#(trying to shift back to thinking about my girl)

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

This part includes the Russian torture scene, so adding a warning for gore/violence just to be safe!

-----

Eddie comes by Scoops, once Steve gets the job there.

The first time, he laughs at the sailor hat for a minute straight until Steve rolls his eyes and calls back, “I'm taking my lunch!”

“Now?” Robin bitches. “Did you actually get a girl to fall for those ridiculous li-” She cuts off as she comes out of the back room and sees Eddie. “Oh. Huh.”

Eddie flashes a sharp toothed smile at her, and Steve rolls his eyes again and elbows him.

“I'll be back before the actual lunch rush hits this way,” he tells Robin, untying his apron and depositing it to the side of the counter.

To Eddie, he says, “Here, since this brought you so much joy,” and drops the sailor hat onto the top of Eddie's head.

Eddie gives a squawk and squirms around like he's trying to bat him off, though Steve notices he doesn't actually push him away as Steve adjusts the hat to his liking.

“There,” Steve says, shooting Eddie a teasing little grin as he steps back. “You keep that on the whole time, and I'll buy you lunch.”

“A small price to pay for a free meal,” Eddie says solemnly, but his eyes are crinkled a little like they do when he smiles, and he doesn't take the hat off the entire time they eat together.

—

He and Eddie sit out back behind Scoops, passing a cigarette back and forth. It's the end of Steve's shift, and technically he doesn't have to stay anymore, but he's not in a hurry to get home.

Dustin's away at camp, after all.

“Why the hell are you working here?” Eddie asks, sounding like he's been mulling it over for a while.

Steve snorts. “Needed to work somewhere.”

“Okay, fine, but haven't you done the lifeguard thing for like three years?”

Steve - didn't actually expect Eddie to know that, and he shoots him a little smile before he rolls his eyes. “Not a real job, according to my dad. It's just hanging out at the pool all day.”

Eddie scoffs. “Would your dad even know a real job if it bit him?”

“My dad's never really had to work for anything,” Steve mutters. “I didn't get into any of the colleges they wanted me to, so I needed to be taught a lesson. Pretty sure he was hoping it'd humiliate me.”

Eddie tips back, looking him over. “You don't look very humiliated.”

Steve shrugs. “Because I'm not. Yeah, sure, the outfit and the hat are stupid, but work is work. Ice cream makes people happy, I make people happy, it could be worse. Besides, he has no idea what I'm even making here. Every paycheck is a little more I can stash away where he can't touch it.”

Eddie's watching him very closely now, in a way that Steve's never seen before.

“How long have you been doing that?” he asks quietly.

“What, saving money that my dad doesn't know about?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.”

Eddie's face is serious - far more serious than Steve's ever seen him, than he thinks the situation warrants. Steve frowns.

“Since I got my first job, I guess? Anything I ask for from him comes with some kind of string attached, and I got tired of paying for it.”

Eddie's quiet again. “You've gotten in a lot of fights the last couple of years,” he says, slow and careful like he thinks Steve might bolt. “Lot of bruises.”

He clocks on to what Eddie's trying to get at, then, and a rush of relief washes over him as he hurries to set him straight. “Oh, no, my dad's not abusive or anything, just an asshole. He's never hit me.”

Eddie considers that. “Your dad can be an abusive piece of shit without ever hitting you.”

Steve licks his lips, takes his turn watching Eddie a little more closely. “Sounds like you're familiar with it.”

Eddie laughs, sharp and humorless. “Come on, man, you know who my dad is.”

“I know what people say about him,” Steve agrees. “But I've learned not to listen to rumors.”

Eddie flicks the cigarette butt off into the distance.

Steve gets out another one, puts it between his lips to light it. He takes a long drag, then - pulls his heart out of his chest, setting it between them before he passes the cigarette over.

Eddie's eyes drop down to his heart as he takes the cigarette, but this time he doesn't say anything.

Steve still doesn't ask to see his, even though he's tempted.

“You can listen to these ones,” Eddie says after a while. “They're mostly true.”

“You deserve better,” Steve tells him.

He looks over when Eddie doesn't say anything, finding him watching his heart. It's beating strong and steady.

“So do you,” Eddie says without looking up.

They sit in silence for a while longer, until the cigarette is gone.

Then Steve tucks his heart back into his chest and stands up. “Come on, I'll get us lunch.”

Eddie scowls at him. “You bought last time.”

“Yeah, but a conversation like that deserves a burrito bigger than your head, and I've got employee discount,” Steve counters, holding out his hand.

Eddie concedes, accepting his hand up.

—

Steve keeps making up excuses to buy Eddie lunch after that, every time he comes by at the end of an early shift or close to his lunch break on a later shift.

One day he gets them both pizza from Sbarro, and they sit at one of the sticky plastic tables in the food court. It's so small their knees knock together as they devour their slices, but -

But it also means that Steve can tuck his ankle up against Eddie's, hook his foot half around it, and have an excuse if he needs one.

He doesn't need one.

Eddie doesn't move his foot away, but he does shoot wide eyed little looks over at Steve like he's not sure whether this is a joke or not, and -

“Hi,” Steve says, soft and ridiculous and holy shit, he has to have something better than hi.

But apparently hi works, because Eddie ducks his head, looks back up at him with something soft and wary and surprised all at once.

“Hi,” Eddie says back.

And that's -

It's something.

—

Steve gets closer to Robin - their bickering has started to become playful, and even though her teasing's never been mean, now it sounds almost fond. She still gets annoyed when customers watch them work in complete sync and think they're a couple, but now she just rolls her eyes and complains to him later instead of throwing things off by trying to protest it.

It's nice. He thinks he might be winning her over, and it makes the days pass a lot quicker.

—

He doesn't see Eddie for a week after their pizza lunch.

He tries not to think much about it, just tells himself that if he hasn't seen him by the time Dustin comes back from camp, he'll call him.

—

This isn't like any beating he's taken before.

Steve'd thought he was prepared. He was prepared, at least in the beginning. Billy did just as much damage, even if it was in a shorter span of time, and the ache in his ribs and stomach and face is familiar.

He can handle it.

Besides, it doesn't matter how much they hurt him - protecting Robin and Dustin and Erica is more important than anything else.

"Let's take a look at his heart," one of the soldiers says. "See how honest he's really being."

Steve's pretty sure he makes a choked off little guh.

He doesn't want to let them anywhere near his heart.

But on the other hand - he isn't lying as much as they think he is, and maybe that will prove it? They'll have to undo his hands to get him to take it out, and he briefly considers trying to get the drop on them, but he has to concede that probably won't go very well for him.

It's not like they're really asking for his opinion, anyway.

They aren't making any move to untie his hands, either, and Steve's brow scrunches in confusion.

He sees one of them holding what looks like a mix of a gun and a taser. It - honestly, it looks pretty stupid, like a prop in a bad movie, and he wrinkles his nose at it.

They press it up against his ribcage, pull the trigger - and fuck, he jolts back with the force of it.

His chest splits open.

The shock of it makes him numb for a precious few moments, staring down at the gaping hole in his own chest. The pain doesn't hit him until they take his heart out. It feels like it's being carved out of him, ripped from his chest as though he were being mauled by a wild animal, and he has the somewhat hysterical thought that he shouldn't be alive for this.

His heart was torn out of his chest, and somehow it's still beating, erratic and racing.

"Hmm," one of the soldiers says, tilting his heart this way and that. "Feels real."

The soldier squeezes it, and this time Steve screams at the pressure tightening around his heart, making him convulse in his bonds.

The second soldier laughs.

"They're making such good fakes these days," the second soldier says.

The first soldier relaxes his grip, and Steve sucks in ragged gulps of air, too disoriented to really understand what they're saying.

"Much more sophisticated than patches and paint," the first soldier agrees. "What good would a spy be if he showed his real heart?"

"No," Steve protests. "It's real, come on, you can feel it."

There’s no sign of deception from his heart, but it's beating too wildly from the pain to really make a difference.

"We'll see about that," the second soldier says, handing a switchblade to the first.

The first soldier presses the flat of the blade against his heart. "Let's see what's underneath if we shave a little off?"

—

Steve doesn't really remember anything after that. He must have passed out, because the next thing he hears is Robin's voice, and he realizes he's in a different room, tied back to back with her.

His chest aches.

Everything aches, really, but his chest is the worst of it.

Steve looks down, sees himself solid and in one piece again. He might have thought the whole thing was just a pain induced hallucination if it weren't for the unstable beat of his heart. It's pulsing unsteadily, and he feels as though if he even breathes too hard, it might burst into pieces with the next beat.

But he's not alone now.

He's with Robin, and she makes everything better, and even though his heart beats too fast when he thinks of how much he likes her - it's the good kind of too fast, not the kind that makes him think his heart is going to explode.

He is pretty sure that his heart is going to explode, though, that they're probably going to die here. He knows Robin is thinking the same thing - he just knows, like going through Russian secret agent torture together has made them automatically on the same wave length.

They were heading towards being friends before this, he knows, wonders if maybe they could have ever been for real.

It's a shame he doesn't think he'll ever get to find out.

—

Dustin and Erica find them before Steve loses any fingers.

Which is good. He might not be on the basketball team anymore, but he still plays with Lucas sometimes, and he likes all of his fingers attached to his hand and not on the floor of a secret Russian base.

He tells Dustin that as they're escaping from said Russian secret base. Dustin looks a little pale, hugs him tight around the middle, which makes Steve laugh - it should hurt, he thinks, but he doesn't feel a thing.

The only thing he feels is kind of floaty, and the itchy, overheated sensation he always gets when he's had his heart locked inside his chest for too long.

When no one's looking, Steve takes his heart out of his chest.

His stomach turns.

Whatever he's feeling about it seems distant, too far removed for him to be able to react to it, but the physical sensation of his stomach heaving is present and accounted for.

It only barely looks like a heart. The shape of it is hardly visible, more like a double handful of the precut chuck roast he gets to use as stew meat, sluggishly oozing every time it beats.

The thought of putting it back in his chest makes his stomach heave again, but even like this, he knows he can't keep it out in the open.

He rips off the red scarf from his Scoops uniform, wraps it around his heart to hold it together, and ties it off.

There.

Now no one will notice.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

-----

Part 6

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt @makewavesandwar @ajeff855 @mae-liz @the-fantastical-asexual @jettestar @warlordess @samsoble @persnicketysquares @cryptid-system @my-love-of-books @mydysfunctionallife @dreamercec @holyangelstudentuniverse

[pricegouge]

nik x f! reader

cw: (unspecified) holiday gift shopping. overstimulation (but not that kind). cockwarming. oral. russian pet names taken from a list off google so we're being so niceys about it. (also the one reader goes crazy about means good/smart girl)

this is entirely @3amfanfiction 's fault. she may as well have come into my home the other day and shot me point blank in the chest when she said (completely unprovoked, by the way):

nik turns to reader and asks 'do we need to go to the car so you can calm down?' and you know it's code for suckling at his cock, cockwarming him until your emotions are a bit more level

so blame her

He's too big to fit properly in the back of his SUV, let alone with you squeezed between his thighs, his ankles bracketing your hips, but you make it work: front seat slid as far forward as it could possibly go, both back rows folded down into a platform he sprawls across with his back pressed into the corner by the door. On your belly, his thick legs encase your head, crowd around you protectively and shield you from would-be onlookers even beyond the capabilities of the tinted windows. He makes it easy to forget where you are, keeps you clothed so the scratchiness of the seat backs doesn't abrade your elbow, hums absently in a language he knows you don't speak to drown out the droning of the incessantly cheery holiday music blaring loud enough to be heard faintly across the car park, where you're sequestered to one of the quieter corners of the over packed lot. You think they must be playing it from on high, tinny sleigh bells ringing from weatherbeaten speakers hidden in the lot lights.

It would make you grind your teeth, if your mouth weren't full - soft flesh and thick musk, your tongue working over silken skin because it's so good and sweet and tender and -

Distracting.

"Shh, malýshka. Settle, little one." 

Easier said than done when your brain feels like a boiled soft drink, sticky and hot, carbonated through your very bloodstream. You're flighty, a little shuddering dog vibrating at a speed that staves off the cold eking through the thin shell of the car, small drafts of chill you can feel against the skin of your hip when you shuffle too much and your jacket rides up. Your eyelids flutter, annoyed, Nik's obnoxious, striped undershirt coming into view, blue on blue in the dark. He shifts, wraps a heavy leg over you to keep you warm with the soft-worn pit of his denim-clad knee, and you melt a little further.

"That's it, radnaja, easy."

You're much better than you were, at least, the way you'd been spitting and hissing at him while he'd calmly marched you out to the car and had you stand at the taillight while he shuffled seats about playing on an embarrassing loop, casting an ugly pallor over the quiet moment he's created for you. You want to apologize, don't want to lose the comforting weight on your tongue long enough to do it. You slurp a little more aggressively instead, tongue chasing the saliva that slips past your soaked lips to leech into the fabric of his boxer briefs, and hope that illustrates your gratefulness.

"No playing, sweet thing. We're just taking a minute to unwind, remember?"

Even the mention of it - of the need to unwind - has you snuffling deeper, your nose pressed against the fly of his pants, trying to drown out the memory of what awaits you outside the relative safety of the car: the blaring music, the sputtering blue-bright LEDs, the raucous coughing of flu season and the bustle of too many bodies shifting past you, coarse wool coats and pet dander.

And responsibilities. Those, too. Entire aisles of nearly-identical, impersonal throw pillows for people you've only met twice. Or candles, cheap fragrance sticking in your sinuses until each one bled into the next, a putrid, garish bouquet you knew no one would like, let alone your mother. Let alone his mother, or -.

Your hand pushes against the tent of his pants, tucking the fabric behind his heavy balls so you can pull him deeper, suckle a bit harder. Your tongue slides against the loose skin of his sac and he sighs, hand heavy on the back of your head. 

"If you can't behave, I'll make you sit out here by yourself, and we both know it will take you so long to calm down that you'll miss dinner." Muttering, he tacks on, "Know how fussy you get when you're hungry."

It's sorely tempting, your disinterest in returning to the shops strong enough you briefly consider trying your luck, but there's no tempting Nik when he's decided you're not going to get a treat no matter how hard you try. Besides, he'll say you're in timeout, which lands just a hair out of bounds on the wrong side of demeaning for you. So you relax your jaw again, let your drool drip past his balls unimpeded. One decision down.

"Úmnitsa," he hums, and then chuckles quietly when your whole body loosens. Even through the fog of overstimulation, you know that one - have twisted yourself into many knots just to hear it, have never earned it until you let him unwind you from them. You're conditioned by now, the word instantly unclenching something in your belly and letting you sink deeper into the impromptu scene he's crafted for you, the quiet pocket of warmth and silence he's carved into the bitter chaos of holiday shopping. This time you know how to thank him, head resting heavy against the soft flesh over his pelvis as you focus on what he lets you feel, the weight of his hands and the warmth of his thighs, the damp weave of his pants and the scratchiness of the bellyhair that pokes through his shirt. Like this, he fills your mouth better than your own tongue, pliant and soft, pulse a subtle countermeasure to your own. He never started the car - probably thought the hum of the engine and the dry wash of the heat would annoy you. He'd have been right, but you think you'd rather hear that than the lingering notes of jingle bells. Still, it's hard to be mad when he does his best to cover that as well, his quiet, lullaby interrupted sporadically so he can coo about how well you're doing for him, comment absently on how he knew you just needed papa to take care of you. It's enough to keep that small kernel of excitement alive in your belly, popcorn just waiting for its moment over the burner.

You find it when he shifts too much, rousing you from your reverie with a whine which he hushes a bit too loudly, hands a touch too heavy on your scalp when he apologizes. "Sorry, malýshka. I'm only a man."

He chuckles, but you're far enough gone that the words snag on their way through, drift in the lazy stream of your thoughts for a minute before you can catch them, untangle them enough to make sense. And then you're not laughing, letting his cock loll from between your lips with an embarrassingly sloppy sound, a wordless whine following after it as you try to get the cogs of your thoughts to slot together, petting his belly absently as you look up at him.

Nik's so handsome like this, slick hair shining gold and blue in the lot lights, disheveled from where it's been catching on the ceiling because he's far too tall to be folded in the back like this but he's done it anyway. For your benefit, let you use his body even as it probably drove him up a wall to feel the wet heat of your mouth on him, the tight control he's capable of applied here, on himself, denying his own needs because you'd been acting like the babies inside, kept out too late, crying under the fluorescent lights of an apathetic box store as their mothers broke down with them because the last fashion dolly had been snatched up minutes before they'd arrived.

"Please, papa?"

He hums contemplatively, hand slipping down to massage your shoulders. "Please, what, little one?"

"You… you need…?"

Brows arching to his high hairline, Nik takes a minute to settle your cheek against his hip again, turning you just slightly so you rest more firmly against his leg, your hip and shoulder bearing most of your weight. "Do you think you can handle it, radnaja?" he asks, knowing full well that the answer is no, but that you'll ask for it anyway because it's what you want. To be useful, to treat him. To be reduced to some mindless receptacle, not expected to decide between Nerf guns for graceless little nephews who would break them in less than a day anyway.

"Yes. Please, papa. Please. Let me -."

Nik has to snag your wrist to keep you from pawing at him too eagerly, tucking it behind your hip so he can lean forward and pin it there with the hand that slides heavily down your back, the fabric of your puff jacket hissing as the down parts for him. (Only the best and the warmest for his little one.) Leaning forward, his belly blocks out most of the remnant light from behind the tinted windows, lulls you further under with the soft-firm pressure. When his free hand pulls back to adjust himself, you're engulfed completely, lips parting blindly to accept him and huffing when he reprimands you with a gentle squeeze of your wrist for trying to pull more of his length in with your tongue.

"Take what I give, you, malýshka. Nothing more." His voice is warning when it finally registers, gravel deep. As far from soothing as it's been since you snapped at him about gift bags and he made you leave your entire shopping cart in the middle of the stationary aisle, but you want to listen to him so you do, jaw going slack as your tongue simply pulses against him, trying to coax that first drop from his slit. 

He doesn't give it to you, not yet anyway. Pumping himself to full hardness with a careless clutch of three fingers without your help at all. Nik makes you squirm until you wear yourself out, quiet pleas falling on deaf ears as he returns to humming absently. At one point you hear his head thump against the back of the headrest and the tune goes thin, ragged. You picture the strong column of his neck, shaded dark with stubble and low light, flexing around the garbled Russian that spills from his lips. It's familiar, somehow, the cadence more than the pitch, but trying to place it when your brain is so fuzzy is like trying to catch a snowflake on your fingernail. Won't happen until you're not trying. So you slip in and out of it, focus more on the way his voice gets reedy if you cup your tongue around his head, give him a nice, warm pad to lay on. 

When you rock against the flex of your own thighs, Nik's leg draws close to your front, his knee slotting up to your cunt and you shift until you feel the hard press of your seam on your clit, whining around the intrusion in your mouth just to hear him shush you. 

"Said take what I give you, greedy thing. Don't be impatient."

But despite his words, it seems Nik himself is. Hand climbing to the back of your head, he pushes you down until he prods at the back of your throat, bouncing you there until his thigh flexes against your tummy, an odd jump of his quad you've come to know quite well. You hum happily and relax your throat, let him sink past the ring of muscle just to feel the catch, painting your tongue as he pulls back out and orders you not to swallow, whispers how he wants to see. You know what he means anyway, swallowing just enough that you don't make a mess, let it overflow and soak your skin, your clothes, his upholstery.

As if you'd ever waste it.

It's bad. Bitter with the hot coffee he'd had earlier, steam wafting around him as he'd carried the bags piled in the front seat now, hand dwarfing the cup. You rock against your inseam more at the memory than at the taste, listening to the relieved groan he emits as he finally finishes, one last pulse dribbling against your chin as he pulls himself free. You close your mouth as he manhandles you to your knees in front of him, opening again for his inspection when he lets slip a long string of Russian you don't understand. You hear Úmnitsa a few times between licks to your lips, the overheated skin of your jaw. His grip changes, cradling your face to let you melt into him and you shudder past your last swallow so he can pull you against his chest, showering your crown in kisses and you melt, his voice washing over you, driving the remaining overcrowding in your brain away until it's just that, just being good for him.

It's why you don't quite notice the weight of his palm on your hip, the warmth against your crotch when he drags it lower, content just to let him choose, happy to be pulled along. His fingers are deft on the button of your jeans, the first two fingers of his gloves cut off, allowing him to be nimble. You're done for the second he gets the pad of his middle finger against your clit, working you over until you're gasping against his chest, clutching at his strong arms like some wilting maiden.

You're fawn-legged and docile when he walks you back toward the shops, muttering something about a table at the nice Italian place which goes over your head. In your defense, he's gutted you so thoroughly and stuffed you so full of cotton that the jangling music doesn't even register anymore, let alone his words. Blocked off, plugged up right at the ear, Úmnitsa left to simmer on the hot plate of your cranial floor instead, drowning out the crunch of snow underfoot and the din of holiday chaos alike. You barely even notice when he ducks close to kiss your temple and says you'll stop for warm cookies after dinner, motioning to a bustling little shop which bursts at the seams with warm light and warmer vanilla. You just nod graciously, somewhat beyond speech.

The restaurant is blessedly quiet, lights dimmed to let the twinkle of their warm icicle lighting set the tone. The colors are muted, too. Quiet creams and golds, deep reds which settle you further into your own softness. The spell briefly lifts when you spot your other date, the silver in his beard catching the low light fetchingly. Stumbling ahead of Nik, you duck past the newspaper he's reading and plant a soft kiss on his whiskery cheek. "Sorry for being a brat, daddy," you whisper, folding yourself into the seat next to him so you can rest your head on his strong shoulder. 

John just hums, folding his reading material up as Nik sits on your other side. You can't see the captain's face, but you can almost hear the curl of his lip when he speaks to Nik, voice mildly annoyed by the stickiness he must have caught on your lips, but soft nonetheless. Just for the two of them. "Bad one, was it?"

You'd be embarrassed, if Nik was. "Would not go under for me. All I could think to do. Practically begged for it."

"You spoil her," John chastises, but it's rich coming from someone who's got the contents of your abandoned shopping cart bagged and hidden under the table. You give his shoulder a kiss and his big palm finds your thigh, warm and soothing.

"Well, it worked."

"That's true." John squeezes your leg, voice taking on a patronizing tone as he addresses you for the first time. "You're a lot sweeter when you're not throwing a fit."

"Wasn't a fit," you grumble, but it would be no use trying to describe your state, and you've no words to do so besides.

John just grunts noncommittally, tips his menu your way. "Well, what do you want, sweet -?"

"I've got it," Nik interjects, barely even deigning to look away from his own booklet. 

"You've got it?"

"You want the pork milanese, yes, malýshka?"

Unconcerned with what it means when Nik's thick accent sifts through Italian, you just nod. You're hungry enough not to be picky, anyway. They lapse into a stretch of silence after, for which you're a little grateful. Especially when Nik takes up his humming again, voice lilting through and adding to the orchestral score which plays softly overhead and now you hear it with the alto added in, you recognize it for what it is, voice climbing perilously close to angered after how hard he'd just worked to settle you.

"Were you singing me Christmas music back there?"

oh, and three's assassination attempt ended with:

but price just wants to keep winding you up, 'they're not going to the car. they're going to sit here and we're going to enjoy a meal as a family'

>:)

also, there exists a fully written version of this which culminated in a human urinal scene instead cause i wanted to to treat myself so lmk if anyone is interested in that version

dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/strangergraphics

[drewizz]

THIRD TIME - 03. fortuitous

pairing ☆ rafe cameron x reader

WARNINGS: none. (but the tension thickens increasingly fast)

WORD COUNT: 1.8K

TAGLIST: open! comment or send in an ask

series masterlist. previous

fortuitous. (adj) happening by a lucky chance; fortunate.

Luck wasn’t necessarily supposed to come in arrogance and trouble. But it seemed to be the case for you in the span of three consecutive days.

This time, it wasn't in the warmth of a coffee shop or the chaos of a party, but it was a pleasantly quiet stretch of the waves. Where one could note the scent of fishy saltwater hanging in the air, and how only the sound of the occasional cry of a seagull could be heard.

It was a late afternoon, and you had been walking along the docks – thoughts heavy as the gray clouds gathering on the horizon. The docks had always been your special place to think. A spot where the world felt a little less inordinate. Peace. Solitude. Tranquility.

And after many days being alone here at the docks, you didn’t expect anyone to be there before you. At least least not him.

But there he was. Rafe Cameron, sitting on the edge of one of the docks like he had all the time in the world. His legs dangled over the edge, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers, and his gaze fixed on the water as if he were waiting for something – or more specifically, someone.

Your first instinct was to turn around (like last time) and leave before he noticed you. But the creak of the dock beneath your feet betrayed you, and his head turned, those sharp blue eyes locking onto yours.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The air between you two was thick with tension, unspoken words hovering like a raging storm waiting to break.

Breaking the silence, he spoke first. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite mystery girl,” Rafe remarked, his voice laced with that infuriating note of charm.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Do you plan to appear every part of this town this entire week, or are you just trying to follow me?”

He smirked, flicking ash from his cigarette into the water. “Neither. I'd like to rather think of it as fate.”

“Fate? You think you’re poetic now?”

“Maybe,” he said, his smirk widening. “You’d be surprised what I’m capable of.”

“Surprise me then,” you challenged, eyes narrowing at him.

Rafe’s expression shifted slightly, the teasing edge softening as he studied you. “Never mind that, what are you doing here?”

Your brow furrowed. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked first,” he said, leaning back on his hands, looking completely at ease.

You hesitated, taking a seat carefully next to him. “I just like coming here time to time. I like having my own time to think about stuff. The bits of silence here eases me.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he nodded, as if your answer satisfied him enough.

“What about you?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself.

He shrugged, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Needed some air. Couldn’t stand being around people for a while.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “You? Needing space from people? That’s hard to believe.”

“Don’t act like you know me,” he said, his voice carrying a sudden edge.

“I don’t,” you admitted, tone getting softer. “But you make it pretty easy to assume.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and for a wild moment, you thought you’d pushed too far. But then he let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You said that last time, but fair enough.”

Silence. It started to lightly drizzle, the droplets cold against your body. You shivered but stayed where you were, the thought of walking away feeling strangely wrong.

“So when you said you like to come here and think,” he said, breaking the silence. “I'm guessing that means you like to think about how you think you're better than everyone else.”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes beadily staring at him. “Excuse me?”

Rafe smirked, but there was something darker behind it. “You’ve got that look on you. Thinking as if you’re too good for this place, all snotty and haughty.”

You laughed, the sound dry and humorless. “That’s rich coming from you. Having no worries about life, money, and other shit. Looking down at everyone else.”

The smirk faltered, just for a second. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t?” you pressed, being unable to stop. “Life's easy because you have the money. You have lots of friends. You think the world owes you something just because your daddy’s loaded.”

He stared at you, his jaw tight, and for a moment you thought he was going to fire back. But instead, he let out a short, bitter laugh.

“You think it’s that simple?” he said, his voice quieter now, almost bitter.

You frowned, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “What are you talking about?”

Rafe stood, brushing his hands on his jeans as he turned to face you fully. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you? The spoiled rich kid who’s never had a real problem in his life.”

“Well, am I wrong?” you challenged, though your voice had lost some of its heat.

He shook his head, a forced smile tugging at his lips. “You have no idea.”

For the first time, you noticed the tension in his posture, the way his shoulders seemed to carry more weight than they should. Though it didn’t excuse his behavior (certainly not), it certainly made you pause.

“Then?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “I wanna know. Tell me about it.”

Rafe hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the water. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost like he didn’t want you to hear.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to live up to someone else’s expectations? To know that no matter what you do, it’s never going to be enough? And you always have to do something fucking reckless to get someone's attention?”

Your breath caught, the rawness in his voice catching you off guard. You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing, letting the silence stretch between you two.

“Didn’t think so,” he said finally, his tone sharpening again as he turned away.

“Wait,” you said before you could stop yourself.

Rafe paused, glancing back at you.

“I didn’t know.” You hesitated, unsure of what to add. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, the motion almost dismissive. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” you said, surprising yourself with how much you meant it.

He studied you for a moment, his gaze searching yours like he was trying to figure out if you were messing with him. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he let out a long breath and sat back down next to you.

“You know,” he said after a long pause, “you’re not as tough as you pretend to be.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he said, leaning back on his hands, “you act like you’ve got it all together in life, but I don’t buy it. And it’s obvious you don’t.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Because he wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t wrong at all.

“What’s your point?” you asked instead, your voice was much more defensive than you intended.

Rafe shrugged. “No point. Just saying it takes one to know one.”

Silence fell again, the rain now falling hard, soaking through their clothes.

“I come here to breathe,” you admitted over the long stretch of silence. "Not just to think."

Rafe glanced at you, his expression softer now. “Breathe?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes it just feels like the world’s too loud for me. It expects too much out of me, and I can’t give what it’s asking for. And if I don’t get away once in a while, it’s going to swallow me as a whole.”

For the first time, he didn’t have a quick reply. Instead, he nodded, as if he understood exactly what you meant.

“I get that,” he said finally.

You turned to look at him, your curiosity growing. “You do?”

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah. I do.”

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“To be honest, I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

“Maybe,” he said, his tone lighter now, “you’re starting to like me.”

You laughed, the sound genuine despite yourself. “Don’t push your luck.”

He smirked but didn’t press, and you two sat there in companionable silence. The sounds of the drizzling rain washing away some of the tension between you two.

The wind started to pick up even more. You glanced at the clouds, then back at Rafe. “You should probably head inside now. It’s going to pour soon.”

He smiled, a lazy, lopsided grin that sent an unwelcome warmth through your chest. “Is mystery girl seriously getting worried about me?”

“Not even a little,” you uttered, though the corner of your mouth betrayed a slight twitch of amusement.

Silence fell over again, the kind that wasn’t quite comfortable but wasn’t entirely hostile either. It was strange, being here with him like this. It’d been only three consecutive days where you had short conversations with him, yet now you were here having a conversation you could barely get out to anyone.

The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance, and you glanced at the sky again. “Seriously, you should go.”

“And leave you out here alone?” he asked, feigning mock concern. “What kind of gentleman would I be?”

“You? A gentleman?” you scoffed. “That’s a wild stretch.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “But I’m working on it.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you stayed silent, letting the silence stretch once again. This was okay. Silence and peace.

Rain started heavily pouring, the droplets cold against your clothes. You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“You’re really going to stay out here?” Rafe asked, standing and flicking the stub of his cigarette into the water.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice betrayed you.

He shook his head, pulling off his jacket and holding it out to you.

“I don’t need it,” you said, your pride flaring (but failing).

“Take it,” he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, you accepted the jacket, the fabric warm and surprisingly soft. “Thanks,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

Without a reply, he gave you a curt nod.

For a moment, you two were just there - under the rain, the tension between them shifting into something quieter, something neither of them could name.

“You know,” you started off, carefully standing up. “My house is nearby, you can dry off until the storm subsides.”

Rafe glanced down at your face with a teasing grin. “Inviting me to your house already? I don’t even know your name, mystery girl.”

With a quiet mumble you answered. “It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N. Well now I won’t have to call you mystery girl,” he chuckled.

Rolling your eyes, you asked in a more casual tone. “You coming?”

Rafe nodded with a smirk, following you.

As you two walked (quite quickly), your steps were falling into an unspoken rhythm. You realized something strange.

For the first time, being around Rafe didn’t feel like a battle. It felt like something else entirely.

And that terrified you.

NOTES. we finally get to see some rafeyn development 😊😊😊😊 THANKYOU for all the love and support omg. it hasn't even been a week and i've been already getting so many love for this series :') so excited to write the most false hope giving chapters ever..!

TAGS. @urbrunettebombshell @rafesfavouritegirl @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

[kaliforniahigh]

Can imagine Noah making you jealous (not on purpose) and YOU come home and make HIM beg and whimper for you!!! “Say who you belong to Noah!!” 🥵🥹

Warning: reader calls a woman "bitch" once.

You don't get jealous all that often, but it's the boldness of some people that gets on your nerves. And Noah's obliviousness to it sometimes.

You've been observing their interaction from afar. Noah and her weren't even friends. She was just someone that came around from time to time, usually when there was a party of some sort. You knew she's been trying to shoot her shot even before you and Noah got together.

Now, she knew Noah was taken, and still flirted with him.

Later on in the night, after everyone had already left, you had Noah on his back, naked on the bed. Your hands roaming all over. He really thought he was gonna get it easy tonight.

"You like having my hands on you?", you asked.

"You know I love it, baby"

"Yeah, I know you do", you said, with a more condenscending tone. "Like it when I run my hands up and down your arms?", you placed both hands on his biceps, and you felt him involuntarily flex under your touch. You seethed at the though of that bitch feeling him this way. "You like it more when that stupid girl is touching you?"

You looked at him and saw his expression change from lust to confusion, brows furrowing.

"What do you mean?", he asked, turning his head to meet your eyes better.

"Oh, don't play coy with me now", you narrowed your eyes at him, shaking your head. "I saw her talking to you earlier. I saw her running her hand up and down your arm while you just stood there and took it"

"Who are you talking about?", you could tell he was genuinely confused, and you didn't know if that pissed you off even more.

You grabbed his chin with your hands, pressing your forehead with his.

"Does the name Mia ring a bell? Or are you going to keep pretending you don't know what I'm talking about?", you hissed a little, and he would be lying if he said your jealousy wasn't turning him on even more.

"Oh, Mia. You know I want nothing to do with Mia", he maintained eye contact, trying to get it through your head.

"I don't know. I think I need a reminder"

"I'll give you whatever you need, baby", he brought one of his arm to wrap around your waist, pulling your bodies closer together. The moment shifted a little, you weren't as angry anymore, and he recognized you needed more reassurance than anything else. He knows you usually don't care when girls hit on him, it comes with the territory. But for you to be so bothered now, there has to be something else eating at you.

"Tell me you're mine", you requested, voice losing it's edge, getting softer and more vulnerable.

"I'm yours baby. You know I belong to you. Heart, body and soul", he cupped your face in his hands, rubbing soft circles on the top of your cheek.

"And no one's ever going to change that, right?", you asked.

"No one's ever going to change that. No one's ever going to take me away from you. I'm yours forever, baby"

You kissed him for the first time since you both made your way to the bedroom. He kissed you thoroughly, conveying his emotions and reassurance through his lips and tongue exploring your mouth.

[etheraltides]

BITTER SWEET ᥫ᭡࿔

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x kook!thornton!Reader

Summarize: Rafe Cameron, a rising name in the business world, desperately needs a date for the wedding of the year. With a major investment deal on the line and his image at stake, he finds himself reluctantly turning to the last person he ever expected for help: Topper’s little sister, a girl he’s bickered with since he could remember.

Warning(s): SMUT – p in v penetration (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk, jealousy. Substance use. +18 only! Minors do not interact.

A/N: Every feedback is welcome <3

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ Chapter five: Last Day in Paradise ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

The first thing you noticed was warmth. Not the kind of fleeting comfort you got from a blanket on a chilly night, but something deeper, more solid, more alive. It anchored you, a steady rhythm beneath your cheek. Slowly, as your senses returned, you realized it was Rafe

You were lying on his chest, your bare legs tangled with his, his arm wrapped around your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. The sheets were tangled at your hips, barely covering the evidence of last night.

The memories came rushing back in waves, each one more vivid than the last. His lips against yours on the balcony, the heat of his touch, the way he had looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Your cheeks burned as the details sharpened — his voice murmuring your name, the press of his body against yours, the way you had whispered yes without hesitation.

You shifted slightly, your fingers brushing against his chest, the faint scratches of your nails from the night before still visible against his tanned skin. His breathing changed, growing heavier, and you froze as his voice broke the stillness.

“Morning, trouble.”

You swallowed, your heart skipping a beat. His tone was low and gravelly, softened by sleep but carrying the teasing edge that was so unmistakably him.

“Morning,” you murmured back, not daring to lift your head just yet.

“Still hiding?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice.

Your fingers tightened slightly against his chest as you cursed yourself for being so obvious. “I’m not hiding.”

His chuckle rumbled beneath you. “You sure about that? ‘Cause you’ve got your face buried in my chest like you’re trying to disappear.”

You groaned softly, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. “I just… need a second.”

“To what? Process how lucky you are?” His hand shifted on your waist, his fingers brushing against your bare skin, and the smugness in his tone made you want to punch him — and maybe kiss him again.

Finally, you lifted your head, your hair tumbling over your shoulders as you looked up at him. His blue eyes met yours, sharper now as the haze of sleep faded, and his smirk deepened at the sight of your flushed face.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, pushing against his chest in an attempt to sit up.

He caught your wrist before you could go far, his grip firm but gentle. “And you’re blushing,” he pointed out, his voice dropping slightly as his eyes roamed your face.

You tried to tug your hand free, but he didn’t let go, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist. “If you keep talking, I’ll—”

“What? Leave?” He raised a brow, his smirk widening. “We both know you’re not going anywhere.”

You glared at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re so annoying.”

“Yeah? That’s not what you were screaming last night” he shot back, his voice softening just enough as he whispered in his ear, waking goosebumps all over your body.

You huffed, leaning down until your forehead rested against his neck. “I hate you.”

“I think were a bit past that now, don’t you?”

The laugh you let out was involuntary, the sound muffled against his skin, and his hand slid up your back, his fingers trailing along your spine in a way that made you shiver.

…

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the quiet confidence you’d mustered faltered the second Rafe’s gaze locked on you. He was leaning back against the headboard, legs stretched out and arms crossed, his expression unreadable—until he saw you.

His posture shifted immediately, his eyes dragging over you slowly, deliberately, like he was studying you for weakness. Or maybe for something else entirely. His jaw tightened, and his lips pressed into a faint smirk, though his gaze lingered far too long on the way the bikini hugged your body.

You froze for a second, your fingers tightening around the ties to your bikini top. “What?”

Rafe’s smirk widened slightly, his eyes darkening as he pushed himself off the bed. He didn’t answer right away, his steps unhurried as he closed the space between you. Finally, when he stopped just a little too close, he tilted his head, his voice low and edged with something sharp.

“Do you even realize what you’re doing to me right now?”

Your breath hitched, and you tried not to let it show. “It’s just a bikini, Rafe.”

He let out a quiet scoff, his hand coming up to rest against the wall beside your head, boxing you in. “You chose the tiniest one just to taunt me, didn’t you?”

Your cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “Are you done?”

“Not even close.” He leaned in, the heat of his body radiating against yours as he flicked his eyes to the untied strings in your hand. “Turn around.”

Your brows furrowed. “Why?”

He raised a brow and held up a hand, gesturing to the ties. “Unless you plan on walking out there like that, you’re gonna need to tie this.”

Reluctantly, you turned, crossing your arms over your chest and staring at the wall as you felt his fingers brush against your bare back. His movements were slow — too slow. He wasn’t just tying the strings, he was deliberately letting his knuckles graze your skin, his fingertips tracing patterns that made your breath catch.

“You’re taking your time,” you muttered, trying to keep the fluster out of your voice.

“What can I say?” His voice dipped lower, teasing. “I’m a perfectionist.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words evaporated when he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear.

“This thing’s barely holding together,” he murmured, his voice like a smirk given form. “One wave, and it’s over.”

You spun around to face him, your eyes wide as you slapped his chest. “Rafe!”

He caught your wrist easily, his grip firm but playful, his smirk stretching into a full grin. “Relax. I’m just trying to help. A friendly heads up, that’s all.”

“Help less,” you snapped, though your voice betrayed you with its shaky edge, your cheeks burning as you stared at him.

“Noted,” he said, releasing your wrist but not stepping back. His eyes flicked over you once more before he finally moved away, hands in his pockets. “But if you end up needing me to retie it…” He paused, his smirk turning wicked. “You know where to find me.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile as you grabbed your bag and headed for the door. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still blushing,” he called after you, his smug tone chasing you all the way out of the room.

The sun was high in the sky, warming your skin as you lay on the beach chair, your arms stretched out lazily. The soft crash of the waves against the shore blended with the distant hum of conversations and laughter from other beachgoers. You could feel the sun’s rays starting to prick at your shoulders, so you sat up slightly, reaching for the bottle of sunscreen

“Hey.” you said, turning your head toward Rafe, who was sprawled in the chair next to you, sunglasses shielding his eyes but doing nothing to hide the smug, lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “Can you do my back?”

His head tilted, the smirk growing. “You sure you trust me with that?”

You gave him a pointed look, shaking the bottle at him. “Just don’t take forever. My skin is boiling here.”

Rafe chuckled, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the chair. “No promises.” He grabbed the bottle from you, popping the cap open as you turned onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your forearms.

The first touch of the cool lotion against your skin made you shiver, and Rafe’s low chuckle drifted down to you. “Cold?”

“Just get on with it,” you muttered, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck.

But Rafe wasn’t in any rush. His hands moved slowly, spreading the lotion across your shoulders with deliberate precision. His fingers pressed firmly into your skin, massaging the lotion in circles that felt far more intentional than necessary.

“Relax,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “I’ve got you.”

You let out a soft sigh, though you couldn’t ignore the way his hands lingered, his thumbs pressing into the dip of your lower back, dangerously close to your bikini bottoms.

“Rafe…” you warned, your voice muffled against your arms.

“What?” he asked innocently, his hands pausing for a fraction of a second before continuing lower. “I’m just making sure you’re covered.”

His hands slid down to your thighs, his touch firm as he worked the lotion into your skin. When his fingers brushed the curve of your ass, you shot him a glare over your shoulder.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Completely.” he said with a smirk, his hands unapologetically smoothing lotion over the exposed skin. “You wouldn’t want to burn, would you?”

Your jaw dropped, and before you could think of a response, his palm landed on your ass with a slap that made you squeal.

“Rafe!”

He laughed, leaning back on his heels as he admired his work. “What? That’s prime territory for sunburn. Just doing my part.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, sitting up and snatching the bottle out of his hand.

“And yet,” he said, leaning in close, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, “you keep asking for my help.”

His eyes held yours, a challenge sparking in their depths, and you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart raced under his gaze.

“I won’t anymore.” you shot back, though the bite in your words was undercut by the way you couldn’t quite look away.

Rafe leaned back with a smug grin, clearly pleased with himself as he sprawled back on his chair. “Whatever you say, princess.”

As you turned away, you could still feel his gaze on you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was enjoying himself a little too much. But the truth was, so were you.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in streaks of gold and crimson. The ocean glittered under its touch, the waves rolling in gentle, rhythmic crashes against the shore. You’d spent the day alternating between the warmth of the sun and the cool embrace of the sea, trading teasing remarks with Rafe and stealing moments of quiet that neither of you dared break.

Now, as the heat softened into a more forgiving warmth, Rafe was tugging you toward the water again, his grip firm but not forceful. “Come on,” he said, his lips twitching into that cocky, teasing smirk. “You’ve spent the last hour avoiding it.”

You pulled against his hand, dragging your feet through the sand. “It’s freezing, Rafe!”

“Stop being dramatic!” he scoffed, but there was laughter in his tone. He paused, turning to face you, his blue eyes bright with mischief. “What, you scared of a little cold water?”

“I just don’t enjoy the sensation of becoming an icicle.” you shot back, crossing your arms.

“Fine.” He shrugged, his smirk turning into a full grin. “Guess I’ll just have to carry you.”

“Don’t you—Rafe!”

Before you could react, he scooped you up effortlessly, your legs dangling as you flailed against his chest.

“Put me down!” you squealed, but your protests were drowned out by your laughter as he strode toward the waves, the water lapping at his ankles, then his knees.

“See?” he said, grinning down at you. “Not so bad.”

The next thing you knew, you were both in the water, the cool shock of it stealing your breath as he let you go just enough to let the waves pull at you. You shrieked, splashing him in retaliation, and he laughed, his grin boyish and carefree in a way that felt rare.

The playfulness between you ebbed as the moments stretched, replaced by something quieter. The laughter faded, and you found yourself drawn closer to him, his arms instinctively wrapping around you to steady you against the gentle pull of the tide.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The ocean stretched out around you, vast and endless, and the only sound was the rhythmic crash of waves and the distant murmur of the beach behind you.

Rafe’s hands settled on your waist, his grip firm but gentle. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Thanks.”

You blinked, tilting your head up to look at him. His face was unreadable, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “For what?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening like he was fighting with himself. When he finally met your gaze, his expression had shifted — gone was the smirk, the cocky bravado. What you saw instead took your breath away.

Rafe looked… lost. Vulnerable in a way he rarely let show. His brows drew together slightly, as if the words he was about to say were hard for him to admit.

“For putting up with me this weekend.” he said, his voice barely audible over the waves. “For… helping me when you didn’t have to”

You stared at him, startled by the weight of his words. “Rafe…”

“It’s not just this weekend,” he continued, cutting you off, his grip tightening on your waist as if grounding himself. “It’s… everything. The way you…” He broke off, shaking his head like he was frustrated with himself.

“The way I what?” you asked softly, your hand brushing against his chest, trying to coax the words out of him without you even noticing.

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, the walls he always kept up cracked just enough for you to see through. “The way you didn’t leave when I wasn’t exactly making it easy.” he said finally, his voice low, raw. “Even when I’m a mess. Even when I’m… me.”

Your chest tightened at the way he said it, like he truly believed he wasn’t worth sticking around for. The bravado, the arrogance — it all felt like a mask now, one he wore to hide just how deeply his loneliness ran.

“Rafe,” you murmured, your hand sliding up to cup his cheek. He flinched slightly at the touch, as if he wasn’t used to being touched so gently, but he didn’t pull away. “You’ve been through a lot and—”

He huffed out a bitter laugh, his eyes dropping to the water between you. “That’s generous.”

“I mean it,” you insisted, your thumb brushing against his cheekbone. “You’re not perfect, Rafe. But nobody is. And the way you see yourself? That’s not permanent. You can… That’s not all I see - not anymore.”

His eyes flicked back up to yours, something vulnerable and searching in them. “How do you see me?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding at the intensity of his gaze. “I see someone who’s trying,” you said finally, your voice steady. “Even if you don’t think you are. I see someone who cares more than he lets on.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his jaw working as he processed your words. Then, his forehead dropped to rest against yours, his eyes slipping shut.

He let out a shaky breath, and when he pulled back just enough to look at you again, there was something softer in his expression. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your lips curving into a faint smile despite the heaviness of the moment.

“You make me think…” He paused, searching for the right words. “You make me think maybe I’m not as screwed up as I feel.”

“Aren’t we all?” you said simply, a smile dangling on your lips.

His lips twitched into something close to a smile, though his eyes still held that flicker of vulnerability. “You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?”

“Someone’s gotta keep you in check,” you teased gently.

He laughed softly, the sound almost disbelieving, and for the first time in a long time, it felt real.

The waves lapped at your sides as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt less possessive and more like he was trying to hold himself together.

“Thank you.” he said again, his voice steadier now, his eyes searching yours.

“Always.” you replied, your fingers brushing against his chest as you held his gaze.

The moment stretched, the weight of it lingering even as the tide pulled at you both. For the first time, it felt like Rafe wasn’t just letting you in — he was trying to keep you in.

Back at the hotel, the charged energy that had simmered between you all day seemed to follow you like a shadow, growing heavier with every passing glance, every fleeting touch. By the time you both found yourselves in the bathroom, it was like the air itself was crackling with electricity.

You were standing at the sink, brushing your damp hair out of your face to apply some pre-poo after a long day in the sun, when Rafe stepped inside. His shirt was gone, the tan he’d picked up over the weekend emphasizing the sharp lines of his chest and the faint dusting of freckles across his shoulders. He moved past you, his arm brushing yours as he reached for a towel hanging near the shower.

It should have been a simple movement, nothing out of the ordinary. But the second his skin grazed yours, the tension that had coiled tight between you all day snapped.

You turned your head, and he was already looking at you, his blue eyes dark and intent, like he’d been waiting for you to crack first.

Neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to.

It happened all at once — his hand reaching for your wrist, your breath catching as he pulled you toward him. His other hand slid to the small of your back, tugging you closer until there wasn’t even an inch of space between you. Then his lips were on yours, hot and insistent, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You gasped against him, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders as he backed you up against the sink. His kiss was urgent, consuming, like he couldn’t get enough of you. And God, you couldn’t get enough of him either.

The towel he’d been holding fell to the floor as his hands roamed your body, one sliding to your waist and the other tangling in your hair. His fingers tightened slightly, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, and you let out a soft, involuntary moan that seemed to undo him completely.

“Shower.” he muttered against your lips, his voice low and rough, and before you could even process the word, he was guiding you backward toward the glass enclosure.

The cool tile of the shower wall met your back just as the spray of hot water burst to life, cascading over both of you. The contrast of sensations made you shiver, but Rafe’s hands were already on you again, grounding you, igniting a heat that burned hotter than the steam enveloping you both.

He pressed you back against the wall, his body flush against yours, and you couldn’t hold back the soft gasp that escaped when you felt the full strength of him. His lips moved to your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, each one lingering like he was memorizing the way you felt beneath him.

“Rafe…” You barely recognized your own voice, breathless and shaky as your nails dug into his shoulders.

“Say it again.” he murmured against your neck, his voice dark and laced with a possessive edge that sent a shiver down your spine. “Shit, call for me again.”

“Rafe.” you repeated, and his name came out like a plea, breaking apart as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below your ear.

His hands slid lower, gripping your hips before traveling down to the backs of your thighs. Without a word, he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you higher against the wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your hands tangling in his damp hair as you brought his lips back to yours.

The kiss was slower this time, but no less intense. His tongue swept against yours, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pulled you closer, holding you like he never wanted to let go. The water cascaded over both of you, but it did little to cool the fire raging between you.

Rafe pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as his chest heaved, both of you catching your breath. His eyes found yours, and the raw intensity in them made your heart skip a beat.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” he said, his voice rough and low, his lips brushing against yours with every word.

Your hands slid down to his jaw, your thumbs brushing against his cheekbones as you smiled faintly. “Good.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and before you could say anything else, he kissed you again, harder this time, with a desperation that stole whatever restraint you had left.

The steam swirled around you, the water pouring down like it was trying to drown the fire between you — but it was hopeless. Whatever this was, whatever had built between you over the years, it wasn’t something that could be extinguished. Not now. Not anymore.

Rafe’s grip on your thighs tightened as he set you down gently, the cool tile sending a jolt through your body as he stepped back just enough to let you stand on your own two trembling legs. His eyes never left yours as he reached for the strings of your bikini top, his fingers deftly untying them.

“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he murmured, his voice thick with need, and you felt your cheeks flush as the material fell away, exposing your bare breasts to the steamy air.

He took a moment to just look at you, his eyes darkening as they roamed over your body, lingering on your hardened nipples and the droplets of water that clung to your skin. Then, as if he couldn’t wait another second, he reached out and cupped one in his hand, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. A bolt of pleasure shot straight to your core, making your knees wobble.

You leaned into his touch, arching your back slightly, and that was all the invitation he needed. His mouth was on you, suckling your nipple into his warm, wet mouth, his tongue flicking against it as you let out a gasp that was quickly muffled by his groan. Your hands found the back of his neck, holding it tightly as his other hand moved to your other breast, giving it the same attention.

But as much as you enjoyed the feeling of his mouth on your breasts, there was something else you craved. Something more. You reached down and tugged at the waistband of his shorts, your eyes never leaving his.

The material slid down his hips, revealing his arousal, thick and heavy, standing proudly against his stomach. Your heart raced as you took him in your hand, his cock hot and velvety-soft, yet so firm. You felt the weight of him, the way he twitched at your touch, and you knew he wanted this as much as you did.

“You like that?” You whispered, a hint of mischief in your voice, watching as his eyes fluttered closed and his head fell back with a groan.

“Fuck yes,” he hissed, his hand coming to cover yours, guiding your strokes. His hips jerked slightly, and you felt his cock throb in your grasp.

The power you had over him was intoxicating, and you reveled in it, stroking him slowly, watching the way his body responded to every touch. You leaned in, your breath warm against his neck as you whispered, “You’re so big.”

Rafe’s eyes snapped open, his gaze locking onto yours, and there was something in it that made your stomach flip — something dark and hungry that mirrored the ache between your legs.

He spins you around, pressing your breasts against the cool glass as he kisses your neck, his hand sliding down to tease your clit while you watch your reflection in the steamy mirror.

The sensation is maddening, and you can't help but arch into his touch, your hips rolling against his palm. The water streams down your back, creating rivulets that trace the curves of your body, and the slickness between your legs only makes your need for him more intense.

"Tell me what you want," Rafe whispers, his breath hot on your skin, his fingers expertly circling your clit. His other hand slides down to your ass, squeezing it gently as he continues to explore your body.

"I want you," you murmur, the words barely audible over the rush of the shower. Your voice is thick with desire, and it sends a jolt of need through him. He groans, his cock pulsing against your bottom.

Rafe’s hand slides from your clit, his fingers slipping into your folds, testing your readiness. You're soaking wet, both from the water and your own arousal, and you push back into his hand, silently begging for more. He teases you, sliding one finger in and out, watching your eyes glaze over in pleasure.

“Do you want me to fuck you, sweetheart?” His voice is a low growl in your ear, and you shiver with excitement. His words added a new dimension to the fire between you, turning your desire up to a fever pitch.

You nod, unable to form coherent words as his fingers delve deeper, filling you. “Yes.” you manage to breathe out, the word little more than a gasp.

“Say it,” he demands, his hand moving faster, his thumb pressing against your clit with just the right amount of pressure. “Tell me you want my cock inside you.”

Your cheeks flush, but you don’t hesitate. “I want your cock inside me, Rafe. Now.” The words feel decadent on your tongue, and you revel in the power of them, the way his eyes darken and his breath hitches.

With a smoldering smile, Rafe turns you around to face him, the water still raining down on both of you. He takes your face in his hands, tilting it up to meet his gaze. His eyes are blazing with lust, but there’s something else in there too — something that makes your heart race faster than the pulsing ache between your legs.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice a command that you can’t resist. You stare up into his eyes as he guides the tip of his cock to your entrance. You gasp as he slides inside you, filling you up with one slow, deliberate stroke. It’s a sensation you’ve never felt before, like he’s claiming you, marking you as his own.

He pins you against the wall, lifts one of your legs, and enters you standing, the water rushing over both of you, heightening every sensation.

The feel of him inside you is overwhelming, his thickness stretching you as he starts to move, his hips pistoning in and out, the water sluicing over your bodies, turning your skin slick and your cries of pleasure muffled by the pounding of the shower. His hand wraps around the back of your thigh, holding your leg up as he takes you, his other hand on your hip to balance you as he drives deeper with every thrust.

“Oh, fuck. Rafe!” you moan, your voice a mix of pleasure and surprise at how good it feels. He groans in response, his eyes locked onto yours, his pupils blown wide with lust.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” he murmurs, his voice a dark, velvet rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Take it all. Take every inch of me.”

You can’t help the whimper that escapes as he hits that perfect spot, the one that sends sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. Your eyes flutter closed, but he gently taps your cheek with the pad of his thumb, urging you to look at him.

“Keep those eyes on me.” he says, his voice a gruff command that makes your core tighten. You force your lids up and watch him as he continues to pump into you, his movements powerful and deliberate. “Let me see you come for me, baby.”

His hand slides down to your clit, his thumb circling the sensitive bud as he picks up his pace. You feel yourself building closer and closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him, trying to pull him deeper. “I bet that stupid fucking tourist didn’t get you moaning like this, huh?” he says, his voice thick with arrogance.

You’re surprised at the sudden mention of the guy who had dropped you off at your place two days ago, the one who had barely managed to get your number. But as Rafe’s thumb applies more pressure and his cock hits that spot deep inside you, the memory of the touron fades away, replaced by the reality of the man who’s been under your skin for years.

“So you were jealous, huh?” You ask, your voice teasing despite the way your body is trembling with need. You can’t resist scratching your nails down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he fucks you harder against the shower wall.

“Shut up.” Rafe says, a playful smirk curling his lips. But the way his eyes bore into yours says he’s not joking. He wants you to be silent, to only focus on him, on the way he’s claiming you with every stroke.

You lean in closer, your breath a hot whisper in his ear. “Make me, then.” you challenge him, your voice dripping with need and mischief. You bite his earlobe, making him growl before you pull away again, your eyes sparkling with defiance.

Rafe’s smirk widens, the challenge accepted. His strokes become more urgent, his grip on your thigh tightening as he fucks you with a new vigor that has your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. The pleasure builds, coiling in your belly like a tight spring, ready to snap at any moment.

You can feel him thicken inside you, his hips slapping against your ass as he takes you harder. Your nails rake down his back, leaving trails of red against his tanned skin, and he grunts with every thrust, his eyes never leaving yours. The sound of your bodies colliding echoes off the shower walls, mingling with the steady patter of the water.

Then it happens — the orgasm hits you like a wave, crashing over you with an intensity that steals the breath from your lungs. You cry out, your muscles tightening around him, and he groans in response, his grip on your thigh and hip almost painful. He pulls out at the last moment, the tip of his cock teasing your clit as he comes, painting your stomach with ropes of hot cum. The sight of him, his head thrown back and his muscles taut with release, sends another shiver of pleasure through you.

You stand there for a moment, panting and trembling, your legs threatening to give out. But Rafe’s arms are around you, holding you up, keeping you close. His chest is heaving, his heart pounding against yours as he presses his forehead to yours.

The bathroom is quiet except for the sound of the shower and your occasional shared laughter as you both rinse off the remnants of your earlier entanglement. The water slides over Rafe’s broad shoulders, droplets tracing the ridges of his muscles as he smirks at you from beneath the spray.

“You’re hogging all the hot water, Cameron.” you tease, nudging him with your elbow.

He tilts his head, pretending to consider it. “Or maybe you’re just too slow. Pick up the pace, princess.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so slow if someone didn’t ruin my ability to walk properly.” you shoot back, trying to sound exasperated but failing miserably as your lips twitch into a grin.

Rafe’s low chuckle reverberates in the steam-filled room. “You’re so welcome.” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement and satisfaction.

Your chest tightens at the sound, and you glance away, a shy smile pulling at your lips. It’s maddening, how effortlessly he can unravel you with a single look or a simple quip.

By the time you step out of the shower, the mirror is fogged over, and the bathroom feels stifling. You grab a towel, wrapping it tightly around yourself, already feeling a tug of laziness weighing you down.

Rafe was already drying himself, shaking his wet hair like a dog and laughing when you glare at him. “Relax, princess. You’re already wet.”

“That’s disgusting, Rafe.” But you can’t help the small laugh that escapes you.

Your eyes flick to Rafe’s t-shirt lying casually on the counter while he puts his sweatpants on. Without a second thought, you snag it, pulling it over your head. The fabric hangs loosely, brushing your thighs.

When Rafe notices, his brows lift. “Seriously? My shirt?”

“It was right there.” you reply nonchalantly, smoothing the material as if to make your point. “And I’m too lazy to grab my pajamas. Deal with it.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes dragging over you. Something flashes there — something warm, possessive — but it’s gone before you can place it. “Really?”

“What?” you say innocently, running a hand over the shirt. “It was right there and it’s your fault I can’t walk to my suitcase anyway.”

He narrows his eyes at you but doesn’t argue, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Fine. Keep it. But don’t act surprised when I start charging you rent.”

You scoff, brushing past him as you head toward the bed. “You’re so generous.”

Once you’re under the covers, the soft glow of your phones illuminates the space between you. The easy comfort of scrolling and sharing random videos fills the room. Rafe shows you a clip of some guy trying to skateboard off a roof and failing miserably. You laugh so hard your chest aches, and the sound of Rafe’s deep chuckle beside you makes your heart feel unbearably light.

But as the laughter fades, a familiar weight creeps back into your chest. Tomorrow. The word lingers, flashing in your mind like a warning light. You’ll go back to the Outer Banks, to the suffocating expectations of your mother and family. Rafe will go back to being just Rafe — your brother’s best friend.

“We’re back tomorrow.” you murmur softly, your voice breaking the silence.

Rafe doesn’t respond immediately, but you feel his gaze shift to you. “Yeah.” he says after a moment.

You bite your lip, hesitating. “Back to… normal, I guess.”

His jaw tightens at your words, and for a moment, the room feels heavier. His silence stretches, his expression unreadable as he stares at the ceiling.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you add quickly, setting your phone aside.

“Didn’t you?” he asks, his tone calm but edged with something heavier.

You swallow, guilt and frustration knotting in your chest. “I just mean…” You pause, your voice trembling. “You’ll go back to being you, and I’ll go back to…”

“Pretending this never happened?” he finishes, his voice low and rough. He didn’t even know why he was frustrated.

You flinch, shaking your head. “No. It’s not like that.” You take a breath, struggling to explain. “It’s just… you know what it’s like with my mom. With my family. Everything has to be perfect. And me…” You trail off, lowering your gaze. “I’m not allowed to just… be myself.”

Rafe shifts beside you, his eyes softening as they lock onto yours. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand reaches out, his fingers brushing over yours. The simple gesture makes your heart clench.

“But we still have tonight.” you add, your voice barely above a whisper.

Something shifts in his expression — less frustration, more heat. A slow smirk tugs at his lips, and he leans closer, his voice dropping low. “Yeah. We do.”

His lips find yours, and the world falls away. It’s not rushed, not frantic, but slow and consuming, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. His hand cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing along your jaw as his mouth moves against yours. You melt into him, your fingers sliding into his hair as you press closer, closer, like you can’t get enough.

When his tongue brushes against yours, you gasp softly, your heart racing. Heat coils low in your stomach, spreading through your body as his hands slide down to your thighs, pulling you into his lap. You can feel him everywhere — his touch, his warmth, his breath — and it makes your head spin.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless. His forehead presses against yours, and the crooked grin he gives you sends a thrill through your chest.

When he finally pulls back, his lips curve into a grin. “Alright, one last thing before you’re back to being Little Miss Perfect: wanna smoke?”

You laugh softly, still catching your breath. “I don’t think I’m as perfect as you think.”

“Could’ve fooled me” he says, already grabbing the joint from the metal box on the bedside table.

At some point, you end up on the balcony — the spot you’d jokingly called your “weed place” earlier in the week. The night air feels cool against your skin, and you curl up beside him, your legs draped over his lap as he lights the joint. The first drag is sharp, making your lungs burn, but it quickly fades into a pleasant haze. After a few hits, the haze feels light, freeing.

“Okay, fine,” you say, laughing. “But then… what if fish get bored of swimming all the time? Like, what if they’re just floating there, looking up at the surface and thinking, ‘Wow, I wish I could walk. Or fly.’”

“Fish don’t think that,” Rafe says, grinning. “Fish don’t think at all.”

You gasp, your hand flying to your chest. “Rude. Fish probably have, like, the deepest thoughts. What if they’re out there philosophizing about life? Like, ‘What even is water?’”

That sends you into another fit of giggles, your head falling back against the chair as you clutch your stomach. You don’t even realize Rafe is watching you until you catch the way his smirk softens, his blue eyes warm as they trace over your face.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, his voice low.

“Yeah, well…” You shrug, still smiling. “At least I can say whatever stupid thing pops into my head with you. That’s nice. I don’t have to, like, filter myself.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just reaches out to brush a piece of hair from your face. “Good,” he says softly. “You should always be yourself.”

The joint burns out eventually, but the ease you feel doesn’t fade. When Rafe pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of you mid-laugh, you groan, reaching for it.

“Let me see!”

“Not a chance,” he says, holding it out of reach, grinning.

Fine, you think, grabbing your own phone. “Two can play this game.” You snap a photo of him in the middle of a laugh, his head tilted back.

“Oh, come on.” He groans, reaching for your phone. “That’s terrible!”

“That’s the point,” you say, giggling as you dodge him.

The photo war escalates quickly, and you’re back in his lap before you even realize it, both of you laughing uncontrollably.

The flash goes off.

You pull back, your breath catching as you see the phone in his hand. “Did you just take a picture of that?”

Rafe smirks, his eyes half-lidded. “Maybe.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

His hands trail lazily down your thighs, his smirk darkening. “Maybe I’ll take one more,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice a little breathy as your heart pounds in your chest.

He nods, his fingers curling under the hem of his shirt — your shirt — where it brushes your thighs. “You know, for the road.”

A rush of heat spreads through you as you give him a playful smirk, your inhibitions completely gone. Slowly, you grab the hem of the shirt and lift it just enough to flash him.

His eyes darken, his phone already in hand. “Hold that.” he murmurs, his voice rasping, and before you can even think, the flash goes off again.

You laugh, tugging the shirt back down, your cheeks burning. “You’re insane,” you say softly, giggling, the smile lingering.

He grins, setting the phone aside as his hands slide to your waist. “Maybe,” he replies, his lips brushing yours. “But at least now I’ve got a proper party favor from this wedding shit.”

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

TAGLIST: @megiiite @melsunshine @maybankslover @wearemadeofstardust0 @lilithblackkk @slutforoldermen @louxmcl @peter-parkers-gf @yootvi @v4mp1rr3 @evermorx89

[little-jana]

"Under The Radar"

Part 1 - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: light teasing, use of Y/N

Words: 1.1k

Summary: The team teasingly notices their change in dynamics while working on a new case.

The next few days passed in a blur of cases and paperwork, but something between Spencer and I had undeniably shifted. The kiss—unexpected, quiet, but somehow significant—lingered in the space between us. It wasn’t mentioned aloud, but we both knew it had happened. And every time our eyes met, I could feel the unspoken understanding.

Today, however, we were back in the thick of things. The case was urgent—another missing person—and the team was gathered in the bullpen, piecing together the clues. Spencer had his usual spot at his desk, but there was something different in the air. Maybe it was the slight, nervous glint in his eyes when he’d caught my gaze earlier, or the subtle way he kept glancing over at me. Whatever it was, it felt like something was just under the surface, waiting to bubble up.

“Alright, team,” Hotch began, gathering everyone’s attention. “We’ve got a new lead on the missing girl. JJ, you and Reid, follow up with the local PD. The rest of us will continue canvassing the area.”

“Got it,” JJ said, nodding, though her eyes shifted between Spencer and me for a brief moment. She didn’t miss much, and I could tell she was already suspicious about the sudden shift in our dynamic.

Spencer grabbed his jacket and gave me a brief smile before turning to follow JJ. “Let’s go, partner,” he said, his voice a little too casual, as though he were trying to act unaffected by what had happened between us. But I could see the small tremor in his hand as he reached for the door.

“Don’t look so nervous, Reid,” I teased softly, following him into the hallway. “It’s just a case, remember?”

“I’m not nervous,” he said quickly, but his voice wavered just slightly. He adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit that made me smile. “I’m fine. Just... focused.”

The drive to the local PD was quiet, save for the occasional comment from JJ about the case. Spencer, as usual, was deep in thought, his eyes flicking from his notebook to the street signs outside the window. I couldn’t help but notice how the faintest hint of a smile played at his lips, as though he was trying to hide the warmth that had settled in his chest after our kiss. I wondered if he realized just how much that small gesture had changed things. For both of us.

As we pulled up to the station, Spencer broke the silence again, this time with a question that made me blink.

“So… um, do you think the team’s noticed?” he asked, his voice low, almost embarrassed.

“Noticed what?” I asked innocently, though I had a feeling I knew exactly what he was referring to.

“You know…” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Us. That we... well, kissed.”

I tried not to laugh, but the image of Spencer—intelligent, analytical Spencer—looking so nervous over something as simple as a kiss made my heart swell. “I don’t think they’ve noticed anything. At least not yet.”

“Good,” he said, exhaling as if he’d just avoided a bullet. “Because I’m not... I mean, we don’t have to—”

“Spencer,” I cut in gently, placing a hand on his arm to stop his rambling. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself. We’re fine. And if anyone notices, well... that’s not the end of the world, right?”

Spencer met my gaze, his nervousness melting into something a little more thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

As we entered the building, we were met by the local officers, who were quick to show us the latest developments. It didn’t take long before we were deep into the investigation, our usual rhythm kicking in as we worked together, analyzing the evidence and making quick observations. Spencer seemed to settle into his familiar zone, and for a while, I almost forgot about the tension that had been hovering between us.

That was, until we returned to the bullpen and the team was waiting for us.

“Well, look who’s back!” Derek Morgan said with a grin, leaning against the doorframe of the bullpen as we entered. “Reid, you and [Y/N] look like you just walked off a date. Everything go alright?”

I saw Spencer freeze for a fraction of a second, his eyes wide behind his glasses. I quickly shot Derek a playful glare. “You’re imagining things, Morgan,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “We were just working.”

“Oh, sure, just working,” Morgan teased, stepping closer. “Reid’s face is practically glowing. If you two didn’t kiss, I’ll eat my hat.”

“Derek,” Spencer said, his voice a little too high-pitched for his usual tone, “that’s... not... I mean, we didn’t...”

“Relax, Spence,” JJ chimed in, crossing her arms and smiling knowingly. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Reid looked around nervously, clearly trying to stay composed, but I could see the color rising in his cheeks. It was clear the team had already picked up on something, but it didn’t seem to bother him as much as I expected.

“Okay, okay,” Hotch interjected, shaking his head with a small smile. “Enough teasing. We have a job to do. But,” he added, his voice slightly amused, “next time you two decide to... ‘just work’ in private, keep it under wraps. We don’t need any distractions.”

Spencer, looking mortified but also relieved that the teasing was over, gave a small nod, and I could feel his embarrassment through the air. But I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. As I passed him on my way to the next case file, I leaned in and whispered, “Maybe you should embrace the germs, Reid. You never know... it might be worth it.”

He looked at me, his expression a mixture of shock and amusement, before he blurted out, “I’ll take my chances.”

And for the first time since that kiss, I saw Spencer Reid — perfectly imperfect Spencer Reid — smile in a way that made my heart flutter.

[howlingday]

hey, remember my accidental villain jaune au? the one where he was a shonen anime villain and pyrrha was the hero but jaune had no idea what was going on actually? I'm curious what a scene of that would look like written by you. would you mind giving us a taste?

Hm... I guess I can give it a shot. Show you how I'd make this series if I thought of it.

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

"So, uh, what's your name?"

"My name?" He chuckled. "What is a name when the deed is more worth remembering?" Jaune had practiced this line time and time again. His weeks in drama club, acting classes, and practicing in front of the mirror made certain his performance was perfect. Maybe if this girl was really impressed, she'd want to hang out with him more.

"Uh, yeah, I guess?" She giggled. "So you want to be remembered as Vomit Boy for the rest of the school-year?"

ABORT! ABORT! ABORT! THE MISSION HAS FAILED! NEW MISSION OBJECTIVE: DON'T CRY IN FRONT OF THE COOL GIRL!

"Ah... No..." Jaune felt his body go rigid. His face must've been beet-red from this embarrassment. "Uh, my name is Jaune. Jaune Arc." He lifted his shaking fingers and shifted them into shaking finger-guns. "Sh-Short, sweet, and rolls off the tongue. The- The ladies l-love it~!"

She snorted. "Do they really?"

"Uh... They do. Or, they will..." Jaune could just die.

"Well, I'm Ruby. Ruby Rose." She raised her fingers into less shaky finger-guns. "And I'm also a Shadow Masque fan~!"

"Oh, that's good..."

"What were you trying to accomplish by doing that, anyways?"

"I was... trying to look in front of you."

"Aw... You don't have to do that." Ruby put a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't?" Jaune replied, hope brewing in his eyes.

"You already threw up on my sister's shoe. There's no coming back from that." Jaune slumped forward, exhausted. As he did, a thin slab of metal wobbled from his side. "Hey, what's that?"

"What's what?" Jaune looked up, noticing Ruby eyeing his weapon. "Oh! This is my sword." He clicked it open, extending the sides into a kite shield. "Oh, and uh, shield, too."

"Wow..." Ruby gazed in awe. "It's so retro!"

"Yeah, I borrowed it from my-" Jaune blinked. "Ret- Retro?"

"Yeah, you don't see a lot of classic weapons these days."

"W-Well, it's not that retro!" Jaune clicked his shield, compacting it into a sheath. "See?! It's easier to carry now!"

"But wouldn't it still be just as heavy?"

"Y... Yeah..." She giggled. "Well, what makes your weapon so state-of-the-art?"

"Well, I wouldn't call her state-of-the-art, but..." Ruby whipped out her weapon, as Jaune watched helplessly as it mecha-shifted into a massive scythe almost twice his size! "...Crescent Rose gets the job done~."

Jaune fell to his knees. He was going to throw up. He was going to throw up right here, in front of this younger student with the cooler weapon than he could have ever dreamed of. He could honestly cry if not for one thing he still had on his side... IMPROV!

He chuckled. "An impressive class of weapon, Miss Rose~." She blushed. "I look forward to seeing her in action." He leaned in close. "And yourself, too~."

"Oh, stop~!" She squirmed at the compliment. There was an announcement on the PA system. She shook her thoughts clear. "Uh, we should probably make our way to the auditorium, right?"

"Yeah, we should." Jaune dropped the act, regaining his composure. "Uh, lead the way!"

"I thought you were leading the way?" Ruby asked. The two stared at one another before they both slumped with a sigh. "Let's find a map."

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

"Why, hello there, my dears~."

"Huh?"

"Hello~!"

"I couldn't help but overhear you two talking about forming a team." Jaune smiled a devilish smile. "May I perhaps join you in this endeavor?"

"The only endeavor is listening to you talk." The young woman in white muttered under her breath.

"Well, I think I'd rather just let fate decide who's on what team." The young woman in bronze answered.

"You mean the same fate that brought me to you?" He gave a bow, his hand crossing over her chest as he dipped low, not looking up once. "Jaune Arc, future huntsman."

"My, aren't you confident?"

"Too confident." Weiss huffed. "Jaune, is it?"

"It is." He looked up, offering his hand to her, palm up. "And you are~?"

"Annoyed, actually." She said with flared nostrils. "But if you must know my name, it's Weiss Schnee." She gestured to her friend. "And do you know her name?"

"No, but I would like to~." The unknown girl giggled at his words, while Weiss only got angrier.

"Oh, stop~!"

"Yes, please, stop! This is Pyrrha Nikos!"

"A pleasure, Miss Nikos."

"Please, call me Pyrrha!"

"I'm sorry, I don't think you heard me." Weiss retracted. "This is THE Pyrrha Nikos!"

"The one and only, of course." Jaune kept laying on the charm, making her blush. It quickly stopped when Weiss grabbed his nose and tugged it down. "OW!"

"Pyrrha Nikos! Regional Champion of Mistral! Top graduate of Sanctum! THAT Pyrrha Nikos!"

Jaune stepped back, rubbing his nose. "Uh... Sorry. None of that rings a bell. Should I know you?"

"Have you been living under a rock?!" Weiss nearly screeched. "She's on the face of Pumpkin Pete's Marshmallow Flakes!" Jaune gasped, and Weiss let out a sigh of exasperation. "Finally..."

"Oh, that was you! I thought you looked familiar!" Jaune lifted his chest-plate to reveal the bunny hoodie beneath. "I ate, like, fifty boxes to get this thing!"

"Oh, I... bet they were scrumptious..."

"Not really." Jaune admitted, bringing his armor down. "They tasted like cardboard to be honest."

"Yeah, they did..." Pyrrha reminisced on less happy days.

"Well, Pyrrha," Jaune offered his hand to her, "I'd be more than happy to see a woman of your skill on my team."

"How about a demonstration?" Weiss asked, looking to Weiss. She nodded to Jaune, and the celebrity sighed.

"I'm really sorry about this." Pyrrha said as she stood up.

"Sorry about WHOA!" Jaune was now pinned to the wall of the locker-room, held aloft by Pyrrha's spear. She reached up and yanked it out, apologizing as she passed.

"So, this is Dork Masque, huh?" A girl asked as she passed by, Ruby close behind.

"Don't be mean, Yang!" She looked back to Jaune. "Uh, see you later, Jaune."

He sighed. "Yeah... See ya."

He stood up and brushed himself off. Reaching behind him, he felt the hole in the hood of his one victory in life. He took a deep breath and shuffled to the exit as he sighed. Hopefully there won't be worse understanding like this. Thinking back on it, though, this dark persona he'd fashioned from Dark Masque seemed to be working. Maybe he could play around with it for just a little bit longer. He'd have to come up with a cooler name, though. Something like...

DARK ARC

...except, y'know, less lame.

[magical-reid]

Ricochet (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky x Fem! Reader

Slow Burn/ Enemies to Lovers

Word Count: 1.3K

Part 1

Bucky’s POV

“That was good,” I said, surprising myself as much as her.

She froze mid-punch, glancing at me with raised brows. “Did you just give me a compliment, Barnes? Should I write this down somewhere?”

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Don’t get used to it.”

She grinned—an honest, unguarded grin that hit me harder than any punch she’d thrown so far. I had to look away, focusing on wrapping the tape around my hand.

“What’s your deal, anyway?” she asked after a moment.

I glanced at her, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“With me,” she clarified, planting her hands on her hips. “You act like I’m the enemy every time we’re in the same room. But in the field, you’ve got my back like we’ve been partners for years. So what is it? Do you hate me, or are you just confused?”

Her words hit too close to home. I didn’t know how to answer, so I went with the truth.

“Maybe a little of both.”

Reader’s POV

His words hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortably honest.

I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, but that wasn’t it.

“Why?” I asked quietly.

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because I’ve seen what Hydra does to people. What it turns them into. And no matter how much you tell yourself you’re past it, it’s always there.” He paused, his gaze meeting mine. “It’s not about hating you. It’s about not trusting you.”

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “I didn’t choose Hydra. They took everything from me—my family, my life. They made me into something I never wanted to be.”

His eyes softened, but only slightly. “That doesn’t mean it’s gone.”

“And what about you?” I countered, stepping closer. “You’re telling me you’ve erased every piece of them from your head? That there’s nothing left of the Winter Soldier?”

His jaw tightened, and I knew I’d hit a nerve.

“Exactly,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “That’s why I don’t trust myself either.”

Bucky’s POV

She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. If anything, she stepped even closer, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my chest tighten.

“We’re not so different, Barnes,” she said quietly. “You and me? We’re both just trying to figure out how to live with what they did to us. And maybe…” She hesitated, biting her lip. “Maybe we could stop making it harder for each other.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. She wasn’t wrong, but admitting it felt too much like surrender.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, the closest I could get to agreeing.

Her lips quirked into a small, almost-smile. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

I couldn’t help it—I chuckled. It was soft, barely there, but the sound surprised us both.

“Don’t get used to it,” I said gruffly, echoing my earlier words.

But for the first time, I wondered what it would be like if she did.

The Next Mission

Reader’s POV

Something shifted after that night in the training room. Bucky was still grumpy, still snarky, but the edge of his anger had dulled. He didn’t snap as much, didn’t brush me off as often.

He even started calling me by my name instead of “new girl.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make me hope.

That hope was tested during our next mission. We were tasked with retrieving stolen Stark tech from a heavily guarded Hydra base—classic Avengers work. But things went south when we triggered an alarm.

“We need to split up,” Sam said over the comms. “Y/N, Bucky, take the west wing. Wanda and I will handle the east.”

“Got it,” I replied, glancing at Bucky. He gave a curt nod, and we moved as one, slipping into the shadows.

The west wing was a maze of narrow corridors and locked doors, but we moved efficiently, clearing the area room by room. Everything was going smoothly—until it wasn’t.

Bucky’s POV

The explosion came out of nowhere.

One minute we were sweeping the corridor, the next I was on the floor, ears ringing, debris raining down around us.

“Y/N!” I shouted, my voice barely audible over the chaos.

“I’m fine!” she called back, coughing as she pushed herself up from the rubble.

Relief flooded through me, but it was short-lived. Footsteps echoed down the hall, fast and heavy. Reinforcements.

“Can you fight?” I asked, hauling her to her feet.

Her glare was answer enough. “What do you think?”

We fell into a defensive stance, back to back, as the soldiers rounded the corner. They came at us hard and fast, but we were faster. I focused on the ones with guns, trusting her to handle the rest.

She was good. Better than I’d given her credit for.

But then I saw it—the soldier creeping up behind her, blade glinting in the dim light.

“Y/N, duck!”

She dropped instantly, and I lunged, driving my metal fist into the soldier’s chest. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

“Thanks,” she said, breathless but steady.

I nodded, scanning the corridor for more threats. “Let’s finish this.”

Reader’s POV

By the time we secured the stolen tech and regrouped with the others, I was sore, exhausted, and more than a little bruised. But we’d done it.

On the flight back to the Tower, I leaned my head against the wall, letting the hum of the engines lull me into a half-doze.

“Hey.”

I opened my eyes to find Bucky standing over me, an ice pack in his hand.

“For your shoulder,” he said, nodding toward the spot where a Hydra soldier had landed a nasty hit.

I blinked, surprised. “Thanks.”

He sat down across from me, his expression unreadable. “You did good out there.”

The words were so unexpected that I almost didn’t know how to respond.

“Coming from you, that’s high praise,” I said, smiling slightly.

He smirked, shaking his head. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

For a moment, we just sat there, the tension between us replaced by something softer. Something almost comfortable.

And for the first time since I’d arrived at the Tower, I thought maybe—just maybe—I’d found a place where I belonged.

Bucky’s POV

I didn’t want to admit it, but she was growing on me.

Y/N was tough, smart, and—God help me—funny. She didn’t back down, didn’t let me push her away. And somewhere along the line, I’d stopped wanting to.

She was right—we weren’t so different. And maybe, just maybe, we didn’t have to do this alone.

But letting her in? Trusting her? That was a risk I wasn’t sure I was ready to take.

Not yet.

But maybe soon.

Part 3

[latibvles]

TO SOMEDAY TOUCH THE CLOUDS.

long-awaited — a proper introduction to some girls on the ground with the prompt " waiting " for week three :) on that note: meet sandy, isabel, and katherine ♡ a special thanks to @saturnwisteria for letting me drop a little Yeva cameo into the mix :)

TAGLIST: @sparkedupsilver , @derry-rain , @elysian-crow , @archival-hogwash , @cetaitlaverite , @pastexistence , @saturnwisteria | message me if you'd like to be added to the list!

—

From now until the end of this thing, days at Thorpe Abbotts will both start and end in the dark. There's a flashlight in her eyes as opposed to the morning sun, and a "They're flyin' today! Up and at 'em Swanson!" that has Sandy groaning and twisting in her scratchy sheets like a contortionist.

"Get offa me," is her complaint of choice, swearing under her breath with hands swatting in the dark — even if the people around her are buzzing with excitability. Mutterings about the girls going up fill her morning, and Sandy scoffs a little. Girls, like they're running around in school skirts and Mary-Janes looking for dance dates. The women that came from the States aren't old enough to be her mother, but a good chunk of them have years on herself — the pilots certainly do. She's pretty sure at least two of them are about the same age as the Air Exec, even if he likes to act like he's not a day over twenty-one.

And they aren't calling Major Egan a "boy."

It all starts out on the hardstands, running last-minute safety checks and refueling while the crews eat breakfast and get debriefed. She doesn't get to know where they're going or when they'll come back — just that they are going, and they will come back — but she's seen enough accidents to know they might not. Stupid things, like not slowing down enough on the landing, or hitting the runway at just the wrong angle.

If Sandy's being completely honest: she doesn't want to know. It gives her one less thing to worry about, so she doesn't plan to ever ask.

"They're real pretty," Wendy Malone notes from her spot leaned up against the refuel truck as they finish topping off Mouse Hole. "No wonder they put that red-headed one on a magazine cover. What'd you think?"

Sandy looks over from her spot, topping off the last of the bird's feeder tanks and raising a brow.

"Just need 'em to fly straight and keep my job easy. Paddlefoot's already got a buncha scratches on it and they ain't even seen combat yet."

"Oh yeah," Wendy snorts as they go through the motions of loading the hose back into the refuel truck. "Heard that they've been pretty tight-lipped to on how they got them too. At least that's what Admunsen says."

"Probably did somethin' stupid." Sandy shrugs, patting the side of the refuel truck and giving Wendy a nod as the other girl hops into the driver's seat. She makes her way around to the passenger's side, stalls as the first of the crews start making their way onto the tarmac. She recognizes one of them, vaguely, and tosses Yeva Rosova a mock salute and a lopsided smile from her spot hanging off the passenger door.

"Apple Atcha's all topped off for ya. Even went over the paint job a couple a' times last night. Try to keep 'er in one piece for me, y'hear?" She directs her question more to Yeva than the other girls — trying to discern who's who means squinting at their wings and she doesn't have the time for it. She prefers flight engineers to pilots, anyway.

Yeva regards her with a nod and a wave that shifts into a thumbs up from a leather-clad hand, and Sandy feels equal parts satisfied and envious, the former resulting in her tossing Yeva a smile and the latter making her stomach twist in a way she doesn't like.

If she'd finished school, maybe. Or if she'd been born earlier, she'd be among them and not bidding them goodbye.

She knows her work is important all the same, but she can't help that weird tug at her chest that watching the contrails during training always bring out. Everyone dreams about touching the clouds, she rationalizes, shaking her head slightly to dismiss the thought as she throws herself into the seat and Wendy wastes no time in driving off to return the fuel truck to its proper place.

When they come back, there will be holes in their fuselages, and leaks in the fuel tanks, and all plethora of things for her and her crew to tackle and fix. She's already going through the mental procedures in her head — everything she's seen at home, and learned in training, because if she thinks about that then she doesn't really have time to focus on things like pride or envy or the way her stomach twists as they breeze by another deuce-and-a-half packed with airmen.

Sandy wonders if this will be a long ride or a short trip, but doesn't ask Major Bowman when the planes take off.

—

Tatty gets her up before anyone else.

Isabel knows it's because she's the quickest to rise, and they'll get everyone else up faster that way. There's an order to these things. Tatty, and then herself, and then Helen, so on and so forth, rising and putting themselves together in the dark — the men never knowing anything but pin curls and blue uniforms and then their skirts and shoes in the evening. She likes the early rise. It gives her time to pray the rosary undisturbed like her mother taught her, with her cross and Saint Macrina entangled between her fingers.

It reminds her vaguely, of early mornings in Los Angeles, of slinking into the kitchen with Enrique on her heels to put together a halfway decent breakfast for their siblings, but not before kneeling at their home altar to thank the Virgen de Guadalupe for just about everything.

She likes being the first one in the truck, getting started with the oil and coffee urns while Kitty rubs the sleep out of her eyes — likes the specificity of it, of having everything done just right and tackling the problems preemptively like stoves that won't light or oil that wouldn't otherwise heat up quick enough.

She likes the way dawn crests over Thorpe Abbotts too, when they pop open the windows to the truck and let the sunshine of late spring and early summer trickle in. The air is cool, because while it can get hot in the afternoon, it's nothing like Los Angeles.

The faces they await are new — kind of.

New in the way that she hasn't learned names yet, and neither has Tatty, who leans on the counter next to her. Kitty's better about names and faces, but Katherine Price of Massa-'Ginia-South-Carolina has been going to reunions since she was six or seven with her parents and learning the names of all the guys her dad served with the first time they did all of this.

That one didn't have donuts though, she commented sagely, once, on the ride back to the mansion the Red Cross had them staying at. An oversight by Uncle Sam if you ask me.

"Gonna wish us good luck, ladies?" One of them, a blue-eyed and dark-haired man with a heavy accent that is somewhere Eastern, but definitely not Massachusetts, looks up at them and tips his crusher cap.

"Not like you'll need it," Isabel hums, tossing him a smile and passing in a donut from her perch. He smiles and winks. Rinse, repeat — she'll utter a little prayer when she can see their planes starting to climb up into the sky, and it'll be out of her hands after that.

Capacity of care — say a prayer, let God handle the rest, she's been quantifying how much she can take on since she was fourteen. She likes to think it makes her better at all of this, letting the burden of worry and grief wash off her with the English rain. She doesn't have much time for it, none of them do, but caring is apart of the job.

It's a delicate balance. Sometimes being apart of the Red Cross feels like being a plate spinner for Barnum & Bailey.

Isabel reaches for Tatty's cigarette and plucks it without a fight, taking a drag and passing it back with smoke spills from her lips. The boys will load into trucks and at least for this first time, the donuts and coffee waiting for them when they come back might be a pleasant surprise for some. Only after that, will it become a steady routine.

"How long d'you think it'll be?" Isabel doesn't really know why she asks that, chalks it up to curiosity as she watches the last of them make their way to the trucks that will take them out to the hardstands — boyish faces looking silly to her in their crusher caps. Some of these "airmen" don't even look much older than her brother, but she's seen enough of them come back a little more hardened than before, their eyes a little darker than what they are in the morning.

Tatty lightly taps at her cigarette, lets the ash flutter to the gravel road beneath the truck.

"Dunno," she supplies with a slight purse of her lips. "Seven hours, maybe?" Isabel snorts a little at the shot-in-the-dark answer.

"Lucky number seven," she hums, straightening out. "You let me know when and Helen and I can start taking coffee out to the crews." Tatty nods, still a little quiet, a little pensive as she always is on mission days.

Isabel can't fault her for that — everybody's got their own balance to keep. She wonders if any of the other girls have started learning names yet.

—

Kitty's always been pretty good at this part of the job.

Not everyone is fit for waiting — to be enveloped in the quiet that follows when over a hundred men take off towards a target. She knows that the ones left behind certainly aren't. On her way back to the truck she'd heard two of them in a quiet exchange muttering about being bench-warmers — a position they're ill-fitted for, after months of training to be in the air.

It's a good chunk of the reason why Kitty didn't become a pilot, or do something more ambitious like the infantry when that opened up to her, too. Of course, the girls down at the launders argued against it, citing that she should just talk to her dad, see if he can't get her slotted somewhere sunny with gold gleaming bars on her collar, typing reports for Major West-Point-And-Very-Important.

Glamorous, sure, but not exactly what Kitty is searching for.

This, for all of its perceived simplicity, is more her speed. She likes the men she serves, likes knowing their names and hearing their stories at the Aero Club. She knows what she has is a gift — an ability to make somebody smile on their worst day. And there are a lot of worst days for airmen, or any kind of soldier.

She's known that since she was nine, when she couldn't wriggle into her parents' bed because the nightmares took a strong grip on her dad and just wouldn't let him go. And in the morning, when she smiled at him and watched that exhausted melt on his face like the first dirty top-layer of New England snow.

Kitty shifts her gaze towards the sky as she breaks off a piece of a too-cold-for-the-boys donut from the morning, pops a piece into her mouth to satiate her growling stomach. She'd skipped out on breakfast, alight with nervous energy that made Helen snicker from their spot in the back of the truck. This is the very first mission for the new boys who came to really take over the place — girls too, she has to remind herself, because airwomen are about as rare as they are lovely, relatively unheard of at the other bases she's visited.

They're putting down roots here now, or so Tatty says; these are their boys and girls to look after and make smile.

Tatty will never call any of them theirs, but that's just the way she's always been. If they want to give her pieces of themselves: the names of their sisters, sweethearts, mothers and brothers, than they are as much her boys and girls as she is theirs. Their girl to have sit there and listen to them, their girl to wait for them to come home.

The siren goes off, it's low drone a familiar sound, even if the pitch tends to vary across places. Isabel pops her head out before she can cram the rest of her contraband-snack into her mouth.

"You gotta—" she stops, looks at the swell of Kitty's cheek, and Kitty watches her lips quiver in a smile.

"Aye wuzh hung'wy," She manages through the mouthful, swallowing it dry. Isabel just laughs a little breathlessly.

"I can tell. Hurry up n' come inside, yeah?" And Kitty nods, breaking apart the pieces in record time and mentally bracing herself for the part of the job where the waiting ends.

[siriuslysatorusimping]

Locked Out (Gojo Satoru)

This is pretty much just idiotic fluff. University AU. I made a post like over a year ago about this idea and now here we are. I just wanted to post this first bit as a lil taste of what’s to come!

The First Key

Flipping through her notebook, Rinko hummed along with the quiet music filtering from the computer speakers as she added the occasional extra note.

Night shifts were one of her favorite things about working for the dorms. Most of the time, they were uneventful except for a midnight package pickup from a nocturnal student or someone forgetting their keys.

“Yo!” a deep voice greeted cheerfully, “Could I get a lockout key?”

Nodding, she didn’t bother looking up before swiveling her chair around to open the filing cabinet with the lockout forms.

“Name and student ID number?”

“Gojo,” he replied, rattling off his ID as well.

“Dorm number?” Rinko asked as she located his sheet and turned back to the desk. “D’you know the drill for–?”

She trailed off when she finally looked up from the paper in her hands.

People forgot to take their keys with them all the time when they bathed. The majority of lockout keys she’d seen were unfortunate students who finished their bath or shower only to find that they couldn’t get back into their room. He wasn’t even the first person she’d seen wearing nothing but a towel while they asked for a key that week.

But he was, by far, the most attractive she’d encountered yet.

Pale skin, perfect complexion—not a single blemish in sight. Skin like that shouldn’t even be possible for someone living in the dorms. Messy, white hair dripped occasionally as it clung to his forehead. Eyelashes that matched his hair framed eyes so blue they threatened to drown her.

Tall—so tall. Even if she weren’t sitting, he clearly towered over her. Very built. So many muscles. Did he have an eight-pack? The dark blue towel hung low on his hips left very little to the imagination. Dimples sat at the edges of a shameless grin adorning his face, perfect teeth on display.

A pretty boy who knew he was pretty. Just perfect.

“Two twenty-four,” he stated, and she blinked, trying to remember why he would tell her such a random number. “They gave the regular spiel about these keys at the start of last semester, but I honestly didn’t pay attention. Mind giving me a refresher?”

Dorm number. She’d asked for his dorm number. Lockout key—right.

His eyes seemed to sparkle at her while she gave a brief explanation, trying to ignore the heat that crept up her neck when his gaze wandered as she spoke. She had no doubt that his once-over mirrored the one she’d given him, except she did doubt her outfit was as flattering as his towel.

“Fill this out,” she stated evenly, placing the sheet on the desk in front of him. She turned away to open the key cabinet, locating the spare for his dorm. “Just the first row.”

He hummed his affirmative, and she held the key out when he slid the form back toward her.

“Thanks, Miss Desk Girl.” His fingers brushed against hers as he accepted the key. “Be back before you know it.”

Sending her a wink, he tapped the desk with two fingers before turning to walk to the stairwell, leaving her staring at his towel-covered ass until it disappeared from sight.

“You didn’t think to get dressed?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

The towel was even lower on his hips than before as he handed the key back to her.

“Only had fifteen minutes,” he replied, tilting his head to the side innocently. “Took me a while to find my keys once I got back inside, and I didn’t wanna get in trouble for taking too long just because I threw on some shorts, ya know?” His lips pulled into a small smirk. “Plus, I figured you might not mind getting another look since you were kinda drooling earlier–”

“You won’t get in trouble for putting clothes on,” she cut him off, her face burning at being called out for staring. She scribbled her name in the box to confirm he’d returned the key. “The fifteen-minute rule is just to make sure you actually bring the key back. Most of us don’t mind as long as you don’t take forever or you get it back before our shift is over.”

“Yeah?” He reached to take the key back. “What time does your shift end? I’ll have this back before–”

“Doesn’t matter since you’re already here. But for future reference, please put clothes on before you come back.”

“It’s okay to admit you like the view,” he teased, bracing his elbow on the desk. “I definitely like my view. Though, it feels kinda unfair since I’m the only one in a towel. I could bring you one to even things out–”

“I’m good, thanks.”

-

AN: what do you guys think?? I know it’s short, but I did say it’d be a mini series :)

[bullet-prooflove]

11. sometimes my past life still has a hold on me

for Sam Carver please?

Tagging: @kmc1989@mckinleysbones@wnbweasley@saturnsdevilz@star017

Companion piece to:

The Evidence Locker - Sam realises his feelings for you might be reciprocated.

Scars - Sam thinks his emotional scars are too much for you.

Playing For Keeps - Sam regrets what he said about your first night together.

Sometimes you run into someone from your past life, the one before you escaped your father and his gambling addiction. You were twelve years old when he had you take over his pool games because he was too drunk to hold a cue, you learned quickly how to hustle because the prize he was betting wasn’t cash anymore, it was private time with you.

Sam discovers this one night when the two of you are playing in your favourite hall and an older man puts a twenty on the table, claiming the next game. Normally you have no problem taking some asshole’s money but the look on your face in that moment, it makes his blood run cold because it’s the same one he used to have when his parents told him they were leaving him with his brother.

Instead of responding to the challenge, you toss the cue on the table, pick up your stuff and walk out without a word. It takes him almost a block to catch up with you and when he does you’re shaking in a way that he understands has nothing to do with the declining temperature.

“Tell me.” He implores because he can’t stand the sight of you suffering.

“If I tell you it’s going to change things, you’re going to look at me and see something else and I don’t want that.” You tell him, your voice breaking a little as you tuck your hands into the pockets of your leather jacket.

“It won’t.” He tells you resolutely, cupping your face between his hands. “When I told you about my brother, did it change the way you loved me?”

“No.” You say softly as his nose rubbing lightly over yours.

“Then trust me when I say the same.” He whispers and you know he means it.

You tell him everything when you get home, about your father, his friends, the reason you’re frighteningly good at pool. It was a way for you to put food on the table, pay the rent. And losing, it came at a cost, one you hate to think about.

“That man tonight, he was one of them?” He asks you, his thumb tracing soothing circles over that delicate little spot behind your ear, the one that calms you.

“He was my first.” You say quietly. “Twenty dollars was the going rate.”

Twenty dollars for your dignity, it makes Sam want to murder someone.

He goes back to the poolhall the following night while you’re on shift. That man, the one from your past, he’s standing there by that pool table laughing as if nothing ever happened, as if he didn’t abuse a twelve year old girl. Sam spends the evening sitting at the bar, drinking club soda, waiting for the moment he slips out for a smoke and when he does…

He does what exactly what someone should have done for you all those years ago. He beats the shit out of him and he makes it clear that if he ever sees that bastard in your orbit again then he’ll finish the job.

When you get home that night, he doesn’t try to hide his split knuckles, he wants you to know what he did, that he took care of your problem. He wants you to know your safe.

“Thank you.” You say softly because in that moment you realise there’s a little bit of justice in the world. “You don’t understand what it means…”

You choke up a little then and Sam, he draws you close, cradling you against him.

“I do.” He whispers against your hairline. “Trust me I do.”

Love Sam? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[hom3land3r]

Homelander had just finished an interview in his office for TIME magazine when he heard his phone buzz…and then buzz again. Clearly someone was trying to get his attention. While Ashley babbled by his side, he checked his phone and read the two messages from James. A smile formed on his lips at the typos, technology being the vampires downfall still. Of course, he wasn’t that much better yet played it safe by not typing anything and purely sending a “👍” instead.

“Yeah, Ashley I gotta run. But I’m sure you’ll sort everything out, right? Good girl.” Homelander said with a smile as he headed off to the Seven meeting room. It wasn’t long before the thud of boots echoed along the hallway and the Supe appeared at the doorway. He stood tall and proud, arms behind his back as he tilted his head, gaze locked on the younger vampire. A smile formed on his features as he headed further inside the room. “Well, well. What do we have here?” He hummed. “Skylar, right? Young vampire and thorn in James’ side. You’ve given him quite a bit of trouble tonight, haven’t you sport?”

Homelander’s tone was calm, even friendly, creating an illusion of security. But James would know better what game he was playing. He half sat on the edge of the meeting room table in front of Skylar. When the kid hadn’t responded or even reacted to his presence, Homelander reached out and grabbed the kid by the jaw, staring him in the eyes. He saw the faintest flicker of green in them. “Oh, come now. Drop the thrall muzzle, James. Let the kid speak.” He instructed without looking away, letting go of Skylar. “After all, he’s plenty good at it, wouldn’t you say?” His gaze shifted to James for a moment with a chuckle before moving back to Skylar.

“You seem to have ruffled quite a few feathers tonight, pal. That’s no easy feat when it comes to James. Frankly, I’m quite impressed.” Homelander stated with raised brows. “I’ve clearly gotten under that cold, dead skin of yours. Ironic since this is the first time we’ve ever met, but I don’t know whether to be flattered or not?” He hummed, pretending to actually think about it. “You have…very strong opinions of me as…misguided as they are. Oh, don’t look so surprised! You really didn’t think I couldn’t hear you from the moment you set foot in the tower?” Homelander leaned close, a dark smile on his face. All teeth…and fangs. “I heard everything.”

Easing back, he let the silence hang in the air for a long moment before speaking again. “Creating a scene in a crowded place isn’t a wise move unless you can back it up. And from what I’ve seen, you couldn’t so much as defend yourself from a paper bag never mind another vampire…or me.” Homelander stared the kid down. Even half sat on the table, his size and presence loomed over Skylar. The vampire had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. He was outnumbered and right in the middle of the lion’s den. “Mm. Seems like a traditional case of all talk and no action. That’s disappointing for a vampire. Makes me even more grateful to have James at my side. What was it you said earlier…James put the term vampire to shame? …Oh, don’t look so confused. He tells me everything.” Homelander said as he tapped at his temple with a smirk. This whole time James had been showing him mental pictures and key points of his interaction with Skylar. Filling in the pieces outwith the reach of Homelander’s senses.

“See, from where I’m sitting, it looks like James is in a far better position than you are right now. You may have your own opinion when it comes to him working for me, but you’ve only seen one side of things. Believe it or not, we’re a team. A true team. Better and stronger than the Seven ever were. James here is my eyes and ears of the city we call home. The city we protect and where we hunt. And you little fella, thought you could waltz in and fuck that up for us without any consequences. Talk about putting the term vampire to shame!” Homelander laughed, glancing over at James.

However, as Skylar attempted to shift and stand to object, Homelander quickly snapped into action as a hand reached out to Skylar’s shoulder, pushing him back down into the chair. “Just you stay right where you fucking are, you pathetic little bloodsucker. I’m not done with you yet.” He snarled, eyes glowing red in warning.

@ibit3u @ashortdropandasuddenstop

Skylar had returned that growlhiss with one of his own as he was slammed against the nearest wall. He was about to protest, to struggle and attempt to fight back. James’ grip was stronger than he could overcome, and he hated that fact. The moment he was silenced by the hand over his mouth, Skylar muttered and mumbled a string of curses as his brows furrowed in pure fury.

Again, he tried to struggle. Tried to break free of that grip…but couldn’t. And then all was lost as James commanded eye contact. Skylar couldn’t resist, obeying as a pack would obey its alpha. He couldn’t refuse the elder vampire. As dark eyes met green, he felt himself be pulled deeper and deeper, felt the walls of his mind cave in and a leash around his neck as he came to heel under James’ control.

His movements stilled. He stopped resisting and instead totally gave in to what the elder had commanded. The muttering and objections had also stopped. Skylar fell silent under James’ touch, his eyes growing distant and hazy as if he was out on autopilot. Yet he was aware of everything around him, he just couldn’t react in any way. He was now docile, James getting some peace at last.

As Skylar was dragged through to the elevator, he followed obediently under James’ guidance. While inside his mind he wanted to scream and tear the elder to shreds…he couldn’t. Not after that command, not after the thrall. Only when it was lifted would Skylar be free and in control again. All he could do was obey and do as he was told, which pissed him off more and more with each passing second. Even in the elevator, Skylar stared straight ahead, eyes glassy. He couldn’t react to James’ own taunts and warnings about Homelander. The fact he was being brought to the Supe made him feel sick. Who the hell made him in charge, and how the hell did he obtain a vampire lapdog?!

None of it made sense. But deep down Skylar knew he wouldn’t get out of this easily. Either Homelander would kill him instantly…or somehow find a way to drag out his torture for longer. Whatever the case, Skylar was outnumbered. He couldn’t even fight James never mind adding Homelander to the mix, and he doubted any vampires he knew would be interested in that fight either. So he was all alone. He’d have to be smart about this…if he even got the chance to be.

As the elevator pinged and the doors slid open, Skylar was once again guided and led by James. He was very much aware he was being brought to Homelander just so James could bask in the glory and please his master. The idea made him want to throw up, however while under that thrall he couldn’t do much of anything at all until it was lifted. Skylar hated nothing worse than being trapped inside his own mind. It was useless to even try fighting it. James was too powerful to be weakened. He would have to rely on the elder becoming distracted in some way. Perhaps at the sight of his master? There was a small chance and it wasn’t one Skylar was relying on. James seemed like the professional type that was too focused on not letting Homelander down to allow himself to disappoint in any capacity.

Skylar would have no option but to see this through, one way or another…

[anthenasikes]

summertime ☀️ !!!

[hella1975]

the closest ill ever get to being a pick me girl is the joy that fills me when the chefs at work so clearly favouritise me. like im there nicely cleaned up in my smart-casual uniform just a 20 year old waitress smiling my customer service smile and behind me spawns Scary Dog Privilege 10x in the form of several burly middle-aged chefs at least three of which have criminal records and would all stick a bread knife in someone for bothering me

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Things To Think About For Characters (Clara Clawthorne [My Wittewife] 🧡 🤎 🧹 💟)

Commission artworks are here, here, and here.

• Do they have allergies? (Nope. She's happy to have no allergies to anything, especially nature, as she loves it so much.)

• What foods will they not touch? (Sour or spicy foods. They're bad for her tongue. Also, yuck. Her words btw. Oh, and rotten foods, for obvious reasons.)

• What kind of music do they like? (Medieval / Bardcore pop music! Those music genres were really popular during her time. Examples are here and here.)

• How are they around new people? (Very friendly and outgoing! Clara loves meeting new people!)

• Do they speak in an accent? (She has a cute American accent! Very upbeat and bubbly and a little high pitched! She sounds like a M/y L/ittle Pon/y character lol. Speaking of m/lp, here's her voice. I ❤️ T/ara S/trong.)

• Have they tried learning a new language? (Not really, but she would be delighted to learn if given the chance! If she did, she would have a really tough time at first with the new language, but she would get the hang of it over time.)

• How many languages do they know? (Only one, and it's English.)

• What is a song that will always make them cry? (This one. Tears of joy btw lol.)

• How do they cry? heaving? silently? sobbing? (All three, but it really depends on the situation.)

• How do they dress? for practicality or fashion? (I'll say practical since Clara wears pretty practical clothing.)

• What is the first thing they notice about a stranger? (Their smile! [if they're smiling.] If not, then their face and demeanor.)

• What is their humour like? (Silly, goofy, and random lol.)

• do they have scars? what caused them? (She has zero scars.)

• do they wear jewelry? (During her shore trips, she wears the jewelries she discovers and advertises them at her knick knack stand at the town marketplace.)

• are they a frivolous spender or a miser? (FRIVOLOUS SPENDER. SHE LOVES TO SHOP, SHOP, SHOP! You could say she's "a bit" of a shopaholic lol.)

• do they prefer luxury or practicality? (Luxury can be nice and does have its perks, but she prefers practicality.)

• Who would they quote? (Tay/lor Swi/ft I think. 99% of her quotes are positive. This one would be her fav lol.)

• what could make them change their mind? (Puppy dog eyes or treating her to something sweet lol. If you want a more serious answer, I say having a respectful conversation and finding common ground with her.)

• Who is the first person they'd call? (Scrolls weren't a thing back then, but if they were, I'd say her her ma / mother.)

• how are they around animals? do they have pets? (Clara exhibits kindness and love towards animals, and she has a blue jay palisman named Syrup as a pet.)

• What is their favourite childhood food? (Fairy fresh fairy bread lol. It's a very whimsical treat [it's sliced white bread slathered in butter and sprinkled with fairy dust] that Little Clara loved! She still loves it even as an adult.)

• what is something they've never told anyone? (Spoiler for "A Winsome Witch And A Happy Human".😭)

• childhood friends? (She had some! Can't go too into detail about them though cuz spoiler for "A Winsome Witch And A Happy Human".😭)

• what are habits they've picked up from other people? (Thanks to Caleb, Clara has become accustomed to carrying a carving knife with her.)

• what are their guilty pleasures? (I don't think she has any. If Clara likes something, she likes it and it doesn't cause her guilt. <3)

• what is something they're staunchly against? (The witch hunts that Caleb talked about that the humans in his realm engage in are definitely something she opposes.)

• do they speak a certain way? do they use contractions? popular turns of phrase? (She speaks normally. Also, she would use the popular phrases of her time.)

• can they fall in love? what does it look like? does it differ between people -- friends vs family? (Yes for the first question! She fantasizes about finding her one true love, so it's possible for her to fall in love and be in love lol. But the other stuff I can't answer cuz spoiler for "A Winsome Witch And A Happy Human".😭)

• what would they rather die than do? (Spoiler for "A Winsome Witch And A Happy Human".😭)

• what is their biggest mistake? one that they look out to never do again. (Spoiler for "A Winsome Witch And A Happy Human".😭)

Sorry to end on a 'sorry spoiler' text, but yeah. 😅

Anyways,

tagging @princessrainbowpastel (her oc is on @persephoneflowerpetals), @queenspinoodle, @elusive---ivory, @nightsoulvixen (her oc is on @rizzocloverrpcorner), and @azure-blaze92 (he / they have an oc here)

The tag is also open to anyone who wants to do this, and you don't have to answer these questions with an oc if you don't want to (you can use a canon character as well). 💖 💗 💕

[vulpixelates]

the monday blues are getting me especially hard after a four day weekend of being curled up in bed and playing pretend with my wife 😔😔

daydreaming about the lesbians in our heads SAVE ME