mom too much lately. She’s on this campaign to get me to bring someone to a family dinner and now I think I’m starting to project ‘potential boyfriend material’ onto every semi-normal customer.”

Bob doesn’t laugh, exactly — but something close. A breath. A smile. Small and real.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, gently placing the book under his arm.

You nod. “It was meant to be one.”

The air shifts then. Not awkward — not yet — but quieter. You both stand there for a beat too long, not speaking. The store is still around you: soft music playing low, dust motes catching in the light near the windows, the occasional creak of the building settling. Cozy, lived-in quiet.

You watch him for a second longer than you should.

He always lingers when he’s here. Not like he’s killing time. Like he’s… catching his breath.

You don’t say it — not aloud, not now. But something clicks. The beginnings of an idea. Stupid, insane, utterly desperate.

Still.

As he approaches the counter, you glance at him sideways.

He wouldn’t. That’s insane. Would he?

He pays in cash, always cash, and nods politely.

“Thanks,” he says.

“See you Thursday?” you ask, voice light, playful.

He pauses, then shrugs. “Maybe.”

You watch him step back out into the sunlight, his silhouette framed by the door before it swings closed behind him. The bell chimes again. He disappears down the street, a figure in motion.

And you’re still watching the door when the next customer steps up and gently clears their throat.

Right. Work.

You turn back to the register, hands moving automatically — scanning books, making small talk — but your brain’s somewhere else.

⋆˙⟡

“Hi, honey!” she sings the second you answer. “Don’t panic — this is not a ‘guilt you into bringing a boyfriend’ call.”

You snort. “You literally said the word ‘boyfriend’ in the first sentence.”

“Okay, technically,” she says, unfazed, “but I’m just calling about the family dinner this Saturday.”

You sigh and lean against the counter. “I know, I know. 6 p.m., casserole, deeply invasive questions from Aunt Diane—”

“Oh, speaking of Aunt Diane,” she says sweetly, which should’ve been your warning, “she knows this great guy from her pickleball league—works in insurance, divorced once, only a little bitter. She wants to bring him to dinner for you to meet.

Your stomach sinks.

You stare at your fridge like it might offer an escape hatch.

“I—Mom, no.”

“Well, honey,” she says, trying for innocent, “you haven’t said you’re bringing anyone. And if you’re still single—”

“I’m not.”

Silence.

Your heart drops into your socks. You scramble.

“I mean. I am. Seeing someone. Kind of. It’s been, like, a month.”

A pause. Too long.

“You are?” she says slowly.

You wince. “Yeah. I didn’t want to bring him because, you know, the whole interrogation-by-relatives thing. I didn’t want to scare him off. He’s… kind of shy.”

Your mom gasps like you just told her she’s finally getting a grandchild.

“Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me sooner?! What’s he like? Is he nice? Where did you meet? Does he like dogs?”

“Mom, calm down,” you say quickly, pacing now. “He’s just… quiet. And really kind. And, you know. Nice.”

You mentally kick yourself.

“Well, now you have to bring him,” she insists. “If he’s already survived a month with you, he’s clearly got staying power.”

You laugh sharply. “Gee, thanks.”

She chuckles. “I’m just saying — you never bring anyone. This is a big deal.”

You force a smile into your voice. “Let me talk to him first, okay? I’ll see if he’s up for it.”

“Promise me you’ll try.”

“…Promise.”

You hang up, staring at your reflection in the microwave door.

Mouth open. Brain screaming.

You just fake-dated someone in a conversation.

Now all you have to do is actually find someone to play the boyfriend you’ve apparently been dating for a month.

You think of Bob. The quiet guy who reads about broken heroes and once joked about saving the world.

And for some godforsaken reason…

…you think he might actually say yes.

⋆˙⟡

Thursday, 12:45 pm

It’s raining again.

Of course it is.

A slow, steady drizzle beads against the front windows, softening the city outside into watercolor shapes. Inside, the shop smells like paper and cedar polish, with a hint of peppermint from the tin you cracked open after lunch. A jazz cover of something vaguely familiar plays from the old speakers near the register, barely audible over the patter of rain and your quiet muttering.

“Two days late on the shipment, again, and if they swap my fantasy order with true crime one more time—” you grumble under your breath, balancing a stack of returns against your hip as you shuffle toward the front display. “Who even wants twelve copies of Stabbing for Dummies?”

You sigh, crouch to fit the bottom shelf, and toss a glance at the fogged-up door.

“I swear, if one more teenager asks where we keep the smut, I’m moving to the mountains. I’ll sell rocks. I’ll become a rock girl.”

The bell above the door chimes.

Right on cue.

You straighten just a little too fast and nearly drop a paperback. “Welcome in,” you call absently, trying to sound composed — but you already know.

It’s him.

You don’t need to look.

Still, you do — and there he is.

Bob stands just inside the doorway, rain misted in his hair, the shoulders of his dark green hoodie slightly damp beneath a black denim jacket. His jeans are worn in the knees. The laces of his boots are uneven. He looks like he walked through the rain on purpose, like the storm outside didn’t even try to stop him.

There’s a quietness to him that doesn’t feel awkward anymore. Just familiar.

“Back to your usual Thursday shift?” you ask, setting a book down and turning toward him fully now.

He gives a one-shoulder shrug. “It felt wrong not to.”

There’s something steadier about him today. He still carries that bone-deep kind of tired — like his body’s been holding something heavy for too long — but his gaze doesn’t flick away as fast when your eyes meet. He lets the quiet settle for a beat before moving deeper into the store.

You catch yourself smoothing your shirt before following him.

“Let me guess,” you say as he veers toward the back. “Fantasy section?”

“Always.”

You trail a few paces behind, grabbing a book that’s been reshelved in the wrong genre. There’s no one else in the store right now. Just the two of you, and the occasional whisper of rain against the windows.

He stops in front of a display and picks up The Sword Beneath the Throne. Studies the cover like it holds some secret he hasn’t cracked yet.

You rest your elbow against a shelf. “That one’s going to wreck you emotionally,” you warn, teasing. “But, you know. In a noble sacrifice kind of way.”

Bob glances over. “Good to know.”

You hesitate — just for a second. Then you inhale, let the moment linger, and say: “Hey… can I ask you something kind of weird?”

His eyes shift to yours — cautious, but open.

“Sure.”

You clear your throat, suddenly aware of every sound in the store. “So… hypothetically,” you begin, with what you hope is a breezy tone, “if someone were being — let’s say — aggressively pressured by their entire family to bring a boyfriend to a dinner—like, a big one—”

“Okay,” he says slowly, still holding the book.

“And they may or may not have panicked and told said family they’d already been dating someone for a month… someone who does not, technically, exist—”

Bob’s brow arches slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Go on."

“Would it be completely unhinged to ask you to maybe… pretend to be that person? Just for a night. Three hours max. There’s pie.”

Silence.

Bob doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t recoil.

He just watches you.

And you, of course, rush in to fill the quiet.

“I know it’s weird. And probably creepy. And I swear I’m not dangerous. You don’t even really know me. But you’re the only person I know who could pull off being quiet and normal enough to not scare my mom or make my aunts think I’m secretly dating a war criminal.”

His expression shifts — thoughtful now, not unreadable. Still holding the book, but not looking at it anymore.

“And if it helps,” you add quickly, “I already told them you’re shy. So you wouldn’t even have to say much. Just… look human. Maybe compliment the stuffing. Smile once. Pretend I’m charming.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

“Just for a night,” you say. “No pressure. No long con. Just mashed potatoes and survival.”

“…Because your mom threatened you with a pickleball player.”

You blink. “Wait. How do you—?”

“You talk while you shelve books,” he says simply, mouth quirking. “I pick things up.”

You gape at him for a beat. Then snort.

And then laugh. A real one. It escapes before you can stop it — bright and ridiculous and yours.

Bob… smiles.

It’s small. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it thing. But it’s there.

“So?” you say, biting your lip. “Would you consider it? I can’t offer much. Just pie. And probably embarrassing levels of gratitude.”

He sets the book down.

Looks at you.

A long moment passes.

“Okay,” he says.

You blink. “Wait — really?”

He nods, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Why not.”

“You didn’t even ask what kind of pie.”

“I trust your judgment.”

You squint at him. “You’re either the nicest person alive, or wildly unhinged yourself.”

Bob shrugs. “Can’t it be both?”

Something in your chest tightens — in a good way.

“Dinner’s Saturday,” you say softly. “At my parents’. Here's... the address?” you added as you handed him a yellow post-it note with your parent's address in red ink, which was actually written not even ten minutes before.

You wrote it thinking that there's an 80% chance he'll accept it.

And he actually did.

He nods. “Should I wear something nice?”

“Honestly,” you say, “if you show up looking like less of a cryptid than usual, my family will be thrilled.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He turns to leave, hood pulled up lazily as he disappears into the rainy street — a figure blurred by drizzle and glass.

And you?

You stand behind the counter, staring after him.

Your hands are a little shaky. Not from nerves.

From relief. And something else.

Excitement, maybe.

Because somehow, against all logic and odds —

Bob said yes.

⋆˙⟡

Saturday, 5:49 pm

“Not too much sugar,” your mom says over your shoulder, peeking into the mixing bowl as if she doesn’t trust you with a spoon.

You hold the measuring cup up dramatically. “Mom, you’ve raised me. If I die of poor pie proportions, it’s on you.”

She snorts and hands you the nutmeg. “Don’t tempt me.”

You smile, despite yourself. The kitchen is warm in that nostalgic way — cluttered, golden light filtering in through the curtains, something soft playing from the old speaker by the fridge. You’re elbow-deep in pie filling, sleeves rolled up, and trying not to think about how insane this all is.

You’ve told everyone you’ve been dating someone for a month.

That he’s meeting your family.

That he’s sweet and shy and real.

And in about fifteen minutes, Bob — your fake boyfriend — will be at the door.

You’re 85% sure he’ll show up. Maybe 90.

…Okay, 75.

“Do you need help with the crust?” your mom asks, and for once, she sounds like she’s trying not to pry.

You glance at her. She’s avoiding eye contact. She definitely wants to pry.

“Nope,” you say, pressing the dough into the pan. “Unless this is a metaphor for my love life, in which case, yeah, I could use a full support team.”

She hums noncommittally and starts slicing apples, her back to you.

“So,” she says, “you never told me how you met him.”

You hesitate. “The guy I’m—bringing tonight?”

She nods. “Mhm.”

You stall by rinsing your hands.

“It’s kind of a quiet story,” you say carefully. “We kept running into each other. Same place, same time. It just… kind of happened.”

“Hm.” She tosses apple slices into the bowl. “And you like him?”

You look down at the dough beneath your fingers. Think about his awkward smile. The way he listens like it costs him something. The warmth in his voice when he said, “Thanks for inviting me.”

You nod. “I think I do.”

Your mom looks over, something soft in her face now.

“Well,” she says gently, “I can’t wait to meet him.”

You smile and slide the pie into the oven just as the doorbell rings.

Your heart stops.

Your mom turns toward the sound.

You wipe your hands on a towel and take a breath.

“Okay,” you mutter to yourself, “moment of truth.”

You walk to the door.

And open it...

You expected nerves.

You did not expect him to look like this.

Bob stands on your porch like he walked out of a cologne ad and got lost on the way to GQ. His dark button-up is rolled at the sleeves, fitted just enough to draw attention to muscles he normally hides under worn hoodies. His hair—usually floppy and rain-wrecked—is now styled neatly back, just messy enough to look effortless.

You blink. “H-hi.”

He smiles—bashful, but sure of himself. “Hi.”

Before you can gather your thoughts or your dignity, he leans in and kisses you on the cheek. It’s warm, brief, but confident. His hand grazes your waist like muscle memory.

“I hope I’m not too early,” he murmurs.

“No—uh—no, perfect. You’re perfect. I mean, the timing. The timing is perfect.”

You step back to let him in, praying no one heard that.

As he crosses the threshold, he glances around, eyes scanning photos on the walls, shelves stacked with family memories. You take his coat. His scent lingers — fresh and faintly minty.

“My mom’s in the kitchen. Brace yourself.”

He chuckles. “Noted.”

You walk him into the war zone of casserole dishes and cousin chaos.

Your mom spots you both from the dining room and gasps like she’s just been cast on a reality show. “There he is! You must be Bob!”

Bob blinks for a moment, surprised she already knows his name. You shoot her a look that says Mom, please, I am begging.

He recovers quickly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And polite!” she says, delighted, patting his arm like she’s already ordering him to call her ‘Mom’ by dessert.

Dinner unfolds in a blur. Plates are passed, stories fly around the table like darts, and somehow Bob navigates it like a pro. He even laughs at your uncle’s tired jokes. When your grandma comments on his posture, he adjusts with a quiet “Yes, ma’am” that makes her beam.

At one point, your youngest cousin, Milo, squints at him from across the table.

“You look really familiar,” Milo says, tilting his head.

You freeze mid-chew. Bob’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth.

“I get that a lot,” Bob says calmly.

Milo frowns. “Like, weirdly familiar. Like—superhero familiar.”

“Milo,” your mom cuts in, “eat your green beans.”

Milo shrugs but keeps sneaking glances.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

And about halfway through dessert, something happens.

The TV is on behind your mom’s head, low volume. Just the news playing — no one’s really watching. Your dad’s closest to it, half turned in his chair, focused on his pie.

You’re listening to your aunt ramble about her new garden mulch when the news anchor’s voice shifts tone.

“—dramatic footage of the Thunderbolts’ mission this past Wednesday—”

Your brain barely registers it.

You glance at the screen.

Explosions. Screaming. Concrete cracking like bones.

A familiar flash of red and black—John Walker. Then Ghost phasing through debris.

And then—

Golden light. Blinding, unmistakable.

The Sentry.

A blurred shot becomes a close-up.

He’s floating mid-air. Hair wild, cape tattered, jaw clenched in focus. Glowing.

It’s not grainy enough to deny. The face is clear. The posture. The jawline.

You choke on your pie. Eyes widening.

Bob.

You snap your gaze toward him.

He doesn’t move, but his fork slowly lowers.

Your eyes dart to your dad. He’s starting to turn toward the screen.

Before he can react—click.

The TV cuts off.

Silence.

Your dad frowns. “Did the TV break again?”

Bob shrugs, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

Your relatives resume their conversations without a second thought. Bread is passed. Laughter resumes. No one’s the wiser.

Except for you.

And Milo, who is now staring at Bob with slack-jawed awe.

You place your fork down slowly. Your pulse is in your throat.

Bob meets your gaze across the table. Calm. Cautious.

You clear your throat.

“Hey,” you say sweetly, plastering on a smile. “Can you excuse us for a second? I just need to talk to my boyfriend for a minute.”

He rises without protest.

You grab his arm, steer him down the hallway... past photos of you in braces, past the coat rack, past everything normal, and into the dim, quiet hallway near the laundry room.

Then you turn, look up at him, and whisper—

“What the hell, Bob?”

You shut the door behind you.

Bob leans casually against the wall — too casually — like he isn’t literally the man you just saw hovering over a burning building on national television.

You cross your arms. “Okay. Start talking.”

He looks down at his hands, fingers laced. There’s a strange stillness to him, like he’s waiting for a storm he knows is coming.

“I didn’t lie,” he says quietly.

You stare. “Bob. I watched you on the news. You turned off my parents’ TV. With your mind.”

“I said I help people,” he replies, looking up at you now. Calm. Earnest. “Sometimes I help save the world.”

You gape. “I thought you meant you were a firefighter. Or a teacher! Or like, I don’t know, a really good therapist!”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Sorry. That probably would’ve been easier.”

“You’re—” You lower your voice, leaning in. “You’re The Sentry. You’re an actual Avenger. Or—Thunderbolt. Or—whatever the hell team you’re on.”

“Technically, I’m sort of on loan.”

You give him a look. “That's not the point.”

He’s quiet again. But not defensive. Not evasive. Just… waiting. Letting you process.

And you are processing.

All the little things you overlooked:

The quiet strength in how he moved.

The weird evasiveness.

The stormy energy he sometimes carried like he was trying to keep it bottled.

You exhale, the adrenaline finally catching up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, softer now.

“I didn’t want you to treat me differently,” he says. “I liked the bookstore. I liked that you didn’t know. You talked to me like I was just… Bob.”

You blink. “Is that your real name?”

“Yes.”

“And you really read fantasy novels?”

He actually smiles. “Especially the sad ones.”

You hesitate. Your heart is still pounding, but your voice softens even more.

“You came to dinner,” you murmur. “You sat through my uncle’s knee replacement story. You complimented my grandma’s brooch.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Wasn’t hard. I meant it.”

You stare at him.

The man who eats lemon muffins on Thursdays.

The man who shyly kissed your cheek.

The man who casually shut off a television with his brain.

You rub a hand over your face. “I dragged The Sentry into a fake dating scheme because my mom thinks I’m undateable.”

His voice is gentle. “You didn’t drag me. I said yes.”

You glance up at him. “Why?”

His gaze softens. “Because you asked.”

You swallow.

He takes a step closer. His voice lowers, almost shy again. “If you want to call this off now, I’ll understand. I’ll tell them we broke up before dessert. I can cry if it helps.”

You laugh — a short, startled sound — but it breaks some of the tension.

You look up at him. “You’d really do that?”

“I’m a very convincing fake ex.”

You’re quiet for a moment. He’s still standing there — not defensive, not cocky — just Bob. The same Bob who buys fantasy novels and waits for you to recommend the good ones.

The same Bob who just blew your entire reality to pieces.

And yet…

You find yourself saying, “Let’s just get through dessert.”

His brows raise slightly. “You sure?”

You nod. “We can panic later.”

He smiles. A real one. Small. Grateful.

“Okay,” he says. “Back to the pie.”

You nod, open the hallway door, and walk back toward the dining room together — fake-dating The Sentry, one awkward spoonful of whipped cream at a time.

You return to the dining room with Bob beside you, and despite the mini-crisis that just played out in the hallway, somehow… everything continues like nothing happened.

The pie’s been sliced. Plates passed around. The table is filled with the comforting hum of your family talking over each other, laughing, sneaking bites of dessert before their coffee cools.

Bob slips into his seat beside you, and when your mom asks if he wants whipped cream, he nods and says, “Yes, ma’am,” with a small smile.

She beams.

You stare at him for a second longer than you should.

He’s calm. Almost too calm. Like he’s pretending to be human in a sitcom, and somehow nailing the part.

Milo won’t stop glancing over, like he’s replaying the Thunderbolts footage in his head. But thankfully, he keeps his mouth shut.

You press your knee against Bob’s under the table.

He glances at you.

You mouth: Thank you.

He just nods.

⋆˙⟡

When the dishes are finally cleared and your aunts start hunting for their coats, you help your mom carry plates to the kitchen. She’s humming. Actually humming.

You try not to let guilt claw at your chest.

After a few minutes, coats are zipped, goodbyes are exchanged, and your mom pats Bob’s arm like he’s already part of the family. Your dad claps him on the back and says, “You handled the chaos pretty well, son. That’s promising.”

You’re still not sure whether that’s a compliment or a threat.

Finally, it’s just the two of you at the door.

You walk Bob out onto the porch. The sky’s dark, but the porch light gives his face a warm glow. You wrap your arms around yourself, partly from the cool air, partly because you don’t know what to do with them anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, leaning against the railing. “I dragged you into that mess because I panicked and lied to my mom and I never expected you to actually say yes or look like that or—”

Bob steps forward and kisses you.

Soft. Sure. Warm.

It happens in the span of a heartbeat — his hand resting gently on your cheek, the kiss itself lingering just long enough to make you forget where you are.

When he pulls back, he whispers, “Sorry.”

You blink, stunned.

He jerks his thumb toward the window beside the front door.

You turn.

Your mom is standing there, mostly hidden behind the curtain — watching. Her expression is somewhere between victorious and smug.

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Bob chuckles. “She’s committed. I respect it.”

You shake your head, trying not to smile. “That was mean.”

“That was method acting,” he teases.

You hesitate, then reach out and fix the collar of his jacket. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” he says. “I meant what I said — I liked being asked.”

A beat.

“I still do.”

The air between you shifts — warmer now, quiet but honest.

You nod once, not sure what to say. Not sure what this is becoming.

He opens the gate and starts to walk down the path. Just before he disappears into the dark, he turns back.

“I’ll see you Tuesday?”

You smile. “Tuesday.”

And then he’s gone.

You close the door gently, heart fluttering like it’s trying to tell you something. You lean against the wood for a second, exhale, and whisper to no one:

“…Oh no.”

⋆˙⟡

Sunday, 7:36 am

It starts like any other day.

You stop at your usual corner café, order your iced coffee (half sweet, extra ice, just the way you like it), and wrap your hands around the plastic cup like it might ground you.

For a moment, the world feels normal.

You walk the next block with your earbuds in, the playlist soothing, the city humming gently around you. It isn’t until you pass the magazine stand by the subway entrance that something feels… off.

Your eyes drift lazily over the covers as you walk by.

And then you see it.

Front and center. Bold red font. A full-page photo.

“WHO IS THE SENTRY’S MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND?” (Shocking New Romance Revealed — Civilian Involved?)

You stop mid-step. Your breath catches.

Your own face stares back at you from under a blur of porch lights and lipstick smudged from a very real, very public kiss.

You nearly drop your coffee right there.

But it only gets worse.

Because as you turn the corner toward the bookstore — just a normal Tuesday morning — you don’t see the usual handful of early customers waiting for the shop to open.

You see a crowd.

No — not a crowd. A swarm.

Microphones. Cameras. People standing on tiptoes, phones raised high, shouting questions at… nothing, because the store isn’t even open yet.

Your stomach drops.

Your name gets shouted from somewhere in the noise.

And then, mercifully — your brain does the one logical thing.

It panics.

You spin around. Your foot hits the curb. Your coffee slips from your hand, hits the sidewalk, and explodes in a cold, sticky splash.

“Hey—hey! That’s her!” someone yells behind you.

You don’t look back.

You duck into the narrow alley between the bookstore and the laundromat, heart hammering, air slicing sharp into your lungs.

Your mind is racing with every terrible headline, every awkward question your mom is probably getting right now, and how very not normal your life has become.

And then—

“Hiii.”

You scream.

A figure drops from the fire escape like it’s nothing, landing in front of you with the elegance of a spy movie villain and the expression of someone who just finished a cinnamon roll.

Blonde. Tactical jacket. Combat boots. Sunglasses perched on her head like she accessorized mid-mission.

She smiles. “So. You’re the girlfriend?”

You stumble back a step, heart in your throat. “I—I’m—who are you?!”

“Yelena,” she says cheerfully, offering a hand like this is a brunch date. “Bob’s teammate. Sometimes assassin. Don’t worry, I’m nice-ish.”

You don’t take her hand. You just stare.

“I was sent to retrieve you,” she continues, already walking past you like she owns the alley. “Big mess. PR nightmare. Possibly global. Thought you might need help.”

“I—I’m fine,” you lie, inching toward the wall.

Yelena glances down at your coffee-covered shoes. “You’re not fine.”

You exhale shakily. “How is this real?”

She grins. “You kissed The Sentry on your porch. Now you’re in a tabloid warzone. Welcome to superhero dating.”

You press your palms to your face.

Behind you, the voices are getting louder.

Yelena tilts her head toward the street. “Wanna escape this circus?”

“…Yes.”

“Come on.” She tosses you a hoodie from her bag — black, oversized. “Put this on. You’re going to Thunderbolts HQ.”

“What?”

“Bob’s waiting,” she adds casually, “and he looks very stressed. It’s adorable.”

Your heart thumps harder.

You pull the hoodie over your head, the scent of leather and something faintly metallic catching in your nose. Yelena nods approvingly, then leads you toward a black SUV idling around the corner — quiet, sleek, and somehow completely unnoticed by the mob.

As you duck into the backseat, she climbs in beside you and shuts the door.

She tosses a protein bar in your lap.

“You’re going to need energy,” she says. “They’re gonna love you.”

The SUV pulls away.

The shouting fades behind you.

And your life? Well. It’s never going to be quiet again.

The SUV glides through a checkpoint, into an underground tunnel, then up a ramp. You think you see a guard tower disguised as a billboard. Or maybe you’re hallucinating. That’s possible too.

Yelena’s sitting casually beside you, texting someone, while you clutch your protein bar like it might shield you from public scrutiny and government agencies.

Finally, the vehicle stops. The door swings open.

Yelena hops out and waves you after her. “Don’t look nervous.”

“I am nervous.”

“Then pretend you’re not. That’s what we all do.”

You step out into a huge glass and steel atrium. Sleek floors. Tall ceilings. Giant screen with the Thunderbolts logo rotating in slow, dramatic fashion. Men in suits, agents in gear, someone zipping by on rollerblades like this is normal.

You? You’re in someone else’s hoodie, dried coffee on your pants, and your brain’s still processing “Bob is the Sentry.”

Yelena leads you through a corridor like she’s returning a library book. “Try not to look directly at Valentina unless you want to end up as the face of the team’s diversity initiative.”

“…What?”

“Just smile and nod.”

Yelena leads you down a bright hallway, past glass walls and security doors, through what feels like the inside of a top-secret airport crossed with an IKEA showroom. You’re still in someone else’s hoodie, your coffee’s long gone, and you haven’t quite recovered from the kiss-seen-round-the-world.

She swings open a door, and inside it’s surprisingly normal — couches, a kitchen, the sound of a blender whirring. A few Thunderbolts glance up.

Ghost gives you a quiet nod from her seat at the counter.

John Walker grins, already sharpening a teasing remark.

Bob stands awkwardly by the sink, like he just got caught sneaking a cookie.

“Well, damn,” Walker says, leaning against the counter. “I thought Bob was making you up. Or buying girlfriend stock photos online.”

“John,” Bob says flatly.

“I’m just saying, we’re happy for you, man. It’s cute. Weird, but cute.”

Ghost sips her tea. “He’s been checking his phone like a teenage girl since Saturday.”

Bob looks like he wants to phase through the wall. You try not to laugh — and fail. A little.

Then the doors behind you slide open, and Valentina Allegra de Fontaine enters like the final boss in heels.

She smiles, perfectly calm. “Glad you made it. Cute outfit. Hope you like government buildings.”

You blink. “Uh… thanks?”

Val flips open a sleek tablet and doesn’t look up. “So here’s the deal. We can’t exactly walk this story back without making it worse. You’re already part of the narrative. The kiss happened. The porch photos are out. Bob looked… well, shockingly competent.”

Bob mumbles, “Thanks?”

Val finally meets your eyes. “So. Option one: go home, brave the cameras, and let Reddit guess your social security number. Or option two: we give you a place to stay. Quiet. Safe. With a door that locks and, if you ask nicely, a reading lamp.”

You glance at Bob. “Would I… be staying with him?”

Bob visibly stiffens.

Val shrugs. “You’d have your own space. This isn’t The Bachelor. We’re not trying to force anything.”

Bob relaxes.

You think about it for a long moment. The tabloids. The porch. The look on his face when he saw you today.

“…Okay,” you say. “But I want a real lock. And maybe snacks.”

“Done,” Val says, already walking away. “Yelena, get her something from the vending machine. And no shrimp chips.”

Once the others drift off, you find yourself alone with Bob again — sort of. You’re standing near the couches, and he’s holding a mug like it’s a prop he forgot how to use.

You glance at him. “So.”

He looks up. “So.”

“You, uh… handled that well.”

“I was sweating the entire time.”

You smile. “Didn’t show.”

There’s a pause. The good kind.

“I’m sorry you got pulled into this,” he says.

“I’m not,” you admit, then quickly add, “I mean—not the whole national-news part. That sucked. But, you know. The bookstore. The pie. That stuff.”

He looks at you like you just handed him a book he didn’t know he needed.

He fidgets. “For the record, I didn’t just kiss you because your mom was watching," he says. You tilted your head.

Then, again, he softly says: “Do you think… once this blows over… maybe we could try the real thing?”

You consider it, heart full but calm.

“…We’ll see,” you say.

He grins.

So do you.

A/N: i have SO MANY prompts/scenes in my head for bob that i had to list it down on my notes (this is one of them). PS i wrote this when i was suffering from a writers block in the middle of writing the second part of Psyche. PSS i cant stop writing about bob (not that i want to) it's making me crazy

#fic rec #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x y/n #watchtowerlibrary

2K notes · View notes

watchtowerlibrary · 20 days ago

Text

the popcorn incident (r.r.)

synopsis : You hate Bob Reynolds. Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself — ever since he pulled away and got closer to Yelena. Now you spend most of your time ranting about him to Bucky…

Meanwhile, Bob spends most of his time avoiding you. (Because he’s pretty sure you like Bucky. And he’s very sure he’s in love with you.)

pairing : robert 'bob' reynolds x reader / sentry x reader

content : pure fluff (again lol don't hate me on this), slight enemiestolovers!au , friendstolovers!au , jealous!bobreynolds

warning/s : kinda cheesy idk

word count : 4.6k

You hate Bob Reynolds.

You hate the way he walks into a room and won’t look at you. You hate the way his eyes flicker toward you when he thinks you’re not watching. You hate how he always chooses the furthest seat from yours now, even though (once) you were the person he chose first.

And worst of all?

You hate how much you still want him to come sit next to you.

The common room smells like popcorn and vaguely burnt pizza. Ava’s cracked the windows again, letting in the cool night air from the New York sky outside. Dim overhead bulbs cast the room in warm yellow light that barely competes with the flickering horror movie on screen.

Yelena is curled on a beanbag chair with her legs tucked under her like a smug cat, hoodie two sizes too big. John’s hogging the recliner, a beer in one hand and his dumb Stars-and-Stripes socks visible from where his boots sit discarded nearby. Ava’s lounging in the corner with a bowl of gummy worms and a knowing smirk.

You walk in behind Bucky, both of you still talking about a mission briefing that had somehow turned into a discussion about raccoons with knives.

“Do not pretend a raccoon could take you down,” you mutter as Bucky snorts.

“I’m just saying, it’s more dangerous than you think,” Bucky deadpans. “Especially with a butter knife.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugs. “I’m not the one who got chased through a compound last week by a genetically engineered goose.”

“That goose had rage in its soul,” you hiss, before realizing the entire room is listening. Yelena snorts into her sleeve. Ava just shakes her head.

You clear your throat, cheeks warm. Your eyes instinctively scan the room—and stop.

There. Couch. Right side.

Bob.

He’s sitting low, one leg crossed over the other knee, navy-blue sweater sleeves bunched up his forearms. His posture is slouched, but his eyes are sharp, focused on the screen, until you catch the briefest glance your way.

Your stomach tightens.

He looks back at the screen before you can even smile.

You hesitate, then move toward the couch. The big popcorn bowl is balanced between him and Bucky. You think about sitting next to Bob, think about all the nights you used to sit shoulder to shoulder, knees brushing, fingers grazing accidentally over the same handful of popcorn.

Maybe you can fix this. Maybe he’ll say something. Maybe this silence he’s been giving you for weeks will finally end.

You hover by the bowl. “Hey,” you say, careful and light. “Can I grab some?”

Bob doesn’t look at you. His hand tenses slightly on the bowl’s rim. He shifts it toward you in silence.

Your fingers brush his.

He pulls back like he’s touched a hot stove.

You feel it like a slap.

You grab the popcorn, mutter a stiff, “Thanks,” and move to sit next to Bucky instead.

Bucky shifts slightly to give you room. You slump beside him, chewing angrily.

“Well that was painful,” Bucky mutters under his breath.

You don’t respond.

“He flinched,” Bucky continues, almost in awe. “Like your fingers were poison.”

You keep your eyes on the screen. “Maybe they are.”

“Strike four,” he whispers.

You glance at him. “You’ve been keeping count?”

“Of every tragic interaction, yes.”

You throw a kernel of popcorn at him. He catches it mid-air.

You lean in slightly, voice low. “Do you think he’s mad at me?”

“I think he’s a dumbass.”

You smile, but it’s hollow.

“I just—don’t get it. We used to talk. Like… a lot. He used to laugh at my dumb jokes. Now he acts like I stole his dog.”

“Maybe you did.”

You blink. “What?”

“Maybe you stole his metaphorical dog.”

You stare at him. “That’s the worst theory I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s still better than yours,” Bucky mutters.

From across the couch, you feel Bob shift. You glance—he’s still watching the screen, but his fingers have stopped moving. The popcorn bowl rests untouched now, perfectly still in his lap.

The movie flickers into a tense silence.

Then John, voice flat, says, “Can the lovebirds quiet down?”

Your entire spine stiffens.

“Excuse me?” you hiss.

“Shh,” John says, not even turning.

You stare ahead, cheeks burning. Bucky looks halfway between smug and offended.

“Lovebirds,” he whispers, amused.

“Don’t even—”

“I mean, if the shoe fits…”

You elbow him sharply. “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he says, still smiling.

You risk another glance toward Bob.

His jaw is tight. His eyes are still on the screen. But there’s a twitch in his cheek. The kind he gets when something’s bothering him.

He doesn’t look at you.

You look away first.

The meeting room is too cold.

The A/C’s on full blast, humming above the fluorescent lights. You swear Val keeps it that way just to remind you she’s in charge of everything—including your blood circulation.

You’re running late.

You shove the door open with a muttered apology, the metal creaking slightly, and step inside—boots still muddy from training. Your hair’s barely dry from your post-mission shower, damp strands sticking to your neck. You tug at the collar of your jacket, feeling both underdressed and overstimulated.

Everyone’s already seated.

Yelena’s halfway through a protein bar and somehow still managing to lounge in a government-grade steel chair like it’s a beanbag. Ava’s scrolling her tablet, boots on the table despite multiple prior threats from Val. Walker’s twirling a pen and looking like he’s about to make a comment no one asked for.

Then your eyes land on him.

Bob.

Second from the right. Notebook closed in front of him. Shoulders hunched slightly like he’s trying to make himself smaller, or maybe disappear altogether.

Two empty chairs beside him.

You hesitate.

The little voice in your head—the one that’s gotten crueler lately—says, Don’t bother. But you ignore it.

You step around the table, slow but deliberate.

Your pulse kicks up as you approach. You wonder—stupidly, hopefully—if maybe this is the moment. Maybe today, he’ll look up. Maybe he’ll say “Hey,” like he used to, voice low and warm. Maybe you’ll sit beside him and feel something like before.

You stop beside the chair next to him.

Bob looks up.

Your breath catches.

And then—

He blinks. His mouth twitches. Not a smile. Not even close.

He closes his notebook.

And he stands.

Your eyes widen. He murmurs something to Yelena—too low for you to hear—but she raises one eyebrow and gives him a look that says Seriously? Bob says nothing else. He walks around the back of the table, silent and swift, and drops into a chair across the room.

Your throat tightens.

You sit down heavily in the now-empty chair next to Bucky.

“Wow,” Bucky mutters, barely audible. “That was… something.”

You just shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “What the hell was that?”

Bucky leans in. “He looked like you were holding a knife.”

“Maybe I should start holding one.”

Val walks in, clapping her hands once. “Alright, Thunderbolts. Everyone awake? Good. Let’s make this quick. I’ve got meetings stacked higher than Walker’s ego.”

Walker scoffs. “Hilarious.”

“Quiet, star-spangled disaster,” Val says dryly.

You try to focus. Val drones on about the last mission—errors, improvements, recon notes. Words blur into static.

Bob doesn’t look at you. Not once.

You glance at him—he’s leaning back, hands clasped in his lap, eyes fixed on the slide deck like it owes him something. He’s not scribbling notes like he usually does. He’s not twirling his pen. He’s not moving.

You grit your teeth and turn to Bucky.

“He’s ignoring me again.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “We’re mid-briefing.”

“I’m going to strangle him with his own hoodie.”

“That’s dramatic. Effective, though.”

Val clicks to the next slide.

You whisper, “Why is he like this? He used to talk to me.”

“Used to eat lunch with you too,” Bucky murmurs. “Used to laugh.”

“I know that.”

“And now he’s pretending you don’t exist.”

“Exactly!”

“You think maybe… that’s the opposite of what’s happening?”

You blink. “What?”

Bucky just smirks.

Then—

Val slaps a hand on the table. “Hey. Lovebirds. Try keeping the domestic bickering to a whisper?”

Your soul leaves your body.

You blink. “I’m sorry—what?”

Walker snorts. Ava doesn’t even look up from her tablet.

Val waves a hand. “Whatever. Just pay attention. I’m not repeating myself for your unresolved sexual tension.”

The room falls quiet.

Bucky leans into his hand, elbow on the table. “I think we’ve just been outed.”

You bury your face in your hands. “This is a nightmare.”

You chance a glance at Bob.

He hasn’t moved.

He’s staring at the table. Not at you. But his knuckles are white where they rest on his knee.

You’re too stunned to say anything.

The rest of the debrief is a blur.

The training room smells like rubber mats and frustration.

Sweat beads at the back of your neck as you pace toward the punching dummies, your left ankle throbbing with every step. You rolled it bad—stupidly—during a dodging drill with Ava and Walker. You’d laughed it off at the time, brushing dirt off your shoulder like it was nothing.

But now that the adrenaline’s fading, it hurts.

The sun’s just beginning to dip behind the compound’s reinforced windows, casting the entire gym in a low, orange haze. Yelena is by the far wall, throwing knives at a wooden dummy’s face like she’s flirting with murder. Ava’s perched on a bench with her headphones in, scrolling through footage on her tablet. Walker’s long gone, probably off to inflate his ego somewhere else.

And there’s Bob. Across the room.

He’s standing by the free weights, curling a bar like it weighs nothing. His hair’s damp at the edges, sticking slightly to his temples. He’s in his navy long-sleeve again—his favorite, the one that’s worn thin at the elbows. His eyes flick toward you as you limp slightly past.

Your breath catches.

It’s the first time he’s looked at you today.

You feel it. That familiar flutter in your chest that you keep trying to kill.

You open your mouth—to say anything—but hesitate. He looks like he might say something, too. Like he’s going to take a step forward. His fingers twitch slightly against the bar.

And then you hear it:

“You alright?”

You turn.

Bucky’s walking over from the hallway, towel slung around his shoulders, brow furrowed as he catches your limp.

“Oh. Yeah. Just twisted it earlier. It’s not bad.” You wave a hand like that makes it true.

“Let me see,” he says, already crouching down beside the bench. “Sit.”

You hesitate. “I was gonna—” You glance back toward Bob.

But he’s still standing there. Still watching. Frozen in place.

Whatever he was going to say—if he was going to say it—dies.

He takes one slow step back.

You sigh, quietly, and sit down beside Bucky instead.

He pulls your boot off gently, inspecting the swollen ankle.

You wince. “I’ve had worse.”

“Doesn’t mean you should ignore it.” Bucky digs in a nearby locker for an ice pack. “You planning on training through this like a moron, or letting me tape it?”

You roll your eyes, but smile. “Fine. Doctor Barnes.”

“I’ll add that to the list of titles I never asked for.”

Across the room, Bob hasn’t moved.

His jaw’s tight. His hands open and close once, then again. He watches the two of you quietly, unreadable.

He takes a breath, like he’s about to come over anyway.

But Yelena appears behind him without warning. “You’re glaring again,” she mutters.

Bob startles, just barely. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I wasn’t—” He glances over at you and Bucky. Bucky’s crouched now, wrapping your ankle in gauze, your hand on his shoulder to keep balance. You laugh at something he says.

Bob turns away.

Yelena raises an eyebrow. “You gonna keep lying or just explode already?”

“Shut up,” Bob mutters.

“Sure,” she says, biting into an energy bar. “Just let me know when you’re done pining like a 17-year-old Victorian widow.”

He shoots her a look, but she’s already walking away.

He turns back toward you, just in time to see you toss Bucky an appreciative smile and say, “Thanks, Buck.”

And then you’re gone—hobbling off toward the lockers with Bucky trailing beside you.

Bob stares at the door long after you’ve disappeared.

Bob’s hands have been sitting still for too long.

One of them rests on the disassembled sidearm laid out in front of him, the other curled tight against his jaw as he leans on the table. His brow is furrowed. His brain hasn’t registered a single thing in the last fifteen minutes. The room is quiet, except for the distant hum of the overhead lights and the occasional thud of Yelena dropping gear somewhere behind him.

He stares at the gun like it’ll reassemble his thoughts for him.

“You’re sulking again,” comes her voice, sharp and dry as vodka.

He doesn’t look up. “I’m not.”

“You’re brooding in the dark, surrounded by dangerous objects,” she replies, stepping closer and leaning against the metal counter with a crunch of her granola bar. “That’s called sulking, Bob.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

He exhales, long and slow. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About her?” Yelena chews. “Or are we pretending you don’t do that every three hours?”

He doesn’t answer. Just picks up a screwdriver, flips it once in his palm, then puts it back down like it’s too heavy to hold.

She softens a little. “What happened this time?”

He doesn’t know where to start. He could say, I saw her ankle give out and didn’t move fast enough. Or maybe, I saw her smile at Bucky again and it felt like a kick to the ribs. But none of that explains how badly he wants to rewind everything. Go back to when you used to wait for him after missions. When you’d lean on his shoulder while teasing Walker or smirking at Yelena like you were in on some inside joke Bob would never understand.

He remembers the sound of your laugh. That full-bodied, uncaring laugh that only came out when you felt safe. You used to laugh like that around him.

“I think she hates me,” he says eventually, voice low.

“She doesn’t,” Yelena says without hesitation.

“She used to talk to me,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Every day. About random stuff—TV shows, your neighbor’s dog, the vending machine being rigged. And I was stupid enough to think it would last.”

Yelena quirks an eyebrow. “What changed?”

“I did.”

And he did. Somewhere in the space between trusting you and falling for you, he got weird. He started pulling back, dodging eye contact, brushing off conversations before they could start. He didn’t know how to handle it—how to want you without scaring you away.

So instead, he scared himself into silence.

You’d walked into the common room that night with Bucky at your side, your laugh trailing behind you like perfume. You were trying to get popcorn—just a normal thing—but then your hand brushed his and his whole body tensed like he’d touched fire. He pulled back before he even thought about it.

Your smile faded so fast it made his stomach turn.

He should’ve said something. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—

But instead, he just froze, watching you walk away, bowl in hand, settling on the couch next to Bucky like that was where you belonged now.

He couldn’t focus on the movie. He couldn’t even hear it over the pounding in his ears. Every time you leaned into Bucky’s side, something bitter tightened in his throat. You didn’t even look his way after that. Why would you?

He hadn’t just pulled away. He’d disappeared.

Yelena watches him quietly now, like she knows where his mind is drifting. “Did something else happen?”

He nods. “Debrief, a few days ago.”

She waits.

“I walked in and saw her scanning the room,” he says. “She looked like she was gonna sit next to me. She almost did. But I… I moved.”

“You ran.”

He winces. “Walked. Quickly. To the other side of the table.”

“Coward.”

“I know.” He leans back, eyes flicking to the ceiling. “I couldn’t do it. I was going to say hi. Ask about her shoulder—she took a hit on the last mission—but I panicked.”

Yelena hums in that way she does when she’s judging him quietly.

“She sat next to Bucky instead. Again,” Bob adds, bitterness creeping into his voice. “They were whispering to each other, laughing during Val’s rundown, and then Val says—” His voice shifts, mocking: “‘Can the lovebirds pay attention?’”

Yelena snorts.

“She didn’t deny it,” Bob says quickly, like he needs her to know this part. “Didn’t laugh, didn’t say, we’re not a thing. Just turned red and glared at Val, like it was a thing and she was embarrassed about it.”

Yelena doesn’t answer right away.

Bob lets his head drop forward into his hands. “I know it sounds stupid. It is stupid. But I keep seeing them together, and it’s not just the proximity. It’s the way she looks at him. Talks to him.”

“You mean the way she used to talk to you?"

He goes still.

Yelena softens, voice less teasing. “Bob… maybe she’s just trying to fill the space you left.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

Then yesterday happened.

He saw you limp into the gym and his entire nervous system lit up. You were trying to play it cool, but he knew that look—you were in pain and trying not to show it.

He took one step forward, almost called your name.

But Bucky beat him to it.

Hey, you alright?

Bob watched, rooted in place, as you let Bucky guide you to the bench. Watched you let him take off your boot. Wrap your ankle. You laughed at something he said again, that same sound Bob used to hear on accident—when you were scrolling your phone on the couch beside him, or teasing him over his “weird cult-leader” handwriting.

Bob’s hands had clenched. His chest felt hollow.

And still, he hadn’t moved.

“Every time I try to fix it, I mess it up more,” he says now, his voice ragged with frustration. “And every time I don’t fix it, I lose her a little more.”

Yelena tosses her granola wrapper in the bin. “So what, you’re just going to keep watching her from across the room like some tragic Regency novel?”

Bob glares weakly. “I just… I don’t know what she wants anymore.”

“Well,” Yelena stands, dusting off her pants. “Maybe she doesn’t either. You’ve given her nothing to work with.”

He swallows.

She’s right.

He remembers the way you used to look at him—eyes full of challenge, of trust. You don’t look at him like that anymore.

Now, when you glance his way, there’s hurt in your eyes. And confusion. And maybe—just maybe—a little hope you haven’t managed to kill off completely.

Bob wants to believe it isn’t too late.

But he also knows he’s running out of chances to find out.

The med bay is quiet except for the gentle whir of the portable stim unit on your ankle. You should be focusing on your recovery, on resting, but your mind’s pacing in circles. Restless. It’s been days since the last mission. Days since you sprained your ankle and Bob almost helped you.

Almost.

The sound of that one step he took toward you is burned into your skull. You heard it. Saw the flicker of concern in his expression. The way he looked like he might finally say something. But he didn’t. Again.

Instead, Bucky helped you. Like he always does.

And maybe you’re just exhausted—mentally, emotionally, physically—but tonight, as the pain pulses dully through your foot and frustration simmers in your chest, you decide you’ve had enough.

You’re done letting Bob hide behind silence.

You leave the med bay the moment your foot can bear weight and stalk the halls with too much purpose for someone supposed to be recovering. You know exactly where he’ll be. The observation deck. He always retreats there after missions, like he’s hoping the stars will answer something the rest of you can’t.

Sure enough, you spot him through the glass, silhouetted in the cool blue glow of the night sky beyond. Hood up. Shoulders hunched. Like the world’s sitting on his back.

He doesn’t hear you enter. Or maybe he does and chooses not to turn.

You stop a few feet behind him.

“Why do you keep avoiding me?”

His shoulders stiffen.

No greeting. No pleasantries. You don’t have the patience for any of it.

He doesn’t turn.

You take another step closer. “Seriously, Bob. What the hell did I do to make you act like I’m some kind of ghost?”

Nothing.

You force a breath. Your voice cracks. “You used to be my best friend.”

That finally gets him. Slowly, he turns, the hood dropping back just enough to let you see the guilt carved into his features. He looks tired. Paler than usual. And yet somehow still impossible to read.

“I’m not avoiding you,” he says, too quiet to be convincing.

You scoff. “Bullshit. You can’t even look me in the eye anymore. I try to talk to you, you bolt. I reach for the popcorn and you practically teleport away. You leave the room when I sit down. You change training shifts to avoid me.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to, or you didn’t want to be around me?”

He winces. His mouth opens like he wants to explain. But nothing comes out.

You hate how much it hurts.

“Do you hate me now?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He jolts. “What?”

“Just tell me,” you snap, covering your pain with anger. “If I did something wrong—if I messed this up somehow—just say it.”

“You didn’t,” he says, fast, desperate. “You didn’t mess anything up.”

“Then why?” You’re breathing harder now. “Why did you just… drop me? You let me think I was crazy for feeling the distance when you were the one building it!”

“I had to,” he mutters.

You step closer. “Why?”

He shakes his head. “It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s not. You either care or you don’t.”

“I do care,” he blurts, suddenly louder, voice cracking like thunder off the glass.

Silence falls between you. Heavy. Fragile.

You blink. “Then why do you treat me like I don’t exist?”

Bob runs both hands through his hair, pacing away from you, then back, like he’s coming apart.

“Because it’s easier than wanting something I can’t have,” he finally breathes.

You stare.

He exhales like he’s been holding that in for months. “You and Bucky… I see the way you look at him. I hear the way you talk to him. I thought maybe if I backed off, I could deal with it. But every time I see you with him, it’s like my ribs are caving in.”

You’re stunned.

“Bob—”

“And then Val calls you ‘lovebirds,’ and you don’t deny it. You blushed. I thought…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “I thought I missed my chance. That I’d already messed it up. And if I couldn’t be what you wanted, the least I could do was get out of your way.”

Your voice comes out gentler. “You thought I was with Bucky?”

“Aren’t you?”

You stare at him. “No. Of course not.”

He blinks. “But you’re always with him. Laughing. Whispering. You lean on him.”

“Because he listens. Because you wouldn’t.”

“I was trying to protect myself.”

“And I was trying to understand why the person I care about most started treating me like a stranger!”

That lands like a punch. Bob’s shoulders sag. He looks like he’s about to fold in on himself.

You step forward. Hesitate. Then place a hand on his chest—just over his heart.

“You idiot,” you whisper. “You really thought I wanted Bucky?”

Bob doesn’t answer. His eyes are wide, vulnerable. Your touch stills him completely.

“I wanted you.” You say it quietly. Gently. Like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

He exhales shakily. His hands twitch at his sides, then lift—hesitant, slow—as if he’s terrified touching you might break the moment.

But when he finally presses his palm over yours, the tension breaks.

Neither of you says a word for a long time.

Then, finally, he leans forward, forehead resting against yours, breath shallow.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

You close your eyes.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

His breath hitches. “I never stopped.”

You weren’t planning on sitting next to him. Not really. You told yourself you’d play it cool. Casual. Normal. You were going to walk in, nod politely, and take your usual spot next to Bucky like the last three weeks.

But tonight… you hesitate at the door.

Bob’s already there. Hood down, for once. Jacket draped over the back of the couch. He’s wearing that old faded band tee you once teased him about—the one you said made him look like a roadie, not a superhero. And he’s looking around the room like he’s searching for something.

For someone.

Your pulse kicks up.

Yelena’s on the far couch, legs tucked under her, already spoon-deep into a pint of ice cream. John’s half asleep in the armchair with a beer balanced precariously on his thigh. Ava is floating just above the beanbag pile, watching the screen like she’s trying to decipher code. Bucky’s leaning against the back wall with crossed arms, waiting to see where you sit before he picks a seat.

And Bob… Bob catches your eye and doesn’t look away.

Not for a second.

It’s nothing like before.

There’s no flinching. No retreat. Just that soft, unsure gravity you’d missed so badly.

Your feet move before you think about it. You take the empty spot beside him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It feels terrifying.

And then Bob shifts, ever so slightly, to give you more space. Or maybe to meet you halfway. His thigh brushes yours. He doesn’t pull back.

You glance sideways. His fingers twitch against the blanket on his lap.

Yelena lets out an exaggerated gasp.

“Oh my God.”

You freeze.

John jerks upright. “What?”

Bucky just huffs a quiet chuckle and takes the nearest beanbag. “Took them long enough.”

You blink. “What are you—”

“Oh, please,” Yelena drawls. “This has been a six-act drama and we’re finally at the resolution. Do not deny me this.”

Bob lets out a groan and sinks lower into the couch.

Val, from somewhere in the hallway, calls out without even looking in: “If anyone makes out during the opening credits, I’m kicking you off the mission roster.”

You bury your face in your hands.

Bob coughs into a laugh beside you.

Bucky leans over and mutters, “So, when’s the wedding?”

You elbow him, face burning.

Bob’s hand brushes yours—light, hesitant—and then doesn’t move. Fingers barely touching. Like a promise he’s still too shy to make out loud.

The movie starts. Everyone settles.

You stay exactly where you are, shoulder to shoulder with the man you thought you lost. The man who is still here.

And even with the teasing, the knowing glances, and the smug looks from across the room—you’re smiling.

Finally.

A/N : another blurb before i do a request and continue finishing psyche 3 (i just have no creative juice to squeeze anymore)

A/N 2 : i love bob so much i want to write him in every trope there is LMAOO

A/N 3 : bucky barnes one shot, anyone? non-smut because i physically cannot bring myself to write smut i get very uncomfortable while writing and they end up being SO BAD

#fic rec #bob reynolds x reader #watchtowerlibrary

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