#and it’s literally just down and across the street

[rafesangelita]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW | PROLOGUE

a pogue!sweetheart!reader series by rafesangelita ©

SUMMARY: nothing could’ve ever prepared you for the handsome kook that came crashing into your life.. quite literally. it’s hard to think that at one point you and rafe didn’t know one another, especially since you two have spent every passing day together for the last four months.

WARNINGS: drug use, driving under the influence, reckless driving, rafe arguing with ward, descriptions of a mild injury, mentions of addiction and sobriety, blood, reader tends to rafe’s wounds, fluff, opposite of slowburn, forced proximity (?), time skip (from four months ago to the current day), slight angst

AUTHOR’S NOTE: ahhhhh!! it’s finally here, and i couldn’t be more excited to share this with all of you!! all feedback is deeply appreciated <3 feel free to ask to be added to the taglist if you’d like!

LINKS: series masterlist | next chapter

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

rafe set a new record for himself tonight, and he wasn’t proud of it. not only did he lose count of the lines he snorted off of topper’s coffee table, he also had ward blowing up his phone. “aye, man, i don’t think you should be driving.” topper slurred, downing the alcohol in his glass. cleaning the residue from his nose, rafe shook him off, stumbling through the crowd of people in the living room before hopping in his truck and peeling out of the packed street.

jaw ticking, rafe cursed to himself when his phone started ringing, ward’s contact lighting up the screen. “i’m going home already, alright? yes— yes, dad! i know we have a meeting with some investors in the morning.. what? no i’m not fuckin’ high!” he rambled on, feigning offense when his father called his bluff. “just stop— i know, okay? i’ll be there in a minute—” before rafe could finish his sentence, he took a sharp turn, swerving onto the curb before hitting a light pole.

you were locking up the icecream parlor when you heard the high pitched squeal of tires against the pavement, a loud crash making you jump from your spot in front of the door. spinning on your heels, your eyes widened when you saw a black truck just feet away from the main street, smoke billowing from under the hood. unsure of what to do, you looked around to see if anyone was nearby, but of course, the strip was always empty at this time of the night.

“son of a bitch!” you heard someone groan before they tumbled out of the front seat, falling face down against the concrete. you gasped, dropping your purse before running across the street. “are you okay?!” you helped the stranger sit up, wincing when you saw blood dripping from his nose. he stared at you wide eyed, his pupils blown as you kneeled in front of him. he opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.

“it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” you reassured him, slipping off your cardigan before holding it against his nose. you noticed the open gash on his brow, your heart sinking when you saw his eyes soften. “we really need to get you to the emergency, do you have a phone?” rafe shook his head, leaning back against the tire of his truck. “no. well, yes, i have a phone.. somewhere.. but i can’t go to the emergency, not like this.” just then, rafe felt a sharp pain shoot up to his temple from his neck.

“yes, like this! you’re all scraped up.” you said incredulously. “no, i mean i’m not sober.” as if he was waiting for you to judge him, rafe watched as your expression didn’t falter. “i promise you, going to the emergency and getting help from a professional is a lot more better than not going at all. your truck can always be replaced; you can’t.” your words lit a fire in his chest, the sincerity in your tone making him crack a pained smile.

“i’ll go to jail for this, and i just can’t do that right now. i have to be somewhere in the morning, my dad will kill me if he finds out..” remembering that he was on the phone with ward before he crashed, he scrambled up to find the device, only to groan and plop back down on the street. still holding the pink cardigan to his head, you guided his hand to hold it for you. “what are you looking for? i can try to find it.” rafe let out a shaky breath, mumbling “my phone.” before you got up and spotted it near the tire.

turning it over, you held it up for him to see. it was completely shattered. “i don’t think it’s going to work..” you handed it to him, a bitter laugh falling from his lips. “what the fuck?” he breathed out, holding his head in his hands. you’ve never seen someone look so defeated before, your feet moving on their own before you could think. “do you think you can walk? my place is only five minutes away.” rafe looked up like he couldn’t believe the words that just came out of your mouth.

“your place?” he repeated, half shocked and half confused as to why you’d offer him help. “yes,” you nodded, taking his hand in yours, “i don’t have a phone there, but i can at least get you cleaned up..” rafe tried to weigh out his options, only to realize he didn’t have any. “are you sure?” he was truly at your mercy. “yes. here— just keep holding this to your head, let me go get my purse and we can be on our way.” you left him with your cardigan, running across the street and grabbing your bag before getting him up.

“i’m a lot stronger than i thought.” you joked, attempting to lighten the mood as you wrapped one of rafe’s arms around your shoulders. “fuck, what about my truck?” rafe leaned his weight on you, nearly making you topple over before you took a step. “someone will find it and call a tow, you could call the towing company tomorrow,” you explained to him, “do you have anything valuable in there?” rafe laughed, shaking his head. “just my piece of shit phone that has no value now.” he grunted, walking with a slight limp.

“hey, uhm, what’s your name?” rafe looked down at you, both of you sharing a glance before he looked away. despite him not being in the right state of mind, there was no doubting how insanely pretty you were. “y/n.. and yours?” why on earth were you getting butterflies right now? “rafe.” was all he replied before he started asking you an abundant amount of questions. rafe learned a lot about you in the short five minute walk to your camper. what you did for a living, where you currently worked for some extra money, what your hobbies consisted of.. along with being a pogue.

“so.. you live all alone in this pink camper in the middle of the woods? aren’t you scared some psycho will come across it and want to know who’s inside?” he asked, genuinely concerned. “a psycho?” you flashed him a playful smile, “like you?” rafe watched as you unlocked the small screen door, a chuckle threatening to slip from his throat. “i would laugh if it didn’t feel like i had a thousand needles stabbing me in my brain right now.” he swallowed thickly, accepting the hand you offered him to step in.

he was immediately hit with the smell of freshly baked cake and vanilla frosting. he loved it. “i know it’s really small in here, but you could just take a seat right there on that little couch and i’ll go get my first aid kit.” rafe did as you said, eyes darting around your space. pink florals, white lace trim, usually he’d be irked by this kind of decor, but for some reason unbeknownst to him, he didn’t mind it this time. rafe leaned back on the soft sofa, settling into the cushions while you scrambled for the little first aid kit somewhere in your bathroom.

spotting the small box on your little shelf, you grabbed it before making your way back to where rafe was sitting. he opened his eyes momentarily, finding you even more pretty now that darkness didn’t surround you two. he kept his gaze on you, watching as you took your bottom lip between your teeth. “sorry about this..” rafe took the pink cardigan away from his head, the fabric now stained with blood. “oh, don’t worry about it,” you smiled, “you needed it more than i did.”

pressing a damp cloth to his nose, rafe groaned when you applied the slightest bit of pressure. “i’m sorry!” you pouted, taking a seat next to him. rafe reassured you he was alright, a groan leaving his lips as he clutched his stomach. eyebrows knitting in confusion, you lifted his shirt, your eyes widening at the sight. he was scraped and bruised, a small wound adorning his lower abdomen. “here, lets get this off.” you pulled rafe’s t-shirt over his head, both of your cheeks heating at the compromising position.

“we could stop if this is too weird for you—” you shook your head, taking an ice pack out of your freezer. “no, it’s okay.” you pressed the cold bag to his skin, still wiping away the dried blood on his face. “i’m not sure how far you live, but i don’t think it’s a good idea for you to walk anywhere.” your voice was barely above a whisper, the sound of it soothing rafe more than any kind of medicine he could take right now. “don’t worry about me, i’ll be fine.” rafe watched your fingers dance across his stomach, your nails sparkling underneath the dim lighting of your camper.

you thought for a moment. “i guess what i’m trying to say is; i think you’re better off staying the night here..” you trailed off, meeting his gaze, “you’ll be able to get to a phone in the morning and call whoever you need to. you should just get some rest right now.” rafe was stunned. you wanted him to stay? “i don’t know..” he sounded uneasy, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t help but feel like he was imposing. “it’s okay, i swear! you could take my bed since there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep on this little thing.”

“no, no way, i’m fine with sleeping on the floor.” you smiled at him, eyes flickering down to his lips. “no, really, it’s okay…?” you trailed off, unsure of what to call him since you didn’t know his name. “rafe.” he answered. “rafe,” he liked the way his name sounded rolling off of your tongue, “i’ve fallen asleep plenty of times over here, i’ll be fine on the couch.” you got up, wringing out the towel you were using to clean him up. “i just have one rule, though,” rafe held the ice pack to his stomach, humming as you grabbed some ointment and a couple of bandages.

“you can only lay in my bed if you’re clean.. and you need a shower.” the corner of rafe’s lips quirked. “if you want to see me naked all you have to do is ask.” you blinked, pushing his chest softly. “that’s not what i meant.” you giggled. “i’ll get you a change of clothes, just get in there for right now.” rafe was already too far in to look back. getting up with your assistance, you guided rafe to the bathroom before shutting the door behind him. “there’s clean towels and wash rags on the shelf!” you called from the kitchen, yawning as all of tonight’s events started to catch up with you.

rafe didn’t know what to make of all of this. one minute he was high out of his mind, crashing into a light pole with his dad on the phone, and the next he was inside some gorgeous girl’s camper getting tended to before using a strawberry scented body wash in her shower. what the fuck was his luck? taking his time in the shower, rafe thought about how he’d explain everything to ward tomorrow, from the towed truck to the cuts and bruises.

he wondered if ward would even care.

by the time rafe was done, he was stepping out of the bathroom smelling like a slice of strawberry cake with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. he glanced over at the couch, your back facing him as you slept soundlessly. moving aside the pink curtain that concealed the doorway to your room, rafe slipped into the sweatpants you left out for him, settling underneath your silky soft sheets shortly after.

how was it that you just happened to be the only person around when he crashed? how did he crash right in front of where you worked? and why were you being so nice to him? rafe had so many questions and couldn’t think of any logical answers. he didn’t believe in fate, but looking back on it, that seems to be the only explanation. the next day he woke up to his clothes freshly washed and wearable again, your music playing softly in the kitchen. “good morning!” you chirped, your hair and makeup already done for the day.

“hey..” rafe was still shirtless, his eyes following your every move. “what time is it?” he took a seat at the little booth by the wall, his head no longer pounding the way it did last night. “it’s about to be ten. i was debating if whether or not i should’ve woken you up earlier, but you really needed to sleep.” you leaned back against the counter, admiring the handsome man in your camper. “your wallet should also be with your clothes there on that chair,” you started, “..so i was thinking; the little store just right outside of these woods has a pay phone that you can use.”

rafe nodded. “yeah, that sounds good.” he couldn’t think of the last time he woke up without wanting the day to be over with already. “hey, listen— uhm, i owe you a huge one for everything you’ve done for me.. i apologize if it was an inconvenience in any way, but i really do appreciate you.” rafe got up, grabbing his wallet from your room. “here. please take it.” you looked down at the hundred dollar bills tucked between his fingers, shaking your head as you moved his hands away.

“absolutely not.” you laughed. “no, please, take it.” rafe got closer, opening one of your palms before closing it around the bills. “rafe, i don’t want it!” you backed away, “i’m serious.” rafe let out a sigh. he already knew how this would go, so instead of urging you to keep it, he placed the money on your dresser after he was done changing. “well i guess i’ll be leaving now.” you masked the disappointment on your face by offering him a smile. “yeah, i guess so..” without saying a word, you and rafe stared at each other before he wrapped his arms around you, the action giving you butterflies.

before you could say or do anything, he pulled away and left, leaving your camper feeling more emptier than usual. you walked over to the door where you watched him walk away until you couldn’t see him anymore, a pout on your lips as you did so. while you were sure that you would more than likely never see him again, you couldn’t be more wrong. that day was the first of approximately one hundred and twenty one days, and counting, that you two would spend together. rafe came back to you the next day with a brand new pink cardigan to replace the other one you so selflessly let him ruin.

one icecream date turned into several, which then progressed into him coming over to your place with an overnight bag, his very own toothbrush now taking a spot next to yours. which then led to him picking you up and dropping you off at work, and so on until he finally said that you were his. you two spent the entire summer underneath the trees, rolling around in the grass as you two gasped each other’s names into your mouths, sharing sweet kisses and an even sweeter love that continued to grow with no intentions of ever stopping.

rafe had gotten sober out of fear that he wouldn’t remember what a love like this felt like if he was high all the time, and without judgement, you were there with him every step of the way. you stayed by his side when he felt like all hope was lost, and for that he could never thank you enough. although ward wondered where rafe would go off to, he didn’t bring himself to care as long as he was doing what he needed to do for the family business. with his dad off of his back, and you to come ‘home’ to everyday, he could say that he was truly happy.

even now as you two sat in your favorite diner, sharing a milkshake and laughing at whatever the other was saying, you felt no worries when you and rafe were together, your heart threatening to burst at the seams everytime you looked at him. everything was perfect.. at least for now. all good things must come to an end, and when you two are threatened by none other than ward himself, the love bubble you two have been mindlessly floating in is suddenly popped.

taglist: @percysley @oceandriveab @archiveofvirtue @weirdowithnobeardo @mattyskies @ankoluvly @cnnamongrl @b3bybunny @littlelamy @nemesyaaa @lovinqbella @jeonmochi99-blog @corpsebridenightamare @whorelaud @mymvlody @idontknowwhyimhere33 @ursovaine

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 2 - Sick and Full of Pride

Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), angst, fluff, mutual pining, smut, Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: You, Dean, and a sleeping Sam drive back to the bunker. Usual Warnings, plus light smut.

Author's Note: Dean driving does Things to me have a whole chapter with it.

Title from Drive by Halsey

Word Count: 5k

Read on A03!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

You’ve been in the car for almost eleven hours. The drive home was supposed to be eight, Dean is by no means going slow, and—as he’s told you many, many times—he doesn’t get lost, so you’re starting to suspect that you won’t be home any time soon.

As such, you’re now trying to find a reason to very casually and inconspicuously bring up that, if you’re looking at another three hours in the Impala, you’d appreciate it if you and Dean could make the team effort to kick Sam into the back so you can move to shotgun. You rarely get the opportunity—it arises exclusively when Sam wants to sprawl across the larger bench, you made Dean pie to get on his good side, or Dean and Sam are fighting, so Sam loses shotgun privileges—so you plan to take full advantage of this one.

Dean beats you to it. He’s been drumming on the wheel for about an hour in a beat you can’t find any real pattern to, he keeps shifting in his seat, and when he meets your eyes in the rearview mirror, there’s something that’s not quite stress—but close to it—on his face.

“Do you, uh, you wanna come up here?”

You blink, leaning forward between the seats to whisper in his ear. Don’t want to wake up Sam, and, really, any excuse to whisper with Dean is one you’ll take. “Yeah, but,” you glance at the sleeping lump of Sam. “What about Goliath?”

Dean shrugs. “He can sleep in the back. He’s lanky,” Dean says your name, shooting you a small grin, and you almost fall forward. “And I want you up here.”

“Oh.” You flush, but force yourself not to read into it. Sam’s asleep. Asleep people are worse company than awake people. “Okay.”

“You’ll talk to me, right? Up here?”

He sounds a little nervous, and your words fall out in a rush of reassurance. “Of course I’ll talk to you. I lo-” You catch yourself, and focus your attention on a dial on the dashboard as you continue. “I like talking to you. I’ll always talk to you.”

“So yeah?” Dean’s voice is casual, but he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s staring at the road—which he probably should’ve been doing the whole time—and his grip has become white-knuckled and tight on the wheel. “You’ll come up here?”

“If you can get Sam out, sure-“

Dean pulls off the side of the road, pushing his door open, and stomping around the hood of Baby. You’re a little dumbstruck, not entirely sure what’s happening, and a small rap of Dean’s knuckles on the window pull you back to your senses.

You push your door open, frowning up at him. “What-“

“Let’s go.” Dean’s hand moves to your arm, but he flinches back almost immediately, like you’ve burned him. Even in just the streetlights, you could swear he’s blushing. “C’mon, Sweetheart, need some backup.”

Once you’re out of the car, rubbing your arms and watching Dean and Sam exchange low words—Dean’s sounding urgent and Sam’s just sounding a little irritated—you try to look up and down the street for some clue of where you are. It’s mostly bushes, yellowing grass, and telephone poles—so literally anywhere in the Midwest—and this old dirt road isn’t really that different from any other dirt road, but it still feels familiar. Like you’ve been on it before. And the track marks on the upcoming path look suspiciously similar to the track marks behind Baby-

Sam stands up and shuffles to the backseat with a few grumbling sounds, and Dean holds the door open for you.

“M’lady.” He makes a wide, sweeping gesture to the seat, and you give him an amused, dry look as you walk up to his side, trying not to get high on how incredibly real his boyish, proud smile looks.

“You’re very cheesy sometimes, you know.”

“Yep.” He doesn’t seem bothered, and his eyes never leave yours as you climb into the seat. “Part of my charm.”

There isn’t a good answer for you to offer him that isn’t God, it really is, so you just make a half-hearted shrug and sink into yourself, letting Dean close the door and return to the wheel.

The first few minutes are silent, and the longer you look at the passing fields, the more you feel like you’ve seen them before.

“Hey, Dean?”

He hums, and you turn your head to see his gaze flicking between you and the road.

“Do you know how much longer we have left? Before we’re home?”

“Few hours.” He shrugs, and it’s a loose movement, which is a good sign. “Traffic’s a bitch.”

You glance out the windshield to the completely empty, dark street. “Traffic.”

“Yep.”

It’s not worth pushing him on. You’re fine here—you’re fine anywhere if you’re next to Dean—and Sam looks a little more comfortable, so if the drive ends up going until morning, you won’t care that much. You might become a little more worried about Dean, but you’ve gotten used to being worried about Dean. You’d rather the worry be about he might be losing his sense of direction, or developing short-term memory loss, because we’ve definitely taken this right before instead of he’s shattering glass and doesn’t seem to do anything but look sad and it’s going to make you cry.

“So, um,” you keep your eyes on the dial from before, because looking at Dean while you talk to him is never a good idea. “You’re still feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling great. Whatever hocus pocus shit Rowena did worked wonders, Sweetheart, I’m feeling amazing.”

You smile, and something that’s been tight around your heart for months loosens. “That’s really good, Dean. I know you didn’t want to try this, but-“

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” You see another loose shrug in your periphery, and your smile grows. “I gotta listen to you and Sam more, sometimes your ideas can actually be good.”

That makes you look up at him—primarily to glare—and it’s immediately a mistake. The shadows and ripples from the streetlight, cutting over his lips and jaw and cheekbones in the night, are making him look somehow more attractive, and you think it’s because of the joy. Dean’s grinning between you and the road, and there are no burdens pushing his shoulders down or weighted over his handsome features, and his whole face looks happy.

“Um,” you swallow, unable to tear your gaze away from Dean. “What’s the betterlust feel like? What does it want?”

Dean pauses, and he clears his throat in a deep, rough sound that is incredibly unproductive for actually focusing on his words.

“Feels like the bloodlust, I guess. I don’t, uh, it’s like a hunger.” Dean runs one hand carefully over the wheel, glancing at you with darkened eyes you can’t read, but want to watch you forever. “But for really specific things. And if it doesn’t get those things, I get…” He trails off, shaking his head slightly. “I feel like shit.”

“Like a craving?”

“Exactly like a craving.” Dean shoots you a grin that’s all pleased teeth, and you couldn’t look away from him if you tried. “Kinda like when we’re on a stakeout and suddenly you want a burrito, and if we don’t get you a burrito you start to get all mean and whiny.”

“I do not get mean or whiny-“

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “You get very mean and whiny. I ain’t gonna forget when you threatened to castrate Sam because he brought you a salad.”

“And I won’t forget that you backed me up, Winchester. You offered to get my knife.”

“Because you were being mean and whiny, and I’m not looking to ever get castrated.” He gives a fake, overdramatic shutter. “The loss of Dean Jr. would hit many people very hard.”

You flush, whacking his arm. “Asshole, I was not going to castrate you-“

“You would.” He shoots you a wink. “But don’t worry about it. I appeased the monster, and everything’s intact and functional down there.”

It takes effort to roll your eyes, because you know he’s not even taunting you on purpose. Dean has no way to know that you’d never castrate him—you probably weren’t going to castrate Sam either, the point was more to put the fear of God in him for thinking salad was an acceptable alternative to burrito—because the monster he was teasing you about lived in your abdomen and only roared for him. It reared it’s head at the deep, rolling sound of Dean’s voice, grew warm and sensitive at every brush of a big, rough hand on your skin, and was fed by any sliver or scrap of attention he threw you. The only way to truly appease the monster was to let it out of where you’d trapped and desperately ignored it, and the only way to let it out was for Dean to look at you, and not stop.

But you’d learned to deal with that. As long as the monster was tended to, kept in line and from falling out of your mouth with a shout of Dean! I love you! Please look at me, because I really, really love you! You’d be fine.

“Fine.” You sigh. “I’ll give you mean, but I have never been whiny in my life-“

He gives you a flat look of amusement. “You’re a little whiny right now, Sweetheart.”

There’s no way for you to win this argument, Dean’s backed you into a corner you’re more than happy to be in—it means he’s smirking at you, unbelievably pleased with himself, and he’s drumming on the wheel again—so you just roll your eyes.

“Shut up.”

“Uh huh.”

You flip him off, he lets out a loud laugh, causing Sam to stir in the back seat.

“Dean,” you hiss, your hand shooting up to cover his mouth. “Quiet-“

He scoffs, pulling your hand down. “Sam’ll be fine, he’s slept through more than me laughing. Don’t know where the hell his hunter instincts go when he knocks out, but nothing short of a hurricane is gonna wake him up now.”

“I know that, I’m just,” you glance at your hand, back in your laps as still buzzing where your palm had covered Dean’s lips. “He’s been really tired.”

Dean’s grin drops slightly, eyes flicking between you and the road. “What about you.”

“What about me?”

“Are you tired?”

You pause, trying to get a read on your own body. Your eyelids do feel heavy, and your body does have that strained feeling of exhaustion between your muscles and bones, but you’ve been more tired. And moments like this—just you and Dean, talking without any worries or sadness or pain—are so rare, you don’t want to miss any of it.

“I guess. But-“

“Get some sleep,” Dean says your name in a stern voice, his attention fixed back onto the road. “We’ll be home soon.”

You blink at him, and realize he’s taking the first left turn in almost three hours. “I’m fine, Dean-“

“You and Sam have been working overtime for me,” he grunts, shooting you a firm look that’s not angry, but firm. “You both deserve some rest. I’ll get you up when we’re back.”

You’re going to argue—to push back and try to explain that you can sleep later, you’re not really that tired and you’d choose talking to Dean over almost anything—but he turns up the music and that’s it. You’re not moving him on this, and if he thinks you need rest, he won’t talk to you until he deems you’ve rested.

It’s insufferable, and annoying, and so fucking impossible to fight with how he won’t stop looking at you with concern, until you sigh, curl into your seat, and pretend to close your eyes.

You’ve gotten good at faking sleep around Dean. At keeping your eyes just open enough to watch him like, admittedly, a creep, and savoring the moments where he’s just himself. He’s not trying to perform the big hero and protector and fighter role for you and Sam that he’s so good at—despite what he seems to think—because you and Sam are both, allegedly, asleep.

Well, Sam’s definitely asleep. But you’re drifting, toeing the careful line between the hazy fantasies that run through your head on loop and the reality of Dean, right next to you and so damn pretty.

He’s always so pretty, and right now he’s alive. He’s purely Dean—entirely himself, which is and always has been more than enough—and it makes his every movement electric. Every dart of his tongue over his lips—pink and full and probably soft and well fit on your own—makes you salivate, and that makes you wish he’d run a broad, thick finger over your mouth, wiping away the slight drool.

He’s drumming on the wheel again, and it turns into some sort of rhythmic lullaby, moving you higher and higher until everything is Dean.

It’s his strong, firm arms wrapping around you and flexing as he moves the wheel, and pinning your hands above your head with big, calloused hands you could swear keep brushing over your cheeks. It’s those lips that drive you insane pressing small, soft kisses all over your body before moving to your lips and turning desperate and rough. Dean’s tongue down your throat and his nose suddenly bumping against your clit.

He’s moved, down, down, down your body—you can feel marks that never really formed but are still sensitive and blissful from Dean’s presence—and suddenly you’re so needy you might die from it. You can still see Dean—the actual Dean, his eyes locked on the road in reality but focusing only on you in your head—and you can’t focus on anything else. His hands gripping the wheel are suddenly holding and kneading at your hips, but still deep inside you, pumping in and out in the same rhythm of the song.

It’s mostly fantasy now. You can smell the leather and whiskey and amber of Dean, your Dean—not your Dean, not your anything unless it’s here, in your half-dreams—and hear his humming, feel the heat radiating off his body. And it’s all feeding into each other, and now you’ll never come down. It will just keep being Dean’s hands on you—tossing you around like a ragdoll but touching your skin in a way that’s painfully careful—and body caging yours in. His full lips sucking and nipping at your neck and breasts and inner thighs, his tongue flicking at your nipples and clit and running over your teeth. Dean hold you down, up, under him or above him or against him, touching you however he wants because God, you’re not needy and desperate by any means but it would feel so good for him to use you. To be the cause of his post-sex swagger walk—as you and Sam have deemed it—or receive one of those cocky winks over breakfast. To hear him praise you, or praise him, or do anything he asks because he always does most anything for you.

Except this. This one thing—playing with you until you’re screaming his name and seeing stars—is the only thing Dean hasn’t done for you. Won’t do for you. You’ll never ask of it, you won’t be able to handle it when he says no aloud in a deep, gruff apology, and so you’ll just live here. In fantasy, where Dean’s attention is fixed on you and never strays. Because in this fake world, it’s only you and Dean, and you could like that forever.

And, right before sleep pulls you under, you could swear that Dean’s eyes on your are deep and blown-out with hunger, and realer than anything else in the world.

——————

Dean was starting to get the hang of this. It was surprisingly easy to do most of what the betterlust demanded, because they were things Dean already did all the damn time. Driving was an obvious one that he’d latched onto almost immediately—something in Dean’s brain had always felt a little easier to live with when he drove, and his hands never felt dirty when he was holding Baby’s wheel—and was easy to feed. Dean had to drive, because that’s how they got around. She and Sam knew him well enough to not try and ask and drive themselves, and it was part of Dean’s job to drive them between cases and the bunker, so satisfying the betterlust had pretty much been handed to him as a quick, easy fix.

But the trick seemed to be not feeding it too much. Taking just enough to satiate the betterlust into something that didn’t make him feel sick and hot, but keeping it from going overboard, because it was really fucking easy to go overboard. To get in the car and know that the drive could be short, but Sam had knocked himself out and She probably wouldn’t be far behind, so if Dean missed two or three turns or drove in an overly complex circle for two hours, nobody would stop him. They were only an hour from the bunker, nobody seemed to be upset by the additional time in Baby, and driving sent Dean’s head into some sort of humming, blissful joy he’d never felt in his damn life. It was like the quiet ease of driving had been duplicated, amplified, then shot right into his blood.

And two or three turns turned into nine or ten, and two hours became four. And She didn’t fall asleep, and the betterlust started to get hungry again. He couldn’t stop glancing in the rearview mirror at Her drop-dead gorgeous face that couldn’t be his, and wanting her. Wanting Her to say one word to him, or smile at him, or sit just a little closer so he could offer the betterlust something. Anything that wasn’t this starving, tortuous, ugly need for Her. Closer closer closer, never close enough and She needs to be closer so Dean doesn’t rip off his own skin from how it’s boiling or pull out his tongue because it’s starting to cave in with words he’s not allowed to say.

Dean didn’t trust himself to talk to Her, but the longer she was awake, within his reach, and invading his head with Her everything, the closer he felt going batshit insane. He had to keep himself in fucking check, and figure out what he could be allowed to do with this.

He could not be allowed to touch Her. Touching Her was dangerous. Touching Her made this high feel like he’d died in the best way possible. Touching Her was like all the simple easy of driving and the sweet taste of pie and humming strength of a good drum line in a song that pounded in Dean’s chest were rolled into one thing that was soft and warm and just real good. The betterlust fall entirely silent just when his hand brushed against Her’s, then became loud and feral when the contact was taken away. Touching Her was so good that it made everything else became pointless. Touching Her was the best, so Dean could not be allowed to touch Her because then he’d never stop.

And this wasn’t dangerous. It was just driving, and everyone knew Dean loved driving, and Dean felt like he could walk away from this. That, when they parked and She and Sam shuffled back inside, Dean was strong enough to ignore the hungry voice in his head and itch in his hands to just start driving again. Just like how he’d eat a cheeseburger, but he didn’t always need to eat a cheeseburger. He’d eat pie, and then walk away. Dean could control this. The betterlust was easy to feed, and better to feed—She’d really nailed it on the head with that—and nobody got hurt.

As long as Dean kept himself under control, nobody got hurt.

So Dean could talk to Her. Be near Her with the knowledge that, if he let his gaze linger on Her peaceful, sleeping face for too long, he’d be more of a goner than he already was and never be able to look away. It was safe to do in the car, where he could pull his attention away because of safety and immediately offer the betterlust some more driving the fill the loss of Her. Dean could keep driving, and look at Her in moderation, and nobody would have to freak out about certain people being in love with certain other people, or an annoying, third person who was a massive lump in Baby’s back seat getting a smug I told you so face.

Sam was wrong, though. There wouldn’t be anything to be smug about with Her and Dean, because Sam was wrong. As they neared the bunker—for real this time—it was just Dean, the rumble of the engine, and the music, Dean fell further into his head. Usually the music could drown his thoughts out, but the betterlust was so determined to have Her that he needed to grab it and shout that having Her wasn’t a fucking option. Dean could offer the betterlust whatever it wanted, except Her. He tried to reason with it—She’s too good, Dean isn’t close to good enough, and She doesn’t want him so he can’t lose her over something dumb like feelings—but it didn’t seem interested in Dean’s flawless, rational logic. The betterlust just wanted Her in every way possible, and Dean couldn’t get Her, and this might be worse than the bloodlust. This was unfixable, and Dean wanted it just as much as the betterlust, and his chest was going to cave in on itself and take his heart down into his stomach, pressing it to tiny pieces and pushing it out so everyone could see how little control Dean had over his own goddamn body.

He’d have to get through this. They were only ten minutes from the bunker, and he’d work out how to see Her in moderation, and She wouldn’t get uncomfortable from how much of a sick, twisted, perverted son of a bitch he was, and he’d have Her as he was allowed to and never lose Her. He’d do every other thing that fed the betterlust, and nobody had to get hurt. The whole point of this was to stop the hurt, so Dean would get a fucking grip and live with what She and Sam had worked so hard to get him.

Then She started moaning. Dean thought it was just a noise of discomfort at first—he even slowed down so he didn’t disturb Her—but then she did it again, and it was breathless and needy and he was going to die. He could feel his face turn red, feel how his jeans were suddenly painful to wear and all the blood in his body was focused and throbbing where Dean needed Her, and all his plans of keep Her close but still at a manageable distance went out the window. Her lips were parted as Her breathing became heavy, She was squirming slightly in the seat under the touch of whatever the hell was doing that to her in her dreams, and Dean might have be forced to jump out of the car if he wasn’t already pulling into the bunker.

There was a long moment—right after he turned off the engine—where the only sounds were Sam’s snoring and Her moaning, and Dean wondered if this was hell. If Rowena had actually just killed him in that kiddie pool, and he was being tortured with Her looking and sounding and being like something he wanted to eat but was just out of his reach, all while his little brother slept in the back seat.

Dean adjusted himself in his seat—hiding his boner from Her view and blocking Her from Sam’s—and cleared his throat as loud as he possibly could.

Her eyes blinked open—hazy and blown out from either sleep or Her dream—and even Her adorable, sleepy yawn made Dean twitch in his pants.

“Hey,” She rolled a little onto her side, pushing herself upright, and Her voice sounded airy and soft and Dean could not look Her in the eyes. “Are we home?”

Dean grunted, nodding, and he had to get out of here. If he didn’t, he’d either kiss Her or explode. “Just parked,” he muttered, clenching his fists on Baby’s wheel in a slow pattern that usually calmed him down, but right now was doing jack shit. “Gonna go get some food.”

She hummed, leaning forward into Dean’s periphery with an expression he recognized as Her Dean, please be okay one. She was trying to kill him.

“Are you-“

“I’m fine. Hungry.” That wasn’t a lie. Dean was starving, just for something that wasn’t exactly food. It was right at his side, and probably wet and bitter in a way that would be so fucking good, and moan and whimper like a song, would shiver at his touch and grind on his hands and face and cock and-

He had to get out of here.

“Got pie in the freezer,” Dean said, pushing Baby’s door open in the way that he always yelled at Sam about. Too rough and reckless, practically punching her open, and he didn’t have the time to chastise himself or apologize to his car, because he had to go. “Wake up Sam for me.”

“Dean-“

“I said I’m good.”

“I know, but can you, can you please just look at me-“

Dean’s head turned of its own will, and it was the biggest mistake of his life. Her face was still slightly flushed, and she looked so nervous and worried, and her eyes were scanning over his face the same way they did in his dreams. Where he’d be covered in blood, and She’d look him over with care that never seemed to waver with doubt, and guide him into the shower. Strip them both, pull Dean under clear, steaming water and kiss him as all the blood was washed away. He’d be allowed to roll Her nipples between his fingers, and shove his knee between her thighs, and kiss Her until she said his name-

“Dean-“

He had to shake his head, force the spell of Her out of his vision and head and blood, and grab the betterlust by the throat to stop it from grabbing Her face and pulling it to his. She wouldn’t want that, and She shouldn’t do things she didn’t want to do, and Dean couldn’t be near Her like this. He still couldn’t control himself, and all of this had been a mistake because he could hurt something bad and sit in the guilt and hatred but still have Her, but now he couldn’t have Her at all.

He wasn’t even sure what his excuse was, but within the next ten seconds he was half running out of the garage, into the bunker, and locking himself in his room like some sort of feral animal. A beast that had to lock itself away from the people he loved, because they didn’t deserve him and he couldn’t force them to do more for him, and couldn’t stand to ask for what he wanted and be denied.

But he could get control back. He could find the smaller things that the betterlust wanted and keep feeding them. Drive and eat and maybe watching some fucking TV. Listen to music until he went deaf and work on Baby and stay the hell away from Her. She was dangerous to him. Not Her herself—She was awesome and cool and hot and Dean wanted Her on his face or lap or under his body, which was the problem—but the way the betterlust seemed to tunnel vision onto Her. The way Dean would just look at Her and his whole body would start to ache and boil and twist until he was talking to Her. And the more he spoke to Her the more he needed to touch her, and a little more control would slip, and eventually he’d just be unable to leave her side.

The distance was going to hurt Dean more than Her anyway. He’d figure out how to control this and immediately seek Her out when he did—She probably wouldn’t even notice he was avoiding Her—but until then he had to stay away. He’d agreed to this for things to be easier, not for himself, but for Her and Sam.

Staying away from Her would be easier for everyone. No complicated, emotional, chick flick conversations. No rejection. No showing Her that he wasn’t the strong, immovable man she was friends with and being tossed out onto the curb. Dean didn’t ever want to lose Her, this would make Her walk away—She wouldn’t want him, because she’d seen every single part of him and nobody would want them all—so Dean had to keep himself under control.

And it would be fine. Dean had control now, and he could feed the betterlust with so many other things, so this would be easy.

End Note: Answer to the last note - I am incapable of writing a short and sweet chapter, I had to make the whole mini-series an extra chapter, send help.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @brtodd @panicking-outside-the-disco @megara0224 @underground-secret

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @spacecowgirl126 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @lovewolfspirit

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Why does cooking/baking always have to come with dirty dishes? I just want to make things and then lay around afterwards. I hate eternally struggling against dishes and cookware

[wardensantoineandevka]

I've said it before, but Ashton really just reminds me of my sister who is a punk. It isn't a compliment.

However, it sure is fascinating as a character choice and COMPLETELY consistent with what Taliesin said is his inspiration, touchstone, and framework for the character.

[redrockbutch]

The thing I hate the most about Christmas is that it has the simplest, most obvious holiday gimmick ever (give and get presents) but the Christmas Lovers™ just. Refuse to accept that this could possibly be a factor in why people who aren't children like Christmas over other holidays like sorry but you live across the street from your parents I dont believe that you literally only ever see your family But One Day A Year on Christmas, so the whole "I just love being with family uwu" schtick is so fucking transparent just say you like presents!!! Just say it!

"Oh the strange mystical unnameable magic of Christmas..."

Yeah that's presents and enforced Christianity and it's never been mystical or strange

[kakusu-shipping]

Salmonid Dad

[headphonemouse]

Pining hell

[morayofsunshine]

LSNFJFJFJFHFIFIGHTJDHSHABAVD

[cosmogyros]

.

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

just went to put a postcard in the box (english words are overrated i cannot remember whatsit called) and it's late and i just got out of my shoes and it's like across the street so i decided fuck it, no shoes then. random guy, high as a kite comes up looks at my bare feet and goes all what i'm thinking walking around like that in his city, i think that's okay in HIS city???

like???? i just walked away no comment and he walked off a different direction and i made sure he wouldn't like. see where exactly i went but fuck man that was unsettling

[sapphosboy]

Having repressed memories unlocked very suddenly, is a really terrible experience by the way. Like did not need to see a video of an incredibly traumatizing moment show up on the family digital slideshow but thanks :)

[hannieehaee]

BAD HABIT

18+ / mdi

summary: hiding his secret crush on you was already hard enough for jungkook, and after getting bit by a spider, he'd now have the grueling task of hiding his brand-new superhero identity from you.

content: spiderman!jungkook, f2l!jungkook, based on mcu's spiderman and is supposed to take place during/after civil war but with an aged up spiderman, college-aged Jungkook and reader, picture tattoo-less 2019 jungkook, pining, slow burn-ish, afab reader, smut, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 9.4k

a/n: despite the spiderman aspect of it, this is just a cute little love story between two besties there's no angst or action here lol sorry</3

masterlist | kofi/patreon

support me through a one time tip<3

"Oh my God, did you see what he did last night?", you excitedly shoved your phone in Jungkook's direction, showing him yet another news article detailing Spiderman's newest act of bravery.

"What, did he stop another bank robbery?", Jungkook showed disinterest in your interruption, continuing to pay attention to what was playing on the TV.

"Okay, booo! Why are you so lame about him? He's so cool," you complained, setting your back against the couch again with a frown.

"I dunno," he shrugged, "Just don't see what the big deal is about him. There's cooler superheroes out there."

With the light from the TV shinning on the two of you, you allowed the content from the movie to consume you for a bit before arguing back. You always argued back when it came to Spiderman. This was practically routine to Jungkook by now.

"Like Iron Man? Sure, Tony Stark's cool, but think about it — Spiderman's probably just a regular person like you and me. Can you imagine doing all he does while keeping it all undercover?", you rambled on, "Also his body's crazy," you added as an afterthought, almost whispering it to yourself.

Jungkook couldn't help but chuckle at this, inadvertently looking down at his own abdomen before responding, "How do you know he's got a nice body under that suit?"

"You can literally see his abs through the suit! Duh!", you tutted at him as if he were an idiot to question you.

"Ah, right. My bad," he chuckled, "Okay, whatever. Just pay attention to the movie. You can ramble about him all you want after we finish, okay?," he held up his pinky towards you in a childish fashion, grinning when you giggled at him and intertwined your pinky with him, grumbling a 'fine' in mock annoyance.

Now with you both putting your focus on the movie, — Jungkook's all-time favorite, Back to the Future — Jungkook had the opportunity to lose himself to his own head, thinking about your recent obsession with Spiderman — New York's newest hero.

After Spiderman's recent appearance at an encounter with the Avengers in Germany, followed by a more prominent presence in the streets of New York with a revamped suit, you had instantly formed an intense interest in the masked man. Prior to that, the hero was mostly a man hidden in the shadows — a myth to all those in Queens. Almost immediately upon his return to New York he became a sensation across the world, but specially around the area in which he'd serve the people and fight all evil around.

Among all those fans stood you, maybe the biggest of them all.

It didn't take you long to develop a liking to the masked man upon his sudden resurgence. Jungkook had known you to get overly invested in your interests (there had been a few instances throughout your friendship where you'd demonstrated as such), but he never thought you'd be the type to develop such a blatant crush on someone you virtually knew nothing about. Past the fact that he was the youngest addition to the Avengers, there was not much information about Spiderman out to the general public, yet you were quite loud about your crush on him to everyone you knew — especially to Jungkook, who just so happened to be your best friend.

Unfortunately to Jungkook, you were entirely unaware that the man you were actually crushing on was your best friend in disguise.

And even more unfortunate to him, you were even more unaware of Jungkook's own crush on you.

Did this count? Were you technically crushing on Jungkook?

He chose to go for the most pesimistic answer and assume that your interest in Spiderman would immediately die upon finding out his real identity. Throughout your many years of knowing each other — all through the ups and downs of middle school and high school all the way to university — you'd never once shown anything but platonic interest in him.

To be fair, Jungkook also never gave you any clear indication of his feelings for you. He liked to think that he was discrete about it; that you had no idea of the embarrassing crush he'd been cultivating since freshman year of high school. Fortunately, you appeared to be far too oblivious to it, leaving Jungkook to hold not one but two life-altering secrets, never once considering letting you in on either of them.

For now, all Jungkook could do was make up lame excuses for his sudden absences and to grumble any time Spiderman's name was brought up. Part of him held disdain for Spiderman due to having to keep him a secret from you, but most of his dislike was born out of jealousy over your interest in him. What did he have that Jungkook didn't? Nothing! But he could never tell you that, leading him to a never-ending dilema that he could entrust in no one.

The movie left his mind for the next of the night, much more so when you seemed to become disinterested again, cuddling against him as you prepared to let yourself fall asleep. This was common in your relationship, though it was always strictly platonic. It always left Jungkook wanting more, but still content at having you by his side.

The next time you brought up Spiderman was the morning after. That night, you'd fallen asleep soon before the Back to the Future marathon ended, which was coincidentally the same time in which he usually went out to patrol the city looking for crime nearby. Leaving you comfy on his couch and cuddled against some of his plushies, he made his way out to check in on the city. That night was particularly calm, as he only prevented two street burglaries before making his way back to a still-sleeping you.

Naturally, he fell asleep next to you, only waking up the following morning when you'd woken him up by shaking his side, exclaiming something about some news you'd just seen online. Before even coming to his senses, he could already tell what you were so excited about. It was a conflicting feeling really, consisting of half cockiness and half annoyance. He felt pride at how impressed you were at his actions (despite not having knowledge that they were his), though he also felt annoyed that it was his secret identity who took credit for it.

With a yawn, he finally turned to you in order to entertain your insistence on raving about the masked man who'd been spotted once again last night.

"Oh my God! Jungkook, look! He stopped some burglars just a few streets over! Do you think he passed by here? — What if he climbed on our walls? That's so crazy," you went a mile a minute, "Fuck, I can't believe I slept through it," you pouted by the end of your rambles, practically huffing and puffing.

Once more, he couldn't help but chuckle at your antics. Despite his internal annoyance at the mere existence of Spiderman, he was also thankful his presence gave him a first row seat to how adorably infatuated you could get.

"Not like you could've met him anyways," but then he burst your bubble anyways.

"Stop! I could never meet him, I'd embarrass myself too badly. He's too cool for me anyways," you laughed to yourself, beginning to get up and taking some clothes from one of the drawers nearby, — Jungkook's apartment housed some of your clothes specifically for nights like these — heading over to the bathroom and presumably beginning to get dressed as soon as you were outside of his line of sight, not even bothering to close the door.

"Really? He could just be a loser under that costume," he commented, knowing it'd get under your skin.

Leaning back against the couch with his arms behind his head in a relaxed manner, he didn't even need his spidey reflexes to predict the shirt you threw his way in defiance due to his comment. He simply let it land on his chest, chuckling at your cute childishness.

"C'mon! You don't have to defend him from every little comment I make. He's a superhero, right? He's got tough skin," he whined at you, crumpling the shirt into a ball and tossing it into the clothes bin nearby with an expert precision.

Finally coming out of the restroom fully dressed, you grumbled at him as you ransacked his living room in search for your makeup bag, "You're just jealous of him," you hummed, disinterested in his complaints.

"Jealous? Of what? Not having to risk my life on a daily basis?"

Oh, how he wished that was the case sometimes.

"Spiderman must have so much game. Meanwhile, when was the last time you had a girlfriend?", you mocked him, finally spotting your makeup and sitting on the floor in front of his full length mirror in order to do your makeup.

Getting up, he sat on a beanbag nearby, watching you through the reflection with a scowl.

"M-me? Without game? You're the one crushing on a nameless man who probably doesn't even have a place to live! At least I have my bachelor pad — which, by the way, you stay at free of charge!", he rebutted, somewhat offended but not really. He just really needed to win this fight against himself.

"Please, I could totally pull him if we were in the same room for five minutes," you smirked at him through the reflection, somehow grooming your eyebrows to absolute perfection despite the current argument going on.

"You literally just said he was too cool for you," he recalled back.

"Under that suit, he's just a man. And I could pull any man."

Pull me, please! a desperate gremlin in his head practically whined as soon as you said the words.

With a shake of his head, he cleared his mind of that thought, "Okay, valid. So, you mean to tell me that you're just waiting for the chance to catch him alone? Is that why you haven't dated in months?", he genuinely wondered.

"Maybe," you mumbled, now moving onto your blush, one of Jungkook's favorite touches in your makeup regimen, "How about you? How come you haven't seriously dated a girl in years? Any secret crush I need to know about? I'm very open about mine," you dug in, unknowingly making Jungkook break a sweat at the questioning glare you sent him through the mirror before refocusing your gaze on yourself.

Facing Captain America and the Winter Soldier had made him less nervous than this very moment.

He squirmed in his seat a bit before managing to let out a credible response, "Just- just not into anyone these days," he lamely responded.

"Boo," you boo'd him, "That's lame. Maybe if you wingman me with Spidey I could help you out with some girl," you suggested.

"Yeah, maybe," and that was that for that subject.

After that, the subject wasn't brought up again for the rest of the day. You and Jungkook followed your usual plans, walking over to uni side by side as soon as you finished getting ready and spending any of your down time together. Unlike last night, you opted to head back to your own apartment for the night, leaving Jungkook to freely roam the city in disguise while you probably daydreamed about the guy he wasn't. He kept you in his mind for the rest of the day, sighing any time he remembered how easy it was for you to want to pair him off to another girl, knowing his feelings surely would never be mutual.

Unfortunately for Jungkook, it was extremely difficult for him to ignore your intense interest in Spiderman. His supersonic hearing would not allow him to do so anyway.

He wasn't really in the habit of getting into your private business. Despite his superhuman abilities, he had sworn to himself that he would never spy on you or use any of his newfound skills to ever insert himself in places of your life where he wasn't openly invited.

However ...

Okay, it's not like he meant to be so quiet when he came into your apartment. And it's not like you hadn't invited him beforehand. It was very likely that you wouldn't have minded him hearing the conversation you were currently having with your friend on the phone since it technically did not concern him, but he still couldn't help but feel guilty at being made privy of the details of it.

And the details were harsh to listen to — but not in a bad way.

His nails dug into the edge of the wall as he began making sense of what you were saying — of who you were talking about. His eyebrows furrowed, not sure if in annoyance or if in frustration. Your commentary simply had an unexpected effect on him.

"Oh my God, don't ask me that!," you giggled, scandalized at your phone, "I can't think of him that way, I like him too much. It feels almost disrespectful," you whispered the last bit, as if ashamed yet still giddy.

Without any context, the hopeless romantic side of Jungkook's brain might've allowed him to think you were talking about him. His bionic hearing could make out your friend's words on the other side of the phone perfectly, however, which proved to him that you were in fact speaking of someone else — kind of.

"What, you're talking about him all the time but you tell me you've never had any thoughts of fucking him?", your friend teased on the other aide of the call, causing you to whine in response.

"Of course I have!," you argued back, making Jungkook mentally wince at the thought, "Everyone and their mom knows I'm into him, of course it's not just some elementary school crush, dude. I want him," you put extra emphasis on your last statement.

"Tell me more," your friend pushed.

Jungkook could hear you shuffling in the sheets, likely kicking your feet around due to the giddy emotions thinking about your crush caused within you.

"There's nothing to tell ..." you murmured, avoidant.

"There is, c'mon! It's not like you can talk about this with Jungkook. He hates him," she reminded you, causing Jungkook to nod to himself from the other side of the wall.

"He doesn't hate him. I think he just finds my crush ... dumb," you responded. You were right. Well, kind of.

"Okay, I don't care about that. I wanna hear more about him. You said you were going to try and see him. Have you?", your friend continued to push.

This made Jungkook pause.

Would you actually go as far as to try and seek out Spiderman? How would you even find him?

"Well," you started, dragging out the vowel, "I caught a peak of him the other day — don't say anything!," you interrupted yourself, "Jungkook doesn't know, it just happened the other day. And he'll call me reckless or something."

"What'd you see?", your friend was clearly excited at the news, ecstatic to heat more. Jungkook was more so anxious to hear more. How had he not spotted you?

"I caught him in the middle of changing out of his suit ..." you whispered, as if someone could possibly be listening in — if only you knew.

"What?!," if your friend was excited, she was over the moon now.

"I saw him making his way through the city with his little webs and he stopped by near me. It was total luck, but I recognized the alley where he stopped and ran there," you recounted, "All I could see by the time I got there was a guy speed walking away from the alley while adjusting a black sweatshirt — it was obviously him! Even speed walking he was too fast for me," you finished with an intake of breath.

"So you're saying you saw his abs, basically," was all your friend responded.

"Stop!," you whined, "But yeah ... I might've gotten to see his happy trail ... He had a mask and beanie on, so I didn't catch his face at all," he could hear the pout on your face, "Not that I wanted to! I'd never wanna find him out without his permission. I just wanted to see him up close."

Jungkook believed this. He knew that you'd respect anyone's privacy, specially someone who you had grown certain affection for.

He was still shocked by this information, though. You'd spotted him? How had he not noticed you? And on top of it all, you'd almost caught him suit-less. A tiny, and frankly stupid, part of him felt a little cocky at knowing you'd seen him in action — at knowing you'd seen part of his body and liked it. His regular self was quite modest around you, not wanting to cross any boundaries nor cause you to feel liberal enough to walk around bare near his vicinity (his brain would just not he able to handle that). It was already hard enough for him to see you in those tiny little shorts and tank tops you'd wear to sleep during the summer. He hoped he had a similar effect on you, and knowing he somewhat had it made him feel like he was on top of the world.

And then your conversation continued.

"You should've followed him, you dumbass! Don't you wanna know where that happy trail leads?," your friend encouraged.

"As much as I'd love to get him in bed, I can't just stalk him! Iron Man's secret identity didn't last too long, we'll probably know who Spidey is within a few years and I'll be first in line to get to him," you giggled.

"What are you gonna do once you get to him?"

"Not to get nasty, but the first thing I'd do would be–"

That's when Jungkook stomped his feet and made his presence to you known, acting as if he'd just arrived. There was no way he'd be able to hear your thoughts and still be able to look you in the eye afterward.

"Y/N? You home?", he stealthily made his way back to the front door before calling out to you, surely interrupting your conversation.

"Shit, never mind, Kook's here. Gotta go," you said a quick goodbye to your friend before making your way to the living room and welcoming Jungkook.

"Kookie! I forgot you were coming," you walked over to him to give him a quick hug; your usual greeting.

"You should just assume I'm coming at any time," he mumbled into the hug, pulling away and immediately finding his rightful place on your couch, soon joined by you.

"So, what's new?", he turned to you with interest.

You cocked your head to the side in a questioning manner, "Nothing? You just saw me yesterday," you scoff.

"Nothing new with your spider boy?", he feigned disinterest.

"You never wanna hear about him. Why do you ask?"

"Maybe I want to be more supportive," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

From his peripheral he could tell you were looking at him with curiosity in your eyes, likely pondering about his change of heart. It took you a few seconds of silence before shrugging off his unusual interest and continuing the conversation.

"I might've spotted him the other day ...", now you were the one to mumble, looking down to avoid what you likely believed would be a judgmental reaction from him.

"R-really?", he scratched the back of his head, "Where? What'd you see?"

"Y'know, just him swinging around. Saw him heading home, I think. Then I lost track of him," you told him once you'd realized this wasn't some ruse to scold you for your interest again.

"What would you do if you actually met him someday?", he asked nonchalantly. Or at least as nonchalantly as he could manage while recalling the prior response he'd interrupted when you'd been talking to your friend.

Shrugging, you pressed your lips into a line as you pondered it for a bit, "I'd just tell him I'm his fan, I guess. I'd probably be too shy to even speak to him. It's like talking to your high school crush; you just avoid them as much as you can til it goes away," you chuckled to yourself.

He hummed, "Well, if the day ever comes, I think it'd be worth a try to talk to him. Maybe he'll like what he hears."

You nodded along, seemingly mulling over it inwardly, but saying nothing more regarding the matter. Jungkook joined you in dropping the subject, moving on to your usual movie night whilst also thinking over your sudden spotting of his masked self. It was odd to him how you'd somehow spotted him, but that was really the last thing on his mind. What concerned him the most was the sudden desire he felt to fulfill that need to see you while he was in his suit. He craved for you to return his feelings and there was a thoughtless side of him that wanted to get that reaction out of you, even if it meant you'd be reciprocating it to someone else.

Jungkook knew this was a stupid and reckless thing to do.

If Tony Stark were here in this moment, he'd probably take away the brand new suit he'd recently made for him. However, Jungkook was only 21, his hormones were still going crazy; crazy enough for him to make dumb and uncontrolled decisions just based off his feelings.

This was how he came to find himself pacing back and forth on the terrace of your apartment building whilst suited up. Muttering out loud to himself, he fought against himself as to whether or not he should go through with what had been bugging at him since speaking to you about your almost-encounter last week.

After mulling over it for a bit, he came to realize that there was no true harm to actually granting your wish of meeting Spiderman. He knew you to be a reasonable person (despite your claims of wanting to fuck Spiderman — who was a complete stranger to you) and felt reassured that you wouldn't put his identity at risk. On top of that, you had claimed that you probably wouldn't be able to even speak to him if you were to meet him.

The biggest issue was to come up with a reason as to why he'd be paying you a visit in particular. Maybe you were completely clueless as to your best friend's secret identity, but you weren't an idiot. His motives and identity would be immediately suspicious to you due to the strange nature of his apparition. Sure, he could hide his face and voice and even demeanor, but you'd be able to piece the pieces together too easily, anyone would.

Unluckily for him, this was not something he had to worry about for too long, as his plans did not go as smoothly as he had hoped. Just in between his nonsensical rambles to himself, there was an interruption orchestrated by you, with your sudden presence in the terrace throwing him completely off guard. Thank God he hadn't had a chance to take off his mask before you showed up.

"Oh my God," were your only words as you slowly made your way through the door leading to the terrace, choosing not to make your presence unknown.

"Shit," was his sole response, wincing from behind the mask.

"What- what are you doing here? Is it really you?", you asked, slowly making your way closer to his frozen self.

Attempting to switch over to his usual confident demeanor, Jungkook stood up straighter, hands on his hips as he waved over at you. The eyes displayed on his mask replicated his actual facial expression, squinting at you in a friendly manner as he tried to introduce himself in the least awkward way he could muster whilst deepening his voice in order to mask it.

"Hello! I- Yes, it's me! I- uh, was not expecting anyone to be here," he managed, walking over to you and giving you a handshake — something quite out of character for Spiderman, which he hoped you didn't pick up on.

Unfortunately, you did pick up on it, tilting your head to the side in curiosity before returning his handshake. From Jungkook's perspective, you seemed like a mixture of nerves, excitement and genuine curiosity. He couldn't blame you. Your idol/crush had suddenly showed up on the roof of your apartment and was nonchalantly trying to make acquaintances with you.

"I'm so sorry!," you suddenly chirped, letting go of his hand mid handshake, "I wasn't following you, I swear! I live downstairs and sometimes I come up here for air and I saw you and I thought it was you — and it is you! Wow, I- Fuck, hi. I'm Y/N, it's so nice to meet you," you rambled on and on, inflicting pain in Jungkook's heart at how adorable you were.

"Hi, again," he smiled under the mask, "It's fine, uh, this happens more than you may think," he lied, attempting to cover his tracks.

"Really? Do you get spotted a lot?", you wondered.

"It's not super rare, but it's usually while I'm on the run, not like, uh, like this. I was just resting for a bit," he went to casually lean against the railing next to him but pathetically slipping a bit and having to readjust his standing.

He cleared his throat, "So, I take it you're a fan?", he attempted to make conversation.

"I'm literally obsessed with you. I keep up with every article that comes out about you and any sighting of yours," you beamed before cringing to yourself, "Shit, I'm not playing it cool at all, am I?"

He couldn't help but chuckle, "No, you're good, trust me. Most people just scream and run away or ask me to do a backflip — which I can totally do, but it gets repetitive. Others attack me sometimes. It's rare to actually start conversation with me."

"Oh, so am I special, then?", you giggled, taking a few steps forward as you moved to lean on the railing next to him.

And just like that, you took the upper hand in the conversation. The mood shifted the moment you decided to start a flirtation with him, and Jungkook knew he was completely doomed.

Yes, you were absolutely special. Sure, he would occasionally interact with regular citizens of Queens, but he had never actually sought them out for conversation nor even entertained any fanatics of his. For you, however, he was willing to make an exception. God, he had been itching to do this from the moment he found out you had an infatuation with the superhero.

"Y- you- yeah," he cleared his throat, trying again, "You're the only person who hasn't alerted everyone around me of my presence," he regained his suave vibe by the end of the sentence.

"Why would I ever do that?", you pondered out loud, using a flirtatious tone Jungkook had never been on the receiving end of, "Then I wouldn't get to have you all for myself."

Were you closer? Had you moved closer in proximity? He could swear that the distance had lessened from just a few moments ago. This wasn't good, but it was also great.

"O-oh? That's ... Yes, hah, thank you for not exposing me," was all he managed to say. Fuck, his usual wit and ability to banter under the guise of being Spiderman seemingly dissipated when it came to interacting with you.

You giggled at him, likely taking note of how easy it was to fluster him. Jungkook knew you were aware of how attractive you were, also having the ability you turn up the charm whenever you so wished — except he had never dealt with it firsthand. It was both exhilarating and nerve wracking at the same time. He had truly not prepared for this.

"It's no problem," you smiled at him with a hint of something else in your eye, "Since you're such a good guy, y'know, maybe you'd like to return the favor?", you tilted your head at him, lifting your eyebrows suggestively.

"R-repay? How would you suggest?", he managed to regain some of his confidence, now leaning his body a bit more towards your own, smiling under his mask as he attempted to keep his heart rate normal.

"I'm sure you're super busy saving the world and all that, but maybe you'd like to visit again? No one ever comes up here, so it'd just be the two of us," you suggested, biting your lip in anticipation. Despite your confidence, Jungkook could still hear the rapid thumping of your heart — you were nervous about shooting your shot with a certain superhero; understandably so.

He decided to take advantage of the newfound realization that you might've been just as nervous as he was, clearing his throat and ensuring he didn't stutter this time around, "That'd be unfair, though, wouldn't it? To show you favoritism over all my other fans?", he said in flirtatious jest, hoping you caught on.

A pout far too enticing for Jungkook made its way to your lips, "But you just said I was special?", your hand went up to his chest, finger tracing the spider symbol on it.

"I never said that, you did," you couldn't see the teasing grin on his face, but it was there to stay.

"Oh?", you feigned offense, "So you don't think I'm special? Wow, now you really do owe me."

"You're right. Wouldn't want any unhappy citizens in Queens when I can help it," he agreed, taking hold of your wrist and tracing the back of it.

You smiled to yourself then, letting air out through your nose before looking back up at him, "I really do mean it. If you ever need a place to lay low, you can always come," you paused, "And ... If you ever want company, I'm just downstairs," you suggested.

Biting his lips from behind the mask, he nodded, letting go of your hand, "Yeah, I'll take that in mind," he checked his wrist despite there being no watch there, pulling a chuckle from you, "Unfortunately, I have to get back to patrolling now, but I'll see you around?", he asked as he climbed up the ledge of your building, ready to swing away.

"That's up to you, Spiderman," were the last words you said, though they were spoken with a confidence that told him you knew he'd be coming back.

Within just a month, Jungkook had lost count of the times he'd coincidentally found himself on your roof, always showing up at a similar time as that of your first encounter.

At first he played it off as a coincidence, cheekily claiming that he was just passing by and needed some rest. Other times, he'd show up due to legitimate exhaustion as he sought you out for comfort. It was very quick that you began a genuine friendship with one another, having an unspoken agreement of seeing each other there a few times a week late into the afternoon.

The flirtation was still present, but a friendship between you overtook that. This made Jungkook glad in a sense, as he knew he would've felt guilty if anything romantic ever came up without you knowing his real identity. He already felt badly about befriending you without your knowledge, but he felt like he was too late to back out now.

Today was yet another day in which he decided to show up, though this time a little later. Since you lived at the highest floor of your building, his mere presence on the roof was enough to alert you of his arrival, causing you to walk through the door leading to the staircase just moments later.

You were in your pajamas — just some small shorts and a tank top, but it was enough for his eyes to bug out of his head (figuratively, of course). Any time he'd stay over with you, you'd usually opt for a shirt long enough to cover halfway through your thighs, but since Jungkook wasn't present tonight it seemed like you'd chosen a tank top tight enough it'd give him the perfect view of your nipples peaking through the fabric. It bugged him to think you were doing this for Spiderman and not Jungkook, but he was too distracted by the sight of you to mind it too much.

"Hey," you greeted him as you headed his way, "A little late today, huh?"

"Yeah, uh, I was busy with a robbery," he explained, leaning against the veranda as you joined next to him.

"Oh? That sounds dangerous? Are you hurt? Maybe I should take a look?", your hand went up to his chest, pretending to check for injuries.

He laughed and you joined him, biting his lip under the mask, "You're even more dangerous than any bad guy out there, you know that?", he grabbed your wrist and took your hand off his chest, opting to shyly hold onto it instead.

"Me? I'm not the masked man showing up at an unsuspecting girl's apartment in the middle of the night," you teased, hand playing with his own.

"I thought I wouldn't be a stranger by now. We've been meeting for what, a month now? I'd say that's enough to get to know a person," he reasoned.

"Hmm," you pretended to mull over it, "Does that mean there's no chance you'll let me see what's under that mask?", you pouted at him.

This was not the first time you teased him about his secret identity, often bugging him (in a way far too entertaining for him to be actually bugged by it) to let you in on his secret. You swore up and down you'd never tell, offering up your pinky to intertwine with his. Jungkook liked you so much that there were various instances in which he had to catch himself before he ended up agreeing with your request.

"You know I can't do that, gorgeous," it was his turn to flirt. To be fair, as Spiderman, he did have a flirtatious streak to his personality. You weren't the only one on the receiving end of it, but you sure were the only one he meant it with. You also always giggled or blushed when he turned up the charm, which always instigated him into doing it more and more.

"But you said I was special," you reminded him with a smile, "And! We've been meeting for a while. Don't you wanna trust at least one person with your identity? Y'know, if something were to happen to you," even Jungkook could tell you were pulling your reasoning out of your ass, but he couldn't help but feel endeared by you.

Before he could fire back with an equally cheeky response, you interrupted him again, "How about you let me see you some other way?"

He cocked his head to the side with curiosity, unknowing of what you meant.

Hesitantly, your hand let go of his, now engulfing it with both of your hands. Your fingers traced his hands through his gloves, looking up at him for a moment to seek permission for what you were going to go next. Silently, he offered you a nod, allowing you to take off his gloves.

Jungkook couldn't help but feel slightly scared that you might recognize his hands, but finding no reaction in your eyes or heart rate (which he could hear perfectly any time he neared you), he felt calm. Your hands traced his own bare ones, eventually holding them in your own. The entirety of the interaction was soft and intimate in a way Jungkook had never experienced.

"Can I see more?", you asked after a while, voice almost a whisper.

"What- what would you like to see?", he whispered back, gulping at how close to you he suddenly felt.

Once more, your hand silently went up to touch him, but this time it reached his chest, laying flat against it before slowly finding the opening in the middle, allowing you to peek at a sliver of his bare chest. Without hesitation, Jungkook grabbed onto your hands on his chest and helped you open his body suit a little more, just enough to reveal his chest.

Your hands softly traced at a few cuts and bruises found there, pouting to yourself as you stared at the firm muscle under your hands. Silence engulfed you for a few moments as he enjoyed your affections.

"Well, this seems kinda unfair," he started with a quiet voice, "You're getting me naked, feeling me up. Making me feel like a piece of meat," he joked.

You stifled a chuckle, "Don't think I didn't notice you looking at my boobs when I got here, you perv. I'm just getting my payback," your hands went back to his hands, taking them in your own.

He gaped at you from under his mask, "I- I would never!", he rasped out, "The fact that you would even accuse me of that- I- I am appalled, Y/N Y/L/N," he gave you an exaggerated gasp.

"Okay, whatever," you rolled your eyes, "Can I keep going now?", you asked as you went back to tracing his suit with your hands, this time reaching up to his neck.

You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as you stared up at him. He knew that all you could see was the comically large eyes featured on his mask, but he was still affected by the look on your face. Your mouth was agape and your eyes kept going down to where you knew his lips would be. Without being able to help himself, his hands wrapped around your waist, feeling the sliver of skin between your shorts and your tank top. In all your years of friendship, Jungkook had never been able to hold you like this. It was exhilarating.

There was no need for any words as your hands found his mask, lifting it up to uncover his lips and lay right below his nose. Jungkook knew he should've been more careful in letting anyone — even you — even make contact with his mask, but his eyes had been trained on your lips from the moment you got your hands on him. His mind was in another planet at the moment.

There was, again, no reaction from you that could've led Jungkook to believe you had recognized him. Was the shape of his lips not obvious enough? Were you too distracted to notice? It truly made no sense to him, but the proximity of your lips had him too distracted to think about it too much.

That was when the moment Jungkook had been waiting for for years finally came to fruition. Your lips made contact with his own, very tentative and shy in their movements. Mere seconds happened until he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss as he held you against him.

It was a bit awkward due to the obstacle the mask proved itself to be, but Jungkook didn't care. He was far too drunk in you to consider anything around him, specially when the kiss grew heated within moments. Pressing you up against the veranda, Jungkook let out all pent up need against tour mouth, hoping in the back of his mind that you wouldn't realize it was him you were kissing.

Sadly, it all ended before Jungkook could really lose himself in it. You pulled away with a giggle at the way his body insisted on following yours, attempting to trap you in another kiss. He couldn't help but chuckle back, still not letting go of you.

"Hmm, ever let any of your other fans go that far?", you hummed when he buried his face on the crook of your neck, pressing shy kisses on the bare skin.

"N-no, just you," he muttered, pulling back to readjust his suit, now covering himself back up.

"Boo," you complained once he was completely covered up again, crossing your arms petulantly, "What, time for you to go?"

"Sadly, yes. I'm a busy man, pretty. Need to get back out there to ensure pretty girls like you remain safe," he coo'd at you jokingly, pinching your nose adoringly before beginning to climb the veranda in order to leave.

"You know this isn't a one-time thing, right?", you called from below him.

"Oh, I'll make sure it's not, baby," he chuckled before saluting you as he jumped down, disappearing from your view almost immediately.

He arrived home soon after that, too giddy to even consider patrolling that night. The smile wouldn't leave his face, and his skin was covered in goosebumps. He felt like such a teenager at the excitement cruising through him, but the remnants of the feeling of your mouth on his simply wouldn't leave him.

He knew that sooner or later he'd have to tell you about who he was, but he wanted to enjoy your newfound relationship as much as he could. So far, you hadn't told him about your frequent encounters with Spiderman, which led him to believe you felt the same way. Clearly you wanted to keep him as your own little secret, which only made him the giddier about it all.

There were occasions in which Jungkook simply didn't plan things out to well. Today was one of those days.

Having no one aware of his identity proved to be more bothersome than he had first assumed. Sure, he could lie about his location to his friends and family with ease, keep any troubling encounters with criminals to himself, but it was the aftermath of these encounters that sometimes came to be too much for him to handle.

He had been reckless tonight, somehow miscalculating every single one of his moves when taking down a crew of armed robbers. He hadn't even meant to come across them nor fight them on his own (Tony Stark had warned him about this before), but it's not like he could've walked away without at least attempting to deal with the situation.

In the end, he was victorious, and his current state proved as much. It was not a simple fight, resulting in his suit getting mangled all over, with many of the injuries penetrating into his actual skin.

Battered and covered in bruises and scratches all over, Jungkook had no idea where to go. This was one of the first times in which Jungkook found himself limping and unknowing of how to patch himself up before the sun rose. His plan had been poor, which only reminded him what a stupid decision it was to try and handle the situation on his own rather than to leave it up to the police.

But his terrible planning skills did not stop there. They evolved into finding himself standing on the fire escape that led directly to your apartment. With his arms holding onto his sides to try and alleviate the pain, he reached out to knock on your window, hoping 2AM wasn't too late for you to come find him.

It was only moments when you showed up in your pajamas, a shocked yet worried look on your face as you opened up your fire escape entrance to him.

"Oh my God, what happened?", you asked whilst ushering him in, providing him with support so he could make it over to your room and lay on your bed.

"You should see the other guy," he rasped, coughing out.

"Stop! Fuck, how can I help you? What do you need?", you frantically went over to your restroom, returning with a makeshift first aid kit.

You sat next to him on the bed, helping him sit up so you could check out his injuries. His suit had multiple scratches that revealed slivers of his skin, but there was nothing you hadn't seen the previous time he had been over.

"It was just a robbery gone wrong. Nothing to worry about," he finally said, wincing when you began to open up his suit to better check his injuries. Your hands immediately went to try and take care of the cuts on his stomach, moving anything out of the way in order to reach them.

"You idiot," you muttered, "This is gonna hurt, okay? Just breathe deep," you warned before moving on to dab on his injuries with some ointment. Hissing at the burn, his stomach hardened, causing him to recoil a bit.

"Jungkook, be still," you hissed back at him, scoffing when he suddenly stilled at the mention of his name.

"W-what? What did you just say?",

You paid him no mind, still putting all your focus in his injuries, "Do you think I'm dumb, Jungkook? You show up to hang out with me and let me feel you up and you think I won't recognize you? You really are an idiot," you chuckled by the end.

"You- you knew?! This whole time?", he gaped at you, throwing off his mask as he groaned at the way you blatantly laughed at his shock, "God, you suck."

"C'mon, Jungkook. You're a horrible liar. And I'm your best friend, you can't hide anything from me."

"Whatever," he huffs, followed by a wince from your manhandling of his injuries, "You could've told me," he muttered petulantly.

You finally looked back at him, with a stern look in your eyes Jungkook only ever saw whenever you were about to tell him off, "Oh, like you told me? Dude, you were more than fine pretending not to know me," you jabbed at him, "Dickhead," you muttered once you were done.

It was his time to chuckle, jabbing at your leg with his own and smirking when you pushed back.

"So, is this you admitting you've wanted to fuck me all this years?"

You scoffed, "Me? I wanted to fuck Spiderman. Not my fault it turned out to be you," you argued as you wrapped some bandages on the cuts found alonh his torso, "You're the one who came after me cause you wanted to fuck me."

"Okay, fine," he relented, patting at the wraps you'd just secured on him, "What's the verdict now? Still want to fuck me?", he leaned in with a smirk, smirk growing even bigger at your playful scowl.

"Shut up and come here," you practically growled at him, pulling him to you by his shoulders and catching him in a kiss.

It was almost effortless the way in which Jungkook pushed you back on the bed, easily climbing on top of you as he kissed you. His hand was on your back as he lowered your body to lay flat on the bed, ignoring any injury he may have had. Everything left his mind as he kissed you — the burglary, the secret he thought he had been keeping from you, the relief you now knew; everything.

"Kook," you sighed when his lips reached the length of your neck, softly nibbling at your skin every so often.

"You're so bad," he murmured, "Lying to me this whole time ... Making me look like an idiot while I tried to keep my secret from you," he reprimanded with a love bite.

"You're the idiot who- oh," your complaint was interrupted by the sudden presence of his hands on your breasts, feeling at your nipples through the thin barrier of your tank top.

"Shh, baby. You may have had the upper hand all these years, but now I'm in charge," he shushed you, "Never looked my way, but kept tryna get in my pants as Spidey? Bad, bad girl," he murmured as his lips came closer and closer to your chest, eventually reaching your nipples and wrapping his mouth around the clothed skin, engulfing the cloth with his saliva as he abused your nipple with his teeth.

You writhed under him, both frustrated at the barrier and affected by the stimulation, "Hmm, and you're good at dealing with the bad guys, right, Kookie?", you murmured, already delirious with his touch.

In the meantime, his hands went up to your breasts, lifting up the shirt and smoothly managing to throw it off before his hands went right back to playing with your tits.

"Oh, yeah. Gonna take care of you, baby. Gonna fuck all the bad out of you," he sighed at the sight of your nude torso, hips unable to help themselves in beginning to grind against you.

He trapped you under him, using you for his own pleasure. However, if your moans were anything to go by, he had a great idea of his current effect on you. Holding you down, he kissed you up and down, going from your breasts to your lips all while his hips danced with your own. At some point his hands snuck down to help you pull off your shorts and panties low enough to give him access to you. By now, you were basically completely nude while he remained in his scratched up suit. Seemed unfair, but it worked for Jungkook.

With curious hands, he reached down to your bare cunt, beginning to finger his way to your clit. His thumb found it with a swiftness you could only expect from a man like Jungkook. Synchronizing his hand and hips, he ground down on you while thumbing at the puffy pearl between your legs.

"Right there, huh?", he murmured at your increasingly high-pitched sighs, "That's where you need it, huh, baby?"

Warm eyes stared down at yours, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he worked you all the way to your peak. Not a single part of him was occupied with anything but you — his lips tended to your own, his hand to your clit, his hips to your cunt, he was consumed by you whilst consuming you himself.

All his senses were heightened. His superhuman hearing allowed him to take in every noise of wetness coming south and every cry coming north. He could smell you perfectly, which only added to the delirious feeling you always provoked in him.

"I- Kookie, I'm gonna cum ... Keep going, I'm almost there, fuck," you cried as his movements sped up. Unbeknownst to you, he let out a sigh of relief at realizing your orgasm would come before his own. He was bursting inside his suit, almost ready to pounce you.

"Yeah? Cum for me, pretty. Need you to cum for me, okay? Promise I'll ... I'll fuck the bad out of you right after," he swore, lips finding their way to your ear as he whispered words of encouragement to you.

With a desperate nod, you continued to cry out his name, hands finding his bicep for support as you let yourself go. Jungkook took in every sound, every move, every single reaction coming from you. He memorized every bit of your orgasm and let himself be ruined by it.

Upon the crescendo of your orgasm, wet sounds filled up the room once more as his lips made their rightful way to yours once again. He sighed praise into your lips, calling you his good girl and his dream, claiming you to be the greatest reward he could ever receive.

"Thought I was bad, Kook? What happened to that?", you teased him, beginning to slowly rip off his suit in order to get him equally as nude as yourself.

"Baby, shut up. Just let me fuck you," he scolded, annoyed your words were interrupting his kisses.

"Hmm, do superheroes need condoms, or are you going in raw?", you asked so casually it made Jungkook's grip on you tighten involuntarily.

"Don't talk like that, fuck, I'll cum," he winced before backtracking with wide eyes, "Shit, wait. You'd let me do it raw?", he gaped at you, interrupting the kiss.

You laughed at him, giving him a single peck, "Course, Kook. Trust you more than anyone," you said, sharing the first moment of pure softness of the night.

Jungkook loved how easy it was for you to share friendly banter and bug at each other even under this context, but he couldn't lie when he said he adored those moments of unadulterated adoration you'd share any time you looked up at him while he was Spiderman. This was reminiscent of those moments, but so much better — especially being now aware that every single one of those looks had been directed at Jungkook, not Spiderman.

"Yeah?," he smiled at you, intertwining your fingers above your head, "Trust you too, beautiful," he let go of one of your hands to line himself up, groaning as he traced his tip up and down your folds before finally entering you.

"God, Kook," you sighed, arching your back at the feeling.

"I know, fuck," he matched your tone, burying his face in your neck while he gave you some time to get used to him, "Let me know when I can move, okay, baby? Feel so fucking good already."

You nodded wordlessly, using your free hand to dig your nails on the skin of his back. After about a minute you gave him the green light to move, dragging your nails down his back when he began to thrust, slowly building up his speed snd intensity.

"That feel good, pretty?", he murmured into your ear.

"Mhm!", you practically whined, attempting to move your hips to his rhythm, "D-don't stop."

Unburying himself from the crook of your neck, his hands went to your face to make you look into his eyes. He looked at you silently for a few moments with softness in his eyes, proceeding to locking your lips in a kiss as he continued to fuck into you. It was all very intense yet it carried an air of intimacy Jungkook knew he would never be able to replicate.

"Tell me you're almost there, shit. 'm gonna cum soon, pretty," he warned, thrusts accelerating in both speed and intensity.

"Yes! Almost there, just- keep going," you whined, hands reaching his hips to further encourage his movements. Wrapping your legs tighter around him, your body took control and did its best to follow his movements, making Jungkook's orgasm even more imminent.

"Think I can count you down?" he grumbled, eyebrows furrowed and demonstrating the amount of restraint in him at the moment.

"Yes, c-count me down," you nodded aggressively.

"Kay, pretty. Cum with me, yeah? In three," his hand went to toy at your clit once more, making you hiss in pleasure, "two ..." his hips readjusted to hit at that one spongey spot he'd been ramming at, but now harder, "one," he groaned the last word, almost falling limp against you as his movements stilled.

He could feel himself emptying inside you, kissing at your skin endlessly at how intimate the act felt. Meanwhile, you mewled nonstop under him, not helping his situation at all. He felt as if life halted for a moment, with everything aligning perfectly as he enjoyed both his and your orgasm.

"God ... Fuck, I can't believe it took us this long to do that," he sighed when it was all said and done.

You pushed at him, making him remove his weight off you and lay beside you, staring up at the ceiling just like you, "You're the dumbass who wouldn't tell me you liked me," you huffed.

"Well, if I'm that much of a dumbass, why did you never tell me you knew who I was- Which, by the way! How long have you known?", he was still fairly breathless, but entirely too curious.

You took a pause to laugh at him for a moment, only stopping when he gave you a menacing stare, "Since the first day you came to see me," you started, "You moved and talked just like Jungkook, and it made no sense for you to come see me out of all people," you revealed.

His body turned to its side, arm reaching out to make you cuddle against him, "Why didn't you say anything?", he pouted.

"I don't know," you shrugged, "Wanted you to tell me about your identity on your own. Not my fault you're too dumb," you murmured that last part."

"Okay, whatever. You're my Spidey girlfriend now anyway, so it doesn't matter anymore," he huffed.

"Oh? I don't recall anyone asking me to be their 'Spidey girlfriend,' do you?"

"Fine," he groaned, "Give me ten minutes and I'll give you a full-on confession of love, okay?"

"Can't wait," you laughed.

to read short 1.3k word continuation (+ all other previously written bonus content) you can go join my jk monthly tier on kofi or patreon!

content: smut, afab reader, dry humping, teasing, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 212 (teaser); 1308 (full drabble)

sneak peak:

"You're the vain of my existence, you know that, right?", you groaned at Jungkook's sudden presence on your fire escape.

"Is that how you talk to your boyfriend? I spend all day fighting evil and come back to nothing but disrespect," he complained jokingly, making his way into your room as if he owned the place.

"Boyfriend? Last I remember, I'm dating Spiderman, not Jeon Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook never asked me out," you trailed behind him, guiding him to take a seat in your couch.

"That joke's getting so old," he boo'd at you, "Plus, I literally have the suit on. Should I put on the mask? Is my face that ugly?" he continued his complaints, taking a seat on your couch and pulling you towards him, his inhuman strength managing to get you straddling him with minimal effort.

"No," you coo'd, "I like Jungkook's face just fine," your hands went to play with his hair, kissing at his cheek softly, "So, who were the bad guys today? Robbers? Bullies?"

"Nothing much today, just some guy stealing a bike and then a lost cat," he mumbled, "Still spent most of the day patrolling, though," he said as he buried his face in your chest, allowing you complete access to playing with his hair.

...

find the 18+ continuation on kofi or patreon!

if you have trouble finding it on there, just let me know!!<3

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Soldier x Reader - NonCon

Yandere! Soldier with his foreign accent and foreign guns. With muscles that show even underneath all his body armour.

Yandere! Soldier who's part of a platoon sent to keep an eye on your neighbourhood. Who's looking for insurrectionists hiding in plain site.

Yandere! Soldier who's suspicious of everyone and everything.

Yandere! Solider who notices you all too quickly, with your books and your pamphlets. Who's immediately suspicious about the people that come and go from your apartment at all hours.

Yandere! Soldier who barely even waits for permission from his commander before he's leading a squad to bust down your door.

Yandere! Soldier who somehow ends up in your panty drawer and who lingers far longer than he needs to. Who searches through them - ostensibly for contraband - just so he can feel the silk and lace on his calloused hands. Who keeps picturing these lacy little things under your neat pleated skirt.

Yandere! Soldier who's pissed as hell when he can't find any evidence of rebellion. Hell, even those pamphlets you were carrying around the other day are gone. Who's disturbed by how calm you are - despite a bunch of soldiers ransacking your place.

Yandere! Soldier who grabs onto your wrist right before he leaves, who looks into your eyes and says that he knows something about you is suspicious. That you might have escaped this time but at some point, you're going to slip up.

Yandere! Soldier who can't help but notice how fragile your wrists are, how delicate your neck looks. How helpless you would be if it weren't for your frighteningly sharp tongue.

Yandere! Soldier who grins just a little when you threaten to demand a replacement door from his Sergeant.

Yandere! Soldier who finds himself stopping outside your apartment more and more on his patrols. Who tells his squadmates that he's suspicious of you, when really he just wants a chance to watch you go about your day.

Yandere! Soldier who finds himself gripping his rifle when he sees you walking alone with your male classmates. Who more than once has them stopped and searched.

Yandere! Soldier who takes his frustration out on his sparing partners - to the point that no one wants to train with him for fear of splintered bones.

Yandere! Soldier who keeps running into you. And despite his body armour, his rifle, his rank and power, you never seem impressed or even afraid of him.

Yandere! Soldier who watches as the martial law on your city becomes stricter and stricter. First the curfew, and then the armed checkpoints, and then the armored vehicles parked on seemingly every street corner.

Yandere! Soldier who knows what really happens to suspected rebels when they're held for questioning. Who keeps thinking of your wrists dwarfed by his hands. Who keeps thinking of your pretty hands mangled by the interrogators.

Yandere! Soldier who finds himself alone outside your apartment, so nervous that his hands are trembling. Who knocks and knocks on your new door until you open it, still sluggish with sleep.

Yandere! Soldier who doesn't give you a chance to scream as he shoves his way into your apartment and kicks the door closed behind him.

Yandere! Soldier who manages to hold onto you even as you kick and bite and swear at him.

Yandere! Soldier who hisses at you to just shut up and listen. That for once, he's trying to help you.

Yandere! Soldier who has to literally grab you by your collar and slam you against the wall before you stop trying to bite him.

Yandere! Soldier who tells you that the army intends to arrest you tomorrow morning on suspicion of insurgency. That he knows a place where you'll be safe.

Yandere! Solider who doesn't listen to your complaints or objections. Who zip ties your wrists together and gags you before hoisting you up on his shoulder.

Yandere! Soldier who doesn't even notice you banging your fists against his back.

Yandere! Soldier who drives all the way across the city in an armoured vehicle with you tossed across the backseat. At the checkpoints, his fellow soldiers just smirk and tell him to enjoy himself.

Yandere! Soldier who brings you to an old room in an old building. Who tosses you down on the bed and suddenly realises just how close you are.

Yandere! Soldier who slowly leans down to kiss your cheek. Who smells your perfume and feels himself slowly going feral.

Yandere! Solider who kisses down your jawline and then down your neck, his lips as light as feathers. Who runs his palms up your waist, marvelling at the softness of your skin against the roughness of his hands.

Yandere! Soldier who pins your hands above your head so he can admire your body stretched out underneath him.

Yandere! Soldier who knows this is wrong. Who knows it's going to hurt you and haunt you. Who feels his heart clench when he looks into your crying eyes.

Yandere! Soldier who knows, but fucks you anyway.

Yandere! Soldier who is so gentle, that you almost wish he meant it. Who keeps one arm wrapped around your waist the entire time. Who keeps whispering to you in his native language, his voice rough as in prayer.

Yandere! Soldier who keeps his forehead pressed against yours even as he thrusts deep inside you.

Yandere! Soldier who stays inside of you even after he comes. Who just wants to feel the warmth of your body under his. Who wants to pretend that the little muffled sounds you're making are out of affection.

Yandere! Soldier who cuts your bonds away with his combat knife. The blade catches the moonlight and it breaks his heart when you flinch away from him.

Yandere! Soldier who tries to convince himself he did the right thing. You're safe from the interrogation room, aren't you?

Yandere! Soldier who looks at your tears in the moonlight and realises his love was the worst thing that ever happened to you.

Yandere! Soldier who falls asleep with you in his arms, his dog tags pressed against your shoulder blades. Yandere! Soldier who knows that he's a monster, but holds you all the same.

Yandere! Soldier who whispers to you just before he falls asleep.

Мне жаль

I'm sorry.

Но я люблю тебя

But I love you.

[entitled-fangirl]

Fatherhood.

Single father!Cregan Stark x reader

Summary: the reader comes across a young boy. It seems the boy's worried father becomes quite taken with her.

A/n: He's got cheekbones sharp enough to kill a man 👀

Part 2

Masterlist

..........................................

She gasped when something grabbed her leg. 

The lady looked down to see a small boy, no older than two, holding her leg tightly. "Oh."

She ran a hand over the boy's hair as she looked around for someone, anyone in the crowd—his parents or her guard. Neither were in sight, it seemed. 

So she managed to pry him away enough to bend down to his level. 

"Where are your parents?" She whispered to him. 

When he didn't answer, she brushed his hair back from his forehead. "That's alright. We'll find them, yeah? They must be missing you fearsomely. What is your name?"

The boy stared with watery eyes. 

"Well," the lady continued, "Will you let me help you?"

The boy managed a nod and accepted the hug she offered him. 

She thanked the merchant that she had been speaking to and picked up the boy, now focusing her attention on the people rather than the goods they were selling. 

Darkish hair, she assumed from the boy's looks. Someone with blue eyes. Surely he was precious to someone.

"Hey," she lightly reprimanded when he tucked his face into her neck. "I need you to look for them. I don't know what…" Her voice trailed off. The boy was tired and scared and she could hardly blame him.

She roamed the long street once over, just looking for someone that lost their child. A worrisome mother or a stern father. But nothing. 

She sighed, rubbing the boy's back, "Father won't like this."

She continued on as before, shopping lightly with the boy in her arms. Her heart was warmed by the soft snores that came from his small body.

She walked down the cobble road, noticing a guard whose eyes lit up at the sight of her. It sent her on edge. She turned the other way. 

Another guard was coming from that direction. She froze. 

Trying another way, she tried to use the crowd to manage around them, but was met with another guard, quite literally running into him. She backed up in fear, her free hand over the boy's head as if she could protect him. 

"Hand over the boy, my lady."

They looked so angry. "N-No." She tried to display confidence but that's hardly what she accomplished. "Whatever the boy did, I can pay for-"

"My lady!" Her guard's voice came through. 

Her guard, Ser Marten, pushed through the guards and the crowd that seemed to not even notice the chaos that was happening. 

He pulled an arm around her. "Are you alright, my lady?"

She nodded and looked at the other guards. Her eyes flitted down to the sigil that laid on their cloaks. 

Stark. 

She feared Lord Stark was more cruel than she made him out to be, having three grown men chase down a small boy. 

"I won't ask again. Hand over the boy," one of the guards tried again.

"Ser," Ser Marten tried to ease. "Whatever the boy has done can be paid-"

The guard behind her reached out and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck. 

Ser Marten's eyes widened, and he pulled his sword from its sheath. "Unhand her."

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" A loud voice echoed through the street. 

The crowd practically split in two as the great Lord Cregan Stark ran to them. "Where-" He paused. "You've found him, my lady?"

Her brow furrowed. "W-What?"

"Unhand her and go," Cregan barked at the guards. "And you," he ordered Ser Marten, "Do sheath your sword. I'll not have violence on my streets."

Ser Marten blinked and did as he said. 

"You may go as well."

Marten looked between the two, only stepping back at the sight of his lady's nod. 

With him gone, she felt vulnerable. 

Cregan held his arms out, expecting her to hand him the boy. 

She turned away from him out of instinct, shielding the boy. "I-"

He frowned. "My lady." He extended his arms further. 

"Whatever he's done, my lord, I can pay for. I am not the richest and I hardly know what House Stark would want, but I can try. Please, don't hurt him."

Cregan's mouth opened in a reaction of shock. He tilted his head. She was more than meets the eye. "My lady, I am only a worried father. Please."

A feeling of embarrassment filled her stomach. "Oh." She pulled the boy out in her arms, seeing that, indeed, the Sigil of house Stark laid on the boy's chest. "Oh, forgive me!"

Cregan took his son with caring hands, careful not to wake him. "Oh, my boy," he sighed as he held him close to his chest. "Gods, I've never felt fear like this." He closed his eyes, not caring if he seemed weak for a moment. He was a terrified father and he wasn't afraid to seem it.

"Do forgive me, my lord. I-I didn't not realize-"

"-You did not realize that you held my future, the future of the North, in your arms?" He let out a breath of a laugh. "I owe you greatly." He looked down at the sigil on her cloak. "Lady Bolton? Are you Lord Bolton's new wife?"

She flushed. "No. NO. I am his daughter." She smoothed down her skirt in embarrassment. 

"Ah, forgive me. I thought his second wife was young. Perhaps I was mistaken."

"You weren't," she assured. "She's not much my elder. An honest mistake."

"But you are still of House Bolton? Unmarried, I mean?" He asked.

"Yes, as of the current time, yes."

He nodded with the information. "Strange to see a childless woman with such motherly instincts. He seemed quite content with you."

"He was quite frightened to be alone."

Cregan hummed. "Let me reward you. You've protected my boy and returned him to me."

"No, I couldn't-"

"-Nonsense. It's the very least I could do."

She watched the boy stir in the large man's arms. His tiny hand gripped Cregan's fur cloak tightly, as if finally feeling the full comfort of his home again. "Knowing I've done you a service is gratitude enough for me."

"Please." He looked around. "Are you alone, my lady? Surely I would have heard of Lord Bolton's arrival before this."

She nodded. "I come to the market every few months. This is the only place I've found dried lavender. Father says I have an obsession," she laughs. "Perhaps so. But I'm old enough now of course to journey alone. With my guard."

"And have you found it this time?" 

"Hmm?"

"The lavender?"

"Oh. Um," she looks around. "No, I haven't."

Cregan sighs. "That's a shame. Are you sure you won't accept a reward?"

She smiles. "Truly. I am sure." She reached out to brush the boy's hair, but stops herself when she realizes how inappropriate that is now that she knows it's Stark's son. "G'day, Lord Stark."

He stops her before she can turn to leave. "Lady Bolton. Do I get a first name?"

"Y/n."

He repeats it, as if committing it to memory. "Good day, my lady. I won't forget your kindness."

…

Cregan was honest about that. He didn't forget her kindness.

…

"My lady."

Her handmaiden interrupts her quiet time. 

"There's a gift for you, my lady."

Her eyes lit up. "What? From who?"

"I'm not sure. Shall I bring it in?"

She nodded and watched the woman disappear for a moment before reappearing with a small cloth sack.

She took the bag with nimble fingers, pulling it open. 

Dried Lavender. 

A small letter laid inside, sealed with wax, but no sigil.

A small gift to represent my gratitude.  - A relieved father

She let out a breath. How thoughtful of him to scour the market for this, even after she was unable to find it. 

"Who is it from, my lady?"

"Just a man I helped back in Winterfell."

"Well, how thoughtful."

Yes, she thought, Cregan Stark was quite the thoughtful man.

…

Cregan sat at his council meeting, his boy, Rickon, sitting in his lap, tapping his wooden horse against the table as he played with it. The northern lord hardly noticed the sound at this point, the boy's antics becoming second nature to him. 

"I agree, my lord," one of his councilmen spoke, "perhaps that would be best for the North."

A servant interrupted. "Forgive me, my lord. But it's a letter."

Cregan's mind snapped as he looked up. "Is it? Hand it here."

The servant walked it over to him and dismissed himself.

Cregan's fingers brushed over the wax. 

The Bolton sigil. 

He could practically feel his hands shake as he opened it.

My heart is lightened at the news of your relief.  I thank you for your gift. It was more gracious than I fear I deserved. I'll remain in awe of how you managed to find exactly what I had failed to.  My house, my father, and I as well, remain loyal to you.  - Y/n Bolton

"My lord?" One of the men asked lightly.

Cregan looked up from the letter.  "Write urgently to Lord Bolton. I have an offer."

Cregan tutted lightly when Rickon reached out for the letter. "Easy, son. This is your father's keepsake."

…

My dear lady,  I fear writing yet another letter to you may be deemed inappropriate to some, but they do not understand the kinship we share.  My son grows by the day, and still, I remember the day you and I met so starkly.  Take this gift, and dare I ask that you think of me when you wear it. - A content father

The bottom of the letter was all scribbles and scratches from the quill, no doubt something that his son had added. It made her heart warm, like perhaps maybe the babe was trying to say something to her as well.

Her eyes wandered to the dress that he had gifted. A Stark blue. She thought it perhaps a bit too bold for the man, but she wouldn't deny his wishes. 

Her father may question it, but he couldn't refuse such a thing. 

She took out a quill.

…

I am starting to believe that you have overdone your gratitude. I fear as a young lady, I have not much to give, but perhaps it is true that the thought of a gift is greater than the price or amount of the object itself. I find that this specific type of fabric strips make for wonderful ties for the hair. I mean no harm, but I did notice the way you grew annoyed at the hair in your eyesight when we met.  I'm going to send this now before I realize the intent of my actions and grow embarrassed.  Do tell your son I enjoyed his drawings per your last letter. - Y/n Bolton

Cregan held the fabric strips in his hand, rubbing the soft material. 

How ink on a page could make his heart feel alive, he wasn't sure.

…

Cregan spent the next two days in contemplation. 

While he wanted to immediately write her back, he knew that he should wait. The letter to her father surely arrived at that point, and he didn't wish to seem overly hasty.

But when another letter from her arrived, he almost ripped it in earnest to view its contents.

I fear our letters must come to an end.  My father had spoken of a marriage proposal and it seems quite unladylike to be writing such letters. Though we two know of our kinship, I fear it is unfair to my future betrothed.  Please forgive me, and know that this was not of my choosing.  - Y/n

He paused at her lack of a last name. 

She wrote as if she had no idea. Her father hadn't told her the entire truth. 

He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands over his eyes. He wanted to ease her worries, tell her the truth, but it was not yet his place, and he was to wait for her father's response. 

But it ate at him. What if Bolton was truly marrying her to another? It made him sick. 

There was a sound in the doorway. 

Cregan looked up to see Rickon standing with his toy on ground, obviously fallen from his hand. He smiled at him, "Hello, son."

Rickon took his time leaning down to get his horse, then took steps around the long table until he got to his father. 

Cregan waited patiently, not wanting to rush or correct his boy, but once Rickon was close enough, he reached out and held him up in the air. The little son's squeals filled him with joy. He brought him down to kiss the boy's cheek then set him on his lap to face him. "What have you been doing, my boy?"

Rickon set his horse on Cregan's chest, his attention enamored on it. 

The lord brushed his son's hair from his face with a longing look. "Think I'll get to hear that voice anytime soon?"

Rickon hit his horse against the man's chest, causing a sigh to come from his father. 

"Well, maybe eventually, hm?"

Everything sat in such uncertainty. He only hoped that it all worked out as he had planned it.

........................................

A/n: part 2

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver, @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom, @dozcan123, @wangjiangelangel, @kamitargaryen, @aegonswife, @lv7867, @helpmedecideaname

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.8k

Summary: 'Rule 27: It’s a poor choice to help a hare at high noon, but it will certainly appreciate you if you do.'

WARNING for some descriptions of violence

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

You’d first set foot on The Rose Queen when you were the tender age of eleven. Or, well, something close to that. It wasn’t like most peasant orphans were taught numbers, let alone how to interpret calendars well enough to mark the passing of years.

It was the first ship you’d ever seen up close—sleek, and salt-stained, and creaking beneath your toes. The Boy King at its helm had turned his nose up at you in his too big coat, with his too big boots and tricorn hat that kept slipping down over his eyes. It was a ragtag crew that you’d wandered into, made of nothing but runaways and street rats. The ship itself was just as unusual and fresh-faced. It was built in a very impractical sort of way, with hallways that led to nowhere and portholes that opened up into endless seas of shadow where you could tumble down, down, down for hours and never see an end (or so you’d been warned). There were paintings on the walls, all off-centered and hanging on crooked nails that wobbled with every dip in the waves. The masts and rails were stained a deep, bloody red, in honor of its title. And no matter how the raging winds and waves battered at those petals, your Captain would have you out there the next morning to paint them anew. The Rose Queen was the finest pirate ship in all the ocean, and you only half-said that out of personal bias.

The vessel of the Silver Songbirds was… not like that.

It was grand, certainly. But there was a barren cleanliness to it that didn’t feel lived in. Sure, Riddle’d had you literally scrubbing stains out of the deck with a toothbrush and pot of turpentine, but this was different. Sterile, rather than squeaky. The wood planks didn’t whine with a weary, seaworthy groan beneath your feet that you could feel through the heel of your boots—as if to reassure you it was there. The air smelled of salt, sure, and you could see a group of gulls circling overhead, but the whole of it felt… empty. Lonely.

The black haired man led you to a small, private room in the ship’s hull. That alone was strange. You’d been sharing quarters for the whole of your seafaring career. This new little suite of yours had a bed, and white paint on the walls, and a porthole for a window. He gently coaxed you into sitting at the foot of the mattress and readjusted the coat resting along your shoulders. His smile was soft, kind. The sort of warm, pretty expression that you could read about in a love poem.

You remembered your Siren’s vicious, pointed smirk—red, and haughty, and sharp enough to cut glass—and fought a pang of something you absolutely refused to put a name to.

When you blinked back into focus, his lips were moving in a slow, steady flow and you focused your best on the shape of them. It was hard, with how placid his expression was—with how little there was to make out of anything he was attempting to get across. And whether it be your furrowed brow or a sudden memory that oh right, you’d told him your ears worked as well as a three-legged horse pulling a one-wheeled cart, he startled into silence. His face twisted up with chagrin, and he offered you an apologetic smile with round, pink cheeks.

He fumbled around in his pockets for a piece of paper and scribbled out a hasty note to press into your palms.

‘My name is Neige Leblanche, and I’ll be taking care of you for this journey.’

You paused, fingers worrying at the sides of the neat, square bit of parchment. It felt right to offer your own name in return. That would be the polite thing, surely. But you paused, throat tight with uncertainty and a prickling, unpleasant sort of heat. Because you’d never even told your Siren your name, had you? Not even once.

And beneath that sudden, sour gut punch was something else.

‘Rule 116, your name is not a number, but it is your value. Do not offer it to any whose own interests are undue.’

The first time Ace had found himself with a wanted poster (‘Ugly,’ he’d complained, bitter. ‘How am I supposed to hook any tail with this? I look like a mutant potato. This stupid portrait is worse than prison.’), Riddle had taken your handwritten Book of Rules and underlined that one thrice over. You hadn’t thought much of it until you’d had to cut a hangman’s noose from around your idiot, foxy friend’s throat—the handiwork of the tavern folk he’d been boasting to only an afternoon before. And then it had made sense. Ace had survived (with a new, grand tale of woe that he liked to repeat ad nauseum until you wished you’d left him strung up), but the lesson had remained.

Carefully you swallowed the words resting on your tongue and offered a polite-ish nod in their place.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you. For saving me.”

Neige shook his head in a panicked sort of rush, hands waving back and forth with a clear ‘none of that! None of that!’ before reaching back into his pockets to search for another note.

‘It was my honor,’ he wrote, words jumbled and sloppy in his haste. ‘It’s the duty of all officers to help those in need.’

Your brow pinched. Officer? Officer of what?

Your Siren had called these Songbirds dangerous. ‘Not safe’ written into the sand over and over again with his curled claws. You didn’t know much of mainland politics and other such nonsense, but maybe there was some sort of… Siren Hunting Order? Soldiers of the King sent out to scour the seas and keep them safe for a host of weary, would-be-merman-meals? That would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.

Another note was pressed into your hands.

‘How did you end up stranded on that island?’

Islet, you wanted to correct petulantly. Riddle would have. Your Siren would have.

You opened your mouth and hesitated. Telling Nigel, or Nergal, or whatever his name was that your ship had been besieged by a pod of ravenous mers (and one fair-faced asshole who you already missed far, far too—) was as good as serving them up on a silver platter, wasn’t it? Siren hunters probably traded information like how pirates traded maps or merchants traded gold. And you’d be damned if your loose tongue was what led to your friend companion co-strandee’s family being hunted for sport just after he’d finally managed to make his way home again.

So you stiffened your upper lip and turned to look your savior in the eye.

“I fell overboard,” you said, firm. “Because I’m an idiot.”

He blinked, startled, and you could recognize the spluttered ‘…oh’ shaping his lips.

He handed you another scribbled bit of parchment, gaze averted and awkward.

‘I’m sorry.’

“Never apologize to the half-wit for whatever fallacy of their own led to them falling into the pit,” you recited naturally, and Nigel startled. His doe eyes went round with confusion and he tilted his head at you like a curious hound. Nothing intimidating, more like some kind of fluffy cocker spaniel or primped up lapdog staring up at you with too-long-lashes and too-few-thoughts.

You shrugged.

“Just a rule I was supposed to follow,” you shrugged off. You offered a slanted grin. “Though when you’re the idiot in question, it can be pretty hard to avoid.”

Neville smiled at you with a soft sort of laugh that you swore you could feel dancing along your skin.

Another note.

‘I’ll be back in a bit. Please enjoy the amenities here and get some rest. If you need anything, let us know and I’ll get it sorted personally.’

You dipped your chin in thanks and collapsed back against the small, flat mattress in the corner. It was soft, sturdy, probably good for your back and all that nonsense. The sheets were crisp and white, and they rubbed blandly at your weary hide. You could smell the lingering, sharp fragrance of some kind of tacky soap in the cotton. Totally not unpleasant at all. Theoretically, it should have actually been the best bed you’d ever slept in. But a part of you missed swaying back and forth in a net hammock, and an even bigger part missed plopping down in the sand with the heat of a crackling fire at your front and the even steadier warmth of the long, curling, press of gemstone scales at your back.

You flopped over onto your side and stared at the empty, carefully manicured surface of the desk opposite you and wished more than anything that you’d brought your shell.

.

.

The room was cold when you next woke, and you shivered into the jacket Neige had draped along your shoulders (because it was ‘Neige.’ It had been signed on the bottom of the note he’d left you that morning alongside your breakfast. Which was stupid. The dumbest name you’d ever heard). The starched fabric of it all wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than shivering through the chilly ocean mists that were seeping in through the porthole.

You burrowed into the swathe of white and blue wool like a rabbit in a hole, and then winced in irritation when another of those stupid, gaudy pins dug into your cheek.

You plucked the first from its place—the duo of silver songbirds. It really was quite pretty, despite the ominous undertones and all. Two, graceful, delicate sets of feathered wings arching up into the sky—forever frozen in a dance to the clouds. You dropped it into the little, dark crevice between your bed and the wall. Good riddance.

Next came a crest that was familiar in a distant sort of way—a memory that tickled that back of your brain from days long past. You hadn’t noticed it before, what with the echoes of ‘not safe, not safe, not safe’ blaring in your head like an alarm, but it was just as neatly polished as the birds pinned above. It was diamond shaped, the edges embossed in twining lines like the cut of a rope. At its head sat a strange sort of crown, with the arches and more familiar pointed designs replaced by the billowing arcs of sails.  All of that gallantry surrounded a pair of rearing stallions—hooves crossed along a golden edged sword and circled with blue ivy.

You twisted it between your fingers, watching the metal glint in the low light. You hadn’t set foot in proper society since Riddle had let your young, dumb self abscond into the ocean all those years ago. You could hardly remember the flag of our home country, let alone the specifics.

You frowned and the edges of the badge pricked at your fingers.

You dropped this one behind the bed too, with a petulant flick of your wrist to make sure it really stuck.

.

.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around more often, there’s some business I’ve been having to take care of.’

You handed the note back with a shrug.

“It’s no bother.”

Neige offered an apologetic grimace nonetheless and another of those smiles that looked a bit too sweet to be real.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

You bristled before you could help it, thoughts spiraling away to harpoons, and nets, and hunting parties. And then you settled your shoulders into a polite, easy line and offered one of your own too-put-together smiles in return.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, you saved me after all.”

Neige smiled again, easy and comfortable, and pressed another slip of parchment into your palms.

‘Where were you headed? When you fell overboard?’

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck you with a barbed cactus branch dipped in—

Ahem.

You cleared your throat in a way that was surely a Very Normal Person Thing To Do, and tried to ignore the fact that he was so brazenly attempting to map out his plan of attack—to pinpoint the route that the sirens had been chasing and run after it like hounds tracking a fresh scent. Which, to be fair, sirens were a scourge on the seas. Hundreds upon hundreds of good men and women had been lost to their crooning songs and wickedly sharp teeth. They were vicious, often cruel, and so much stronger than any mortal sailor that of course the world above would fear them. You’d been very much of the same opinion until only quite recently, and now—now you just couldn’t.

“I don’t know where we were going,” you lied, and Neige’s brow pinched in a dour, rejected kind of way. “But,” you tried, sprinkling in a touch of truth to make the lie go down easier, “I know we were coming from Port o'Bliss.”

He nodded, that uncongenial expression slipping off his face as easily as it’d settled there.

He rattled off something quick and bubbly, and you pointedly arched a brow. The brunette blushed bright pink and hastily scrabbled for another bit of paper.

‘Thank you for being so helpful. I know it can’t be easy.’

Your neutral expression froze on your face and when you smiled it felt more like a polite bearing of teeth. Did he know? Could he see right through you? Or worse, was he getting all the answers he wanted from you either way, no matter how you tried to coat it in a veneer of misdirection.

“Sure thing.”

He handed you another note, this time for his pocket. Crumpled and soft, the ink a bit smeared along the curling letters.

‘It’s a poor choice to help a heron at high noon,’ it said, ‘but it will certainly appreciate you if you do. So my thanks to you.’

Something settled in your gut at the familiarity, something deceptively warm and homey.

“It’s a hare,” you said, without much thought. “Not a heron.”

Neige nodded with a polite, smiling mumble that looked like another apology, and then left you to your own devices.

That night, a veritable feast was delivered to your tiny, white-walled cabin. A grand spread of food fit for a king. There was roasted fowl, pools of thick, spiced gravies, mountains of vegetables that you’d never even seen before. And tarts. So many colorful, fruity tarts that were so sweet they almost made your tongue curl.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked as Neige took a seat at your desk to nibble at the meal alongside you—a cloth napkin folded neatly across his nap and a clear glass flute for wine placed a bit precariously by his elbow.

He smiled, honey warm, and offered you another note.

‘For helping the hare.’

.

.

Neige didn’t come to visit you the next morning, and his absence had the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.

You paced and paced around your cube of a barrack. It was maybe four steps from one end to the next, but the constant bumping your toes against the wall was better than just sitting there doing nothing. The worst part was the silence. Not the one in your head. Yes, yes, you were more than used to that. On and on, yada yada. But the silence of the ship. The Rose Queen had always felt like a living thing, a great, wooden beast with a pulse you could feel thrumming beneath your toes, your palms. All you had to do was lay a hand against its side and you could feel the rumble of the tide beyond, the rushing footsteps of sailors sprinting about to meet one of Riddle’s orders or other, the thump of heavy, wet mop heads smacking the deck overhead. It was quiet, but it wasn’t quiet. This ship? No matter how you laid against the boards or pressed flat to the walls, there was nothing. And it made you feel like you were trapped aboard a vessel full of ghosts.

The sun had long begun to set by the time Neige returned, and by then you were nothing but a livewire of nerves.

Had they found him? Your Siren? Was he there somewhere, just a few floors above—strung up like a fish in a net? Caught and displayed like a fine trophy? Or had they killed him outright? Had they found his pod? Had he put up a fight? Had he—

A piece of rolled parchment was held out for you to take, a satin blue ribbon tied along its belly. Neige’s soft, brown gaze was glued to the floor and you snatched the paper from his hands like a rabid cat and tore it open. You could barely keep your eyes steady to read it all—fine, pointed print done up in a neat hand.

‘—danger to those who venture—'

‘—for the safety of the people—’

‘—therefore, the decision has been made—'

‘—with the greatest consideration—’

‘—with immediate effect—'

‘—we have declared the extermination of—'

“You can’t!” you wailed, and Neige’s doe eyes darted up to yours and immediately away once more in guilt. “He’s—he’s not bad. I swear! I know how things look—and—and I know he’s not—that’s he’s a—but you can’t—”

Neige’s wavering stared jumped back to you in open surprise, and you saw his lips twitch on one word—delicate brows pinching in question.

‘He?’

You frowned and fought the urge to stomp your feet. Because, okay, fine. Sure, you were arguing tooth and nail for someone whose name you maybe didn’t even know. Someone who had swum away from your stupidly sentimental ass with all the power and grace of a beast fit to rule the depths of the oceans while you could barely flounder at its surface. And sure, sirens killed people and ate them. But this one was—he was special, and you’d be damned if you let some primped up fishermen try to reel him in on a hook just because he’d maybe eaten a few people. And—

There was a hand on your shoulder, and Neige was staring down at you with an expression not dissimilar to that of a parent about to tell their child that the cat had got out and met a terrible, squishy end beneath the wheels of your neighbor’s carriage. He sighed, dark lashes brushing along his cheeks, and then reached out with his other hand to tap a finger between your collar bones.

“What?” you snapped, and he tapped again. “Me? What about me?”

He paused, gaze meeting yours with a pointed sort of melancholy.

Oh.

Oh.

You remembered the pins you’d dropped behind your bed, one by one. You remembered the strange coat of arms crowned with golden sails and bearing a great, shining sword. Something regal, something imperial that a commoner like you would have only caught fleeting glimpses of in parades, and marches, and war calls.

Something like, say, Pyroxene’s Royal Naval Fleet.

You glanced down at the parchment again, crumpled between your fists, and smoothed it out into something legible beneath your fingers. You reread the text with careful focus.

‘For the Crime of Piracy’ it said. Right at the tippity top. In red ink.

“…ah,” you blinked. “That makes a lot more sense.”

.

.

You were to walk the plank on the ‘morrow.

Which honestly, you hadn’t even thought was really a Thing—walking the plank, argh. Fiddly dee and a yo-ho-ho. That sort of storybook nonsense. The parables that parents passed onto their children to try and scare them away from a life of villainy. Real pirates were put to the rack, or hanged in the town squares to scare the adults away from doing the same.

But you supposed it was practical, at least. Blood was hard to scrub out of wooden decks, so beheading would have been a bit of a mess. Bullets were best to be conserved out on the high seas where stocks were already low, and honestly, your body would just have to be thrown overboard anyways before it stunk up the barracks. So, like, doing it all in one would be quite efficient. You could appreciate that. 

Your hands would be bound at your back and you’d be given three breaths, three steps, and then you’d be tumbling down into the waves below. Claimed by the waters that you’d patrolled for so many years now. Fitting, honestly. Riddle would be proud (beneath the raging, spitting indignation of you being caught at all, but that was another matter). At least you wouldn’t be going out from food poisoning or something mundane like that, so that was a win. And who knew. Maybe your Siren would find you again when you were nestled to rest in some seabed not too far from here, and he could finally make a meal of your dumb ass yet. Happy endings abound.

You wondered idly at the dual branches of fate you’d wandered along in these past weeks, and if it would have been better to hide away when you’d first seen those sails on the horizon. To keep to the little, crescent island you’d found yourself on and slowly starved to death. Alone, abandoned, and sitting in a forever stillness worse than any silence you’d known before.  Forever staring out over the horizon for a glance of amethyst fins that you knew you’d never see again.

If given the choice between the two, you’d take the plank.

.

Neige brought you another feast that night, and you gorged on it merrily. 

When he nervously kept piling your plate with choice cuts after choice cuts, gaze diverted to the floor and looking like a kicked puppy dog with its tail between its legs, you rolled your eyes and swatted at his fingers.

“Unclench yourself,” you huffed, and he puffed up stuttery and pink in horror. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re just doing your job, right? If we’d met under different circumstances I bet I would have shot you first. So, really. All’s fair.”

He worried his lower lip between his teeth, guilt still swimming heavy and warm in those doe eyes of his.

He said something under his breath, something that you’d bet even if your ears were working at full capacity you wouldn’t have been able to parse out. He leaned forward to scrawl a note on the napkin beside your plate.

‘You’re happier now? After all this? I don’t get it.’

You reached out to pat him merrily on the shoulder, more a smack smack smack then anything really pleasant. He could see him fighting a wince with all the trembling sort of bravery of a field mouse. Poor dear. What was the Royal Navy thinking? Hiring on someone who looked like they belonged on an advert for rouge and sweets. This was the last face a pirate was expected to jeer into? This one? Really? It was a wonder this little, squirrely man hadn’t keeled over the first time someone spat on his boots.

“It’s a poor choice to help the fish at high noon,” you said around a mouthful of crumbs. “But it’s my choice. And I’m happy to do it.”

“Fish?” you saw him mouth, brow pinched, and you batted at his shoulder again before reaching for another of those too-sweet tarts.

.

.

There was a whole procession for your execution. With speeches. Which even with the slowly encroaching panic worming into your guts, you couldn’t help but think was at least a little funny.  

The whole crew was lined up in solemn formation, listening stalwartly to some judge, or high ranking officer, or whatever rattle off who even knew what. Your crimes? A homily? The lunch menu? Fuck if you had any clue. And you were the one being fed to the sharks. There had to be some joke hidden in here, right? The scoundrel pirate who could never be tried, simply because they couldn’t hear their own sentencing. You wouldn’t even know when to stand up and shout ‘I object!’ It would probably be pretty funny, right? If you just did that out of nowhere. And what was the worst that could happen? Oh, no. A fine. Please, sir. Add it to the list of debts I owe from beyond my watery grave. Amen.

A hand at your lower back gave you a gentle nudge forward and you shifted against the ropes binding your wrists. They were nicer than your own stores aboard the Rose Queen. Not nearly as itchy, the fibers neat and clearly expensive. Neige stepped up beside you and offered you a look that was likely meant to be kind, but your growing nerves had started to eat through your willingness to play friendly. You could feel the weight of the crew around you, even if you couldn’t hear them. The creak of the deck beneath your toes as they shifted about, the way their bulk must have been shielding you from the worst of the wind. Unlike with your own mismatched family of castaways, their presence wasn’t reassuring. And you kept your eyes locked forward and away from the field of sharp gazes eating into your hide.

The plank was narrow, and immediately you were fighting the urge to sway on your toes. Having your hands bound at your rear only made it worse. It threw off the whole of your center of gravity and had you feeling dizzy and seasick.

You took one breath, stuttery, and one step. The wood whined beneath your heels in a vibration you could feel all the way up to your knees.

Another breath, another step. You could feel the salt soaked board starting to bend now. Clearly it wasn’t meant to support much of anything, let alone a whole person. And for some reason the idea of it breaking beneath you was so much worse than taking that last step all on your own. A sudden plunge that was out of your control. It had your heart hammering in your throat and cold nausea bubbling in your belly.

You looked down. You didn’t want to, but it was like your gaze was a weighted, magnetic thing. Pulled down into the salty depths below. The water looked rougher than it had a moment ago, or maybe you were just really starting to panic. You could see the white froth of the wake breaking against the ship’s hull. It churned like the start of a storm, which was really, terribly inconvenient. Seeing as it’d been so still and calm just a few minutes before. And, y’know, the fact that you had to fall into that mess of sharp peaks and rocking waves. You swore you could see dark shapes flitting about just beneath the surface, a flash of grey, or maybe green. It was hard to tell, with the brightness of the early morning sun in your eyes.

No one was poking at your back, urging you forward, which you thought was quite odd. You’d been taking your sweet ol’ time sauntering to your demise. You’d assumed they’d have less patience for a pirate with cold feet. Instead, the world around you was just silent and still. Shifting with the raging waves below, but empty and quiet as a tomb for all you knew otherwise.

You took your last breath, your last step.

And then the ship lurched and you were plummeting towards the water. The dissonance between having something beneath your feet—no matter how frail—and then nothing was jarring, and it had you gasping on impulse. Hair whipping at your cheeks and lungs squeezing tight as the air screamed past your throat. It felt like you were drowning before you even hit the water.

When you did finally crash into the waves, it hurt. You’d always been a fairly proficient swimmer, but whether it be the mind numbing panic or the ropes binding you tight, tight, tight, you just started to sink. The salt stung like an open wound, and the water was cold. Frigid. Like being tossed into the jagged side of a glacier. You at least had the sense not to gulp down a mouthful of water out of reflex, but that didn’t make things much better.

You screwed your eyes shut, bubbles frothing at your nose, and tried to find that peace that you’d clung to all night long. A life for a life, one catch for another. No one was going to miss you anyways. And if you had to meet the reaper some way, then of all the ends the universe could have spun for you, at least this one had some meaning to it.

You sighed into the darkness, soft, but when your lips parted next around what should have been a mouthful of icy saltwater, all you could taste was air.

Your eyes shot open in the gloom to a mess of familiar golds and purples that you’d thought you’d never see again.

Your Siren pulled back, bubbles curling from the edge of his lips into a soft stream of warmth between the two of you. Nestling as deep as a full breath all the way in the tightest corners of your lungs. You could feel the dip of his claws as he settled his hands at your shoulders—keeping you in place. And immediately you shrieked and flailed in your bindings.

“You—!”

You promptly choked on another mouthful of sea water and your Siren wailed—all that molten fondness in those lovely amethyst eyes of his sharpening into familiar, pissy exasperation from one second to the next. He dragged your face back to his, slotting his mouth against yours and pushing more air into your lungs. You leaned into it before you could help yourself. Half for the whole oxygen thing, and half, because, well—

When he pulled away this time he smacked a hand over your mouth with a sneer, his thumb and index finger hooked upward to pinch at your nose. He jabbed a claw in your face with a clear ‘stay put’ and immediately went to work cutting through the bindings twined along your arms. The ropes fell away beneath his talons like butter to a hot blade, and he fretfully ran his palms up and down your limbs—looking for any stray bits of netting like a compulsion. Once he seemed certain that you’d been properly freed from your ties, he hauled you up against his chest in a grip that had you losing all the air in your lungs all over again. You could feel the cool jut of the sea glass around his neck pressing into your collar, and he buried his head down into your throat until you didn’t know where he ended and you began. The frills of his tail fluttered in the water, and the bulk of those twining strands curled up and around your legs like a barnacle.

He was warm. Warmer than you’d been expecting, for a creature who spent his life patrolling the darkest depths of the ocean. It wasn’t the same sort of heat that would beat off a human’s hide, but it was more comforting than any you’d ever known. You burrowed down against his shoulder, nose scrunching against the side of his neck and the fins at his ears brushing your temple. You could feel his claws flexing at your sides, feel the shift of his scales against your skin. And just as your lungs were starting to burn, he ducked forward to pull you into another kiss—filling your chest with wonderful, wonderful oxygen all over again.

You blinked blearily past the sting of salt in your eyes and he scrubbed a thumb against your cheek.

Now that those high, wonderful, heart bursting emotions were settling back into something manageable beneath your ribs, you took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. Because you’d sent him on his way, hadn’t you? Waved him off with well wishes and a hope for his happiness. And all that aside, how had he even managed to find you—

Bubbles streamed from your nose as that newest shared breath began to run dry, and your Siren hooked an arm around your waist to propel you upwards.

You crested the surface with a gasp, paddling instinctively against the churning wake. When all that did was leave you smack, smack, smacking at your Siren’s chest like a flailing toddler, he hissed—a spitting, pissy thing you could feel on the breeze—and hauled you back up against him. Just like he had all those times you’d swum together in your cove. You forced yourself to settle, bobbing gently against the tide as he kept you both aloft.

Once your body had managed to catch up with your brain to realize that it was, in fact, not drowning, all of the adrenaline rushed out of you like a broken spicket. You slumped against the Siren’s chest, fuzzy headed and dizzy. Because he’d saved you. Which made no sense in the least. But you’d almost died, and he’d saved you—

Your gaze drifted back up to the ship from which you’d only so recently taken your Cannonball of Doom and startled.

There was blood everywhere.

Staining the railings, splashed along the low flying flags, dripping along the deck. A macabre mess of gore and claw marks gutting the once grand vessel like a beached whale. Some of the crew still seemed to be hanging onto the life rafts, others were taking running leaps into the water like they were under compulsion—eyes glazed over and distant. There was a prickling all along your skin, something twisting familiar and strange in your gut, and oh. Oh.

One of the grander looking officers (the one who had been giving your pre-execution speech, perhaps? He looked similar enough) was shouting something from his place at the bow of one of the life rafts—arm extended in a grand show of valor and sword glinting into the light of the morning. And then a great, emerald siren was rearing over the side of that tiny vessel with a sharp grin on his face and sharper talons on display. The officer was dragged overboard, and the siren’s tail came down on the guardrails with a force that had the wood splintering and the already haphazard little boat rock, rock, rocking until it caught on a high wave and capsized.

You could see the flash of colorful scales and the tips of even brighter fins all around. Cresting above the water just long enough to grab hold of another wailing victim and drag them down to the depths. There was enough blood in the water that you could smell it. Acrid and copper against the ocean’s already sharp, salty musk. And sure, you were a pirate. You’d been in raids, you’d seen death. Plenty of it. But this. Well. It was unfamiliar. In a strange, detached sort of way. These assholes had chucked you overboard, after all. So you only really had a teensy, tiny pinch of sympathy for the fact that being eaten alive probably hurt like a sonofabitch.

It was more strange, you supposed, to be at the center of a sirens’ hunt and not be the one facing down the angry, bitey end.

You kicked in the water, nose scrunching when the red tide lapped against your chin.

“This isn’t going to attract sharks, is it?”

Because if you were saved from drowning at the hands of a royal militia only to wind up as a fish’s dinner, you would be terribly annoyed.

Your Siren rolled his eyes at you, like you were just the most ridiculous and stupid creature in all of creation. And then he made a languid swipe of his large, fully-healed tail and began to swim away from the literal bloodbath he and his pod had wrought. With you and all your silly, fragile humanness in tow.

It was far too relaxing, being pulled along against his side. The gentle rocking of his tail beneath you as he swam at the surface—always ensuring to keep your head above the water as he did so. You could feel your eyes starting to dip, feel a yawn cracking along your lips. Maybe it was just the adrenaline crash hitting, or maybe it was the relief that you hadn’t even wanted to address. He’d come back. For you.

The earless pirate who never seemed to do much but stumble into one conundrum after another. Who had only annoyed him at best and shorn his fins to shredded, useless bits at worst. Who had thrown shells at his head and only nicked him a little when you cut the ropes from his hide.

Who had made him human foods with fire and taught him your language in a messy scrawl of sand and snark. Who swam with him in the bay and twined a necklace of shining, purple sea glass around his neck. Who braided his hair, and laughed at his pouting, and—

There was a rough roll of surf that splashed in your face and you spluttered against the white froth.

The Siren paused and beat his tail against the deeper waters, propping you upright as you hacked and fretfully patting at your back. You could see his mouth moving as he mumbled something, brow pinched, and stared back at him with your own wobbly frown—confused.

“Why did you come back?” you asked, and the Siren’s brows jumped up into his hairline. He looked startled, genuinely. And that only had you even more befuddled. “And how did you even find me?”

This time when he huffed, there was a subtle sort of irritation there that you’d learn to recognize well.

He was pouting.

Something brushed against your fingers in the water, soft and fleeting. You glanced down just in time to catch a blur of lavender flitting nervously below the choppy waves, never dipping close enough again to touch, but looking hesitant to keep much further either.

The Siren followed your gaze only to narrow his eyes, pointed teeth bared as he swatted at the poor, round, little octopus with his tail. A clear shoo, shoo if you’d ever seen one. The octopus squeaked, sending bubbles spiraling in all directions, and frantically looped out of the way of the mer’s petulant tantrum. You whacked him right back, indignant on your teeny friend’s behalf. Because—!

“You followed me,” you burbled, and the little octopus spun in a fretful circle. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the poor, little dear was wringing its hands. Your Siren bared his teeth and smacked out again. “Hey! Don’t be an ass! He saved me,” you argued, and your bitch of a merman just snapped his fangs in your face like a feral cat.

You gawked.

“No way. You can’t be annoyed that you were beat out by a baby, purple octopus the size of an orange.”

He huffed and turned up his nose, and you burst out into laughter for the first time since you’d watched him swim out of your cove all those days ago.

You laughed and laughed until tears were beading at the corners of your eyes, and your Siren was grumbling in complaint and pinching your sides with his curved claws. There wasn’t real malevolence in that stern glare of his, though—just more of the prickly, teasing sort of snide side eye he’d given you in your latter weeks together. Fondness, you realized. That’s what was softening it all. The same sort of warmth you held for him.

Your favorite, pissy, preening, self-righteous goldfish.

You snorted into his shoulder, still shaking on giggles, and you could feel his sigh against your temple. You burrowed down against his side, feeling his fins brush along your hips as he kept the both of you afloat.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. “For coming back.”

You were expecting another melodramatic sigh, another plaintive roll of the eyes. Instead, his fingers came up to twine with yours and tugged your hand to rest against the pendant at his throat. You blinked, confused, and he just curled your palm around that little, sand-smoothed piece of glass.

You arched a brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

This time he did roll his eyes at you, and when he spoke he mouthed the word dramatic and wide so he was sure that you could see it.

‘Moron.’

You whined in complaint and smacked his fingers away. “But I’m your moron.”

Another huff, soft against the nape of your neck. And you could see the barest twitch of a smile on his red lips as he turned back into the tide and continued his trek home.

.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl, @warmsmilesandhugs, @01paige01

[sunsburns]

okay but logan taking an interest in neighbor who works in fashion?? he always sees her carrying stacks of magazines, dressed in her chic attire that is sometimes a bit too tight in all the right areas, glasses slipping off her nose, always making calls on that damn phone, and yet he always wishes she looked his way…

oh anon ur cooking here. i think this is what's pulling me out of my writing slump 🥴 (wade breaking the fourth wall, suggestive 16+)

the first time he noticed you, it wasn't even in your building complex, but rather the stairs to the subway station down the street. you were rushing up the steps while he, wade, laura and al were just about to enter. it was al who noticed you first, calling out your name and poking your side with her walking staff.

you shrieked, dropping one of the fabric rolls you had been carrying, a curse at the tip of your tongue before you realized who it was. "al," you sighed, a little relieved, when you saw her and wade, who was dressed in a "i love nyc" t-shirt.

logan, being the gentleman he was, picked up the roll you dropped, handing it back to you. it was then that you looked at him, or well, briefly glanced his way with a quick "thank you" before wade started fucking talking.

that son of a bitch.

he didn't even have the courtesy to introduce the two of you to each other.

it was obvious you were in a rush, lips in a tight smile as you nodded and tried to smile at wade telling you all about how they were about to "hit up" times square.

logan felt bad for you, but only a little bit. the longer you stayed to listen to wade's painful monologue, the more he could look at you. he was a little shameless about it, perhaps not the most gentlemanly thing he could've done, but god you were just a sight for sore eyes.

a pretty thing in a mini skirt despite the cool late september breeze that was starting to kick, white, lace and ruffled. delicate with tall brown leather boots. and a washed-out denim vest you wore as a top, two buttons undone, a little pink bow tied to the pocket. logan didn't know a lot about fashion, but he liked the way clothes looked on you.

and then you were gone, al kicking wade across the shin to shut him the hell up when she realized you were in a rush. she let you go, and you left, quickly trading numbers with laura and without saying much of a goodbye or another glance logan's way.

but he watched you go, watched the way your skirt moved with the wind too.

"yeah, look at it bounce. god, i am no better than any man. " wade hummed, leaning all his weight on logan's side. "i didn't peg you as a creep, honey badger. with the way you were undressing the reader with your eyes, i would've thought you were on a registered sex offender's list."

"shut the fuck up, wade."

logan could hear the way laura snorted, her and al continuing their way down the stairs.

wade held his hands up in surrender before logan could try anything (and by anything, he meant to cut him to pieces. wade can't deal with that right now, the blood would take ages to get off his white shirt). "i'm just saying, after living with us for a few months, i would've thought you'd met her by now."

logan raised his brow, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"i mean, she literally lives across the hall." wade turned his head to the side, pointing his thumb at logan, "he can't possibly be this stupid, right? it's gotta be for the plot to build up tension or something."

from that day on, logan's started to notice you more. not that he was looking for you, he's not that big of a creep. but he's spotted you out the window some days, running down the sidewalk, always in a rush. then he was able to hear the way you slam your door shut when you leave in the mornings or when you get back home.

every single day, you're usually out and about. unless it's a sunday, those are the days you stay in your apartment, sewing and hanging out with blind old al and sometimes even fucking laura. turns out, you were the one who got laura all of those new clothes, made them for her.

jesus christ, how out of the loop was he?

you stood out like a sore thumb, always carrying something. whether it be magazines, sketchbooks, fabric rolls, or bags, you're always struggling to open your door when you get home, keys sometimes slipping from your grasp as you're trying to juggle everything.

one day, logan had come back from a run and spotted you in the hallway. well, he had heard you from floors below and was able to pick up the lingering scent of your perfume by the time he entered the lobby. it took him a bit of courage to walk up the few flights of stairs knowing he'd bump into you.

what the fuck was this?

he was a grown-ass man for god's sake. you had him overthinking and blushing at the mere thought of being in the same space again.

when he saw you in the hallway, you were on the phone, the device tucked between your ear and your shoulder, cursing under your breath as you tried to pick up your keys. you were wearing a black dress that day, a black hat and a big maroon scarf around your neck, "no, emily, don't fucking buy it in that colour. it looks like fucking vomit. i don't care what amy told you, she's basically colour blind-"

you stopped mid-sentence when logan appeared in front of you, grabbing the keys for you. "oh- uh. thanks."

"yeah, no problem."

he noticed your nails and glasses were dark red to match the scarf. lipstick too.

you didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, he could tell from the way you froze, as if you didn't know what was supposed to happen next. he had disrupted your daily pattern, everything in your life moving constantly and quickly but all of a sudden everything is slower. it left you breathless.

"you're logan, right?"

he furrowed his brows. he hadn't expected you to remember him, nevertheless, remember his name. "yeah."

"wade told me all about you," you said, and your eyes dropped from his face a little, then lower, a smirk not too different from a sly cat's. you were staring shamelessly, eyes following every part and curve of his body, the way his long-sleeve shirt clung to his skin with sweat. "you don't seem austrailan."

logan tried not to groan. the picture of wade's stupid face in his mind now that you've mentioned him. he hated that the two of you seemed close. "i'm canadian."

"aren't you full of surprises?" you laughed, a smooth, teasing sound, and finally pushed the keys into the nob, unlocking the door. you turned, lingering by the door as if you were about to invite him in, but then the voice from your phone was trying to get your attention and you nearly seemed disappointed. "i'll see you around, logan."

and you were gone again.

logan liked to see your different outfits every day, dawning a different style every time you walked out that door. it was like you could never settle for one style, but you managed to look so fucking good in everything and every colour you put on.

he could never get tired of it. never get tired of you.

you and your tiny bottoms that he swore were getting smaller and smaller every day, even though the city grew colder and the days shorter. you and your stupid phone calls that sometimes went on late at night. you and your clothes, every single one different from the last.

you and your sketches, the ones he had started to find loose pages on the floor of the small hallway between your apartments, pretty designs of lingerie on a model that looked a little bit too much like you for it to be a coincidence.

though you never made another attempt to talk to him, you knew he was watching you. but you never chased, your heels were too expensive for that. you were just trying to give him a reason to come on you.

to you**

to come to you.*

sorry. typo.