writings-n-stuff

[writings-n-stuff]

I Can’t Let Go of You

Pairing: Colin Gray x Reader

Word Count: 828

Summary: The reader and Colin share the last moments together after their first date :)

Content Warnings: cigarette smoking, fluff, a lil spicy 

“I had a lot of fun with you this evening,” Colin said to you softly, the dramatic rhythm of The Cure playing softly through his car radio’s speakers. He sat in the drivers seat, the windows cracked open as you smoked a cigarette together. You sat in the car with him, the CDs that he bought for you lying between the front seats.

You nodded, holding the CD case for the album that was playing, the favorite of the lot you’d picked out. The afternoon you’d shared, your first date together coming right at the beginning of winter break, had been filled with browsing the local record shop, book store, and cafe, all while Colin’s complex thoughts and literary references filled your head. It made you all giddy inside when he’d taken your hand as you browsed the shelves of poetry, leaning his head on the bookshelf beside him and looking at you with those warm brown eyes.

“So did I,” you replied, holding out your hand to receive the next drag. He smiled, letting his fingertips linger on yours as he passed the cigarette to you. Colin watched you hold it to your lips, take a drag, and turn to blow out the passenger side window. You look so pretty like this, the thought, at ease, right here with me.

As you passed the time, passing a cigarette between each of your lips, Colin kept glancing at you. He wanted to savor this day together, tuck it into the warmest corners of his mind to open back up like poetry.

When you finished your smoke together, he took your hand again now and shifted to face you more directly. The various layered chains on his jacket chimed against each other, adding an additional harmony to the music playing. Robert Smith’s voice cried passionately as Colin’s thumb traced circles into the back of your hand. The slight smell of your perfume and tobacco and him mingled with his dreamy gaze; it was intoxicating. 

He was leaning towards you now, tugging you closer by the edge of your coat; you barely felt it at first, his hand moving slowly up your arm and to your face, your neck, softened by the layers the two of you wore.  “I think you are absolutely exquisite,” he whispered, smiling shyly as his gaze washed over your face. He didn’t want to come on too strong, but he wanted you to know how he thought about you. 

CD case forgotten, one hand lightly squeezed his while the other moved your fingertips up to trace his jaw and collarbone. Your own thumb reached up to trace the cool ring on his lip, replaying his words once, twice, three times. His breath was hot on your fingertips. “Colin,” you whispered back, cupping his jaw in your hand, “you are so precious.”

It felt like you were turning into putty under his touch as his own black polished nails moved towards your hair, sliding up the nape of your neck until he could pull you closer. His gaze was intense and flattering and totally made your stomach do little flips. His other hand tugged your coat again; he reached underneath the thick layers until his hand met your torso. The feeling of him through the thin fabric of your top mingled with the smell and the memories of your day together. All the ways he looked at you, wanting to touch you like this. "And you are so perfect.”

You closed your eyes and leaned into him. He kissed you and you turned your head up towards him, parting your lips softly along with his. Colin was kissing you, holding you so gently and making you feel so delicate and important. He dragged his mouth over your jaw, kissing hard enough for you to want to say his name over and over again. Your fingertips reached up into his black hair to hold him closer. You wanted to keep him there, let his lips touch your skin as long as possible. 

His thumb moved along your jaw to your chin, brushing across your bottom lip and you shuddered. He leveled his eyes with yours, watching his thumb slide slowly back and forth. Subconsciously, your tongue met his thumb, and you looked up at him to see how he’d react.

Colin’s lips parted, hot breath fanning over your own. He seemed to mouth a little fuck under his breath as he gently drew his thumb away, replacing it with an open-mouthed kiss. 

You sighed together, guards slipped down, lying open and exposed.

More time passed by, the Cure breathing out the soundtrack to your entanglement. You watched him smile at you, those warm eyes glinting with feeling. He seemed to want to tuck you away with him forever. “I can’t let go of you,” he whispered almost to himself.

You smiled, held his face. Ever so gently, you brushed his hair out of his eyes. “So, don’t.”

[writings-n-stuff]

The Perfect Moment (Part 2)

Pairing: Spike x (gender neutral) Human!Reader

Words: 1,714

Summary: Weeks after their first kiss, the reader finds themselves back in Spike’s crypt. Will Spike be able to overcome his fear of hurting them, or will their perfect moment together stay locked in the past?

Content Warning: kissing, angst, mention of death, mention of turning into vampire

Note: This definitely feels kind of erotic

Part 1

Once again, you didn’t notice that you were sneaking out of your house until the night air was brushing against your cheeks. Your mind catching up with your body, you noticed you were already at the edge of the cemetery, already making the beeline for Spike’s crypt. The night air was chilly on your skin, the thin flannel of your pajama pants offering little warmth in the dark breeze.

These days you were on auto-pilot: responding in one-word phrases, looking distantly away, head in the night air you’d shared with Spike that night you two kissed.

This isn’t safe.

You scurried between the rows of headstones, eyes at the door of Spike’s crypt. Your usual prickly feeling of fear was absent this time, exhaustion and desperation making your feet sluggish and your mind foggy. You imagined the flicker of candles at the edges of the stone room, the slight smell of lavender, his jacket’s soft leather. Spike had to be there, and he had to hear you out. 

The past few weeks had been hell for you. Nothing could keep your mind off of the moment he looked away, silently asking you to leave. The way his hand rested at your neck. Your lips tingled whenever you thought of it; your eyes watered whenever you thought of it for too long. 

People were starting to notice your weird behavior. Even as that smell of death and something else had subsided, your dejected nature sparked a whole new worry. At school, your friends awkwardly ignored this change in demeanor, instead chattering over your wilting figure at lunch and between classes. Your mom had insisted you accompany her on an errand the day before, poking and prodding at your single-syllable responses, trying to figure out whether your blatant disinterest was some “call for help” she’d read about in a self-help book. All you wanted was to talk about Spike with someone, anyone, and know that you weren’t slowly drifting away. You needed to know that you were still real.

No matter how hard I tried, I still hurt you.

Ever since that night, you’d lie awake in your bedroom, hoping that he’d come to your window in some perfect timeline. That the rusting of the wind against your window was him; you’d turn your head and there he would be, asking politely to be let inside.

He still wanted you, you knew. There was no way that he didn’t. Spike had been thinking of kissing you and more for so long; this needed to be as tough on him as it was on you. Replaying his words couldn’t help the wall that he raised between the two of you.

You entered the crypt without knocking, too scared to linger in the cemetery to knock and wait. Your heartbeat crept up your throat--there was no way he couldn’t know you were coming.

It was all too loud: your footsteps, the lavender rustling in the air with your entrance, the sound of glass clinking against each other, this isn’t safe, this isn’t safe, this isn’t safe hammering around in your head. You imagined the worst things before lifting your eyes, scanning the dimensions of Spike’s living space. Your mouth went dry as you weighed every possible bad outcome. Many of them ended with your corpse lying on the cold, stone floor.

And there he was, bottle and glass in his hands, turned away from you while he paced ten steps or so, turned and paced again. He seemed lost, eyes miles away while his body remained right in front of you. 

A beat passed while you watched him, and you lightly stumbled as you tried to move forward. Swearing under your breath, you caught yourself and tried to remain calm while brushing yourself off. You looked up, right into Spike’s bright, shocked eyes. 

You could have stood there all night, just looking at him and wanting him closer. Your legs trembled at the thought of running to him, but you weren’t sure how to act. Spike was standing there, face illuminated by the candle light in the most wonderful way, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world. Hell, he was the only thing in your world. 

No matter how hard I tried, I still hurt you.

You stepped forward. “Spike-” you said hoarsely. You had to catch your breath, the damp crypt air pressed reassuringly against every part of your body. 

“Love,” he mumbled, his face breaking composure as he seemed to tear up. Could vampires cry? “Oh, love.” He noticeably swayed before setting down the bottle and glass on the nearest table, eyes fixed surely on you. “Oh, you’re here. You’re here.” 

All worry melted away instantly. Your feet carried you across the room perfectly, and you tried to melt right into Spike’s arms. He’s all you’d thought about for days turning into weeks, and here he was, right in front of you. He was not some dream you conjured at your bedroom window. He was all of a sudden very real and very much here, finally. 

At the last second, Spike turned away from your embrace. He almost crouched away from you, refusing your touch. “I can’t, love.” He shook his head, wrenching a hand through his platinum blonde hair, fighting with himself. “I can’t do it, love.”

His regret fell in a thick barrier between the two of you. He was replaying the last time he’d seen you in his head once again for the thousandth time. It made him sick, the round and round, until he had to find various ways to forget. But you didn’t want to forget, and neither did he.

Your chin trembled, torn. “Spike, please. I want to try again.” You stepped back into his line of vision, however influenced by alcohol it was. “I want to try this again,” you said firmly, attracting his eyes back into your gaze. They called your attention, pools of emotion that invited you in. “Spike, I want you.” You held your hands out to him, palms up in invitation.

Spike’s gaze moved between your hands and your eyes. He was contemplating, still so burdened by his obvious power to hurt you. To kill you. He was terrified of the likelihood of his being a vampire becoming the very thing that destroys you both. He already let it get out of his hands once, and he was afraid to take that risk again. 

But deep down, Spike wanted you so badly. He wanted to make you happy, to feel your love softly tickle his cheeks. He wanted to give you all that he knew he could--he knew he could please you so well, and he wanted to give himself that chance.

He ran another hand through his hair, obvious conflict in his eyes. “I want you too, love. I just can’t hurt you again. I can’t do that to you.” He leveled his eyes with you, seeing the very real possibility of killing you. “This isn’t safe.”

You continued to hold your hands out to him, wanting him closer. You thought again now that you were deadly to him as well. That you were deadly to him--your absence would break him if it didn’t already. “I know, Spike,” you said softly, gently moving to touch his chin. “But I trust you. And you need to trust me, too.”

He stared at you, kept his face still as your fingers met his face. He took in your words, weighed them clumsily in his mind. His jaw trembled as your fingers caressed his cheek, his temple, brushed his hairline. 

Spike said nothing, just kept himself in check while you moved to comfort him. The cold, still air of the crypt wrapped you up in its grip. You would find yourself here eventually, either as a corpse or as the undead. The thought had crossed your mind over the months you’d spent seeing him; this possibility had never felt as real as it did now. 

You brought your other hand to his face, too, holding him in your eyes. He was tortured with the thought of losing you, and he was terrified of the thought of hurting you again. “I know you won’t hurt me. Can we just try again?”

A beat, two beats, three. The seconds lingered on as he stood in front of you, gears turning over that word, try.

Can we just try again?

Spike’s hands met your own, held them as they cradled his face. His soulless body still asked for yours, full of life and open for his answer.

He moved one had away from his face, and your stomach almost dropped with the possibility of rejection. But he turned his head, kissed your fingertips, breathing out a sigh. Kissed them again, he nodded once. “Once more, love. Just once.”

And you sighed too, your lips curving into a smile. He caught your eye, a sad smile glimmering back. “Softly,” he said, “slowly. Will you kiss me again, my love?”

And you did, a shiver running from the nape of your neck to your toes. You stepped forward and tilted your head up to meet his lips. Your kissed the corner of his lips, drinking in the smile etched into his features softly as he met your own. He held your face, your neck, leaning into your touch and staying. Something opened back up in him too, and he finally held you close once again. He slipped one hand around your waist, bringing your bodies flush against each other. 

You knew that you wanted to feel this again, and you’re glad that you didn’t imagine that he wanted this again, too.

Melting into each other, you and Spike moved as one being, something alive and something dead that lingered in between. He grazed his lips along your jaw, over your cheek, down your nose, kissing your face and feeling it again. “Oh, my love. You’re absolutely perfect,” he whispered, eyes flitting up to meet yours. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” left your lips, rang in your ears, deafening against his words from that night before. You didn’t want to let go, and he didn’t either.

Somehow, the perfect moment met you again.

[writings-n-stuff]

A Valentine (Colin Gray x Reader)

Pairing: Colin Gray x reader

Word Count: 975

Summary: A little makeup session leads an intense moment between the reader and Colin, and some very sweet words are exchanged :)

Content Warnings: a lil fluff maybe? Gets a bit spicy but nothing graphic

“Okay, Colin, you have to hold still,” you laughed, your hands pulling away from his face to rest in your lap. You relaxed your tight grip on the makeup brush and eyeshadow palette in your hands, looking at him with a playful sternness. “I’m almost done.”

Colin smiled back, eyes soft, warm, and just a little shy. “I just want to look at you,” he said, his hands lightly squeezing your thighs. He leaned up a bit towards you, his back shifting away from the headboard for a second, trying to kiss you.

You left a little kiss on his nose, the moment of annoyance quickly swept away. “Just two more minutes, I promise.”

You and Colin Gray were hanging out together on a Saturday afternoon, getting ready for a concert that was in the next town over. After pestering you for the past few days, he finally convinced you to do his makeup for the show.

Now, you sat between Colin’s legs while he leaned against the headboard of his bed. Thirty minutes ago, when you perched delicately on your knees in order to start your work, he was fidgety and distracted, nervous to have you looking so closely at him. His shyness was so cute, but once you told him to be still, he obediently held his face steady with a little smile. Seeing him sneak peeks at your makeup choices (and a few times at your face) made your heart melt over and over again. 

You and Colin had been flirting with each other for what felt like forever, but it had only become serious within the past few months. Moving into town two years ago, you quickly seemed to become another one of the Dead Girls crushing on Gray. His alternative style immediately grabbed your attention: coming from the city, his choice in jewelry and expertise in layering was something that the two of you constantly bonded over. 

Colin became similarly infatuated with you soon after you worked together in English class. Other than Needy, you seemed to be one of the only other people in Devil’s Kettle that noticed his interest in writing. You noticed how much he loved poetry, and he saw how you would smile when he recited lines in everyday life. To him, you seemed to be a girl sent by destiny.

After you finally put down the brush and the makeup palette, Colin immediately held your face in his hands. The energy in the room shifted; you were finished with his makeup, and the two of you weren’t joking around anymore. His fingertips ran lightly along your jaw, slowing at your chin. A shiver ran down your spine, and you felt your cheeks warm while Colin looked at your eyes, your lips, your eyes again. 

He looked at you like he was seeing every part of you so clearly, and he didn’t turn away.

“Luminous eyes, brightly expressive,” Colin recited Poe softly. A hint of desire clung to his words, an emotion you hadn’t seen often on him before. It was thrilling, his intense stare so focused on you, drinking in every part of your face, your neck, as his other hand moved to your lower back. He blinked slowly, and his thumb brushed your bottom lip lightly, his lips parting as he watched your own do the same. 

You let out a hot breath as his hand came away from your face. His hand moved to your side, and instinctively you moved your body closer. Your hands rested on his chest, fingertips tucking underneath the collar of his shirt. “Colin-”

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his breath warm on your lips. The air was growing heavy, and it was hard to remember that seconds ago you were laughing at how silly the two of you were. You nodded, already moving to close the distance between your lips. 

And he kissed you, fingers tangling lightly into your hair. His lips were so soft, lip ring just a degree cooler. He held you gently as always, giving you a chance to turn away if you wanted to. Colin pulled you closer, shifted so you could lean your body against his; your stomach seemed to flip when his hand pressed harder against the small of your back. Your own hands moved up to the back of his neck, fingers weaving into his hair as well.

When you tilted his head up to deepen your kiss, Colin sighed, melting under your touch. It was hard not to let out a sigh yourself.

And then his hand was at your jaw again, thumb grazing your cheek. He pulled away slightly to say, “You are a treasure,” looking at your cheeks, your lips, your nose, your eyes, taking in every part of your face. “I love these moments with you.”

His eyes were soft, a hint of nervousness amongst the desire. You smiled at his words--the words coming not from someone else’s poem or writing but from him. You knew it was hard for him to simply speak his feelings--it was what moved him to recite flowery language, why he always swayed when he talked and broke eye contact when he said something. But he was looking right at you, wanting you to know that he had these feelings for you.

You held his face in your hands, smiled. “I love you, Colin.” It seemed like the right thing to say, like the only thing that would truly communicate your feelings.

You looked in his eyes, and saw the same feelings glinting back at you. There were a few seconds of disbelief before he responded. “I love you, too.” He leaned towards you, kissing you once again. “I love you, too,” he said softly, closing his eyes, almost like a wish. 

And your heart melted all over again.

[writings-n-stuff]

Movie Night (Noah Centineo x reader)

Pairing: Noah Centineo x Reader

Word Count: 1,216

Summary: When the reader’s new friend Noah comes over for their weekly movie night, the evening turns soft as feelings are admitted.

Content Warning: None! A bit of fluff maybe?

Your new friend Noah was over your apartment for the third time in three weeks for movie night, and things felt so incredibly tense. 

For weeks you’ve had a secret crush on Noah--really, since you first met a couple months ago. There was just something about his easygoing personality, or the way he looked at you while you talked about things that actually matter, or his slight nervousness whenever you were together, that really made you think about him constantly. He was goofy and shy, and he seemed to always want to scoot closer to you. His smile and his body heat made you lightheaded, and you prayed you wouldn’t trip over your words every time he asked you a question.

This week, he brought snacks and suggested the both of you watch a show he’d just discovered. He made you laugh when he busied himself in your kitchen, taking out cups and preparing a little buffet of snacks on a serving tray. He’d memorized your cupboards remarkably fast, and he found all he was looking for in seconds. Noticing your figure in the corner of his eye, he paused for a moment and looked up at you. A silly smile on his face, Noah easily shrugged and mentioned that he hated getting up in the middle of watching things.

His bewildered expression made your stomach flip and blood rush to your cheeks. You laughed in return, and went to your computer to find the show he wanted to watch.

You found it on one of your streaming services as Noah came back and set his haul on the table next to your laptop. He settled on the couch close to you, knees almost touching. The both of you usually sat almost at opposite ends of the couch--the closeness was refreshing and gave you that giggly feeling. You smiled at him generously, and he smiled earnestly back. Wow, he was so sweet, you could barely believe it. 

The both of you focused on your show as you pressed play.

-------------

You were afraid to meet his eyes. They were too clear, too easy a mix of bright brown and sunlight and some other tone. He was funny, funny in the way that a slightly nerdy kid is. But, you still found yourself refusing to meet his eyes because he looked at you so intensely.

Noah seemed to want to look at you, and that made you nervous. 

You were watching some comedy and had been watching for a bit too long. Your arms had settled next to each other an episode ago, his body warm against yours. He was sweet, respectful, and thoughtful in a way that you hadn’t even realized you had wanted to see. You got each others’ jokes. He successfully shifted between serious discussion and lighthearted banter and balanced both extremely well. And he didn’t move away when you had moved your leg to rest next to his.

You were busy watching the show, eyes trained on the screen and thinking fast about him: were you coming off too casually? Did he want to do anything more than this? When was an adequate time to ask to kiss? The questions bubbled around in your mind, punctuated by occasional glances at his relaxed legs, his hand resting comfortably on his knee. Was that a question, an ask, to hold your hand? You were so unsure.

As the final scenes of the show played out, you let out some type of sigh and let yourself relax against the back of the couch. Mirroring your movements, Noah did the same; his exhale felt like a whisper, and you found yourself almost leaning towards him to listen.

A comfortable silence settled between you, and it felt too nice to not feel something deep in your gut. A part of you screamed to tell him how you felt, to let his smile warm your cheeks and push you into telling your deepest truth. You turned to him, prepared to let the words fall out-

“I think you’re really sweet,” he said suddenly. He leveled his eyes with yours and oh, the way they shimmered in the light. Your legs felt tingly, your heart softened--his thoughtful gaze made your insides melt. His arm moved to rest against yours as he sheepishly said, “I think your eyes are really pretty.” 

Oh god, oh god, oh god. His voice sounded like honey, and you tasted the sweetness on your tongue. “I think your eyes are really pretty, too,” you said so softly, glad that you didn’t trip over your words.

He inched his hand towards yours, a hint of anxiety in the way his fingertips lightly drummed against his knee. You could feel the vibrations on your own leg. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and I’m really glad we’re hanging out.”

This felt like a dream. You’ve daydreamt about this moment more times than you could count. “Yeah?” You inched your own hand closer to his, the warmth of his body radiating against yours. The room didn’t feel warm, but definitely much more comfortable than just a few moments ago.

He nodded, visibly letting out another breath. “I really like being your friend, and I think you’re so talented and funny and smart. You make me laugh--you make me happy.” He lightly rubbed his hands on his pants, trying to play it off as much as possible. Your heart was surging, already knowing where he was going. “I don’t want this to ruin our friendship, but I just wanted to ask: may I take you out on a date sometime?”

It was finally here, you wouldn’t fuck it up. You were hoping for this moment for so long, and it actually was happening. Tears prickling at your eyes, you couldn’t speak for a moment. Oh god, this was it. 

He noticed your eyes watering, and seemed only more worried. He raised his hands, an offering, to you: “It’s okay if you don’t want to-”

“Yes,” you said quickly, barely louder than a whisper. “Yes, so much,” you said a bit louder. Every fiber of your being was soaring, floating up and up and up. 

His breath caught, a slow smile gracing his face. “Yeah?” He echoed, putting his hands down, fingertips brushing your leg. “Really? You want to?”

You nodded reassuringly. “Yes,” you said, wiping quickly at your eye. You laughed a little. “I thought you’d never ask.” You took his hand softly, squeezed it a little and let out a burst of your excitement.

Noah laughed too, leaned towards you. “May I kiss your cheek?” He asked, voice dropping half an octave. Your stomach tingled as you nodded, and he wasted no time in delivering a confident first kiss to your cheek. Already warm, you felt yourself blush under his soft lips. You smelled the faint scent of honey as he pulled away, face much closer than before. “I’ve been wanting to ask you for so long.”

You pressed your forehead to his and felt a tingling right on your third eye. You’d been waiting for so long, and it felt right for this to happen. Your dreams were coming true. “Me, too,” you whispered, lips centimeters from his, and kissed his cheek in return. 

[writings-n-stuff]

Pictures of You (Hozier Blurb)

Pairing: Hozier x (Art School! Gender Neutral)Reader

Words: 660 

Summary: Andrew’s sitting as a model for the reader. During the process, the reader reflects upon the beauty of the man. 

Content Warning: fluff

“Tilt your head just a little,” you said, glancing up from your work at Andrew. Your hand rested comfortably at the edge of your sketching pad, charcoal coating your fingers in black dust. “The other way-a little more.” 

Andrew Hozier-Byrne tried his best to keep that smirk off his face; after an hour and a half, his cheeks were twitching from the sustained effort. His silky brown hair framed his face neatly, and his long face caught the mid-afternoon light perfectly as you watched him. Despite the time he’d spent sitting in that not-so-comfortable stool, Andrew remained polite and cheery as always.

When he’d agreed to sit as a model for your next art project, your stomach did something between a flip and a loop-de-loop. You’d had a crush on the man for months, his piercing gaze and warm voice sending a shiver down your spine. In the moment, all you could do was nod with a shy smile, turning your face away so that he wouldn’t see your cheeks warm. 

He’d responded with a hearty laugh, a heavy nudge on your shoulder. 

Illustrating the line of his brow, you brought your feet up onto the seat of the chair you were perched in. The sketchpad was balanced on your thighs, and you could look at the portrait of him much more clearly. Looking at him more than the paper, you quickly glanced at both as you surely followed the curves of his face. The sunlight shone through the short curtain of his hair, highlighting the practiced frown permanently etched into his forehead.

He’s been sitting there for so long, you thought anxiously, worried that you were asking for too much at once. After knowing this man for so long, however, you had learned that he had a high capacity for waiting. Originally, you had met through mutual friends, knowing him as the moody-looking, smoldering musician. After seeing each other at party after party, you began to keep a list about him: soft spoken, a rumbling laugh, never turned down a beer, and could make you smile in a second. 

Almost two months passed before he’d asked if you’d like to have a drink with him, alone. 

Three drinks later, the two of you had ended up cuddling on his couch for the night. Your bond was secured.

You were looking down at your work, looking over the shadows that you’d been looking at for too long. You added more value under his chin, over his lips, in his hair. The man was too pretty to put into words: there were too many layers to effectively illustrate him. There was no way to successfully instill the depth of his voice, his thoughts, his compassion into the paper. No matter how perfect your illustration of his eyes looked physically, there was no way that you could recreate what this time with him meant  to you. 

“I think you should take a break,” he murmured, dangerously close to your ear.  You had been so entranced in your drawing that you hadn’t noticed he now stood behind you, hands gently massaging your neck. A heavy shiver traveled down your spine, settled at your lower back. His hands moved to your shoulders, asking for you to lean back into your chair. Asking you to relax. “It looks beautiful, love.”

You closed your eyes, opened them when you felt his long hair tickling your nose. He was looking at you, and you were looking back. “You look beautiful,” you whispered, letting out a sigh that you’d been holding. “Too beautiful to describe.”

He chuckled, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “I could say the same about you, love.” He gently moved the drawing board out of your lap, set it on the stool he’d been sitting on. He came back over to you, kissed your head. “Come on, I want to hold you.” He held his hands out for you to take, smiled. 

[writings-n-stuff]

Meeting of the Woodpeckers (Edward Cullen fanfiction)

Pairing: Edward Cullen x (College-aged!) boy reader, third person

Words: 1,092

Summary: A boy takes his daily walk through the woods, and stops for a moment to watch two woodpeckers meet at a nearby tree. Edward Cullen, completely intrigued by the boy, follows behind and only becomes more perplexed at his mystery and wisdom.

Content Warning: Edward is being a stalker :/

He was walking through the woods, completely oblivious to the man swiftly following behind him. The changing light of the sun, quickly setting, cut unusual shadows over the boy’s body. Sharp angles and sloping curves from various shapes of leaves and tree branches overhead. It had just rained the day before, and the rainsmell clung to the humid air, settling on his sweaty skin. 

Edward Cullen trailed after the boy, shifting just around the corner in order to stay just out of sight. The yellowy light shone warm on his skin, forming glittery shapes over his face, neck, and arms as he moved along the trail. His hair, mussed as always, lifted with the slight breeze, copper-colored locks shining almost as bright as his features.

Edward stared intensely after the boy, amber eyes working to understand the boy’s utter beauty. Colleged-aged, Edward had first noticed this boy weeks ago in the same stretch of woods, with the same water bottle in his hand and the same pair of earphones in. He had caught his scent, so earthy and sweet, so unusual, that Edward was split between intrigue and thirst. The boy’s thoughts were so quiet, so peaceful, that the intrigue won.

Edward had been following the boy ever since, two steps behind and two steps forward all at once. 

The boy continued walking along the narrow trail, tall socks and hiking boots protecting against poison ivy or crawling things. He was completely lost in the greenery around him, cloaking him, hugging him in earth. The plant life familiar to him since childhood, the boy sighed contently as he brushed his hand through a patch of Queen Anne’s Lace. The soft white tips whispered to his callused fingertips and waved as he pulled away. The summer air was exhilarating, the setting sun dipping each blade of grass and edge of each leaf in a sheen of yellow-orange. The sight was a scene out of a picture book. 

The boy came out to the woods for a walk nearly every day, the varied paths and various trails allowing for venture after venture. Sometimes he spent twenty minutes in the woods, sometimes over an hour; time did not exist in the woods. Especially when the evening light made everything shine just a bit brighter. 

He felt a sound behind him; the boy took his earphone out of his ear, paused to look around. He caught a hint of something glittering as he turned, but there was nothing, no one to see. A woodpecker perched a few feet above his head, searching for bits of food to eat in the tree next to him. The sight made him smile, mouth a little “hello” to the new friend.

Edward watched the boy turn, lips parting slightly as he glanced around. His hair fit his face so well, highlighting the soft angles of his cheekbones, his brow, his jawline neatly. The boy’s eyebrows furrowed, a cute little crease appearing for a moment. He glanced up at the tree closest to him, stepped a little too close to a few springs of poison ivy, to look up at the woodpecker.

Edward saw the boy’s eyes soften, his shoulders relax, and a whisper “hello” to the bird. In that moment, something in him was knocked loose: all Edward wanted to do was to touch this boy, cup his cheek, and hear that whisper right in his ear. He wanted him to have better eyes, to see him with the clarity of a vampire’s eyes. Edward wanted him to run callused fingertips over his cold skin, rub warmth into his hands, arms, chest, lips. 

He watched the boy get on his tiptoes, excitement creeping into his smile as a second woodpecker accompany the first. The two birds met, acknowledged each other, and flew away together. The boy’s eyes followed, deep pools of appreciation that gripped Edward’s heart tightly. The boy’s face hit the sunlight attractively, outlining his jawline, his neck, and his shoulders. He was lanky, but held a strength just under his skin. He wore his height and his build well, understood the way his body moved, and was not afraid of all that he was. Edward was in awe and jealous of this understanding.

The boy continued walking, moving towards the edge of the woods closest to his house. That singular touch with nature was enough; tomorrow he would come back for another wonderful moment. He had been thinking lately about the meaning of fulfillment, and he had decided that he didn’t want to gorge himself on every beautiful thing at once. The process of discovering more was wonderful, and he wanted to continuously discover and appreciate at a comfortable pace.

Edward was dazed; he knew he was following too close behind the boy. If he wasn’t paying attention, he’d give himself away. The smell, the thoughts, the entirety of this boy was making him dizzy. He had this patience that spoke so far beyond his years, one that was echoing within the deepest parts of Edward’s mind. And the fact that this boy was unaware of his own wisdom was equally dizzying. How could he feel so content with both knowing and no understanding himself?

The boy thought idly about the evening ahead of him. He wanted to cook himself his usual dinner, read one of the many library books he’d just gotten, and sit with the smell of the woods in his nose and his hair. He was excited to note down the meeting of the woodpeckers in his journal, to muse about beautiful things. He wanted to write about the occasional flash of glitter he’s seen before while on his walks and the inexplicable scent of ancient things and mystery that followed him on this trip. The boy didn’t understand these tiny details, but he wanted to know them, to touch them, and to hear them whisper back to him.

Edward watched the boy walk out of the woods, sigh deeply as he exited the canopy of trees. He watched his water bottle swing lazily in the boy’s hand, watched his callused fingers scratch the back of his neck. The boy shot one last glance behind him but did not notice the person staring after him. His lips were parted in that same way, his hair ruffling lightly in the wind, his eyes intent and peaceful all at once. The boy smiled at the canopy of trees, the memory of the woodpeckers.

Edward let out a breath that he hadn’t been holding, whispered “Goodbye for now.”

[writings-n-stuff]

Pretty Girl

Pairing: Boy named Dean x (girl!) Reader (both in high school)

Words: 1,235

Summary: Reader dolls herself up for her boyfriend, Dean, to take her to a party. On the ride there, she reflects on her relationship and on how much she’s lost herself in pleasing him.

Content Warning: Some fluff, angst, mention of sex, reflections on dependency, this is a straight couple, mention of drinking/being drunk

Author’s Note: This is a drabble I had written on Quotev (hahaha) when I was around 16, maybe 17? Not a fanfiction really, but inspired by Clairo’s “Pretty Girl.” I edited it a bit for clarity, but I was thinking of maybe continuing it based on interest? Lyrics from the song are in italics.

Sighing, I stood in front of my vanity, brushing blush onto my cheeks. The pink highlighted my tinted eye shadow, made my soft features cute instead of childish. Dean liked it when I wore makeup; he felt like I was doing something special for him. And though I made myself up nearly every time he saw me, I still felt like I was doing it for him. He deserved to feel special.

I took a few steps back to look at my outfit. I wore a pink plaid skirt with a brown cropped tank top. With my white sneakers, I felt like an old-timey ice cream shop: chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. My hair, curled neatly at the ends, matched the look perfectly. I was content with how neatly my clothing choices showed, very content. Dean would like it.

Closing my eyes, I imagined how he would show his affinity for my outfit. He would smirk, eyeing the mid-thigh length of my skirt, chuckling at how much his friends would look at me. As we walked to his car, he'd take off his varsity jacket and drape it over my shoulders, an excuse to run his hand down my back, squeezing my butt just before he opened the door for me. He'd let me get drunk while he talked with his teammates, watching me throw shots back until I drunkenly asked him to dance. All night he'd pull me against him, enjoying himself with the knowledge that all his friends wanted me, that he was the only one who could get me.

I preferred wine, and some of his friends were much cuter, but Dean was the only guy I knew who refused to take advantage of intoxicated women; that was why I let him use me like one of his countless trophies: admired and touched, but never broken.

Walking down the stairs, I glanced at my phone case. Tucked under the plastic covering was a Polaroid of [him] dancing in my room. He was mid laugh, his face obscured from his hand coming up to cover his face. It was from the earlier stages in our relationship, when Dean just wanted to hang out alone, wanted to know about me. It was before he started asking to hang out with his friends every weekend, before thoughts of sex had entered our time together. Then, he was just a silly boy that complimented me a lot. 

I was tying my shoes by the door when I heard his car park in the driveway, when I saw the headlights appear and switch off in the front window curtain. "Babe?" I heard faintly; I unplugged my phone from the charger, unlocked the front door as I heard Dean's footsteps on the stairs. I imagined him running a hand through his hair, a last-minute attempt to tame it before seeing me, his best girl.

I made sure to smile when I opened the door, though I would have anyway. There he was, broad shoulders and tall frame beaming down at me, dressed in a neatly ironed button-down and good jeans under his ever-present varsity jacket. He opened his arms to me, and I molded myself to him. His cologne played at my nose, making me feel safe beside him. "There you are," he said, exhaling into my hair. "You look beautiful."

Pulling away, I smiled up at him. "I could be a pretty girl," I replied. All attention was on him, the star athlete, wholly an all-American boy. Even here, in the dim porch light, I could see his blonde hair clearly, a hint of his sideburns. Very old-fashioned, but also very cute on him.

He gestured for me to lead the way to his car, already shrugging out of his jacket.

---

We were stopped at a long light; Dean's hand, already on my thigh, crept upwards as he looked at me. "This is pretty short," he offered up conversation, smirking at how the pleated material just covered my backside.

I had definitely worn it for him more than anything else, but I enjoyed feeling wanted. It felt so nice when he put his arm over my shoulders at school, calling attention to not only himself but also the pretty girl next to him.

"Oh, I got you something," he said, checking the nearest pocket of his jacket for his gift to me. My heart lifted, as if I was just as excited to find the little thing, too.

Gifts were common with him. To keep his most beloved trophy beautiful, he needed to give it pretty things: hair ribbons, bracelets, a necklace. Underwear and bras, things that he'd imagined me wearing. I learned very quickly to wear these things as we hung out; he liked to see his little dreams in real time.

When he found it, he smiled and hid it between his hands. His fingers were long and his palms were wide and warm, great for an athlete. I imagined how much they swallowed mine whenever we held hands. I laughed, closing my hands around his, wanting to see the present.

Smiling back, he pulled me to him for a kiss, slipping the object into my lap. His warm lips met mine, and his free hand lightly touched my collarbone. His callused fingers ran along the base of my neck, playing at the little heart necklace he gave me a few weeks ago.  I kissed him until a car behind us honked, and Dean finally turned his attention to the road.

I opened my eyes to reveal a tube of red lipstick, something that I had seen at the mall countless times. 

Glancing over at me, Dean said "I think that color would look pretty on you." I had no doubt that this color was on my lips in a recent dream of his, one that he remembered fondly. I was probably leaning over some object in his room, sitting on his desk or sprawled out across his bed. My hair had probably been all in my face as I blew him a kiss, this exact red on my lips as his dream self did things he wanted to do in real life.

Though I let him onto me sometimes, he always asked for more. At the mall, he ran his thumb over my lips, pulling me towards the smelly bathroom; at the movies, he guided my hand over to his jeans, a sheepish smile on his face; in his room, he’d softly close the door behind me, rest a hand on my hip. I never totally wanted to do any of those things, but Dean always had a proud smile on his face afterward, running his fingers through my hair and murmuring a "thank you" out of his panting lips.

I smiled shyly, said thank you. I found a little mirror in my bag, and I neatly blotted the berry color onto my lips. I knew that he wanted me to put it on immediately, to wear it all night. Dean wanted me to plant at lipsticked kiss on his jaw or on his neck, showing off my loyalty to him. He wanted me to act out his imaginations, and I did because he liked me. He gave me things and made me laugh and obeyed when I said “no.” He made me feel delicate.

He made me feel sweet, like a pretty girl.

[writings-n-stuff]

Practice (Beck x Reader)

Pairing: Beck Oliver (Victorious) x (Gender Neutral) Reader 

Words: 1,527

Summary: Beck and the reader are practicing a scene together, when the two of them get distracted by each others’ gaze. A comfortable silence follows, and kisses are exchanged.

Content Warning: lots of fluff

"Okay, I think that's enough for today!" you stated, moving your script aside, your notes off your lap and onto the coffee table.

Beck mirrored your actions, a patient nod and knowing smile on his face. "Yeah, we've definitely got the scene down," he laughed.

The two of you had spent the last hour practicing a scene for your English class--you were Hamlet and Beck was Ophelia. After a good thirty to forty-five minutes of reading, rereading, and giving mutual feedback, the both of you had finally settled into your roles. That was also when you both adopted ridiculous accents as you practiced, waving your hands around and sticking your noses into the air. After almost hitting Beck in the chin, you decided that enough was enough.

A slightly awkward silence settled between the two of you. Beck had also spent the hour convincing you that your acting was truly sincere, that you were acting beautifully. On the Visual Arts track at Hollywood Arts, you never seemed to see the Acting students outside of your "normal" classes. Beck had always been polite enough, kind enough, and a pleasant presence next to you in class. He pretended not to notice when you casually glanced his way, and you did the same whenever you noticed him staring back.

When the teacher had paired you two up to practice and analyze a scene from Hamlet, Beck had given you one of many killer smiles, excitement showing plain in his eyes.

The same expression met his face in this moment, sitting together at his place. You had sat a bit far apart on his sofa, but all the joking around had brought you closer. Your arms almost touched; you could smell the faintest bit of cologne when he turned to face you. "I hope we analyzed the scene right," Beck said, eyes roaming over your face, his hands settling to rest on his stomach. "It'd be embarrassing to read it all wrong."

You shrugged, turning a bit towards him as well. You brought your leg onto the sofa, foot hanging over the edge. You had taken off your shoes when you entered his trailer, noticing his shoes piled in a corner by the door. Now, you pulled at the edge of your pizza-print socks. "I think anything can be interpreted many different ways," you said quietly, eyes trained on the graphic of melting cheese on the fabric. "Art is subjective, and just showing how comfortable we are with the script also matters. I mean,” you sent a shy glance up at him and his listening eyes, “you're definitely going to outshine any acting I could ever do."

Beck nudged your shoulder, shaking his head. "Come on, you're so talented! We work well together; I'm not going to outshine you at all." He tilted his head, catching your gaze with the way his hair gracefully fell over his face. "You're a natural. Really."

You just nodded, drinking in his reassurance. Beck had this calm about him that somewhat settled your nerves. You weren't anxious about the scene, you were anxious about him. He was leaning ever so slightly towards you, cologne-and-boy smell making you feel all warm in your belly. As he moved his hair away from his face, breaking eye contact just for a second, he asked, "What have you been doing in your visual classes?"

As always, you felt your face warm a bit; you rubbed the back of your neck, thinking of something to say. Talking about your own accomplishments was something you still weren't used to doing, even at Hollywood Arts, where talent was the singular thing anyone ever discussed. "I'm working on a series of portraits. I have this huge wooden board," you stretched your hands out to show how wide the surface was, "and I'm painting one face on top, then layering different flyers and posters over parts of the face, and then using different features to paint a new face on top over and over. Just kind of seeing how many people I can create, and how similar people's faces really are." You glanced up at Beck to see him looking at you so intently. It made you blush a little. "What?"

The corner of Beck's lips tilted up, and he leaned his head on his hand while you explained. "Are you using specific people as references?"

You smirked, feeling like he wanted to know whether or not you had painted him. "Sometimes, sometimes not." You shrugged, "I really just paint whatever, whoever, I'm thinking of in the moment."

You leveled your eyes with his then, mirroring his intense gaze. Taking in your words, Beck let the silence fall again. It settled over your shoulders like a blanket, both of you wrapped together as you simply stared.

You had caught Beck’s eyes lingering at your lips before, in English class, completely checked out of the lecture on the warmest days. He would lean back in his chair (as if that made it more inconspicuous), and he would pretend he was simply daydreaming. It wasn’t completely acting, since he was daydreaming about how it would feel to kiss you, but he still liked to think that he was acting almost interested in class.

Much closer now, Beck’s eyes had slid from yours, skimming over the curve of your cheeks, the slope of your nose, and settling over your lips once again. Not even hiding it, he was aware of how forward this was. He had been lightly flirting with you the whole time: purposefully making you laugh with funny accents, nudging your shoulder or arm or leg as he encouraged your silliness, simply looking at you like that while you talked with him. You wanted him to admit it, verbally. “What are you thinking about?” you asked, your voice coming out low and husky just like you wanted.

Beck leaned a little more towards you; you could swear that his face reddened a bit. “I’m thinking about how it might feel to kiss you right now,” he answered with a similar tone. The corner of his mouth turned up just a little, and your heart melted instantly. 

Wordlessly, you moved your hands forward, into his. You leaned towards him, faces inches apart but still not touching. Your fingertips trailed over his forearm, and he held his hand open for you to hold. Beck’s other hand settled on your shoulder, moving to rest at your neck. You felt a warm shudder down your spine, holding onto each little movement he made, each breath he took, every glance over your face.

Your own hand rested at his chest, fingertips slipping just under the neckline of his t-shirt. The cologne smell was a bit stronger now, floating over the simple scent of boy as you scooted closer to him. Beck moved his thumb over your lips gently, making sure that you didn’t want to move away. His brown eyes were warm, reminiscent of melting chocolate. Soft. “Is it okay if I kiss you,” he exhaled, almost whispering against your lips. His eyes were already dipping closed, biting at his bottom lip slightly.

You nodded, leaning into him first, settling into his warm hold. Beck welcomed your proximity, kissing back so sweetly, squeezing your hand just a little. Lips soft, slow against your own. His hand moved to your hair, weaving his fingers into your locks. He had wanted to kiss you for a while, and the way that he kissed you slow and carefully truly showed it.

Beck’s hair brushed against your cheeks as he leaned into you, tongue lightly grazing over your bottom lip. You melted into his hand on your neck, his fingertips warm on your skin. He kissed you so carefully, lightly biting your lip with a content sigh. You could tell that he was excited by the way his hand squeezed yours reassuringly. His hair tickled your cheeks while you moved together, your hand coming up to touch his jaw. You felt him smile against your lips.

Out of breath, the both of you pulled away in the same moment. Beck tenderly cupped your cheek, and you let out a sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. All you wanted was to settle in his arms with this warm, bubbly feeling in your stomach. All you wanted was for Beck to look at you as he was, happy and shy and still a little nervous.

He was feeling the same. 

Beck moved his hair out of his eyes, feeling a little embarrassed at how much he was smiling. He wanted to play it cool, or at least look like he was playing it cool. He really wanted to kiss you more, to lean into your soft hands. Beck really wanted to practice your scene again and again if it meant that you’d get to kiss afterwards again and again.

“I’m glad we got to work together,” you murmured warmly. Beck’s soft, pensive gaze helped you realize that you really were there with him. He was really holding your hand, gazing at you and wishing you could kiss again.

He nodded, a smile still playing at his lips. “Me, too.”

[writings-n-stuff]

To You (Hozier x Reader) Blurb

Pairing: Hozier x (gender neutral)College/Uni!Reader

Words: 556

Summary: In a letter to the reader, Andrew discusses his love for the reader, and wishes for the moment he comes back from tour.

Content Warning: fluff, mentions of reader being at uni

My love,

I am writing to you between sound check and the show tonight. This time, I am thinking about running my fingers through your hair, your bright, clear eyes looking back at me. 

My eyes are tired. The days are long and seem so much longer without you in my arms. You are so warm and so soft; I always thought this when you fell asleep by my side. We would watch some film you had roped me into liking, and before I knew it you would be passed out on my shoulder. Whenever I would move, you would shift towards me until I fell asleep, too.

The hardest part of the day is waking up. I look over, and I do not see you beside me. Those are the moments in which I feel the most apart. But, in the most perfect seconds of the day, I see you in nearly every person I meet: the way that the light hits a man’s cheek, the little purse of a person’s lips as they smile, the excited manner in which a child reaches for a parent’s hand. You are all around me and somehow not with me.

I do hate crowds, but the glimpses of you that I notice make me want to dive headfirst into any group of people I see. 

What have you been thinking about lately? Are you thinking about me as much I am about you? I hope that you are safe and well at uni. I am thinking about the questions that must be swimming around in your mind, the brilliant, amazing people that you’ve surrounded yourself with. You are absolutely radiant, and I miss hearing the concepts and thoughts you’re constantly contemplating. Hearing about your work is just as mind-boggling as it has always been, and I miss it. I miss you. You, and your brilliant mind. I know you are making the most of your time there, and I am counting down the days until I get to come back.

The sound guy just asked to go over a song with me again in a few minutes. Though this tour is fast-paced and always moving, you are grounding me on every step of the way. I am collecting souvenirs for you, ones that you like: rocks, little crystals, forgotten pieces to old toys I see while walking. At the end of the day, I empty my pockets of the little trinkets and hide them away. This collection that I am building is filled with memories, and it is all for you. 

I want to hear more about your classes! What have you been discussing with your mentors? How are the classmates in your cohort? Do you feel settled into your apartment yet? I know I left right as you were moving in; I am thinking about those couple days spent in the new place, and I’m imagining more of your touches in the space. Is there anything on your mind you want to write about?

Please reply at your leisure, I do not want to take you away from your work. As always, I am here with you. Though I am far away, I am yours. I am performing songs about you, about love, about us.

With much love, 

Andrew John Hozier-Byrne

[writings-n-stuff]

The Perfect Moment (Spike x Reader)

Pairing:  Spike x (gender neutral) Human!Reader

Words: 2,117

Summary: Spike and the reader have been talking for months, both thinking and imagining how their first kiss together would feel. Both wonder whether it would end well or unbelievably badly. The moment it finally happens, how does it pan out?

Content Warning: kissing, angst, mention of blood, mention of death, mention of turning into vampire

Note: A part of this feels... erotic

Part 2

Quietly sliding your window open, you carefully removed the screen from the frame. You leaned the dusty piece of metal next to your bed and balanced a small jar in the window frame so that it could stay open while you snuck out.

Stepping through the open window frame and onto the ground, you wished that hanging out with Spike didn't mean constantly escaping your room at night to go and see him. It felt like you were lying, somehow.

But, for some reason, you couldn't stay away. Something about him kept you coming back over and over and over.

Spike came into your life months ago, when you had witnessed the vampire draining some poor girl on your walk home after an especially late night out with friends. Horrified, you had let out a little sound, causing Spike to look up at you with that hungry, demonic look in his eyes. The dead girl in his hands had dropped so surely to the ground, completely lifeless.

The fear that had clenched your gut was like none you had felt before.

He had let you go that night, let you run back home and pull your blankets up over your head. Wishing that what you had seen was not real, and that the impossibly beautiful man killing a girl that was almost your age was not terrible and was not, well, a killer.

Spike had fixated himself on you almost immediately, trying to figure out why your gaze seemed to stare into his soul. Or the cavity where his soul would be. Should be?

Only a few nights later, when you had settled into bed, you had noticed an additional shadow against the moonlight coming in from your window. A person-shaped shadow. And, before you could think to scream, the man from the other night had talked to you. Reassured you, using words like "love" and "sorry" and "beautiful."

You had thought hard about screaming, thought about it for a while. Instead, you had calmly asked what he was with an impossible confidence.

You slid the window pane down generously, settling it over the carefully placed jar before turning towards the cemetery. Living just across the street, you were used to hearing eerie sounds and distant noises that seemed to make so much sense once you met Spike. You had talked almost all night through the window on your first night together, your initial horror appeased when he truthfully admitted that he couldn't enter your room uninvited.

The night air was chilly, settling your usual anxiety as you made your way towards Spike's crypt. Sometimes, you saw the shadows of other demons lurking behind headstones, the whisper of some figure behind you as you made your quick beeline to the familiar place. You knew you were risking your life, and you knew you weren't sure what that meant.

You also knew that you wanted to see him over anything else.

As you slid into the stone entrance of Spike's crypt, the dank, musty air descended. Your mom had begun to notice the almost constant smell of death and something else on you. No matter how many times you showered before seeing anyone, the odor stayed, constantly worrying your mother and puzzling your friends at school. They had noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the pale filter that settled over your face. You felt like a part of you was already turning into him. You still weren't sure what that meant.

As always, Spike's eyes leveled with yours as you came into sight. A smile slowly creeping onto his lips, he sauntered towards you. "Hello, love," he murmured, gently placing a hand on your back and leading you towards his dusty love seat. "Any demons give you trouble?"

Swallowing hard, you looked up at him briefly, shook your head. "No demons," you said softly, relaxing your body into the furniture. Some nights, you still came to Spike's even as fear laced through your insides. Some nights you were sure you were going to die, or be turned. Some nights you were completely fine, laughing and flirting and lying down with Spike.

You weren't sure what you two were, only that you wanted to be together.

Spike's gaze softened as he noticed your expression. Never sure how to appease your mind, he took your hand, kissed it gently as he sat down next to you. "You don't have to stay, love," he said as he did whenever he noticed you were like this. Afraid.

You nodded, closed your eyes, counted to ten. When you got to ten, you wouldn’t be scared of him. You opened your eyes, you noticed that Spike’s gaze had settled on your lips. He still hadn’t kissed you after months of talking. You both were unsure, terrified at what could happen: either really good, or positively and completely destroying you both.

Spike had dreamt about kissing you, more than he had dreamt of sucking the blood out of you. He dreamt of turning you into himself, a vampire. He dreamt of you coming over and staying, sleeping with you under his arm forever. Spike was a romantic, and the minute that he had seen you, he was done for. 

He knew that out of the likely endings, most would break him.

Settling into the usual love seat, into the comforting air of the crypt, you could feel the heavy thoughts clouding Spike’s mind. Placing your hand on his forearm, leaning into him, you attempted to pull him out of his whirlwind of thoughts. “I noticed that the cemetery was quiet tonight,” you worked at making conversation.

Spike nodded, meeting your eyes while he took in your words. “Yeah, I tried to clear the area right after sunset,” he explained. He moved an arm to rest on the love seat just above your shoulders. “Didn’t want you to get hurt.” Killed.

You quietly let Spike wrap his arm around you. Under the usual smell of the crypt, you noticed an additional scent. It was delicate, floating over the heavy air, something flowery. Looking at a bundle of it hanging over the crypt entrance, you noticed the “Lavender,” you whispered with a smile. One night you had mentioned your mother’s question about a new perfume you wore, but you hadn’t thought that Spike had noticed. “It smells beautiful.”

He smiled, pulling you closer to him. “Thought it might brighten up the place,” he brushed off your comment. “Kind of ties the room together, don’t you think?” Trying to seem nonchalant, you knew that he had been waiting for you to notice, wanting you to see that he was taking your words in very carefully.

“I agree.” You looked up at him, his eyes smoldering with muddled thoughts, questions about you. Spike looked at you with so much intensity, you felt it in the pit of your stomach, something wanting him back.

It had been months, and he hadn’t tried to kiss you.

Overcome with some emotion you weren’t sure how to place, you bit your lip lightly, squeezed his hand for a moment. Something at the very core of your being was screaming at you, screaming with you. He was right in front of you, and you wanted him for so long, and you were too scared before to say so. Any wrong move could result in your death, you knew. But you also knew that something at the core of Spike’s being couldn’t hurt you, would feel so incredibly wrong at any possible pain he inflicted on you. You knew that any wrong move could result in his death as well. Maybe not as quickly, but death nonetheless. “Spike...”

Your breath fanned across his face, igniting that familiar feeling in his gut when he locked eyes with you that first time. He wanted you then, and he wanted you now. After waiting so long, Spike was sure that if he waited any longer, a part of him would lose control. He wanted to do a lot of things, but first he wanted to kiss you. The feeling wouldn’t go away, not after months of talking, hanging out, doing anything but getting physically close to you, nothing more than holding hands and sitting as you were now. His arm around you, Spike was sure that he could and should ask, “May I kiss you?”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, firmly moving your hands to Spike’s chest as you nodded. Your lips seemed to perfectly move against his, a silent question floating between you finally answered. The hunger at the bottom of your stomach both eased and tightened at the same time, both of you almost sighing as your lips met again and again.

Spike’s hand settled on your neck, the blood flowing under your skin almost driving him mad. Your lips were so soft, so perfect against his, almost exactly as he had hoped. This was better, your hands clutching his shirt, subconsciously falling into him just as he fell into you. Your worries washed away, forgotten as you kissed, perfect lips against perfect lips. This was so much better than anything you had dreamed.

Spike pulled away when he felt your muscles tense under his grip. Pulling himself out of his daze, he quickly forced himself to clear his head. Moving his hands away, he quickly scanned your face, your body, looking for signs of damage. He didn’t want to know, was afraid to know. He so badly wanted to slip under your touch again, feel your warm body under his hands. 

Fingerprint-shaped patterns on your neck, his heart fell as he recognized the bruises forming on your skin.

Hyper aware of his gaze, you lightly rubbed your neck, confused at the dull pain under your fingers. You were just coming down from the impossible high of kissing Spike, finally feeling his lips against yours. It was like nothing you had ever experienced. You only knew that you wanted more, and you only knew that you wanted to feel that forever. “Spike-”

“I can’t, love,” he said, cursing himself for still using his nickname for you. “No matter how hard I tried, I still hurt you.” He shuffled away from you, moving his arm back towards his body. The moment he had worked so hard to let himself share with you could not be perfect. “I can’t- I can’t.” A part of him was amazed at how quickly he had let himself go, at how quickly he could hurt you. Though it was only a bruise, it was still a sign that he couldn’t be anything other than a danger to you. “This isn’t safe,” he stated stiffly, channeling his gaze to the floor.

Watching him withdraw, you wished that you could change his mind. Your skin still whispered at the memory of Spike’s hands on you, the gentle way that he had held you. You only wanted that moment to last longer. But with the absoluteness with which Spike had pulled away, you knew that you couldn’t say anything to make him think differently.

Quietly, you stood, forcing yourself away before you did anything you’d regret. “Good night, Spike,” you said softly, looking hard at the bundle of lavender over the door as you quickly made your way out of the crypt. The night air lightening as the sun prepared to rise, your eyes quickly blurred with tears as you made a similar beeline back to your house. First walking, then running, you just wanted to fall into your bed, clutch your pillow, stare at your window until your day began. 

Roughly shoving the window open, the glass jar almost shattered as it hit the floor, rolling across the hardwood loudly. You didn’t care about who would hear you, you just wanted to forget about how Spike made you feel in that magical moment.

Settling into your blankets, the window screen rested against your bed, the open air wafting in. Tears freely fell down your cheeks, stung your eyes. Everything had made sense in that moment, everything seemed to fall into place. You couldn’t ignore the way in which Spike had looked at you, that intensity that stared right into your soul. You only hoped that Spike felt the same, that somewhere in his mind, you were irreplaceable. I love you, Spike. 

Settling into his own bed, Spike replayed that perfect moment with you over and over. He still wanted you, and he wasn’t sure if he could stay away from you. Still partially horrified at how the moment had ended, Spike stared at the ceiling, eyes flicking over to that damn lavender. I love you, too. 

[writings-n-stuff]

High Tide (Jacob x Reader)

Pairing: Jacob Black (with long hair) x (gender neutral) Reader (who lives on the Quileute reservation)

Summary: After insisting that the reader’s childhood friend (and crush!), Jacob Black, could never charm her, Jacob proves he can sweep them off their feet. In doing so, he reveals his mutual feelings for his forever friend. 

Words: 2,857 words

Content Warnings: a couple swear words, fluff, reader wearing a dress

Note: The reader is written to be Indigenous, a member of the Quileute community. Please keep that in mind!

The beach waves tickled your feet in chilly, bubble-filled water as you watched the sun set in the distance. The tide was coming in at La Push Beach, and though the wind had been blowing heavily all day, you enjoyed the way that the frigid water felt on your skin. 

You spent almost the entire day out at the beach, sitting by yourself and just enjoying the crash of the waves, the smell of the water, the way the cloudy sun bathed everything in a soft, comforting warmth. Being so naturally warm, the slight frigidness of the water and wind was calming for you in a way that almost no one else on the reservation seemed to enjoy. Why would you choose to be cold, your parents remarked, when our community is alive with warmth? When we’ve protected ourselves against the Cold Ones for so long? To nearly everyone else, one overcast day was completely backwards.

Hair still damp and filled with sand already, you lie on your back as the water rolled up and around your body. The bubbles tickled your ears as the waves crept further up the beach. Soon you would have to depart; the tide was coming in, and your mother had made it abundantly clear that you needed to be ready by the time Billy and Jacob Black arrived for dinner. You had decided that sunset gave you a perfect amount of time to run back to your house, shower, and change clothes. You didn’t want to miss a moment with your closest friend.

You closed your eyes, smiled as your thoughts wandered towards Jacob. Long hair, chocolate brown eyes, and a smile to die for, Jacob Black had been the object of your affection since you were kids. Ever since you could remember, he was there: playing in the dirt, racing through the woods, roasting marshmallows, hearing the history of the reservation, passing notes in class. Jacob had been your friend since you could walk, the person you turned to when you scraped your knee or when your parents spent the night arguing. He was always there, a warm hand to hold, a carefully placed joke, and eyes that just seemed to get you.

Almost as long as you could remember being friends with Jacob, you had also been completely head over heels for him. Though his bear hugs, his warm smile and flirty, simmering comebacks been so clearly platonic, you still imagined his actions being rooted in something else. Something that was more delicate, and much deeper. 

“Better get out before you get swallowed up!”

You looked left, right, seeing only beach, water, and trees a little ways away. A laugh already building in your throat, you propped yourself up on your elbows and looked directly behind you. As expected, Jacob was walking towards you with a similar grin. Coming to stop right behind you, he lightly nudged your arm. “I’d still love to have dinner with my best friend,” he stated, crouching down so his face hovered directly above yours, “but I can’t do that if you were swept out to sea.” This close to him, you felt his body heat warm your wind-blown skin. His eyes were light and playful with a hint of something else. Something sizzling. 

Rolling your eyes, you pulled your knees into your body, preparing to stand. “I guess you bring up a good point.” You took your time swiping your arms and legs, getting some of the built up sand off your body, before pushing yourself up on your feet. Stretching your arms above your head, you let out a little yawn. “At least the ocean could sweep me off my feet.”

Hair blowing and curling in the wind, Jacob smirked handsomely as you prepared to walk towards your house. “You think I can’t sweep you off your feet, babe?” he joked, matching his step with yours.

You shrugged, exaggerating your doubtful expression. Your insides fluttered as he used the nickname you jokingly called each other, a secret joke that just stuck after one night of bashing cringey pet names. Though you initially hated the idea of calling someone “babe,” you quickly warmed up to it as Jacob began to use it when he tried his best to annoy you. Now, it only gave you butterflies and wishes that he’d feel the same. “I’m just saying you’ve never done it before, babe.”

The line of residential houses coming into sight, Jacob glanced at you, smiled, then started nodding, accepting his new challenge. “All right,” he said, acting out stretching his arms, warming up his muscles. “I promise, tonight I’m gonna blow you away,” he vowed, eyes staring right at you. There was an excitement there, one that released another round of fluttery feelings in your stomach. He stared at you with so much intensity that you felt a blush warming your cheeks already.

Walking you to your door, Jacob took your hand and squeezed for a moment. Stopping in front of you, his passionate gaze felt too intimate for the outside air. He ran his thumb over the back of your hand, and he moved your connected fingers to his chest, thin t-shirt tightly stretching over what you knew to be a sculpted body. “I’ll see you in a bit, babe,” he said sincerely, running his thumb over the back of your hand.

You were almost convinced that he was honest, almost. A little smile playing at the corner of his lips suggested his competitive strategy. Still, while you just wore a similar t-shirt-and-shorts outfit, you could have been wearing the most elegant gown with the way he stared at you. Or nothing at all, you thought darkly.

Getting more flustered by the second, you playfully punched his chest. “Yeah, whatever, babe,” you retorted, trying hard to diffuse the sudden emotional tension between you. Hiding your quickly warming face, you let go of his hand and quickly made towards your front door. Leaving no time for Jacob to reply, you shut the door behind you and made a beeline to the bathroom.

As you walked inside, Jacob chuckled after you. Why were you so damn cute? Your soft eyes in his mind, he mussed his free-flying hair, determined to make you realize how he felt for you. How he desperately wanted to sweep you off your feet, make you blush, make you laugh, make you want him. He wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t just the boy that launched spit balls at your bullies, but that he was the boy that covered your eyes during the scariest scenes of Monster House, the boy that invited you to stay with him when your parents went out of town for two weeks, the boy that slept on your floor when you had called him, sobbing incoherently. The boy that also stayed home when you were sick, kissed your forehead, wiped cold towels over your cheeks and arms until your fever broke in the middle of the night. He was there, and he wanted to stay.

- - - - - 

Rinsing conditioner from your hair, you thought deeply about Jacob’s sudden change in energy. It all happened so quickly: one moment he was all smiles, the next simmering with all kinds of tension. You couldn’t understand how easily it was for him to shift his mood, and how easily he could gain a reaction from you.

I am so pathetic, you thought, combing the last bits of sand from your hair. Jacob had done things like this before, proving that he could be just another boy that you could crush on instead of his lifelong friend. You fell for it every time. You were just glad to be graced with a sly tongue and a quick mind that could play it off... most of the time.

Turning off the water, you stepped out of the shower and wrapped yourself in a towel. What could he possibly try tonight? Especially when parents were around? Jacob would no doubt let Billy in on the plan, asking him to insist that “the kids have their kid time,” allowing you both to retreat to the backyard or your room or really any setting in which you were alone. This would give Jacob the freedom to truly try anything he could to reduce you to an anxious, romantically confused mess. 

Yes, tonight was going to be interesting for sure

- - - - - 

Unsure about how this evening was going to go, you lingered in your room for a while until your mother impatiently knocked on your door, informing you that Billy and Jacob had arrived. “Come on, honey,” she said, “come greet them! I know Jacob’s excited to see you.”

Frowning one last time in your mirror, you trudged out of your room and into the dining room, where your parents, Jacob, and Billy greeted you warmly. Jacob especially smiled, tilting his head a bit and eyeing the dress you chose to wear, the only piece of clothing which you felt could charm the pants off Jacob back. Stepping towards you, away from the adults’ discussion, he sighed, biting his upturned lip. “You look beautiful,” he beamed, shoving his hands shyly in the pockets of his Nice Jeans, one of his three button downs fitting across his shoulders nicely. Very nicely.

His hair was braided back, just a little more formal than the event called for, but you weren’t complaining. For some reason, a part of this meeting felt like some sort of date: the dressy clothes, the awkward compliments, the steady eye contact. “So do you,” you replied, rubbing the back of your neck, unsure of what to do.

Just as you expected, Billy insisted that the kids “have their kid time,” making you take paper plates loaded with food out to the backyard. You rolled your eyes as your mom raised her eyebrows at you, wanting to comment on Jacob’s change in attire. Somehow, she knew about Jacob’s crush on you and got overexcited whenever he did anything even remotely kind. You just shook your head at her and followed Jacob out to the back porch. 

Having missed Harry Clearwater’s homemade fish fry, the first minutes of your alone time was spent in the usual comfortable silence. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, you and Jacob ate heartily, practically shoveling bites of food into your mouths while you sat on the porch steps, plates balanced on your laps. Having grown up eating with Jacob, it seemed unnatural to even think about being any type of polite. However weird this situation was at the moment, you were still sitting next to your best friend. “This food is so fucking good.”

“When is it not?”

Soon, your eating slowed and the unfamiliar tension came back between you. Taking your plate and his, Jacob placed your dishes off to the side. As he turned back to focus on you, he let out a long, content sigh. “So, tell me about your day.”

The taste of the amazing fried fish still on your tongue, you looked up at the darkening sky. “Honestly? I spent the whole day at the beach,” you replied honestly, curling your toes as you remembered the cool sand on your feet and the saltwater in the air. “The entire day.”

Jacob listened intently, that deep, polite smile on his lips. “Any reason why?” He leaned back on his hands, one arm resting behind your torso, the first step towards an arm around your shoulder. The fish swam around in your gut. “What were you thinking about?”

A sudden burst of confidence, you met his intense gaze fearlessly. “The wind felt so freeing.” You shrugged, your fingers playing with the hem of your dress as you thought. “I don’t know, it all feels connected out by the water, more real. I...” you thought about how to verbalize your day, “I think my memories feel like they make sense out by the sea.” You broke eye contact, chuckling nervously at your sincerity. “It’s kind of silly,” you retreated, already embarrassed to share something so deep. 

Jacob shook his head, expression hanging onto each word. He leaned into you, your shoulder touching his side. As always, he knew exactly where your mind was. “No, I totally get it.” He looked out at the sky. “I kind of feel that way when I’m walking through the woods. Like everything that I am is finally a part of something greater, but that it truly always has been.” He sighed, eyes proving that he was out among the trees, shadows of the canopy’s leaves playing over his face, mulling over the Quileute tradition as he thought about his own journey. “It always seems complicated, but in those moments it all makes sense.”

You nodded, remembering your own collection of days thinking the same thing, resting your head on Jacob’s shoulder. Naturally, he wrapped his arm around you, thrilled to hold you close and smell your freshly conditioned hair. You sighed. “I just don’t want to forget how important this is to me,” you said softly, thinking about how many of your friends, people that you looked up to as a child, had moved away, choosing better jobs or better homes rather than staying within the reservation. Most of your current friends wanted to leave as soon as possible, go to college far away and find some well-paying arrangement. Jacob was one of the few people your age that truly wanted to stay on the reservation forever. Whenever you thought about it, your eyes stung with the possibility of tears. All those memories that you shared growing up could never compare to an expensive life outside of your home. 

You both continued to think, almost in each others’ minds as you subconsciously leaned closer together. Jacob ran a hand over your arm, his warmth electrifying, making your skin feel radiant, awakening somehow. You responded by placing a hand softly on his knee, squeezing lightly, feeling the years-old connection between the two of you. Stars began to shine in the sky, the inky blue settling into the night.

This felt so much more intimate than you had ever dreamed.

“What are you thinking about now?” Jacob asked huskily, breath fanning across your face. You looked up at him, almost startled at his smoldering gaze. He was in love with you. Your heartbeat roared in your ears, a flood of white noise blocking out everything but him. The way he traced circles into your side, his lips held slightly open, eyes half in memory and half caught in you, the realization that your forever friend was looking at you in this way filled you with relief as well as anxiety. When did this happen? you questioned yourself, And how long did I ignore it?

Silently telling yourself to kick up some courage, you carefully practiced your answer in your head once before responding with the honest truth. If you stuttered or tripped on your words, the perfect moment might slip away “I’m thinking about kissing you right now,” you said clearly, answering his question and asking your own. 

As you nervously waited for his reply, Jacob smiled with an incalculable emotion you had never seen so clearly before. “Me, too.” Taking one last breath together, you both seemed to lean in at once, mutually inviting each other’s kiss. 

Waves of emotion crashed around you, and settled in your mutual embrace. The little ball of anxiety that followed you whenever Jacob was around finally released. Filled with all that you had dreamed of and more, Jacob’s lips felt like pure fire meeting yours. Unimaginably soft, his lips moved slowly with yours, your actions mirroring each other’s and almost anticipating the other’s moves and flowing together. 

Fully embracing you, Jacob held you close, resting a hand on your jaw, his thumb lightly grazing your cheek carefully. Your own hands were on his chest, one at the base of his neck, the other curled over his fast-beating heart. You were sure your own heart was running a mile, so distracted by the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands on you, that you were forgetting to breathe. In your distracted state, a small part of you noticed that Jacob had forgotten to breathe, too. 

Just as your lips moved together, you both pulled away in the same moment. Holding each others’ faces in your hands, a tenderness that rarely graced your friendship was showing its full force, bubbling up between both of you. Though the sky was dark, you could swear only a pink and orange sky and puffy clouds surrounded you both. Still riding the high tide that your longest crush felt the same, you couldn’t wrap words around what you were feeling. 

Luckily Jacob found his footing first. Exhaling heavily, a smile radiant with pure love, he said, “I think you swept me off my feet.” He laughed to himself, giddy under your touch and your gaze.

You smiled in kind, kissed his cheek tenderly. “And you swept me off mine.”

[writings-n-stuff]

I Promise

Pairing: Eliza x (gender neutral) Zombie!Reader

Words: 1,347

CW: anxiety, angst, mentions of prejudice, zombiephobia

Summary: Zombie!Reader is anxious about their first day of school at Seabrook High. The night before the first day, the reader sneaks out of the house and finds themselves talking with Eliza, who is feeling the same way. 

You lay in bed, the usual creaks and shifts of your old house in Seabrook’s Zombietown amplified by the dark night. The light of the full moon shone through your bedroom window, casting unusual shadows across the small space. You had the smallest bedroom in the house, an upgrade from sharing a room with your two younger siblings. Only having had it for the summer, the change was still new: echoes of your parents talking in the adjacent room or your siblings’ whispered bickering still startled you, the blowing of the wind against the walls still threatening to keep you awake at night.

Sitting up in bed, you turned on your stomach and wistfully looked straight at the bright moon. Your parents suggested the room change because you were meant to start at Seabrook High at the end of the summer. A first for zombies in the town, Seabrook was home to the Mighty Shrimp, the bubbly pink and green both enticing and filling you with dread. All summer, you thought and questioned almost constantly about the swiftly approaching fall. How would the humans treat you? Would you even be allowed inside the school gates? How could you possibly try to make friends with anyone, especially the uber-peppy cheer leading squad? Just thinking about all of it sent chills down your spine. You imagined what anxiety felt in a human form: sweaty palms? Warm face? Faster heart rate?

The moon gazed back at you, seeming to take in all your concerns. While not answered, your cycling thoughts seemed to calm a little. I’ll find out soon, you thought glumly. After weeks of overthinking, the first day of school was tomorrow. Glancing at your new school clothes hung on your door, you did think about the feeling of your new shoes on the Seabrook High tile, hanging your maroon jacket in your shiny, clean locker. If you focused on the tiny details, it felt less scary, more real. But the first day was tomorrow. How could you think about anything other than the steely gates and hordes of guards to surround you and your friends?

I need to get out of here.

You sighed, shoved the sheets off you. Crawling out of bed, you roughly put your shoes on. Not completely broken in, the new soles still felt awkward on your feet. You shrugged on your jacket very slowly, not wanting to cause the old house to creak, not wanting your parents to know you’re breaking curfew. If they knew you were sneaking out tonight of all nights, they would go ballistic. Not completely full zombie, but pretty close.

Sneaking out the back door, you closed the door slowly, wishing for it not to creak. Your parents had some type of spiritual connection to all the house entrances at night, making it almost impossible to sneak around Zombietown. Almost. As the door closed silently, you let out the breath you’d been holding seemingly forever. Finally outside, relief was already calming your bones. With the full moonlight above, you had helpful guidance to slip between the neighboring houses, to tread quietly away from the dim streetlights, towards the edge of Zombietown.

You shoved your hands in your pockets, frowning at the ground while you walked. How could you just leave Zombietown? Yes, there were so many more opportunities open to you at Seabrook High, but Zombietown was your home. You wished that there was some way in which you wouldn’t feel like you were somehow betraying your community, like you were turning away from it just when you’re understanding what being a zombie means. You were proud of who you were, and you wanted the humans to know why, too. You just didn’t want to be forced into their compound essentially to let them know. 

Coming up to the zombie park, you felt your muscles relaxing, your jittery limbs calming with each step. So many memories graced this place, so many summer nights spent talking with your friends, laughing, dancing. The park was a place where you felt you could be your true self, not one that was “proper” or “for” the humans, for the constant security around Zombietown. You glanced around quickly, making sure that no one was watching you, that no one was eyeing your moves, waiting for you to do something that could be labelled “dangerous.” The last thing you needed was for your parents to be woken up by the Zombie Patrol holding you by your arms. They definitely would keep you from joining the Seabrook High student body if that happened.

You weren’t sure if that would be a good or bad outcome.

Kicking your feet around the park, you shuffled around in the dark. Looking around, your eyes settled on the familiar silhouette of Eliza, your childhood best friend. You stopped walking. Her curly hair, as usual, was pulled back, her head tilted to the side in thought. She seemed to have been sitting there for a while, drumming her fingers on the bench she sat on; she noticed your presence at the same time. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrugged, sighing again before realizing she probably couldn’t see your body language. “I’m nervous,” you said quietly, rolling back and forth on your feet, new shoes feeling tight and not like yours. “About tomorrow.”

Eliza sighed in response, moving her hands onto your lap. “I hear you. You can sit, if you want.” She nodded towards the space next to her, inviting you to talk. “I’ve been here for hours.”

You made quick work of walking over, of sitting next to her. “No patrols?” you asked. As she shook her head, still lost in thought, you caught a whiff of lavender and you remembered the cabinet of various essential oils her family had in their kitchen. You remembered countless moments in which Eliza’s mother helped to heal all kinds of illnesses and ailments with those oils. “I would’ve thought they’d be extra harsh tonight.”

Eliza shrugged, drawing circles in the dirt with the toe of her shoe. “No one is ballsy enough to sneak out tonight. Not with the future of Zomietown in mind.” She glanced at you, eyes curious. “New clothes?”

You nodded. “My parents thought it would give them a good first impression of me, but it all feels...weird.”

Eliza pulled her knees into her chest, planting her heels on the edge of the bench. “They’re all so zombiephobic and they don’t even know it. How can our parents expect us to feel any sort of happy with them constantly policing us?” She looked at you, dark eyes searching for some of the same questions in your gaze. “I don’t know how to be excited about this.”

The air in the zombie park felt cool, comforting as you talked with Eliza, as you looked at her. She was one of your closest friends: you spent so many years smiling with her, yelling with her. Crying with her. “Me neither.” You felt comfortable with her, knowing she felt some of the same fear that you were also turning over in your mind. “At the very least, I’m glad you’ll be there with me.”

Eliza smiled, eyes softening as she added your words into the mix of her thoughts. “Me, too. I’m glad you’re feeling the same. I feel like so many people are excited about this ‘new normal’ that they’re not thinking about how they’re going to treat us.” She shook her head, eyebrows knitting together. “It still doesn’t feel completely real.”

You nodded, mulling over the same questions you’d been asking yourself all summer. “We won’t know until we get there, Eliza,” you said quietly, resting your hand on her knee. Your fingertips were so close to her face, her breath fanning over your hand. You couldn’t imagine facing this, facing almost anything without having Eliza by your side.

Eliza moved her hand, placed it on top of yours. “We’ll get there together,” she whispered to you in the dark. You could tell she was smiling, her tone warm and her palm soft on your hand. Sitting there with Eliza, you could believe you could get through the night, get through the next day. “You’ll be right there by my side,” she said firmly, “I promise.”

You smiled back at her, her words willing you to face the next hours fearlessly. “I promise.”