#and nobody is coming to save you either. someone picked YOU to be the one to suffer and die and now you just have to endure it

[kabutone]

like not to sound like some edgy piece of shit but that is also why horror is like such a breath of fresh air to me lmao like in almost all the horror media i've seen

[eideticmemory]

SNAP OUT OF IT | SPENCER REID

Spencer knows he’s just a coworker. He knows he’s just a friend. He knows you’ve got a boyfriend. He just doesn’t really give a fuck!

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning/Includes: Taken!Reader, DownBad!Spencer, a little angst and a little smut.

Dedicated to wifetthew + future mrs stewart (and sidepiece) who inspire me everyday and don’t even realize it.

Spencer vividly remembers the moment he realized he was in love with you. Spencer remembers everything about you but this moment in particular, he recounts in his mind a lot. You had just joined the unit. He could tell you - you'd only been there three months, two weeks, and five days. You were flying across time zones so by the time you landed, it would be six days. Everyone else had fallen asleep or was nearly there. Save for you two. You tried your hand in a round of chess but you're shit at it so you'd taken to a game of cards. Spencer remembers thinking it was the easiest conversation he's ever had in his life. He could talk and talk and talk until he lost his breath and when he was done, you'd do the same until there was no air left in your lungs either. He shuffled the cards between his fingertips, hanging onto your every word, watching the sparkle in your eye as you spoke. He kept firing out subtle agreements between your words like, 'yeah...oh, I know...absolutely,’ not just because it's impossible to disagree with your pretty face but because you’re so smart. You get it. He actually had the thought: she gets it.

Finally, he thought, someone gets it.

And you felt just the same. You said to him, "Thank you for agreeing. No one ever gives a shit about my foreign film analysis."

"I...I give a shit."

You chuckled at the gentleness with which he swore and although his voice was soft, it was genuine. "I appreciate it. My boyfriend's unreasonably against the horror genre as a whole. I think it's his biggest flaw. I like being scared."

Because you were too busy counting up your cards, you couldn’t see the bright smile instantly drop from Spencer's face. He could feel the shift in his muscles, the way his eyes stretched wide. He promptly shifted his gaze down and cleared his throat, “B-boyfriend?"

"Yeah..." you shrugged. Very casual, very nonchalant. "Three years next month."

"Oh, wow," he replied and it sounded kind of snide but you didn't think much of it. “That's nice."

He had realized he was in love with you three years too late.

Spencer could have accepted defeat, yeah. Absolutely. If there's one thing the boy genius can do, it's compartmentalize. This is work. This is [y/n]. This is my coworker. This is our job. This is our jet. These are the cards we've been dealt. The best thing to do would be to play them as they fall. Yet, he keeps himself awake for six hour flights just to hold your undivided attention, to talk about things nobody else cares about. His eyes linger on you as you deliver a profile and he thinks: That's [y / n]. That's her face. That's her voice. That's the sweater that matches her eyes just right and the boots she wears when we travel down south. If there's one thing the boy genius can't do when it comes to you, it's compartmentalize. How could he?

He finds himself standing by the elevator at four in the morning. There is nothing exciting about being called in at four in the morning, save for the prospect of seeing you. The elevator dings and he stands up straight, poses his satchel just perfectly on his hip. He wants to be picture perfect ready. Like a model directly out of a Backup Boyfriend catalog. Although, when you step out, you don't even notice he's there. You storm through the bullpen, your phone held up to your ear and your head ducked down. You sequester yourself in an awkward corner, far enough that you feel secluded but not enough so that Spencer can't see you. He sways in place, an attempt to look casual, his hair tucked behind his ear so he can hear you better. He picks up strained words like, 'please...I don't know...okay...fine...bye!' It all comes to a sudden end, your thumb landing on the screen with such force that it could crack.

You seamlessly join the rest of the team, shoving your phone in your back pocket. Try as you might to shift your focus, the edge hasn't quite left your body so when Spencer asks, "You okay?" You respond with a curt, "Yeah. I'm fine.”

He thinks: That's fine. That's okay. I can take it. On the jet, you bury your nose in a case file and when your phone won't stop vibrating, you silence it completely. Spencer brings you a cup of coffee and you hardly even process it.

"Cream and extra sugar," he pips because he knows that's how you like it.

"Thanks.”

That's it. Spencer waits for more but it never comes. He sits on the opposite side of the jet, watching you pick up your phone, huff, and type, type, type in a rage. He thinks: I cannot take this.

The case is a good distraction. A relief for him to know that even when you are not yourself, you're still brilliant. You just can't help it. There's a moment where he just finishes the geographical profile and you stand at his side, arms crossed as you look it over. Your gasp cuts through the air like a knife and his eyes land on you instantaneously.

"Spencer Reid." You put your hand on his shoulder and oh, he almost drops to his knees. “You're a fucking genius."

You race out of the room and he exhales a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He grips onto his shoulder and his skin is still red hot.

A win is good. You needed a win. You all needed a win. Makes you feel good for something. Makes the flight home much less suffocating than its departure. On top of solving murders in a rush, the mental gymnastics your brain has endured over the week leaves you exhausted. You pull a blanket over your body and snuggle against the solid walls of the jet. You let out this big, heavy sigh just as Spencer sits down across from you.

“Close call today, huh?” he says.

“Yeah,” you nod. You look up at him with these bleary eyes and they’re so beautiful that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to talk.

But he does, “All thanks to you.”

You smile. You want to be bashful, to deny the praise, but you don’t have the energy. “Thanks for the pat on the back.”

“Oh, anytime.”

He watches you take another deep breath, your body lulling into further peace by the second. He hates to disrupt it. “You, uh…” he stutters. “You wanna share what’s been bothering you now?”

You glance over at him from the corner of your eye, “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to a profiler.”

You chuckle. He loves to make you laugh. “It’s nothing,” you shake your head.

“You…you know I’m the profiler, right?”

You sit up, another laugh escaping your throat without much thought. It feels nice. “Yeah. Right.”

“So?”

“I’m just…stressed…” you finally admit, though that part was evident.

“Blackjack?” He sets an array of cards in front of you.

You nod, “I have a stressful job. Hit me.”

He flips another card, “Five. Yeah, you do.”

“And…it’s hard when…when things at home are stressful, too. Makes it worse. Hit me.”

Another card, “Ooh, six. That makes sense.”

“Sometimes, I…I don’t know…I let myself get pulled in too many different directions,” you look over your cards, dangerously close to 21, and you take a leap of faith. “Hit me.”

He turns the final card over and it brings you right to 21. The way it unfolds shocks you, pulls you from your brain fog and you break out in a grin. “21? That’s 21, right?”

“Yeah,” he nods. He bites down on the smile on his lip and it’s a look on him you’ve never seen before. You can’t stop staring at it. “All you, money bags.”

You giggle, “Did you rig that?”

“Me? No,” he shakes his head, casually clearing the pile. “There’s no rigging in blackjack.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ve heard that before.”

“Everything should be that easy for you,” he whispers. There’s a slight change in his tone that even an untrained profiler could pick up. He glances up to meet your gaze, “I’d rig it all for you if I could.”

Now, he thinks because he’s resetting the table that you’re not focused on the subliminal message in his voice. But you notice. You look down at your cards, look back at him, “Hit me.”

When the boyfriend is a concept, an idea trapped inside your phone, a mirage that you only mention in passing conversation, Spencer doesn’t think much of him. Spencer doesn’t think of the motherfucker at all. You clock into work and he’s determined to take the time he can get with you, any way he can, the only way he knows how.

You get back into DC one night and the sun hasn’t even set yet. Emily and JJ invite you out for drinks and it’s with an anxious nod that you accept. So Spencer super graciously accepts. He strides beside you on the walk from the bureau, keeping you tucked in on the safety of the sidewalk because he doesn’t know how to not shield you. From anything. You order a wine and a glass of water. Spencer sits right beside you and orders himself a shirley temple.

You gasp, “Ohhh my god, I should’ve got that.”

“Here,” he slides the glass over to you.

“Oh, no, no. It’s okay.”

“No, take it.”

“I can’t.”

“But I’m offering. I don’t even want it. Maraschino cherries, yuck, gross. You have it.”

You chuckle and shyly grab the drink, sticking a straw in. “Thank you.”

“Mhm,” he nods. And he means that mhm in the way of it’s really no big deal. He’d give you a kidney if he was a match.

He trades you for your water though he doesn’t pay much attention to it. He watches you fall into loud conversation with the other ladies, yours being the only laugh to match Penelope’s in pitch.

You lean into him, cackling, “She’s insane. Oh my god, she’s ridiculous.”

His skin buzzes where your shoulders make contact and his face is bright red from how wide he smiles at you. “Oh, yeah. I could’ve told you that.”

Spencer’s absolutely obsessed with the joy in your eyes, the way you nearly choke on your second shirley temple. The way you’re so close to him. He cannot look away. So when your smile suddenly drops and that joy’s promptly replaced with anxiety, he’s the first to notice.

“Hey,” you whisper to the figure behind him. He turns around and looks the man up and down. “You’re early.”

The Boyfriend shrugs, “Sorry. Hi, everyone.”

He’s not at all like Spencer imagined him. He’s taller. Not as much of a little bitch.

You rise from your seat and wrap your hand around Boyfriend’s bicep. “Uh, this is just some of the team. That’s Emily, Penelope, JJ and, uh, Spencer. This is my boyfriend.”

They all dole out polite waves and smiles. Except for Spencer. He stands up tall and ha, just as he thought, they’re the same height. He gives Boyfriend a stern handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too. Spencer? Heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Haven’t heard that much about you.”

The ladies exchange confused glances and you exhale a quick breath to cut the tension.

“Well, we’ve been together a while. Too much there to sum up in words, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Spencer nods and here is another smile you’ve never seen on his face before. It’s not genuine. That, you know.

“You ready to go?” Boyfriend asks and you nod.

“Mhm. Bye, you guys!” you wave, falling into the grip of the possessive hand around your waist.

Emily glares at Spencer as he lowers back onto his stool, his eyes not leaving the door even when you’re long out of sight. “You done swinging that thing around?” she mutters.

“Hm?” he hums. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mhm.”

As Boyfriend opens the car door for you, he can’t help but comment, “So that’s Spencer, huh?”

“Yeah?” you buckle yourself in and it’s an anxious few seconds before he’s buckled in beside you.

“Well, it makes sense now.”

“What?”

“The little toothpick’s in love with you.”

Spencer doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that the time you spend on your phone at work becomes more frequent after that. That you come in looking drained and pale even at ten o’clock in the morning. That, carefully, you distance yourself from him. It’s not a coincidence. It just hurts.

As he reads over a case file, he builds a tower of cards. You can’t help but admire the way his brain splits in two, one side reading and the other stacking each piece just right. It’s cool. You think it’s cool, but there’s not a kind bone in your body today and you snip, “Got nothing better to do?” as you sit across from him. “People are dying.”

“People are always dying. Kind of how we get a paycheck.”

“Mm. How altruistic of you.”

“I’m just passing the time,” he continues to stack. He’s very near the top of the pyramid. “People do all sorts of things to pass time.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you know. They spend hours, days, weeks, years…building something. And you know, you would think that would ensure some type of stability or longevity or…anything, right?”

“I guess.”

“But sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes no matter how much time passes or…how much effort you put in,” he places the final two cards on top. “It’s just not meant to last.”

And with a tiny flick of his finger, the whole pyramid comes tumbling down. You can’t help but watch the picturesque scene, the way they float down onto the table in a big mess.

Spencer doesn’t think there’s a chance in hell that you don’t know what he’s talking about. You’re smart. You get it.

You don’t acknowledge it, though.

That night, you can’t sleep. For some reason, you’ve got this idea in your head that if you force your eyes open for a few hours longer, you can make yourself useful on a case that, so far, has no end in sight. The hotel accommodating the team is a nice one. There’s a library on the first floor that they leave open 24/7, perfect for a profiler on the hunt. You flip through the files in the near pitch black, curled up in a chair beside the tiniest lamp in the world. Despite your eye for detail, you don’t even notice when Spencer walks in. Not until he clears his throat.

You look up at him, startled, until you see his face, “Oh,” not the reaction he was hoping for. “Should’ve known you’d find me here.”

“I like to think I’d find you anywhere,” he shrugs. He sits down in the chair beside you and looks over your shoulder. You can smell him from just a foot away but it doesn't affect you. It can’t affect you. “Any luck?”

“No. Care to help?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, great.”

“[y/n], it’s late. Nothing you can do without brain power.”

“I just hate…” you start, the exclamation coming out before you can hold yourself back. Spencer watches you intently, hanging onto your voice. “T-the detergent they use on the linens. Gives me a headache.”

He sighs, “Yeah. Me too. I swiped some extra pillow mints. Want one?”

“Mhm,” you hold your hand out and unwrap the candy instantly. It helps your anxiety.

Enough so that you open up just a bit more, you tell Spencer about the headache that’s been bashing against your skull all day. “But maybe I’ve just had too much coffee.”

“Or not enough.”

You laugh, “Yeah, no, that must be it.”

Your phone pings in your lap and you check the message very quickly, the small smile that once sat on your lips dissipating in thin air. Just when he wrangled a laugh out of you, Spencer thinks. Of course. He watches your entire mood change in the blink of an eye and he fucking hates it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Yeah…tired. Should probably head to bed.”

“But the detergent?”

You chuckle, “I’ll survive.”

On the elevator ride up to your floor, you rest your back against the wall, Spencer perched right beside you. You keep your eyes closed, your hands gripping the bar for balance. The motion doesn’t help your headache. You gulp, clear your throat, and when you open your eyes, Spencer is staring at you. Shamelessly. You furrow your eyebrows at him, tracking his eyes as they focus in on your mouth.

“Are you looking at my lips?”

He nods, “Mhm.”

“Can you read them?”

“Mhm.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh,” that snaps him out of his trance and he stands up straight, shaking his head. The elevator dings and he walks off, exasperated, exhausted, exclaiming, “[y/n], who cares?”

Your jaw drops in shock and by the time you step out to follow him, he’s already marched into his room. You scoff as you burst into your own suite. You crash in bed and you lay there tossing and turning for what feels like hours. In reality, it’s only thirty minutes but it’s long enough. Long enough for this unbridle, illogical rage to build within you. Long enough for your mind to fill with thoughts like: who the fuck does he think he is? What the fuck does he know? Oh, I’ll tell him what he doesn’t know. And you hop out of bed. You storm down the hall in your slippers, knocking on Spencer’s door like, ironically, the feds.

Lucky for you, he was nowhere near asleep yet. He swings the door open and he opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.

“Listen, Einstein.”

“I’m listening.”

“Just…just because you don't get it doesn’t mean you have the right to shit on my relationship.”

“Who was shitting on your relationship?”

“Stop it.”

“Fine, I was shitting on your relationship.”

“And that’s not fair.”

“But you’re…” and he enunciates this next word very clearly. “Not happy.”

“Don’t tell me what I am. You don’t know anything. You don’t know me or my life. You don’t get to cast judgement.”

“Oh, okay. Okay. Well, then, I’m so happy for you, [y/n]. I am.”

You’ve said all you need to say and you have no interest in hearing any more. You turn around and march away but he persists, “Hey, I really am. I’ll be the first one to buy something off your wedding registry!”

There are no more card games on the jet for a while.

And that sucks, but you’re trying to prove a point here. Spencer knows nothing. Maybe no one’s ever told him that before and maybe that’s why it stings. Maybe that’s why he can hardly look you in the eye, but you’re trying to prove a point here.

You’ve drawn a boundary that should’ve been drawn long ago. Not even because you wanted to but out of spite. Spite can carry you a long way. It has before. The nature of your work makes it easy to clock in and think of nothing else. Focus on nothing other than getting the job done. It’s the moments in between that are hard.

Like tonight, as you’re typing up case notes at your desk. It’s too quiet. It leaves too much room for opportunity. Taking full advantage, Spencer sets a small gift bag in front of you. You tilt your head as you look up at him, your face etched with inhibition.

“I…” he stutters. “I got it a while ago. Thought it’d be a nice birthday present and I won’t see you tomorrow, so…”

You give him a small smile. The ice doesn’t just thaw, it melts. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” you dive into the bag, pulling out the hardcover book and holding it flat between your palms. You release a small gust of air from your nose. You touch the textured font of the lettering along the cover. “Oh, Spencer.”

He has to act like the tone in your voice doesn’t have the biggest effect on him. Hearing his name in such a gentle whisper. He just shrugs, “I recognized the limited edition cover while I was in this library near the art museum. It’s a nice library, you’d like it.”

“I love it,” you breathe before you can censor it. “The book. I love the book. It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.”

There’s so much more to be said. The weight of it all vibrates behind your teeth and you grind them together as you gaze at Spencer. He can see your mouth aching to open but he knows it won’t.

“Well…happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope it’s a great one.”

“Thank you.”

And you watch him disappear. You feel your heart sink to the barrel of your stomach, like all the words you’re destined to scream out to him are making you sick.

This nausea lasts well into your birthday. No matter the sheer amount of fuss. No matter the amount of texts or calls or gifts that arrive at your door. You’re sick. Even when you put on your fanciest dress for dinner, you curl up in your office with your new book, finally and for no reason, gathering the courage to open its pages and read the quote recounted on the first page.

“And here you come

with a shield for a heart

and a sword for a tongue”

Happy Birthday, [y/n]

Spencer

You slam the book shut and trap it in the drawer of your desk. You’re sick.

You still eat at your birthday dinner. The love and affection reserved for a day like today helps settle your stomach. You think: I am [y/n]. It’s my birthday. These are my gifts. They are from people who love me. This is my boyfriend. This is my birthday cake. It works, it’s working.

Then he pulls out that fucking ring.

The angle at which he kneels in front of you catches the light just right and the diamond blinds you in the eye. Your mind, along with the entire room, falls silent. For the first time in what feels like a lifetime - silence. When his voice cuts through the thick air, you can see his lips moving, you can hear the vibrations going wah wah wah wah wah. But nothing is as loud as the sound of your own breathing, heavy and rapid. Your hands are over your heart but just to keep it from forcing its way out of your chest. You’re sick.

You’re sick.

Spencer had just gotten in bed. He made it the entire day without allowing himself to call you and now he figures he can force himself to sleep. That is until there’s a booming knock at his door. Now he’s wired. He springs into action like it’s not a potential threat and he throws his body against the door to glance out the peephole.

When he opens it, you are still out of breath. Your chest is heaving and you wheeze with every exhale. His eyes travel down your body, the pretty dress and your beaten and bare feet, the heels dangling from your fingers. The look in your eyes is a mystery to him. It’s laced with exasperation and desperation and he furrows his brows trying to figure it all out. Nonetheless, when he sees you moving towards him, he wraps his arms tight around your waist, opens his mouth and gasps as you kiss him.

He’s quick to close the door behind you, stumbling when you drop your shoes to the ground, but only for a moment. No time for stumbling here. He moans at the sudden grip you take of his hair and his body pushes into yours even more, directing you to his bedroom with just the pressure of his chest.

Never expecting this to happen, let alone tonight, Spencer is quick to swipe away all the books that have piled up on his bed. He promptly takes their place and grabs your waist to pull you back into the kiss. You have to hike your dress up your thighs to properly straddle him but once you, he swears he can feel the warmth all the way to his toes.

Your eyes roll back as he licks all over your neck, attacking your chest with sloppy kisses and sudden bites. You feel his erection raise between your legs and the pressure of it has you moaning directly in his ear. The vibration scratches just the right spot in his brain and he bunches your dress up in his hands, the veins along his arm straining through his skin.

You huff, pull back to look at his face, his eyes hooded and hungry. “What…” you pant. “What am I doing?”

Caught off guard, Spencer can’t do much but blink. And shrug. “What…are you doing?”

You stumble over your words, if that’s what you could even call them. It’s more a collection of whines and one short whimper before you simply carry on. Grab his face, catch his mouth and let it go. Perfect for Spencer, because he didn’t really need an answer.

He follows your lead as you undo the tie on his sweatpants. He pushes and you pull until his throbbing cock is free. You don’t mean to gasp, but you do. It just all feels so unreal, like a dream, like a fantasy. Except it’s not, it’s tangible. You can feel it. You can touch him - and you do. You wrap your hand around him and shudder as he grips onto your forearms. His teeth are clenched tight so it makes it harder for him to kiss you, harder for him to breathe but he keeps you locked in place. If he could talk, he’d beg please don't stop, please. Please, please, please.

And it’s like you can read his mind. Through the ferocity with which he pushes his face into yours, the way his hips buck underneath you, you get it. You’ll give it to him. You pull your panties to the side and just the tip pressing against you sends a visual jolt through your body.

“Yeah?” You whisper. More like - right? This is right? Right?

Almost immediately, Spencer grunts, “Yes. Yes. Yeah,” he could say it in a million other languages if it would get the point across but english is good enough. You lower yourself down on him and thoughtless, he yelps, “Yes!” as he falls back on the bed.

Even though he’s transcended his own body, Spencer keeps his eyes locked on you. His gaze follows your jaw as it drops wide open and both of your moans fall in sync as you start to roll your hips. Spencer’s hand clamps down on your thigh, the other reaching up to touch your face. The tender contact makes your vision blurry but you can still see the way he’s looking at you.

He touches your hair and your jaw and takes a soft sweep over your cheekbone. His thumb runs over your bottom lip. He can feel your breath coming out hot and quiet each time you land on him, the rhythm of your body taking the air out of both of you.

Is this really happening? he thinks. This can’t be happening. But you increase your speed, lower your inhibition, send a shock of pleasure through him so good that he has no choice but to believe it’s real. You catch his thumb between your lips and he grunts, whines out for you, “[y/n]…”

“Mm, yes?” you lay your body flat against his, your hands intertwining with his amongst the bedsheets and he clenches his fist tight, tight, tight, tight. It’s all so much. Stimulation coming from everywhere at once. From your chest rubbing against his, from your pussy tightening around him like you’re nearly swallowing him whole. From the messy kiss your lips tangle in and the ever increasing volume from you both.

Spencer bends his knees behind you, supporting your body when your movements become rushed and uncontrollable. With your hand pressed to his chest and your head thrown back, he’s emboldened enough to grope your breasts, losely place his hands around your throat.

“Oh…” you whimper. “G-god…” and Spencer hangs onto the broken sound of your voice, enamored by the way your eyes cross over one another. He feels like he’s not doing much, like his body is still in shock and most focused on keeping himself grounded. As you crash down on him, he bends underneath the pressure, overwhelmed as each bounce grows more deliberate than the last. Each collision accompanied by a throaty, “Mm…mm…hmm.” Until your thighs come to a grinding halt and latch onto him, the orgasm radiating from your belly to your chest and directly to your head. He responds to your boisterous moan with a breathless gasp, catching you in his arms when you land on his chest.

He peppers your shoulder with tiny kisses, licking his way to your neck, biting your throat because he absolutely has to. Your hips continue in this mindless rhythm, draining every last twitch from your body as he whispers, “[y/n]…”

“Hm?”

“[y/n]…I, mm,” you catch his voice in your mouth, pushing your tongue between his lips. You attack his neck. You push his shirt up his torso just to move down his body and kiss his stomach.

“[y/n]…ah!” and though you love the sound of your name on his lips, you love to hear him scream even more and after you suck his cock into your mouth, he can’t stop screaming. Mouth open, body trembling, ear ringing moans. He reaches down to keep your hair out of your face and his hips jolt a bit rougher than he means to. He wants to look at you but his body is too taut. He wants to hold you in the palm of his hand, to call out your name one last time to make sure this is real. But he shoots into your mouth, his legs flailing around your frame, and all he can do, still, is scream.

You hum. You swallow. You slide off of him with a sharp pop. You crawl off of his body and drop as soon as your head hits the pillow. Spencer’s hand keep track of you, grazing your thigh, sad to feel you leave, begging to keep you close. Even as he struggles to breath, he balls up the edge of your dress in his fist. You lean back against the headboard, looking up at his ceiling fan, your body finally exerting all its energy and unable to move any further. The room has settled into nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and catharsis.

Spencer looks up at you and when you make eye contact with him, there are so many more complicated thoughts you could have. But the only thing that swims in your mind is the slow bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. You rest your knuckles on his cheekbone and he promptly grabs your wrist, peppers soft kisses all over your hand.

You owe him something. He has every right to ask. As he opens his mouth, you’re prepared to tell the truth. You will give him nothing but the truth.

“Did you see they’re adapting another Stephen King novel into a movie?”

You exhale a small laugh. Partially because you weren’t expecting it and partially because you had been dying to talk to him about it. “Yes. And I think it’s stupid.”

“Me too! I mean, the premise is promising, I think it can be done, but it’s the…”

“Supernatural element.”

“Yeah!”

“It’s hard to pull off. Major chances of it turning out cheesy and robotic.”

“Yes! Thank you! I’m still going to see it.”

“Oh, me too,” you laugh and his laughter blends in just perfectly.

It can wait. There’s a lot to catch up on. A lot of questions to ask and answer but for now, it’s easy. This, Spencer thinks. This is it. This is actually the easiest conversation he’s ever had in his life. And he’s not gonna fuck it up now.

Author’s note:

Ahh 😝 thanks for reading!!! Like, reblog, comment, all the things!! Just wanted an excuse to post this meme. Stay safe out here 😚

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Neve (and Tevinter) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Neve:

General:

Neve isn’t rich, and her best coat is a gift from a grateful tailor after she saved his warehouse from an arsonist

Neve’s coat is woven with enchantments to resist fire and lighting 

Neve has never done blood magic. She is against it on principle and judges those who use it 

Neve doesn’t seem to like entertaining extreme hypotheticals since she reacts to Harding’s questions like “What would you take with you to a deserted island?” with asking why she would end up in such situations in the first place 

Neve wouldn’t want gems on her leg, because she thinks they would get stolen within a day of working in Minrathous, and she generally prefers to keep a low profile while on the job

However, she still considers saving up for a new, fancier leg to have more fashion choices. She likes Taash’s idea of getting a ruby inlay for it

Neve never visited Rivain before joining the Veilguard, though she now finds its beaches charming

Ever since she was a baby, Neve was stubborn and asked too many questions (and hated unanswered questions as well)

Neve likes Qunari food but thinks it’s very spicy

Neve likes seafood 

Neve doesn't drink tea

Neve isn’t really close with her family

Neve once tried to use a wisp-repelling artefact the Veil Jumpers found to get rid of the wisps in her room, but it only attracted wisps from the entire Lighthouse

Neve isn’t interested in exploring the mysteries of the Lighthouse because she has enough mysteries on this side of the Veil

(If Rook chooses to save Minrathous) Neve sends civil engineers to assist in Treviso 

On work: 

Neve didn’t want to be a detective when she was a child (not as if in she didn’t like the idea, she just didn’t consider it), though she didn’t have any dream career either 

Neve got into detective work by picking up odd jobs and building a reputation of being good at finding things. Eventually, she was hired to find someone’s brother, a case nobody else wanted to pick up, and her career took off 

Neve agrees that she is cynical and married to her job, but doesn’t consider herself ‘serious’  

Neve allegedly has a system for sorting her papers (Emmrich and Rana are sceptical about its existence) 

(If Neve becomes Dock Town's protector) Elek is implied to visit the Lighthouse again multiple times. Taash mentions seeing him poking around the library. Neve explained that he thought he could grab some fade-touched items to sell, and told him to run the plan by the Caretaker (one would think they did not approve)

On life in Minrathous: 

Neve was born and raised in Minrathous

Neve has never been inside the Archon’s Palace

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) Neve doesn’t regret letting Aelia live because she got information on Venatori out of her, and her death wouldn’t change the past

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) Neve gets to take a break for once in her life because Rana keeping an eye on the Dock Town actually helps

(If Neve chooses to become Dock Town’s inspiration) People gossip about Neve and Rana after they start their agency :)

Neve describes the rain of Minrathous as "cold fingers down your neck", but she misses it now that she's away from the city. The sound helps her fall asleep 

Neve’s entire apartment could fit inside villa Dellamorte’s dining room 

One of Tevinter papers referred to Neve as "Dock Town dirt-chaser," and to Emmrich as "sinister foreign necromancer”

A Tevinter paper called The Minrathous Herald once wrote that Neve should be exiled. The same paper called Shadow Dragons “traitors to the Empire” 

Neve never runs out of ink because she's on good terms with Minrathous ink sellers 

There is however one banter where she runs out of ink (I think it was with Davrin). Make of that what you will. 

On the Shadow Dragons: 

Neve didn't know Dorian personally until she joined the Shadow Dragons

Neve figured out the Viper's identity even before joining the Dragons. Her not revealing it to the public is one of the reasons he recruited her

Tarquin calls Neve a pain in the ass 

Relationships with companions: 

Neve calls Manfred ‘Fred’ (he seems to like that)

Manfred learns to say Neve's name (likely only happens if you revive him at the Necropolis, though I am not sure)

Neve introduces Lucanis to a spice shop in Dock Town

Harding describes Neve’s tastes in coffee as “made of gutter water filtered through an old sock”

Lucanis once showed Neve’s coffee to Viago. He found it “unsettling” 

Davrin thinks drinking Neve's coffee is worse than the Joining

Neve spoils Assan (but denies that accusation)

Neve is rather quick to consider questioning corpses with Emmrich’s help for her cases 

Neve is very apprehensive about lichdom and the perspective of Emmrich eventually turning evil (just like Emmrich isn't thrilled about her taking over the Threads for similar reasons)

Lucanis is concerned about Neve taking over the Threads. Mainly, about how much they are paying her

Neve has multiple banters with Taash discussing her relationship with Lucanis. Taash initially thinks of it as some sort of predator-prey dynamic, but Neve says she is not into that and explains that they are taking it slow and cautious. They both went through a lot of pain in their lines, which they tend not to show for different reasons

Neve's relationship with Lucanis is also more than she usually looks for with people

Neve takes Taash to Hal’s fish fry stand. Taash loved it :)

Taash offers Neve help on ladders in case she may need it/it gets stuck on steps due to being hook-shaped, mentioning they knew a Lord of Fortune who lost a hand and whose shoulders hurt while climbing because of it. Neve seems to appreciate the gesture, even though she can handle herself

Neve thinks Taash is nice to work with, offering help without being overbearing like some people are

Neve asks Taash to teach her Gold Thief (a Lord of Fortune dice game), so she can play it with the Shadow Dragons, and then subsequently gets beaten by the Viper

On Tevinter: 

Fashion is important in Tevinter because a good outfit lets people know you are under the protection of someone powerful

There aren’t many mages in Docktown, which is one of the reasons the government doesn’t care about it 

The big red cat near Halos’s stand is named Ferdinand

Stains on clothes can be cleaned with magic

You can get pineapples anywhere in Minrathous 

Neve calls the magic used for the lights in Minrathous a party trick, but Emmrich considers it a high-level enchantment because of its quality and duration

Tevinter doesn’t regulate the charms sold in the market (which is why there are a lot of scammers who sell fakes) 

[hanjisungslag]

hiiii!! so sorryyy idk if you take requests BUTT could you do headcannons of being in an argument with the aot characters?

🗣️ aot characters & arguments

characters involved: eren, armin, mikasa, connie, jean, sasha, reiner, annie, bertolt, erwin, levi & hange

notes: i do take requests indeed!! :3 i luv angst, i hope this is gd♡

✧ eren jaeger - 

okay, when you guys argue it’s honestly more cute than anything because you’re both so protective of one another. neither of you wanted each other to join the scouts because it was so dangerous but, you both joined anyways obviously. oh my god, you guys non-stop bicker when there’s a mission! and don’t even get me started if you get put into different teams😭 you start TWEAKINGG. after he finds out he’s the attack titan, oh it gets 10x worse. his absolute biggest fear is losing control and hurting you - he’s already so conflicted, confused & felt like an outcast. he definitely lashes out more and becomes snappier than usual but, it does come from a place of sincerity.

when this happens, you just leave it be. as soon as it’s not just bickering anymore, when a voice is raised or an insult is made, you just leave it. you understand he’s going through a lot and just needs a minute but, TRUST ME! when you walk off, you make sure it is known that your feelings are hurt.

“i said no! you are not being on my team! im going with the levi squad, thats final.”

✧ armin arlert -

you both love each other very much but, goddamn you’re both so up your own arses! you are the ‘smart couple’ you are both strategic and witty and have your own way you go about things. so, when it comes to deciding whose plan is better, you always think yours is better and admin thinks his is better. this has (and probably always will be) the main root of your arguments, tbh. nobody likes to get involved either because if someone picks a side then even more havoc will break lose. the only people who’ve ever come between you two is: mikasa, levi & erwin.

it’s just like a debate, you know the ones on jubilee where it’s just people speaking over each other with different facts and sources? literally you two. you both would keep going until the end of time if you didn’t need to sleep, eat and drink water. it’s never that serious at the end of the day, you both love each other and i GUESS you can appreciate each others plans albeit you both think yours is better.

“if you actually listen to me when i say, my layout is better! look at how easy it is to manoeuvre from the castle to the forest!”

✧ mikasa ackerman -

wash the damn scarf. that is all you ask of her. she has literally never washed it and you love but jesus christ, stink LINGERS. not only do you think it’s weird she doesn’t wash it but, it’s also from eren… now, you know mikasa’s lore, of course. however, it’s really hard to get over your girlfriend having this deep love for this smelly scarf that her ex-crush gave to her after he literally saved her from being kidnapped. at first, you try to ignore it but it gets to a point where you sit down and talk to her but, she is not having it. she clearly cares very, very deeply for this scarf and will defend it. it’s really awkward conversation that slowly turns into raised voices and some opinionated things being raised.

“why are you getting jealous over a scarf? that’s so stupid! i just have fond memories with it!”

✧ connie springer -

again, not so much major arguments but just bickers. it usually starts as a joke but slowly but surely divulges into an argument about something stupid. one time, someone ate the last of jean’s meal that his mum made for him and he saved until today, obviously he was super upset and jokingly you blamed connie. at first, all was well, laughs were being heard and he even poked fun at you but, somewhere along the way it became more serious for you two, you genuinely suspected connie of eating jean’s meal and connie was getting visibly more upset.

“that was so not me! why are you telling them that?! i didn’t eat it, y/n!”

jean regretted asking who ate his food.

✧ jean kirstein -

jean is unfortunately a jealous guy. not for any malicious reasons, he’s just a bit insecure gang! he’s more scared that you’ll leave him for someone ‘better’ more than anything but, these feelings of insecurity manifest as jealously. he’d get jealous over you spending time with people like eren, mikasa or armin. in so many aspects, they’re better than him (in his eyes) and this will just make him reallyyy pissy. being in an argument with jean is painstakingly ambiguous like he never straight up says it, it’s always sly remarks or dry responses from him for a while. eventually, you know something is up and question him but he will avoid answering like the plague and it’s just so, so frustrating! eventually, when you break your calm demeanour, he will also break his ‘nonchalant-ness’ and just shout about how he feels.

he crossed his arms, “i just don’t understand why you need to be around him so much, you have me?”

✧ sasha braus -

absolutely nothing. i’m sorry but, she is too sweet and loving. IM SORRY, i’m sorry… i tried so hard to think of something but this queen is too perfect. at most, she would snap at you in high stress situations but she would never turn it into an argument. for example, if you told her to slow down her eating because you’re going on a mission but, she hasn’t eaten much that day she may snap and tell you to “let her do what she wants” but, she’s sooo quick to recover and apologise. literally not even giving you a second to even think about arguing with her!!

“ah, i’m sorry. you’re right, i don’t wanna be sick while flying through the air, huh?” she pouts.

✧ reiner braun -

you’re both from marley, you know damn well what you’re doing here but it seems reiner is straying off path. you’re there to try and remind him why you’re there and this leads to so many arguments. his split personality also plays a role in the arguments because it’s so.. scary and confusing for you because one moment he’s defending eldians than the next, he’s shouting at you about how he ‘knows the plan’.

when talking about stuff like this, since it’s extra sensitive for reiner he definitely flips out. i’m talking shouting, angry grunting, clenching his fists into balls and holding them against his forehead so he doesn’t fully crash tf out. he’s just as confused and scared as you are about his split personality but, he doesn’t want to seem weak or to seem like he’s losing sight of what is ‘right’ - it gets him really worked up. obviously, you stand your ground against him, he doesn’t scare you when you’re arguing. you’ve known him for so long.. you feel like he just needs to be guided.

“when did i ever say i liked them? yes, they’re okay people to be around for now but— no, i never said that! i know what they are, you don’t remind to tell me, y/n!”

✧ annie leonhart -

just the fact she’s cold and distant, it makes it really hard to actually have a relationship with her. at first, she was closed off COMPLETELY but cracks began to show and eventually, you thought you were at a good point with each other but, you kind of realised you didn’t know that much about annie. you try to ask questions to get her to open up but, she is one tough egg to crack so eventually, you just ask! hoping to help her more than anything but, this leads to an argument…

after this first argument, it became pretty regular like once every few weeks this would happen. you get super frustrated because she acts like she doesn’t even care! so, you’re shouting and getting really passionate while she sits there, looking pissed off and bored, rolling her eyes and scoffing. she doesn’t see the need to open up to you, she’s done what she thinks is ‘enough’ in her books.

“what do you want me to say? i’m not an open book, that’s just how i am. we’re all gonna end up dead, anyways.”

✧ bertolt hoover -

sigh… oh bert. every time you feel yourself developing further into your relationship with bert, his friends seem to pull him back. you’re still not quite sure why and they always seem to be giving side eyes or glances when he talks about his life - its starting to piss you off, rightfully so. you feel like he’s got two other side hoes watching yours and his every move! you being this up in subtle ways as to not seem like a crazy, jealous partner but eventually you burst and tell him how you really feel.

arguing with sweet bert isn’t fun because you can tell he tries so hard to please everyone in the situation, whether it’s you, him or now in this case, his friends too. he will raise his voice but, not in a bad way just in a general sense, things are getting heated, his voice will raise and he will fling his arms and hands. he’s a very expressive man when arguing because he is so passionate about it.

“y/n, they’re my friends! they’re just trying to protect me, why are you jealous?”

✧ erwin smith -

there’s so such things as arguments in your relationship, erwin likes to call them ‘mutual disagreements’ as your both in the scouts, he knows your time is limited. it’s a morbid and pessimistic way to think but, you have to be realistic when you live such a deadly lifestyle. he doesn’t want to take your time together for granted - plus, he’s a MAN like, he is calm and collected and will always hear you out.

you both start off calm, having a mature conversation about whatever it is that is bothering you but, when you start getting rowdier that’s when erwin quells the flames quickly. he takes a deep breath, hears you out and calmly walks you through it all. he’s so compassionate about it, i cant omg. he’ll gently place a hand over your own hand or on your shoulder if you’re standing, letting you know he’s present, he’ll sweetly talk you down, eventually calming you down and usually you’ll both say apologises or just general sweet statements and move on!

“i’m sorry, y/n. no, i’m glad you talked to me about this.”

✧ levi ackerman -

oh lord, being in an argument with levi ackerman is nawwtt fun. i’m sorry but, i’d kms if i argued with levi 😭. this man has such an awful resting bitch face as it is but, imagine his face when he’s arguing with you? IF LOOKS COULD KILL. he cant hide his emotions, so when you’re arguing even if he’s trying to be somewhat nice, his face says it all. usually he’ll roll his eyes and scoff if it’s something minor, he’ll hear you out, maybe give a half arsed apology or some sort of nice gesture to make sure you’re not upset however, if it’s a big issue oh brother…

silent treatment, i fear. he is so bad at communicating his feels correctly and often feels confused because this mf ain’t been in love before?! it gets too a point where he’s so mad, he just cant even begin to think of anything to say to you. you’ll be there raising your voice, becoming so passionate and when you ask what he thinks, he’ll say “i have nothing to say.” then boom, silent treatment. however, he’s bad with his words… but good with his actions. he still wants you to know he cares, you two could be in the most rancid moods but, you’ll go to your room and find your clothes ironed and folded🥲.

✧ hange zoë -

oh my sweet hange, my probably neurological challenged sweet hange… an argument with them would definitely stem from them spending more time with titans than you. when sawney and bean were around, you weren’t getting ANY time of day with them, trust. at first, you didn’t want to say anything because of course, you understand! the lifetime you guys are living in, things like hange’s research is soo important but, you can’t help but feel neglected sometimes.

when you finally bring it up, an argument ensues. neither of you really shout or anything, it’s just that kind of weird sort of raised, high pitched voice people get when you’re really frustrated. you both stay relatively calm for the situation you’re in but, you can totally tell you’re both so frustrated because hange just doesn’t see the problem. when you guys argue like this, it usually just goes in circles and after a while you both decide to mutually give up and leave it for another day.

“it’s all for science and the greater good of humanity though, i don’t understand?”

[sweetbans29]

Mic'd - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: You forget that your are mic'd up during practice (based on THIS request)

Warnings: ADHD reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Please don't scold me if I didn't get everything right. I tried my best, I promise.

Your mind never stops going a mile a minute. You were diagnosed with ADHD when you were a kid, it was something that your parents had to adapt to when it came to raising you. It was when you were in 4th grade when they decided to put you into sports. You started as a swimmer but your parents soon realized you were much better on land. That is when they put you in basketball and it just clicked for you. When you picked up a ball and began shooting, everything else began to make sense. It did a really good job of keeping your mind and hands busy on a singular objective.

You were put on a club and travel team when you went into middle school and continued playing through high school. It opened many doors for you including playing basketball in college. You toured a handful of schools and finally settled on Iowa.

Your freshman year was a huge adjustment as it was the first time living away from home. It took some major adjustments but you ultimately got there. The change to college classes was one of the hardest changes you faced. You were always struggling to keep your mind focused on one assignment when you had like 20 others to do at all times. It often resulted in you starting one, picking up another, and then trying to start a third before either of the first two were completed.

One of the girls on your team became your saving grace and one of your best friends. Kate had become someone who helped keep you grounded when the world was spinning and you could not be more grateful. Your friendship with her has helped you navigate the transition into college classes and playing college ball. She was always one to help keep you on task. The two of you have come up with a system to keep your mind focused when it feels like you aren't moving fast enough or don't feel like you have the control your mind needs.

Kate is also the one who was secretly working on getting you and Caitlin together. She noticed how both you and Caitlin would act around each other and took it upon herself to see two of her best friends and teammates come together in what she believed to be a perfect match. One thing led to another and you and Caitlin had begun dating towards the end of freshman year.

When the two of you got together - you decided it to keep it between the team. It wasn't that either of you was necessarily hiding your relationship, you were just both content with the world not knowing. You told the people that mattered in your lives and that was enough for the two of you. Also, nobody questioned it considering how much time the team spent together and how much time the two of you spent with Kate. To anyone looking in, the three of you were like three peas in a pod.

That leads us to today. The media team was doing a series where they were joining different sports practices and putting mics on some of the players. You had watched the series and thought seeing some of the school's all-star players behind the scenes was so fun. You were honored when they came up to you and asked if you would be the mic'd up player of the week.

They get you all set up and you are ready to go.

"Testing, testing," you say holding the mic that was pinned in your shirt up to your mouth. You then look at the camera. "We are here live from Carver-Hawkeye arena with yours truly."

You point to your number on your practice jersey and head into a huddle with the team to kick off practice.

While you are in the huddle you nudge Kate.

"Yo Kate, guess who is mic'd up for today's practice," you ask her and give the camera a knowing look. She laughs.

"Bro, I helped you put the mic on." She says and you let out an 'oh ya'.

"Do you have anything to say to the Hawkeye fans who are watching this?" You ask, pulling your shirt to catch what she is saying.

"You are too much," she begins and you hit her arm. "I would say sorry you have to listen to this one for the whole practice." She says and runs away to begin a drill.

You feign hurt and hold your hand over your heart as if what Kate just said broke you. Not two seconds later you are bouncing over to Caitlin and putting your arm around her waist.

"You ready to crush this practice babe?" You ask as she is finishing up stretching. Before she can answer you continue, "Your legs are looking extra nice today. I likey." She just laughs.

"If I just lift this a little," you say lifting the bottom part of her shorts to reveal her thigh a little more. "The team would see those little love bites you like so much." Caitlin slaps your hand and yells your name. You laugh and let her go, going to start a drill.

During the drill, you keep making comments about how fast you are and how no one can catch you.

"Speed." You say with laser focus as you are the next one to jump in the rotation. "I am speed."

Every time Caitlin does a good job you are caught yelling something along the lines of 'that a way babe' or 'that's my girl'.

During practice, Kate kept giving you weird looks but you think nothing of it.

During one of the water breaks, you walk up to Caitlin who is sipping her water. You lean against the wall.

"So, you come here often?" You ask in a flirtatious tone.

She pushes your chest and rolls her eyes. You come up behind her, wrapping your arms around her, and spin her around.

"You love me," you say as you put her down.

"You know I do," she says, kissing your forehead.

The rest of the practice is filled with little comments to your girl on how good she looks and how great of a job she is doing.

"Have you seen those edits that people are making of pigeons?” You ask one of your other teammates.

"What are you talking about?" they say back with a laugh.

"You know the ones where they draw like stick figure arms on them while they are walking around," you say. "Imagine being a bird and not having arms or hands."

You then stick your hands in your practice jersey and walk around. Someone throws a ball at you and you just let it hit you. It bounces away from you.

"Caitlin! Caity! CC!" You say running up to her with your arms still in your jersey. "Would you still love me if I was a pigeon?" You ask her.

"Of course, babe. You would be my pigeon," she says laughing her ass off.

"Good," you say. "Because you would be mine regardless of the animal you were.”

Not ten minutes later you are back in a drill.

"Oh ya, I got this," you say to yourself as you are going up for a layup. You flip it with your left hand and it banks in. "Money!" You yell and run to the back of the line.

As practice comes to a close, the team is scrimmaging. You go up to Kate and she reminds you of a very key detail you forgot about during practice.

"So, how was being mic'd up?" She asks and your eyes go wide, finding the camera that has been following you around the entirety of practice.

"Shit-fuck!" You whisper as you remember all the things you said during practice. "SHOOT - FUDGE" you yell remembering this was going to be on the media team's Youtube page.

You facepalm yourself pretty hard causing a nice slap sound to echo in the gym.

Caitlin runs up to you removing your hand from your face and kissing the place you just slapped.

"Don't slap yourself that hard babe," she says examining the slightly pink mark developing on your right eye and forehead.

"I fuc-messed up," you say and you point at the cameras.

Caitlin turns and Kate just stands there laughing.

Caitlin joins in on the laughing and brings you into her side, squeezing you and kissing your temple.

"Ehh, it was bound to happen sooner or later," she says.

After practice, you thank the media team for choosing you and you head back to your apartment with Kate and Caitlin.

"I can't believe I forgot about being mic'd up. I am so dumb,” you say as you crash on the couch. Your girlfriend comes and sits next to you, pulling your legs onto her lap.

"Don't worry about it babe - no one is going to care." She says rubbing your legs.

"Well, I don't know about that..." Kate says as she passes her phone to you.

You and Caitlin look at it and both of your jaws drop. The media team posted it and it already had 7,000 views. You scroll down to the comments and see people have attached links to their edits. You click on one and it takes you down a rabbit hole of edits that were already created shipping you and Caitlin.

"This is crazy," you say and hide your face.

Caitlin just laughs and continues to rub your legs.

"I think it's cute," she says with a smile.

"I royally messed up." You say.

"Hey," your girlfriend pulls you out of your thoughts, which she knows are going faster than you can comprehend. "If I would love you as a pigeon, I will love you through this, okay?" She says and lifts your face to meet hers.

"Okay," you say and lean in to give her a kiss.

AN: I would lowkey be the best mic'd up person out there. The thoughts that go through my brain sometimes are epic. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! And as always, thank you for your live and support 🤍

[vivwritesfics]

Everybody Wants To Rule The World

Zac Brown ruled the McLaren empire. His daughter was constantly getting into trouble, getting herself kidnapped and whatnot. But she was pretty good at getting into those situations. Oscar was hired so that she wouldn't get into said situations. She thought he would be easy to break. But there was a reason Zac hired Oscar. He was the best of the best and he wasn't going to fall for her shit.

6.5K

Warnings: kidnapping, violence, mafia fic themes, smutty themes and talks of sex (but no actual smut) guns and death (nobody important)

Another dingy warehouse. Another splintering wooden chair. And another ugly man giving her father demands over the phone.

Demands that wouldn't be met. The fact that he was even trying was laughable. Demands hadn't been met since she was fifteen years old. Her father would rather receive her head in a box than meet the demands that would have saved her life.

She tested the rope tying her wrists behind her back. it was a good, sturdy knot; she'd be the first to admit that it was a well tied knot. Grabbing the end of the rope, she tugged. It didn't budge.

She didn't panic. If she was to panic, it would have made things so much worse. Oh, her dad was gonna be so mad when she got home.

Her captor ended the call and let out a breathy, terrifying laugh. He slipped the phone into his pocket and turned on his heel to face her. "Sounds like daddy isn't going to come and save his little princess."

She simply raised her eyebrows at him. Clearly, he hadn't heard of her reputation. That was fine. She wasn't salty about it.

"Should we send him one of your ears? Show him just how serious we are?"

The rope gave slightly, allowing her to slip her hand out. She didn't, not yet, not while he was watching her. "Who is we?" She asked, pretending to look around the warehouse. She knew exactly how many people were watching her.

Barking out a laugh, she slipped one hand out of her bindings and grabbed the rope before it could fall, maintaining the illusion that she was still tied up. She stopped her eyes from moving to the men standing in the shadows. If they had weapons, she couldn't see them.

"Fuck it," she said and unravelled the rope in her hands, keeping it hidden behind her. "Let's do it, let's cute off my ear. Maybe then you'll get your money."

The grin that came across her face was sickening, but she steadied her nerves. He kept staring at her as he reached behind him. "Someone give me a knife," he said.

There was a moment before either of the men in the shadows moved. But then they strode closer and placed a knife into the bosses hands. He whispered something to him, and she didn't need to hear it to know what it was.

"I got it," the boss said, shrugging him off. He retreated to the shadows as the boss approached her knife balanced between his fingers. "Do you think you'll still be pretty without one of your ears?" He asked, his grin showing off his too white teeth. So white and perfect that they couldn't have been real.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Probably," she answered.

A hand hit her cheek. Her nostrils flared as she stared at him, head tipped to the side and cheek stinging.

He leaned down, knife held out. Before the sharp metal could make contact with her skin, she grabbed the rope in both hands and kicked him away. He stumbled back in surprise and dropped the knife as she stood up.

The second she was on her feet, she wrapped the rope around his neck and pulled him towards her. The knife was beneath her high heeled shoe, keeping it away from the men that rushed towards them.

"I wouldn't," she said, tightening the rope around the bosses neck. "I really fucking wouldn't. Holding both ends of the rope in one hand, she pulled him around just enough for her to pick up the knife. "This your only weapon?" she asked as she looked at it.

The other men looked at each other and raised their fists. She couldn't stop her loud, mocking laughter. "You guys are fucking stupid," she said and stabbed the boss in the thigh.

He fell to the floor with a cry. "Here's how this is gonna work," she began, "I'm gonna walk out of here and you guys are gonna get him medical attention." She reached down and stabbed his other thigh. "And if any of you want to stop me, I can always give you guys the same treatment."

Silently, they stepped to the side and allowed her through. She kept a hold of the knife and held her head up high as she walked out of the warehouse.

***

Daniel Ricciardo was so dead. His whole job was to take care of her, and she had disappeared.

He'd turned her room upside down, looking for her. When she got back from whenever she was, she was going to kill him for the state he'd left her closet in.

At least her dad didn't know.

Holding his phone up to his ear, he tried calling her. Again. And again, she didn't pick up. At what point did he start panicking? At what point did he stop searching and inform her father that she was missing?

Daniel didn't have to think about it for too long. His heart leapt into his throat when there came a knock at her door. "Darling?" Came the voice of her father, Daniel's boss. "Can I come in?"

Panic held him in a vice as he climbed over her things, scattered all over the floor, and pulled open the door.

"Sir," Daniel said, holding the door just open enough to show his face. "How can I help you?"

Zac frowned at him. "Tell me honestly, is she in there?"

Daniel's answer was to swallow.

Zac pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're fired, Daniel," he said and strode away, phone pressed against his ear.

She strode into the house just a few minutes later. Feet bare and dirty, high heels dangling from her finger by the straps. Her wrists were rubbed raw and there were splattering of blood on her skin.

"Shit, kid," said Daniel as he pulled her in. "I was so damn worried about you."

She kissed his cheek and then reached up to wipe away the lipstick left behind. "Sorry, Danny," she said with an amused smile. "I got bored."

She grabbed his hand to pull him along. After her evening she just wanted to sit Daniel on her bed and ride his cock until she forgot above everything.

There was a distinctive click, a revolver being cocked. "You're fired, Daniel," came the voice of her father. "Get the fuck out of my house."

She pulled her hand out of Daniel's and looked at him. "You got fired?" She asked, heels swinging as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"He did, Princess," Zac answered, his gun still pointed at Daniel. "His one job was to protect you, and he failed," he finished, pulling his daughter behind him. "He needs to leave before I blow his brains out."

She rolled her eyes. Her dad was so damn dramatic sometimes. There was no way Daniel, or anybody else, would have been able to stop her from sneaking out when she wanted to.

Daniel looked at her, desperation in his eyes. But she was too busy picking at the blood beneath her nails. So, he turned his attention to her father. "Zac, please," he tried, stepping forward. "I just want to protect her."

Zac pulled the trigger and the bullet lodged itself in the wall beside Daniel's head. Daniel knew just how good a shot Zac was, knew he was missing on purpose. He adjusted his aim slightly. "Five." Daniel's eyes went wide. He turned on his heel and began rushing through the house. Zac followed, but he stayed at a walk and kept his aim trained on Daniel. "Four."

She'd had so many bodyguards in the last few years. When she was a little girl she'd had Lewis watching over her. And then she had Jensen for a good few years, and then Fernando. When Fernando left to work under a different boss, to work for the enemy (as her father said), Carlos watched over her.

She'd liked Carlos, had pulled him into her bed. He'd kissed her sweetly and taken her virginity, the two of them hidden beneath the sheets of her big bed.

It had gone on for a year before her father found out. Carlos had been her first everything. The first man to kiss her, the first man to see her in a state of undress, the first man bring her any sort of pleasure. She had really, truly loved him. She had wanted to run away with him.

But when her father was found out, Carlos was sent away. He was sent to work for someone else, someone that they had something of a partnership with. She had loved Carlos, and her father had loved him, too. He'd loved him with a son, and that was why he couldn't kill him. If it had been anybody else caught in his daughters bed, he wouldn't have hesitated.

As her father followed Daniel out of the house, she turned on her heel and marched towards her bedroom, humming to herself. All she needed now was to scrub the other man's blood from her skin and find something to soothe her wrists.

"What the fuck!" She cried as she pushed open her bedroom door.

Her room was a state. Her drawers had been emptied, things pushed from their shelves. Her wardrobe had been emptied, the clothes either crumpled on the floor or thrown over her unmade bed. It was like a hurricane had torn through the room.

If her dad didn't kill Daniel, she certainly would.

She ignored everything but the wardrobe. The rest of it could be dealt with tomorrow, but her poor wardrobe. That was her space, her creative space, and Daniel had defiled it. How dare he.

As soon as her wardrobe was back in order, she walked into her en suite and turned on the shower. A yawn left her lips as she stripped out of her dress and climbed under the steaming water.

The rest of her night was a blur. She yawned again as she washed her body. Ready to sleep, she climbed out of the shower and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. She fell into bed, crawled beneath her blankets, and immediately found herself asleep.

While she was sleeping, Zac was hard at work. He had people to do these things for him, sure, but he did it himself when it came to his daughter.

There must have been somebody that could look after his daughter. Someone experienced, like Fernando, or Lewis. Or Carlos.

He called Andrea, his right hand man, into his office. It had been Andrea's idea to look into their juniors, to see if any of them would be good enough to protect his daughter. That was how they got Lando, their best man

None of their juniors were. So, they looked a little further afield, at rookies working for other... empires.

Oscar Piastri. He had incredible statistics, stats that Zac and Andrea shouldn't have had access to. But they did, and they wanted him.

Andrea was privy to certain information about the different empires. He kept the secrets about his own empire, the McLaren empire, well guarded, but knew all the dirty secrets about the Ferrari empire, about the Williams empire, and, most importantly, about the Alpine empire.

He knew how staff were treated, knew what was expected of the juniors. That was why Oscar Piastri had such good statistics, because of how hard Bruno pushed him. Andrea and Zac both knew that Bruno was a piece of work. They knew how easy it was going to be to get Oscar away from him.

They sent him one message, holding nothing more than a job offer, and waited with baited breaths. Nobody else got to see this side of the boss, holding his hands together as if he was praying as they waited for Oscar to reply.

Three grey dots appeared on the screen. Oscar's reply appeared, only holding five words. The reply wasn't surprising: What's in it for me? Clearly, Oscar was a smart kid, Zac and Andrea could tell.

They laid it out for him, the benefits this job would come with. He'd be working for a bigger, more powerful empire, he would get paid more than he would working for Alpine, and there was more they could provide him with. Food and lodgings, anything he could have needed.

Interviews in this line of work wasn't an easy thing to arrange. But, as a junior, Oscar operated with a curfew. The interview was arranged for after the curfew. It was awkwardly done, a video call while Oscar hid himself in the junior barracks bathroom.

They outlined the job as much as they could with Oscar being part of the McLaren empire. Zac gave no information on his daughter as he tried to outline the requirements of the job. He made it clear that it wasn't going to be easy, and Oscar made it clear that he wanted the job.

All he had to do to accept the position was to show up at the house. Well, show up at the location provided that Zac and Andrea had given to him. The little café in the heart of town. A sweet little place, not the sort of place he would have expected to meet them.

They set Lando Norris, the best of their men, to pick him up. Lando took his favourite car, his baby. It was fast and sleek and far too expensive. It was an intimidation tactic, and it was working.

He pulled up, sunglasses covering his eyes as he climbed out of the car. The way he looked around was lazy. He pulled out his phone when he couldn't immediately find Oscar. Oscar couldn't tell what he was doing from where he was sitting. But he pulled his sunglasses down his face and looked around again.

Straightening up his tie, Oscar slipped out of his seat. He abandoned his coffee and strode over to the car. He had no doubt who this person was. His number plate was LAN, for goodness sake.

Lando stared at him as he approached. "Good weather we're having," he said, shoving his hands into his pocket.

"I think it might cloud over soon," Oscar answered.

Neither of them were looking up at the sky.

Lando checked him for weapons and listening devices as discretely as he could. When he determined that Oscar was clean, he gestured for him to get into the passenger seat of the car.

Oscar climbed in. He looked at Lando, staying quiet as he looked away. Lando was the best of the best, rivalled only by Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc. Being in the car with him was surreal.

The drive was silent. Lando fiddled with the radio until it played something softly. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove through Woking.

He pulled up to the house and parked his car up alongside more expensive cars. His car, which had once been the most impressive vehicle Oscar had ever seen, looked like crap compared to these.

"Good luck with the Princess," said Lando as he climbed out of the car.

Oscar swallowed and followed his lead. He climbed out of the car and walked up to the house. When he raised his fist to knock, he looked over his shoulder at Lando.

"Just go in," said Lando as he stroked the hood of his car.

Steadying his nerves, Oscar walked in.

***

This day was bullshit.

Her father kept her in his office for the day. As hard as she tried to leave, one look and he pulled her back, sitting herself in that little seat just behind his desk.

She could only file her nail for so long before she was completely and utterly bored. Standing up, she stretched her arms above her head. "I'm gonna-"

"Not until your new bodyguard starts," her father said, not even bothering to turn around.

She groaned and threw herself back onto her seat, hands dramatically covering her eyes. "Dad, I'm literally dying of boredom out here," she mumbled and groaned again, this time louder. "When is he starting?"

"Soon," Zac promised as he straightened out a stack of paper. "Andrea is just putting him through orientation."

She groaned again, for the third time in the space of a minute. "Quit bein' so dramatic," her dad said, shaking his head. "We wouldn't be having to do this if you didn't sneak out the other day."

Her gaze settled into a glare. If her new guard didn't show up soon, she was gonna steal her dad's gun and just leave. But her dad seemed to know what she was thinking. He pulled his gun from his belt and shoved it into his desk drawer.

Two minutes later, there was a knock at the door. "Touch my gun and you're dead," he said as he stood up. Still wearing that glare, she threw her nail file at him. It didn't go very far, fell to the floor just in front of her seat.

Her father opened the door. "Oscar Piastri?" He asked, holding his hand out. From her seat, she couldn't see as her dad shook the young man's hand and welcomed him into the office.

He was pretty, she could tell that immediately. He was pretty, but he looked easy. Easy to manipulate, and that was the most important thing. "Oscar," her father said, leading him across the room, over to her. "This is my daughter."

She stood from her seat and folded her arms over her chest. "You're my new bodyguard?" She asked, clearly unimpressed.

"I am," he said and held his hands out towards her. "I'm Oscar."

For a moment, she just stared at his hand. Oscar kept it held out, waiting for her to shake it. "Oh, boy," he heard from his right as her father sat back in his seat.

Keeping her arms folded over her chest, she marched past him, her shoulder hitting his. Oscar allowed himself to be pushed out of the way. With her father there, he wasn't going to dare to do anything but go with what she wanted. As she strode out of the office, her hips swaying, Oscar followed.

He kept his eyes on the back of her head. Don't look down. Don't look at the way she's moving her hips. Don't look down.

She knew what had happened, why she needed a new bodyguard. Even with everything Andrea had told him, Oscar didn't think she could be that bad. He was very, very quickly proven wrong.

"Where are we going?" Oscar asked as she pushed her way into her bedroom. Maids had cleaned up since Daniel had torn it apart in an attempt to look for her. Her pyjamas were on a heap in the floor, one she stepped over to get to her black purse.

"Out," she said, the first word she'd spoken to him, as she placed the bag on her shoulder and strode past him.

Oscar followed, keeping close to him. Too close, and he had five seconds to fix it. But he didn't fix it. He stayed walking far too close to her, so close she could feel him breathing down her neck.

"Fucking hell, stop," she said and Oscar stopped. She turned on her heel, turned towards him, and held out her arms. At first, it was just to see how close he was. When her arms hit him, she pushed so that he stumbled back.

He steadied himself and stepped towards her again. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" She asked, folding her arms over her chest and glaring.

"I've been hired to protect you," said Oscar, keeping himself calm.

Her glare was nasty, vicious. "You need to stay three paces behind me, okay?" She stepped closer to him. "I'm gonna get on and do whatever the fuck I want to do, and you're gonna let me, okay?" They were stood chest to chest. Her fingers touched his chest, danced up towards his neck while she let a coy smile grace her features.

He held his breath until her nail dug into his throat. Oscar reached up and grabbed a hold of her wrist, pulling it away from his neck. "I've been hired to protect you," he said again. "And that's exactly what I'm going to do."

The smile dropped from her face, replaced with a glare. She turned back around and marched away, steps quick to get away from him. Oscar stayed just a pace behind her.

Oscar hadn't been ill prepared for this job. Andrea had given him plenty of warning of just how much trouble she was going to be. But he was prepared.

She didn't speak to him for the rest of the day. That was fine, Oscar was happy to follow her around and watch her antics. He followed her to a café, where she met with friends, followed her out to the park and listened to their chatter and gossip. He didn't take in much of the information, not unless he thought it was important.

Not until they started whispering about him.

His cheeks blushed red, but he stayed standing there. If he wasn't watching her, he was looking around, looking for any sign of danger. She whispered to her friends, giggling behind their hands. What they were saying, Oscar didn't care.

She still hadn't spoken to him as he drove her back to the house. Her car was a dream to drive. She handled beautifully, better than anything Oscar had driven when he was with Alpine. He couldn't hide his grin as he drove towards the house.

As soon as the car had stopped, she climbed out and marched towards the house. Oscar parked as quickly as he could and climbed out of the car, following her up the stairs and into the house.

She disappeared into her bedroom, slamming the door in his face. Oscar let out a breath and raised his fist, knocking on the door. "Hey," he called and tried the handle. "Let me in!"

Nothing. Of course it didn't work. It shouldn't have been surprising. Oscar didn't panic. He did what he was best at and stayed calm. Shrugging off his jacket, he left it by the door and walked out of the house.

It was a gamble, whether her window was open or not. He walked around the back of the house, counting the windows until he found hers.

Oscar wasn't built to climb. He wasn't good at it, but he still tried, using the window ledge beneath to climb up to her own. His knuckles it the glass before he tried to push the window up, but it wouldn't budge.

Fuck.

He knocked away and watched as she turned around. Her eyes went wide but she didn't move, took a moment to watch him. Oscar tried again to open the window.

Finally, she walked over. She pushed open the window, allowing Oscar into her bedroom. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" She asked, heading towards her wardrobe as Oscar grabbed his jacket from outside of her room.

She couldn't deny that he looked good. With his jacket hanging over his arm, she could really see him, and she appreciated it. He was no Carlos, but he'd do.

Grabbing a dress from her wardrobe, she held it up to her body. "Did you ever think that maybe I shut you out of my room because I didn't want you in here?" She asked as she hung it over her wardrobe door and went digging for some shoes.

"Did you ever think that I can't trust you enough to leave you in here on your own?" He responded as he leaned against the wall.

She scowled at him as she stepped back out of the wardrobe, a pair of high heels hanging by the straps from her fingers. "Fucking creep," she mumbled and pulled down the zip on her skirt.

She didn't look away from him as she pushed her skirt down. Oscar didn't look away. She was challenging him, he knew, and he wasn't going to let her win. Once her skirt was on the floor, she unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall away from her shoulders.

She stepped towards him, much like she had in the corridor earlier. "Do you know something, Oscar?" She mused as she stepped closer to him. He kept watching her, eyes locked onto her own. "I always get what I want. Do you wanna know what I want right now?"

His arms were crossed over his chest as he looked down at her. Even when she settled her arms on his chest, moving them up to his shoulders, he remained stoic. "What?" He asked. His wife didn't betray just how nervous he was feeling, just how much he was sweating.

Wrapping her arms around him, she leaned up to whisper in his ear. "You."

Oscar took her arms from around his neck. He kept a hold of them as he walked her back, so that she was sitting on her bed. "You're a brat," he said and stepped back, leaving her there.

Their interactions through the evening were very limited. Any attention she wanted, Oscar wasn't going to give to her. That she caught onto very quickly.

Daniel had been the same when he first started. Of course, he'd never resorted to climbing through her window. Oscar was dedicated, and that made him a problem.

A problem that wouldn't let her sneak out, a problem that wouldn't sleep with her.

She was in agony.

The next day followed much in the same pattern. Oscar walking too close, Oscar watching everything she did. She couldn't escape his watchful eye. When she went to the bathroom he was standing outside, periodically nodding.

On her third day with Oscar guarding her, she was bored out of her mind. When she want to the bathroom, he followed to stand guard outside of the door. This was becoming her normal and she hated it.

There was a window in the bathroom. Small, too high for her to reach without assistance. For a moment she contemplated it. Contemplated how she was going to execute this admittedly stupid plan.

Beneath the sink was a little step stool. It was from when she was younger, when she was too small to reach her tooth brush in the cabinet above the sink. She pulled it out and positioned it beneath the little window.

It didn't give her much height, just enough to grasp the window ledge and hoist herself up.

There was a knock at the door. "Just a minute!" She called back, but it sounded weird. She hadn't been this... polite to him since that first night in her room.

She hurried herself up. Pushing open the window, she slipped out and dropped down onto the gravel below.

The stones bit into her skin. But she didn't care. Pushing herself up and wiping the stones away, she could hear Oscar pounding on the door. When she didn't reply, the knocks became something more. Louder, harsher, his entire body pushing against it.

She didn't stick around long enough to find out. Straightening up her skirt, she walked around from the house.

The cameras were following her, she knew. Security guards must have been watching her, must have been radioing Oscar of her whereabouts.

She didn't bother running. There was no point when the gates would have taken their time to swing open. No, she walked calmly, like she had all the time in the world.

Suddenly, her feet were no longer touching the floor. A grunt left his lips as he picked her up and turned her around. "I don't think so," he said and put her back down.

She stared up at him, arms folded over her chest. He could see the indents of the gravel against her arm, the grazes on her skin. But then she stepped around him.

Oscar picked her up again. He scooped her up and placed her over his shoulder, ignoring her shriek as he carried her back into the house.

"Fucking put me down!" She shouted, fists pounding against his back. "Oscar! Put me down! Now!"

His only response was to tighten his grip on her and march through the house. He didn't care as he took her past her fathers men, past Lando and Pato. When they sniggered at her, she held up her middle finger towards them.

Once he got to her bedroom, Oscar put her down. She glared up at him, arms folded over her chest. "I need to use the bathroom," she said.

Oscar grinned down at her. She looked somewhat embarrassed, unable to meet his eye. "Come on," he said and gestured for her to lead the way.

She walked down the hall, wearing a nasty scowl and looking at the floor. As soon as she got to the bathroom, she turned to shut the door, to try and lock him out. But Oscar shouldered his way in. "Hey!" She cried and tried to push him out of the bathroom. "What do you think you're doing?!"

He grabbed the step stool, folded it up and tucked it beneath his arms. He pulled the window shut and locked it, pocketing the key. "I'll be right outside," he said and placed a single pat to the top of her head. It was condescending as all hell and she wanted to kill him.

***

A year had passed. An uneventful year. For six months she'd attempted to sneak out. The first month of that was to get away from the house, to get out to the club and see her girl friends on the nights that Oscar said no.

But those other five months weren't because she wanted to get away. Whenever she snuck out, Oscar would be the one to carry her into the house. It was like he didn't trust her to walk back on her own. That was how she ended up over his shoulder or in his arms, being carried like a princess.

The kidnapping attempts had stopped, too. There had been a couple sicne Oscar started his job as her bodyguard. But he had thwarted all of them, kept her safe when somebody tried to climb in through her window.

On this day, Zac called Oscar into his office. He gave him a time and Oscar readied himself for it. He spend his morning with her, following her as she ate her breakfast.

She no longer tried to fight him at every turn. Oscar was grateful for it. He was able to see how pretty her smile was and that filled him with warmth. She was cute when she didn't want to kill him, he realised.

"Come on," he said once she'd finished her breakfast. He picked up her plate, dumped it in the sink, and offered her his hand.

"What do you think my dad wants?" She asked as she linked her fingers through his own.

Oscar pulled her out of the kitchen and through the house. He checked his watch. Just fifteen minutes until Zac wanted to see him. He swallowed. "I don't know," he answered and led her through the halls.

Maybe Zac wasn't happy with the work he was doing. Maybe he didn't think Oscar was doing a good enough job at protecting her. Maybe he didn't like that Oscar sometimes held her hand as they walked together.

He took her through the house and to the library. There Lando was sitting, tapping away at his phone. "Hey, Princess," he called as Oscar sat her down and squeezed her shoulders. "You sitting with me?"

"Looks like it," she mumbled and let out a yawn. She watched as Oscar disappeared out of the library, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as the door was shut, Lando leaned forward and snapped his fingers in front of her face. "What's up?" He asked as she turned to face him. "What's got you thinking so hard?"

She shrugged her shoulders and sank down in her seat. "How long did it take for Carlos to fuck me?" She mumbled, resting her cheek against her first. "What, a couple months? Maybe less than that?" She mumbled.

Lando snorted. "It took him a month to fall in love with you," he mumbled, his foot knocking against her own. "And Daniel slept with you on his first night on the job," he answered, finally locking his phone screen and letting it fall into his lap.

"What's taking Oscar so long?"

He properly laughed when those words left her lips. "Oscar is too much of a professional to sleep with you," he said and mockingly wiped at his eyes. She scowled at him. "He's falling for you, though."

Her head snapped towards him. "Huh?"

He nodded. "Yeah, princess." The name was mocking and she flipped him off. "Look, he wouldn't be holding your hand and shit if he wasn't, okay? That boy is falling for you. You need to trust me; he told me himself."

She leaned forward. "Lando, I need you to tell me exactly what he said."

Lando went to reply, but the library doors opened and Oscar strode in. "What now, Sweetheart?" He asked and offered her his hand.

She allowed herself to be pulled out of her seat and grinned at Lando. Sweetheart? He mouthed, and she let her tongue stick out from between her teeth.

***

Another dingy warehouse. Another splintering wooden chair. And another ugly man giving her father demands over the phone.

It had been so damn long since she'd gotten kidnapped, she was almost at a loss for what to do. Almost, but not quite.

The minute she realised she was getting kidnapped, she took a bobby pin from her hair and tucked it into the back of her skirt. The kidnappers slapped cuffs on her wrists and sat her on the uncomfortable chair.

She easily got her hands out of the cuffs, but these guys had weapons. They were certainly smarter than the last guys to kidnap her.

Oscar better get there soon.

She didn't know that as soon as they called to demand money, Zac had Oscar tracing the call. He let his computer do it's thing while he loaded his gun with bullets. He was going to do all he could to get her back.

As soon as he had the location, he set off with Lando and Pato. His knee bounced as Pato drove them, Oscar giving him the directions. God, they'd taken her so far away. There was no telling what they'd done to her for the time she'd been missing.

The outside of the warehouse wasn't well guarded at all. Lando and Pato counted all of the guards inside and Oscar caught sight of her.

The cuffs were still hanging from one of her wrists as she sat there. Why wasn't she moving? Why wasn't she getting up out of her seat and marching out of there like in all of the stories he'd heard about her?

"I'm going in," he whispered and pulled his gun from its holster.

But Lando pulled him back. "Wait," he said and gestured to Pato. "We'll make a distraction out the front and you go around the back," he said and Oscar nodded.

Lando and Pato's idea of a distraction was... interesting. At the sound of the music, several men headed outside. The ones that were left inside were easy for Oscar to take care of. When Pato started dancing, Oscar headed to the back of the warehouse.

He was a damned good shot. While Pato and Lando took out the men at the front, Oscar shot the others in the warehouse. When the first man hit the ground, the one who seemed to be running the operation pulled her out of her seat and pressed his gun to her head.

"Show yourself!" He demanded. He pushed the gun against her head more until it was tipped to the side.

Holding up his hands, Oscar walked into the warehouse. When he was told to put his gun on the floor and kick it away, he did. "You okay, Sweetheart?" He asked, looking at her.

"Never better," she answered, but her voice was shaking. Fuck, he needed to get her out of there.

"You're the big hero," said the man in charge. "You're here to save the day and ride away into the sunset." His laugh was utterly terrifying. "What if I just blew her head off right it front of you? Do you think this rich little bitch bleeds gold?"

Her eyes shut. This was it, she was going to die.

Red splattered across her face, but it wasn't her blood. The man in charge dropped his gun and slumped forward, the weight of his falling body pulling her to the floor with a shriek. Oscar shouted her name. He rushed over and pushed the dead body away from her own.

"Oh, sweetheart," he whispered and wiped at the blood on her cheek. Tears were falling and Oscar wiped them away as he checked her over for any injuries. Aside from a bruised wrist and trauma, she was okay.

Pulling her into his chest, Oscar looked past her. There was Lando, lowering his gun. His eyes moved to her, eyebrows raising in question. But Oscar shook his head and pushed her hair behind her ears.

Reaching up, she kissed his cheek. "Hey," Oscar whispered, pulling away from her. "C'mon, Sweetheart, not now," he whispered and pulled her to her feet.

She blinked up at him and wiped away her tears. "Come on, Oscar. Let me kiss you," she whispered, her lip wobbling.

His thumbs moved over the back of her hand in such a soothing manner. "I love you," he replied. "Really, I do. But I don't want to kiss you if you just want to sleep with me."

Her head hit his chest. "Don't do this now," she mumbled. "Not in this disgusting warehouse with a dead body behind us." She let her arms settle around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck.

The way he was looking at her, it had her ready to cry. She hid her head against his chest and shut her eyes, ignoring the way her heart was beating. "I don't want to just kiss you to sleep with you," she whispered and sucked in a deep breath. "I-I like you, Oscar."

His fingers touched her chin and tipped her face towards him. "Sweetheart," he whispered and kissed the top of her head. And then he kissed her cheek, the one that wasn't covered in blood.

And then he kissed her, lips slotting against her own. She sobbed into his mouth and Oscar squeezed her tighter. It said all that it was supposed to. I'll watch over you, I'll keep you safe. I love you.

Taking her hand, Oscar led her out of the warehouse. In that moment he vowed to never let anything like this happen to her again.

[tenjikyu]

It has been an illegal amount of time since I've been on tumblr (like a week and a half), but I'm back.

Hope you're doing well!

Anyways! Provided you're not busy (take however much time you need, whether that be a week or whatever), I have thought of another Tokyorev request since I've been rewatching the anime. There is a staggering lack of m!reader x Rindou on this platform, so therefore, here is my request.

How about m!reader x Rindou (romantic/fluff, whatever) where reader is a lesser known delinquent in Roppongi (2005 for reference) who constantly gets into fights, and winds up fighting Rindou and Ran. I'll leave it up to you if he wins or loses, but basically he catches Rindou's eye. I'm trying not to make my requests super detailed so I can leave space for creative liberties.

Well, there's the request, do with that what you will. Also I will probably be dropping a BSD request on you soon, so fair warning.

— 🎭

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 ( 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 ) 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

🎐rindou haitani x m!reader ‪‪ ༄

🎐fluff, headcanon format bc i’m struggling, lowercase intended, possibly ooc bc i haven’t touched any tokyo rev content in months but ill do my best. ‪‪the fight scene is WHACK bc i suck at writing it so im begging yall to ignore ༄

🎐 you were a rambunctious little shit growing up, and it was to nobody’s surprise you ended up roaming the streets of roppingi, picking fights with anyone you could see

🎐 you were smart though, choosing to grief on people you knew you could take on and people who were interested in fighting. you had no interest in bashing innocent passerby’s and people who could clearly stomp you into the concrete.

🎐 boxing and martial arts was something your parents had put you into as a way to vent out all that energy (it didn’t work, you still beat the shit outta the kids in your school), so you had both a good technique and a strong fist whenever you threw yourself into battle a fight.

🎐 this all changed the day you encountered the haitani brothers, rindou and ran.

🎐 their reputation was nothing exaggerated, and their eye for fashion was also nothing short of perfection. they were flashy and had total control over roppongi before they were even adults.

🎐 you never thought you’d have to end up laying hands on either of them, let alone both at the same time, until last week.

🎐 you were much less known then the brothers, however that doesn’t mean you didn’t have friends and alliances on the streets. you were a fun and energetic character, who had no problem stepping up if someone worth saving needed help. and that gave you a good reputation between the other lower gangs in the area.

🎐 so, when you saw the haitani brothers beating the shit out of your friends forehead, you wasted no time jumping in.

🎐 it was a shitty battle, with a 2v1 (your friend was fucked UP, bro was no help) , however your martial arts techniques prepared you for rindou’s quick movements, and your boxing provided a good punch to his pretty face.

🎐 in the end, it was clear you were going to lose. you bet if only one were there you might’ve stood a chance, however on the verge of passing out, decided to accept your fate and hope you don’t end up dead.

🎐 however you find that as you collapse, you watch them both walk off into the distance.

🎐 wait wtf.

🎐 they weren’t gonna torture you ? or break your bones ?

🎐 if you were a little more conscious, you might’ve been able to hear the conversation between the two brothers, however you knocked tf out not a minute after.

“so why are we letting that boy off the hook? he jumped into a fight that wasn’t his” ran curiously asked his little brother.

“to jump into a fight you know your gonna lose is honorable, however if he does it again then we can shatter his arms!” rindou perclaims, a flushed face that clearly wasn’t coming from the fight he just fought.

as ran looks back at the two bodies behind him, he thinks to himself…

nah i’m kidding ofc bro speaks his mind.

“nah, we’ve beaten up plenty of dudes doing the same thing. you just think that kid back there is hot huh.”

“ran what the FUCK-”

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: A year has passed since Imani and Jameson's painful breakup. Once again, fate draws the two together again...but it's not as joyful reunion as either thought they'd have.

Warnings: smut (18+), toxic relationship, mentions of therapy, out of control drinking, and emotional breakdowns, sex (p in v, creampie, dirty talk) -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 8k

Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes: 

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

Anaïs Lucas sat at her writing desk, the faint scent of her signature jasmine lingering in the air. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on the wall. She flipped through the pile of papers in front of her, gaze landing on the embossed invitations for Jameson’s album release party.

Pride made her smile. Her son had an advantage when he got into the industry, yes. He had her name and his good looks but nobody could ever pretend her baby couldn’t sing or that he didn’t work his ass to keep what he got. After he announced he was pushing back his album last winter, Anaïs watched people doubt him. Come January 2026 – a few short weeks from then – they would know that he was worth the wait.

She picked one up, running her fingers over the gold lettering.

You are cordially invited to the premiere of Midnight & Dawn A celebration of James Lucas’ third album

It was elegant, timeless—everything she’d expect from her son’s team. Yet, as perfect as it seemed, something was missing.

Or rather, someone.

The party was in a matter of days and she knew for a fact that Imani wasn’t on the guest list. It made sense. The two had broken up and hadn’t so much as whispered each other’s name in public. Imani had moved on. Jameson had moved on. The cute little girl she’d seen him out with – but had yet to meet – seemed to be distracting him just enough.

But she knew her son. She knew what he wanted. She tried not to be that kind of mother but she couldn't help herself. He was her only child and she wanted him to be happy. She just wouldn't be mentioning any of this to Toni, Imani's aunt and her closest friend.

Anaïs reached for her phone, dialing a number she knew by heart. “Anderson? It’s Anaïs.” Her voice was warm but commanding, the kind that left little room for argument.

Anderson Allen was the head of public relations at Jameson’s label. He had insisted on signing a deal with a label that didn’t feature his mother but it didn’t mean that she didn’t have connections. “Ms. Lucas! What a surprise. How can I help you?”

“I was getting ready for Jamie’s party,” she began, her tone casual but deliberate. "But I heard that the guest list wasn’t complete. You all work so hard over there. I would hate for an omission to ruin the party."

Anderson hesitated. “Omission?”

“Yes. Imani St. Cirie,” Anaïs said smoothly.

The pause on the other end of the line was longer this time. “I—I wasn’t sure if that would be appropriate, given their history. Jameson hasn’t mentioned—”

Anaïs cut him off with a light laugh. “Oh, Andy, let’s not overthink this. Imani is an important part of Jameson’s life, personally and professionally. Inviting her would be…a gesture of goodwill. Besides, I’m sure she’d appreciate the opportunity to celebrate his success.”

Anderson’s voice was cautious. “I suppose we could add her to the list…”

“Wonderful,” Anaïs said, her smile bright. “I’d like to personally handle delivering her invitation. Consider it my little project.”

“Of course, Ms. Lucas. I’ll have one prepared and sent to your house immediately.”

“You’re a gem, Anderson. Thank you.”

Anaïs ended the call and leaned back in her chair, a satisfied expression on her face. She didn’t need anyone’s permission to do what she believed was right for her baby.

When the invitation arrived later that afternoon, Anaïs carefully wrote Imani’s name on the envelope in her graceful script. She slipped it into a sleek courier envelope and sealed it with a flourish.

“Deliver this directly to Ms. St. Cirie,” she instructed the courier who arrived at her door less than an hour later. “Make sure it’s in her hands before the day is over.”

As the courier left, Anaïs poured herself a celebratory glass of champagne. She wasn’t blind to the complications of Jameson and Imani’s past, but sometimes, fate needed a little help—and Anaïs Lucas was more than happy to provide it. 

The studio was alive with energy, even though it was just the two of them. EJ asked for them to run through the albums again. They'd been previewed for the label, accepted, turned in, and there was release party planned for the next night...but still. He wanted to hear the album one more time. Jameson didn't hesitate to go. As the final song climaxed, EJ poured whiskey into two glasses. He slid one across the console to Jameson, who sat slouched in his chair.

“To the masterpiece,” EJ said, raising his glass. “A double-disk album. That’s some legendary-level ambition from my boy.”

Jameson laughed, shaking his head as he reached for the glass. "Very glad I could surprise you all."

EJ snorted. "Hey! I believed in you always. It was touch and go there for a while for everybody else. When you pushed the album back, them niggas started getting nervous. But I knew...my boy was gone get into his bag. I just ain't expect two damn albums at once."

Jameson smirked, tapping his glass against EJ’s before taking a sip. “Here’s hoping they don't flop.”

“Flop?” EJ scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re about to shut the whole industry down. Tomorrow night’s party is gonna be the start of something huge. We need to celebrate. Let’s go grab a drink. Celebrate properly.”

Jameson shook his head, setting the glass down as he finished off the amber liquid. “Un-uh. I’m good, man. I’m tired as fuck. You kept me chained to the recording booth most of the year. I'm going home. Getting in the bed.”

EJ smiled at his friend. “You sure? A little fun won’t kill you.” “Yeah, I’m sure,” Jameson said.

With nothing left to do, EJ finished his drink and threw his hands up. "Alright. I did my best. Aye...I'm proud of you."

Jameson wrinkled his nose, standing from his seat and grabbing his jacket. "Don't get soft on me and shit."

EJ followed his movements, a serious expression on his face. "I'm for real. I was worried about you. Not because of the album. Just because you're my friend. You came out the other side of that shit and I'm proud. I was glad when you stopped drinking every day and started getting fresh air but...therapy? Channeling your shit into music? Camille? You’re looking ahead. I'm happy for you, man." 

Even without him saying her name, she lingered between them. Imani was the unspoken, untouched aspect of his life that he still couldn't face. Still, he knew EJ meant well so Jameson smiled. “Thank you. For everything. You been solid while I got myself together. I owe you, E.”

It was a rare moment when the two stopped teasing each other enough to express what they felt. If Genie was his sister, EJ was his brother. He didn’t know who he’d be without either of them. Before he could change his mind, Jameson leaned in and gave EJ a tight hug. It only lasted a second but he could feel the other man hug him back.

“Alright. Enough of that.” EJ muttered, breaking away and shoving Jameson’s shoulder playfully. “Go home. Go be boring. I’m going to kiss my girlfriend until she blushes.”

He still couldn't wrap his head around EJ and Genie. When Genie had shyly told him she was dating EJ, his first reaction had been disbelief. He never felt a vibe between them but over the next few months, EJ had proved he was crazy about Genie. So Jameson stepped back. He didn't kick up a fuss or cause a problem. When he found time to get out of his own head, he was happy for them.

It was an innocent statement but Jameson recoiled, holding his hand over his ears. “Ew. Don’t tell me nothing you and Genie got going on.” He quickly picked up his jacket, shrugging it on while EJ laughed, calling out to him.

“You better lock Camille down so you can learn from us!”

Jameson walked through his front door and immediately noticed something was off. The lights in the dining room were dimmed, candles flickering on the table, and soft jazz played from the speakers. He’d left the house silent and dark before going to meet EJ. Only three people had a key beside him. His mother, who was not going to set a scene. Genie, who never used it. And EJ, who he just left. Jameson rounded the corner of his living room, entering the kitchen. There stood a woman, at his sink, with her back to him. He recognized her immediately. The messy way she piled her dark brown hair on the top of her head gave it away. 

Camille.

There was something about the way she carried herself—an effortless elegance like she owned the space around her. As one of the most famous young models in the industry, Camille was a striking woman. She held her head high no matter what, her posture perfect. She moved around his kitchen as if this was her home. It was the same way she had approached him – like he was already hers. He admired it, even if it reminded him of someone else, someone he couldn’t quite shake.

“Camille?” he called, dropping his keys on the counter.

She jumped, whirling around with wide eyes. She was wearing an apron with splashes of water on it over her sleek black dress. “You’re…You’re home early.” There were plates on his table, a romantic dinner for two was the obvious aim and he softened. They were casual. Beyond casual but she always took care of him.

Jameson raised an eyebrow, slipping back into the moment. “Am I not supposed to be here?” He asked her, shrugging out of his jacket as he moved further into the kitchen. “How’d you get in?”

“EJ came to let me in before he met you.” She said softly, her gaze following his movements – lingering on his forearms before she turned back to turn the running water off. “H-He was supposed to keep you out for another hour.”

And then it all made sense. The fact that he’d called him out at all to ‘listen’ to an album they’d been listening to for almost a year. Then to want to go out for drinks afterward? His best friend was trying his hand at matchmaking and Jameson couldn’t blame him. Camille was good to him. He’d be a liar to say she wasn’t.

“Ah,” Jameson said, nodding his head. “So, that’s why he was so insistent on hanging out tonight.” He stepped closer, tossing his jacket onto the counter before leaning against it, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry I ruined the surprise.”

Camille pouted but the second she got a good look at him, she brightened and the annoyance melted away. “I thought we could celebrate your album being finished. Just the two of us. I’m happy for you.”

Jameson smiled, feeling a flicker of warmth in his chest. “Thank you. Thank you for coming. Thank you for caring.” He reached out, tugging her closer using the apron. “What’s for dinner?”

“Caprese salad, seared scallops with risotto, and white chocolate raspberry cheesecake.” “Sounds very impressive.” “It is. I slaved over a stove for you.” “I’m flattered.” “You should be. Not all of my friends get this kind of treatment.” “No?” “Un-uh.” “Damn. I must be really good in bed.”

Camille burst out laughing, slapping her hand against his chest. “You’re aight.”

“That wasn’t a no so I don’t think I was wrong.” Jameson teased her, leaning in to kiss her cheek softly. He released the apron before wrapping his arm around her to untie it. When he brought the strap over her head, he tossed it onto the kitchen island 

“Jameson! We have dinner. I already prepared the–” “Put it in the oven. We’ll eat it later.”

He didn’t have to explain any further. She watched him pluck a fork from his kitchen drawer and then she went to do exactly as he told her to do. Jameson waited patiently, taking a seat on a bar stool and pulling the cheesecake toward him. Once she was done and the food was set aside, he patted the stool next to him. “C’mon. Get off your feet.”

In her Chanel dress and high heels, Camille made herself comfortable. 

They settled at the kitchen counter, side by side on barstools, sharing bites of the rich dessert. Jameson fed her from his fork, kissed her, and put aside the fact that he felt a twinge of guilt for bringing her into his house. This was good. He was moving forward as EJ said. There was nothing wrong with that.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jameson told her softly, offering her another bite of cheesecake. When she took it, he followed it with a kiss. Light and sweet. She leaned into him, silently asking for more. Instead, Jameson offered her more cheesecake. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”

She glared at him before his confession became clear. Cami gave him a bright smile, her tongue cleaning the whipped cream her mouth left behind on the fork before she spoke. “There is really nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Imani ran her hands over her dress as she looked over her appearance in the mirror. She did a small turn to the left and then the right to see. No flaws. She looked damn good as usual. She sported a new blonde hair color with hints of pink, a brown sheer dress that accented her curves and left little to the imagination, and her wrist and neck were dazzled in diamonds. It was perfect. Undoubtedly, a ten out of ten. Yet, she sighed and turned her body once more like something would change to make it even better. 

“Girl, if you don’t get out that mirror and go to that party, I’m a drag you there myself.” Her hairstylist said. Imani chuckled. “You look good. Now go get your man.”

She waved the woman off. “It ain’t even like that!” She hadn’t seen Jameson since their break-up last year. She only knew him through TV screens, magazines, and as a voice blaring through the club speakers. He was no longer the man that held her at night, told her she was beautiful or showered her with kisses. For the first time since they met, he was James Lucas. And she hated it. 

Imani said her goodbyes to her glam team as she sauntered to her door and then to the SUV. She slipped inside then the driver shut the door behind her. She pulled the ring on her ring finger on and off then on and off all over again.

It was the ring that Jameson gifted to her for Christmas last year. She pulled it out of her jewelry box when she was anxious, only wearing it at home to avoid speculation from the media and her fans. It was her stress reliever that no one knew about. But tonight, it served a different purpose. 

She wanted Jameson back. Bad. And Imani believed wearing his ring to his album release party would show him that she hadn’t forgotten about him. How could she? He was all she ever thought about. She thought she did the right thing when she ended things with him. They were just going to end in heartbreak like they always did. Imani thought breaking the cycle would solve everything. Yes, she was heartbroken when it happened but she always believed she would get over it and feel better. But she didn’t. She never felt more alone. 

For the first three months after their breakup, she distracted herself with work. She dove head first into Diary’s promotional rollout. Anything her label or management wanted her to do, she did it to avoid being with her deafening thoughts of regret and being alone. But her promo tour only lasted for so long. Then she tried partying. She tried drinking. She tried being with other people, but they never lasted long. All she did was compare them to Jameson. 

Despite all her efforts, nothing and no one could fill the void in her heart left by Jameson. His memory lingered in every corner of her mind. She wrestled with herself over the thought of reaching out to him, hesitant and afraid of what she might find. What if he had moved on? What if he wanted nothing to do with her anymore? She knew little about his current life, only catching glimpses through a few tabloids. According to them, he now resided in the bustling city of New York and was dating a woman named Camille, but they didn’t seem serious at all. Maybe she still had a chance. 

When she received a mysterious invite to his album release party, it felt like fate. A sign that she needed to make a move and get him back. She couldn’t let fear hold her back this time. So she booked a flight to New York with her trusted glam squad to help her and now her plan was underway. 

She was still fidgeting with her ring once they reached the club. The blinding lights of the paparazzi never phased her. She didn’t mind the attention. But tonight, their presence only added to the growing uneasiness and heat rising in her skin. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself not to let them distract her from her goal — winning Jameson back. 

With a sigh, she stepped out of the SUV and was immediately swarmed by a frenzy of flashing cameras and shouting reporters. The familiar chaos only felt like an obstacle in her path. 

“Imani, you look stunning! Love the new hair.” “Are you here to see James?” “How do you feel about him and Camille? Do you know that they showed up here together?”

The last question nearly stopped her in her tracks. Her heart fell back into the abyss of despair that hope once saved it from. Jameson and Camille? She thought they weren’t serious, so why the fuck was she at the party with him? Fuck! Imani should have stayed home. Too many eyes were on her to turn back now. Instead, she simply smiled at the question and entered the club.

After she was inside, she made a beeline for the bathroom, ignoring all of the eyes and whispers. Imani needed to take his ring off before anyone noticed. She walked inside, thankful that no one was in there. Then she closed and locked the door so no one could see her lose it.

She felt like such a fool. There was a war raging inside of her. Of course, he moved on. It had been a year. Did she expect him to wait forever? But the other side screamed, how dare he move on? He told her they were soulmates. He said he would never give up on them. Was it all a lie? “Just twenty minutes.” She mumbled to herself. “I can do twenty then I’ll leave and go home.”

Imani exhaled deeply. She pulled the ring off of her finger and shoved it into her clutch. She unlocked the bathroom door, opening it, only to be met with Genie.

She stared at her like a prey making eye contact with its predator.  Her mind had been so clouded with thoughts of Jameson that she didn’t even think about their storm of friendship. She hadn’t seen Genie since last year. She ignored her texts and phone calls like her best friend was a scorned lover. One day, Imani was going to explain, she just didn’t imagine that day to be today. 

The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Imani finally parted her lips to speak. “Genie, I-” She couldn’t even get her sentence out before the woman moved past her and into the bathroom. Imani sighed, deciding that tonight wasn’t the best time to discuss their broken friendship. She walked back into the club and looked for Toni, the only one she talked to during the whole year. Her energy turned into a dark cloud and she needed someone to brighten it if she was going to make it to twenty minutes.

He heard the whispers before he saw her. Imani had shown up. 

And finally, he saw her.

For the first time in a fucking year, he laid eyes on her. Not a picture. Not an interview or a photoshoot. He saw her.

Relief hit him so hard that he exhaled sharply. She was okay. After Christmas last year, she had essentially disappeared from his life. He didn’t call, he didn’t text, he had even chosen to unfollow her on Instagram but Jameson quickly found out that he wasn’t the only one left behind. Genie had lost Imani as well. 

The two didn’t talk anymore. He had nothing to go by that she was okay. The blogs reported every lover and every move she made…but none had been able to tell him if she was genuinely doing okay. He could see for himself – in the flesh – that she was doing damn good.

She was standing alone in the quickly filling club, framed by the soft glow of lights. He could see her observing the crowd, looking for someone. Was it him? When their eyes met, she seemed frozen. Her eyes went wide and he knew immediately she wasn’t looking for him. 

He felt a hand against his stomach and immediately broke eye contact with her. Camille was gazing up at him, a question in her eyes. Jameson had to steady himself before he smiled at her. “I’ll be back.” He heard himself tell her but knew that he shouldn’t leave. He did it anyway, walking across the room as every thought in the world passed through his mind.

The relief that he felt ended, replaced by anxiety. Why did she come? Was she trying to support him? Was she curious about the music? Did she want to rub it in his face that he had lost her? Did she want him to see how fucking good she looked? All of the questions he asked himself set him on edge but he didn’t stop moving in her direction.

His eyes ran from her blonde hair down to her tan dress. And a wave of lust hit him. 

The fabric clung to her body. It was barely there. He could see her body, sculpted abs and thick thighs. Perfectly measured underwear that hid…Well, he knew what it hid. He was so intimately acquainted with her body that he could find her in the damn dark. He couldn’t think like this. Jameson shook his head to clear the thoughts but flashes of memories raced through his mind. Late nights with him sinking his teeth into her thighs as they trembled, the way her abdomen contracted when she was coming around his fingers. The way she called out for him, the word ‘Daddy’ fell from her lips. All of it came rushing back to him with stunning clarity. Shit! No. No!

He wasn’t doing this. Camille was watching him. He had to get right. So many fucking therapy sessions and he was backsliding into chaos already.

By the time he got to her, he had control of himself again. “Hi.” He said softly.

He watched as she slowly turned to look at him. There was no ignoring one another. Not right then. Her lips curved into a smile but he knew right then that something was wrong. It didn’t meet her eyes. She didn’t light up the way she usually did when she was happy.

“Hi, Jameson.” “Thank you for coming. It’s nice to see you.” “I…It’s nice to see you too.”

A lull of silence hit them and awkwardness set in. Before, they could talk about anything and everything but now? He didn’t know what to say.

EJ found Camille standing near the edge of the room, sipping a glass of champagne with practiced ease. She looked every bit the supermodel she was, tall and poised, her sleek black gown clinging to her statuesque frame. But her eyes—dark, searching—betrayed her. She was watching Jameson, observing the way his gaze seemed to drift toward Imani no matter where she stood. Even when he excused himself from her side and greeted other partygoers, everybody in the room knew where he was going.

EJ stepped up beside her, his presence casual but deliberate. “You’re handling this well,” he said, his tone low enough to keep their conversation private from prying ears.

Camille turned her head slightly, offering him a polite smile. “Handling what?”

He gave her a knowing look, one that made her sigh and take another sip of her drink. She broke the pretense that nothing was happening. “You’re not blind, Camille. You see the way he looks at her. And the way she avoids looking at him. There’s history there—deep, messy history. You’ve got to know that.”

Camille’s expression didn’t waver, but she set her glass down on the nearby table, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “I know,” she said simply.

EJ raised an eyebrow. “And you good with that?”

She shrugged, the movement graceful but dismissive. “What am I supposed to do? Pretend it doesn’t exist? Jameson’s been honest with me about Imani. I know what she means to him.”

EJ leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “What she means to him and what she still means to him might not be the same thing. I’m not saying this to scare you off, but if you’re serious about Jameson, you need to be ready to fight for him. Because that connection they have? It’s not something that just disappears.”

Camille tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “Do you think I’m not serious about him?”

EJ hesitated, then shook his head. “I think you care about him. I think you’re good for him, too. But I also think Jameson’s still figuring out what he wants. And if you’re not careful, you might end up hurt. She’s got this... gravitational pull on him, sure. But it’s not healthy. You’ve seen how far he’s come this past year. That’s because of you, Camille. Not her.”

Camille’s lips curved into a small, wry smile. “I appreciate the concern, EJ. Really, I do. But I’m not here to fight anyone for Jameson. If he wants to be with me, he knows where I am. And if he doesn’t?” She spread her hands, her tone light but firm. “Then I’ll let him go. I’m not the kind of woman who clings to someone who doesn’t want to stay.”

EJ studied her, a flicker of respect crossing his face. “You’re a lot calmer about this than I expected.”

Camille chuckled softly, her gaze drifting back toward Jameson, who had finally approached Imani. “I’ve spent my entire career competing—for jobs, for recognition, for respect. But love? That’s not something you should have to fight for. Either it’s there, or it’s not. And if Jameson’s heart is still with Imani, then there’s no point in pretending otherwise.”

EJ nodded slowly, impressed by her composure. “Fair enough. Just... be careful. He’s a good guy, but if things get messy—”

“They won’t,” Camille interrupted gently. “Because I won’t let them. I care about Jameson, but I care about myself too. If he can’t give me what I deserve, I’ll walk away. Simple as that.”

EJ exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Camille smiled again, this time with a touch of warmth. “Thanks, EJ. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, no matter what happens.”

EJ glanced back toward Jameson, then back at Camille. He nodded, a silent acknowledgment of their conversation, and stepped away, leaving her to watch Jameson from afar, her expression unreadable.

“You look good.” He said softly, immediately regretting the words. “I mean, I like your dress.” Nope, that was fucked up too. 

“Thanks,” Imani looked at his outfit. It was already difficult for her to face him, but did he have to look handsome too? This may have been the second hardest thing she’s ever done. “You look uh—you look nice too.”

He peered down at his fit. All black, Gucci. Jameson lifted his hand, pressing it to his sleeve as if he just realized he was wearing clothes worth five grand. “Thank you. It’s just…something thrown together. I’m glad you came. Really.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I did too. Congrats on the album, Jameson. I’m—“ she paused, searching for the right words to say. “really happy for you.”

“Really?” He tilted his head, peering down at her. “Then why do you look upset?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” Imani answered quickly. She wasn’t fine at all. She made the wrong decision to come to this party and now, she had to face a best friend who probably hated her and an ex she was still in love with. She was mentally kicking herself. But he didn’t need to know that.

He knew it wasn’t true but he couldn’t exactly call her on it. That wasn’t his place anymore. “Mhm.” He said softly, giving a nod. “I…I really do hope you’re okay, Imani. Things ended between us but I want you to be happy. Always.”

“I..I want you to be happy too,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m glad to see that you are. I really am.”

“Thank you. It…it took a while to get back to being happy.” The conversation between them was so fucking stiff and he hated it. He watched her fold her arms against her chest, knowing there was a wall between them. They talked to each other like strangers. Once upon a time, he could tell her anything. They could say everything to one another – except the shit that really mattered. And now they couldn’t say anything at all. “Finishing the album helped. Wouldn’t have been able to do that without a lot of people. You included.”

She nodded. “Well, I’m glad I could help. I can’t wait to hear it.” Imani smiled. “Uh, I’m going to go look for Toni now. I’ll see you around?”

He opened his mouth to say something – anything – but instead, he felt a hand against his arm. Jameson turned to look down at her, surprised by her presence. “There you are.” She said softly.

Imani looked between the couple, still with a smile that he couldn’t tell if it was fake or not. “Hi, I’m Imani.” She reached her hand out. Her eyes glanced down at his wrist. She looked back at Jameson with narrowed eyes. The watch on his wrist looked like the one she had sent him a year. Why the fuck was he wearing that? While he was with another woman? 

His head turned so quickly that he almost sprained his damn neck. He watched as Imani introduced herself to Camille, in such a friendly way that he was almost offended. Damn. She could at least pretend to be jealous. Camille gave her a smile in return and reached out to grasp Imani’s hand and Jameson inhaled sharply. He did not see this coming and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

“Nice to meet you.” She said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Imani let go of Camille’s hand. “Nice to meet you as well. You’re very pretty.” She looked back at Jameson. Then at Camille. “Well, I’m going to leave you guys to it. Have a good night.” She said, turning around and walking away quickly before she could hear another word from either of them. 

It took a minute for Genie to pull herself together. When she passed Imani, it had broken her heart not to say anything but she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe any of this shit. When Jameson and Imani broke up, her heart broke for them both. She didn’t know the details but knew it was bad. Jamie was drinking heavily and Imani was out of contact. But she kept trying. She would start by sending a message every week. Then it became every single day. She wanted to be there for Imani. She begged her to reach out if she needed anything…and she never did. 

It was like she lost her best friend. At first, Genie grieved. Every time something wonderful happened with EJ, she wanted to pick up the phone and call Imani…but she knew she wouldn’t answer. Then the grief turned into anger. She resented being so easy to forget.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she finally said, her voice shaky as she approached EJ. She could see his jovial attitude shift when he saw the look on her face. “I don’t know what I thought I’d feel seeing her again, but this wasn’t it.” She hadn’t even known Imani would be there but she knew that maybe there would be a good chance. Still, seeing her again had been a shock to the system.

EJ ushered her from the main floor, getting her comfortable in an isolated corner as he watched her with a steady, concerned gaze. “You wanted to see your best friend. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“She’s not my best friend anymore,” Genie snapped, then immediately winced at her attitude. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you. I just…” She blinked back tears, pressed her hands against her temples. “I mean... she was. For so long. But now? I can barely look at her. She completely shut me out.”

EJ leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s probably not anything you did, baby. Maybe Imani needed space. It had to hurt ending things with Jay.”

Genie looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Of course she’s hurting. I know that. I just... I’ve tried, EJ. I’ve called, texted, even sent emails. Nothing. And now, after all this time, she shows up here, at Jameson’s party of all places, looking like she’s completely fine. Like she doesn’t even care that I miss her.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and she quickly turned away, pretending to adjust the strap of her dress. EJ sighed and crossed the room to her, his movements slow and deliberate, giving her space but offering his presence.

“She does care,” he said softly, though there was a flicker of something sharper in his tone. “You don’t just forget someone like you, Genie. Maybe she’s just... not ready to face everything yet.”

Genie let out a bitter laugh, swiping at her cheek. “It’s been a year. How much longer do I have to wait? How much longer do I have to pretend it doesn’t hurt that she’s just... gone?”

EJ placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You’re allowed to feel this. It’s okay to be angry, to be sad, to miss her. Just don’t let it eat you up inside.”

Genie turned to him, the tears finally spilling over. “I don’t know how to let it go. She was my person, EJ. And now, it’s like I don’t even exist to her.”

EJ’s jaw tightened as he pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapping around her tightly. He couldn’t help the frustration bubbling in his chest—not just for what Imani’s absence had done to Genie but for the pain she had caused Jameson too. He didn’t say it aloud, but part of him felt like Imani had been selfish, leaving behind the people who had loved her most.

“You exist,” he murmured against her hair, pushing aside his bitterness for Genie’s sake. “And you’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

For a moment, Genie let herself believe him. In the quiet of EJ’s arms, she let herself grieve, not just for the friendship she had lost but for the part of herself that felt like it had been left behind with Imani.

EJ held her tighter, his mind drifting back to Imani’s face at the party. He’d keep his thoughts to himself, but if she ever wanted back into their lives, she’d have to prove she deserved it.

Imani’s patience was wearing thin, and she couldn’t last another minute in this crowded club. What the hell was she thinking, flying thousands of miles to see a man she hadn’t spoken to in a year? She shoved her way through the throngs of people, not bothering to find her aunt in the chaos. All she wanted was to escape, to retreat to her hotel room and try to make sense of everything. 

As she burst through the club doors and into the cool night air, Imani finally exhaled the breath she had been holding since running into Genie. But it didn’t bring any relief. Everything felt like shit and it was all her fault. The weight of loneliness settled on her shoulders like a familiar burden, one that always found its way back to her despite her best efforts to keep it at bay. But this time it hit harder than ever before and threatened to swallow her whole.

Before she could fully immerse herself in the depths of her sadness, a familiar voice jolted Imani out of her thoughts. “Mani? Leaving so soon?” It was Jameson, accompanied by Camille, their arms entwined as they walked towards her. Imani’s heart dropped at the sight, knowing that she was once in Camille’s place. A pang of envy and longing washed over her, but she quickly masked it with a forced smile. “Oh, I’m not feeling well, so I’m a head out,” she lied, trying to sound nonchalant. Jameson’s eyes narrowed slightly as if he could sense something was off. But then Camille leaned in closer and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, distracting him. “I know y’all ain’t out here to bring me back.”

Camille’s laughter tinkled through the air, her eyes sparkled as she glanced at Jameson. “No, we decided to leave early.” she said with a grin playing on her lips. Imani squinted at Jameson, studying his facial features intently. There was something off about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Why are you leaving your album release party so soon? Is everything alright?” Imani’s voice was gentle but curious, her gaze searching Jameson’s face for any clues. “I’m just tired,” he answered, but there was a slight quiver in his voice that betrayed his words. Imani could see the lie in his eyes, but she knew better than to press the issue. That was Camille’s job now.

“Jameson and I are going to go get some rest,” Camille said softly, doting on a 6’3 grown ass man like he was a baby. She wanted to hate it...but she knew she'd done the same when they were together. Imani’s eyes flicked back to Camille as she pat his chest and gazed at him. She tried to think of something to say next to the couple, but she was too focused on the way she said his name. It replayed over and over again in her mind. Her stomach was in knots at the sound of it. 

She was reminded of all of the times she used to call him that. Then she looked back at Camille. She was still looking at Jameson with the same look Imani used to have. Imani hated how he could invoke that look in another woman. She was the only one who should get to experience the look of love, lust, and admiration. She hated him for it. 

Where the fuck was her driver? She pulled her phone out of her clutch, opening it with her Face ID. She tapped over onto her call log, realizing that she never fucking called him. Imani was in such a rush to get away from the couple in the club that she forgot to do it. And yet, she still ended up face-to-face with them again. Fate wanted to torture her tonight. 

Imani quickly tapped the contact name and asked the driver to come get her. Luckily, he was just around the corner. There was silence between the three of them. Everything she planned on saying to him before her arrival was thrown out of the window when she first arrived. It all had fallen to shit. Now, her imagination filled those spaces of broken words. All she could see was Camille and Jameson, full of lust, in his house together doing what she would have done to him after his album release party.

Thankfully for her, Imani’s driver finally pulled up and disrupted her thoughts. He got out and opened the door for her. She walked over to the SUV, stepping inside of the car. “I’ll see you guys later…” She said, looking over her shoulder. She hoped her words never came to fruition. 

“Be safe and have a good night,” Jameson said lowly, watching her leave. She nodded, sitting down in the passenger seat of the vehicle. The driver closed the door. Once he pulled away from the curve, she pulled out the ring again. She toyed with it in her hands. Imani went into this party, hoping that the ring would spark a new meaning. She had no idea that meaning would be that it was her only connection to Jameson.

"You too quiet." Jameson muttered, pulling his hand from Camille's mouth. She gasped for breath when he did, immediately moaning out his name. "That's much better."

"Yes, baby. Right there. So good."

She was breathless as she clung to him. They were in the middle of his bed, she was on his lap -- long limbs wrapped around his neck and hips as she ground her hips against his.

Jameson groaned, feeling Camille's tightness stretch around him. Her enthusiasm was always a turn on and he let out a long, slow moan as he thrust deeper. Each powerful stroke, sending vibrations through her body that made her whimper in delight. Every time she moved on top of him, her breasts bounced enticingly against his chest, sending shivers down his spine.

"Ooh! D-Don't stop. Jamie! Just like that..."

The scent of sweat and sex filled the air as they moved together in perfect harmony. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mingling with their heavy breathing and tender moans. Camille's nails raked down his neck and back, leaving small trails of pleasure and pain that only fueled his desire further. He gripped her hips tightly, holding her close as they lost themselves in each other's touches.

He lifted his head to capture her mouth, tongue brushing against her own as he plunged deeper into her mouth -- imitating their movements. Their tongues danced together sensually while their bodies moved in rhythm on the bed beneath them. As he felt himself nearing climax, Jameson pulled back from the kiss to look into Camille's eyes - filled with lust and desire - before letting out a long growl.

"You like that, baby?" She asked him softly and Jameson nodded, words escaping him as his grip tightened on her hips. They'd been sleeping together long enough that she knew what it meant. She pushed her hands against his shoulders, legs unwinding from around him as he went crash back onto the bed. "Go ahead. Give it to me, Jamie." she whimpered.

Camille's nails dug into Jameson's skin as she rode him, leaving small crescents that stung but only made him harder. He groaned deeply, his hands finding purchase in the sheets as he arched his hips and thrust into her. He felt every curve of her body against him, every undulation sending shockwaves through his dick.

"That's what you want?" He asked her through gritted teeth. "Yes!" She responded, nodding her head. "I deserve it. I'm your good girl."

He couldn't take it much more. His head fell back onto the bed, eyes closed, but his hands knew where to go. He lifted them from the sheets, grasping her hip with the left and relentlessly rubbing at her clit with his right thumb. Camille's legs tightened against his outer thighs as she crumbled forward and came on top of him with a shout.

With a final thrust, Jameson cried out as he came inside her, their bodies trembling together in unison. As they came down from their high, Camille cuddled against Jameson's chest, their hearts beating in sync. She nibbled on his earlobe softly before pulling away slowly with a satisfied smile on her lips.

He sat in the dark in his living room, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city through the curtains. The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of the old floorboards settling. Jameson fiddled with the watch on his wrist, loosening the band and twisting it around, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it off.

Camille had gone to sleep hours ago, slipping into sleep with the ease of someone unburdened. For a couple of hours, he managed to forget…everything.

But when it was over, and Camille’s breathing had evened out beside him, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The weight of his thoughts returned with a vengeance, and they all centered on one person.

Imani.

The way she had looked at the party—poised but distant, like she was shielding herself from the room, from him—was burned into his memory. He couldn’t stop replaying the moment she left, her face unreadable as she slipped into the car. He had been overwhelmed by her presence, thrown off balance by the sight of her after so long.

When she had walked away, leaving him and Camille standing there, all he could do was grab a passing glass of champagne. Then another. He had swallowed down two before he realized what he was doing—regressing, using alcohol to dull the sharp edge of his emotions.

He had told Camille he wanted to leave. She didn’t hesitate, her concern for him evident as she agreed. But as they made their way out, they ran into Imani on the street.

The moment replayed in his mind like a loop he couldn’t escape. The brief, stilted conversation. The way she looked at him like she was holding back a storm of emotions. And then she was gone, slipping away into the night.

Her face was trapped in his mind now, every detail vivid and unrelenting. The way her lips pressed together as if holding back words. The flicker of something—pain? anger?—in her eyes. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

All he wanted to do was fix it.

But that wasn’t his job anymore.

He brushed a hand over his head, exhaling sharply as he tried to shake off the thoughts. The urge to call her was overwhelming, a near-physical pull, but he knew it would be a mistake. One glimpse, one rushed conversation, and he was right back where he’d been months ago—thinking of her, wanting her, needing to know if she was okay.

He needed to get a damn grip.

Jameson sat up, running his hands over his face. The watch shifted on his wrist, its weight a constant reminder of the past he couldn’t quite let go of. The room felt too quiet, too still, and his thoughts too loud.

He stood, padding softly out of the living room and into the kitchen, boxers slung low on his hips. He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, staring out at the city lights.

He had made progress this year, clawing his way out of the darkness that had consumed him after their breakup. He had rebuilt his life piece by piece, and Camille had been a steady presence through it all. But tonight had unraveled something in him, and he hated that it was Imani who had the power to do that.

He sighed, setting the glass down. He couldn’t keep letting her haunt him like this. He wouldn’t.

[headkiss]

single thread (pt. 3)

part 1, part 2, part 3

pairing: spiderman!steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: you know steve’s secret, but he has another; he loves you. of course, you love him, too, and things change.

word count: 9.3k

warnings: spiderman!steve au, fluff, smut (thigh riding and a hj), mentions of a car accident (nobody gets hurt), idiots in love!!!!!!

a/n: she’s here!!!! thank u guys so much for ur support on this mini series, i have loved writing it so so much <3 this will be the last long piece, but if you guys have requests for blurbs from this universe, i’d love to have them!!!

/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\

You’d never been that great at puzzles, at figuring things out quickly without hints. But for some reason, this was something you’re pretty sure of.

Steve is Spider-man. He’s the one who saved you, who saves people every day, and he keeps it hidden. You understand why he does, and you’d never want to pressure him into telling you something he doesn’t want to, you only wish he knew you were ready to listen. Whenever.

You’re not that strong, but you’d take some of the weight off of his shoulders if you could.

The news plays on your TV now more than ever, as more than just background noise. Your eyes focused on the screen whenever Spider-man is mentioned, analyzing the way he moves, the familiarity of the hand gestures when he speaks, the gentleness when he makes sure someone’s okay.

It isn’t only on the news that you notice things, either. Seeing Steve as often as you’ve grown to, you seem to find more tells constantly. How he can catch a glass before it spills without even looking, the way he’s on edge sometimes, like he can’t focus on one single thing.

You see Steve often, and the clues are there, and he still hasn’t told you about it.

It’s not that you expect him to tell you, or that you’re angry he hasn’t. It’s just been hard to pretend like you don’t know why he’s limping or like you’re still clueless to it all. He’ll tell you on his own time, or maybe he won’t, but you’ll have to be okay with that.

You’ve convinced yourself it’d be best not to tell him you knew. He’s probably stressed out enough, and you didn’t want to add to that if you could avoid it. You’ll be there for him either way, that’s what’s important.

Besides, on top of you figuring out he’s Spider-man, you’ve finally acknowledged the feelings that have been there for a while. The serious ones, the four letter ones. They’ve been on your mind more than anything.

You’re in love with Steve, that’s something you could tell him, in theory, but you can’t bring yourself to. You’d hate to ruin the only real friendship you’ve managed to build since moving.

So, he’s not the only one with secrets after all. He’s Spider-man, you know that he’s Spider-man, and you’re in love with him.

Lately, you’ve actually been thankful for how quiet things have been at work. Your head’s been loud enough. The thoughts of Steve, of trying not to give anything away every time you look at him, of whether he might be going to patrol whenever he leaves.

It’s all-consuming. Pathetic, even.

And it’s what’s on your mind—once again—as you walk home from your morning shift at work. The sun’s out, your eyes squinted when it hits your face. The breeze around you is still chilly, but the promise of spring and warmth is nice.

You glance over to the newsstand you always pass going to and from work, checking the picture on the front page to look for a certain mask. Today, it’s there, and you pause to look at it.

‘Spider-man catches culprit behind string of armed robberies.’

Skimming the article, your heartbeat picks up. The danger this boy puts himself in for the sake of other people. The injuries you’ve seen him come home with. You shake your head and keep walking.

“Mom, look!” A little boy says, urging his mother towards the newsstand. “It’s Spider-man!”

You turn around, a small smile on your face as you see the mother buying her son a copy of the paper. You guess you’re not the only person who can’t keep away from that hero.

Then, there’s a little glow in your chest, the reminder that you’re lucky enough to know the person behind the mask, too.

-

Steve thinks that telling Robin about you might’ve been a bad idea, because she looks like she might slap him right now.

“You’re telling me you kissed her, then told her it couldn’t happen again, and yet you still have that look on your face when you talk about her?”

Robin makes it sound very simple. To him, it isn’t.

“Well, yeah, but it’s complicated, okay? And I don’t have a look on my face, Robs.”

“You absolutely do, all moony and shit. If I didn’t want you to find someone so badly, I’d say it’s kinda gross.”

Honestly, Steve can’t even tell her she’s wrong. If the way he thinks about you tells him anything, it’s that he probably can’t keep it off his face. At the very least, he hopes that Robin can only tell because she knows him so well, not because it’s insanely obvious.

“Thanks.”

“Steve, I know you like her,” she says, gentler than before, careful not to scare him from the conversation.

I more than like her, he thinks. There’s a better way to describe it and he knows that. He may not admit it, not even to himself, but he knows it all the same.

Robin continues before Steve can reply, “and I know you’re scared, I do, but we both know you’d regret it if you didn’t give this a shot.”

He shakes his head. Somehow, every time he sees Robin, the conversation always leads to this. To you.

“I’d regret it more if I got her hurt.”

“Steve, I’ve known about you since the beginning and look at me. I’m right here, perfectly fine,” she holds her arms out, like it’s some sort of proof that she’s okay. “The worst I’ve done lately is scrape my knee, and that’s just because I’m clumsy, not because I know about you being Spider-man.”

He supposes she’s right, that she has a point here, but it doesn’t stop him from being afraid, from feeling an uncomfortable clench in his chest when he thinks about even the slightest possibility of putting you in danger.

“It’s different with her, though,” he says.

“Come on! Remember in high school when you had like four different girlfriends in a month?”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Well, still. Where’s that part of you gone?”

“Um…”

“Shut up, I mean the part that was open to that. To trying to make connections.”

“Maybe the venom from the spider made it disappear.”

She huffs and sinks into the couch cushions. Steve’s always been stubborn, quick to deflect with humor or sarcasm when things get too intense. Too much.

Robin’s a good friend, the best one, and she can see him closing up, so she changes her approach.

“I just want you to be happy, you know?”

“Yeah, Robs, I know.”

“Can you just think about it?”

“About what?”

“Asking her out, telling her how you feel,” Robin lays a hand on Steve’s shoulder, gives it a small squeeze. “Don’t close yourself off to it completely.”

Steve’s hand lands on top of hers, squeezes it back before letting go. He may not have that many people in his life, but having a friend like Robin never makes him feel like he’s missing anything.

At least, he didn’t feel that way until he met you. Now, he thinks about what it’d feel like to fall asleep and wake up with his arms wrapped around you, to be able to kiss you and hold you. To have that intimacy that you can only have when you’re in love with someone.

Fuck. In love.

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

-

The good thing about being lost in thought while you walk is that it makes time go by quickly. By the time you’re walking up the stairs to your apartment, you’re not even sure how you got there, your feet having been on autopilot.

Just as you’re fishing out your keys, there’s the sound of a door opening, a pair of voices following. One that’s practically engraved in your head. The other is of a girl, who seems to notice you standing by your door very quickly.

“Oh my gosh! Hi!”

You blink at her a couple of times, because she’s talking to you like she knows you, like you should know her. “Hi…?”

Steve’s leaning a shoulder against his door frame behind her, a scrunch in his brows and a shake of his head. It’s all you catch before she grabs your attention again.

“Sorry! I’m Robin, Steve’s totally, completely plantomic best friend-”

“Oh my god,” he mutters.

“You’re the neighbor,” she continues, saying your name to make sure she’s right, even though she seemed plenty sure of that already. “Steve talks about you all the time.”

“Really?” You can’t help but ask. You try to hide the hopefulness in your voice, the happiness at the idea of him talking about you. All the time.

“Oh, yeah. You have made quite the impact on this guy,” she points towards him with a thumb over her shoulder.

“Robs,” Steve gives her a stare, eyes wide and—if the hint of pink spreading over his cheeks says anything—probably telling her to stop embarrassing him.

“What?” She looks back at him, all innocent.

“Don’t you have to get to work?”

“Okay, okay,” Robin turns towards you again, gives you a toothy smile that’s wide enough to have you sending her a small grin in return. “It was so nice to finally meet you.”

“You, too,” you say, and though she surprised you with a whole bunch at once, you mean it.

She pulls you into a hug and says to you quietly, “thank you for taking care of him.”

And with that, she walks away, retreating down the hall. Steve hears her, Robin knows that. Hell, she probably wanted him to.

He scratches at the back of his neck (that habit of his) and huffs, “I’m sorry about her. She can be sort of a lot.”

“Don’t be,” you shake your head. “She seems great.”

“You’d like her, I think. If you got to know her.”

He still seems nervous, like you and Robin meeting was a really big thing for him. And it is. The two most important people in his life meeting. Of course he’d want that to go well.

“Steve, you don’t need to worry, or anything. I already like her, okay?”

Anyone who seems to make Steve happier is bound to win some points with you. He deserves friends like that, especially with everything he has to carry.

“Okay, yeah. That’s good.”

He still seems nervous, so you step over and place your hand on his arm, giving him the lightest squeeze. He probably wouldn’t have felt it if it weren’t for how focused he is on you.

“I was just surprised, that’s all. Promise.”

Steve’s hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers gently, as if he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

“Thank you,” he speaks quietly. Two words he tries to tell you as often as he can.

-

Steve’s been visiting you at work often, sometimes with food, always with enough to brighten your day. Getting to spend that extra time with him is another perk of working when it’s not busy.

Today, he’s decided to surprise you rather than give you a heads-up over the phone. There’s a takeout bag clutched in his hand, and a little ball of nerves in his stomach. He shouldn’t be nervous, it’s only you. Then again, it’s you.

He opens the bookstore door, the small bell above it jingling. For once, there’s a customer at the register. You glance over at Steve from behind the counter, wiggling your hand in a quick wave before helping your customer again.

And just like that, there’s that feeling in his chest.

Steve waits by one of the displays as you finish up, trying not to make it obvious that he’s looking at you. There’s the soft smile on your face, the tone of your voice, the way the lighting hits your skin. It all has his heart going quicker.

“Hi, Steve,” you greet him once the customer leaves. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Hi, honey. Kinda the point of surprising you with food.”

“Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Hopefully I picked something you like.”

From the packaging he’s seen before in your apartment, he’s pretty sure he did alright, but he waits for your confirmation all the same.

You open the bag he’d set on the counter, a small happy gasp that he likes way too much leaving your mouth, “yay! How’d you know I liked this place?”

He shrugs, “lucky guess.”

There’s a second stool behind the counter, and you pull it up for Steve without a word, patting the seat for him to sit down. He does, consumed by the brush of your arms as you unpack the food, the touch of your knees when you shift in your seat.

“Thanks again, Steve.”

“You already know I owe you for all the meals you’ve made me.”

“And you already know, you don’t owe me anything.”

You’re a kind person, Steve’s known that since he met you. So much so that you don’t even see the value in what you’ve done for him, like it’s the simplest thing for you. It’s the simplest thing to help him.

It makes him want to do things he said he wouldn’t. Things like kiss you.

“Anyway,” he shakes the thought away. “How’s your day been?”

You lift a shoulder as you finish your bite of food before replying, “been okay. I’ve had a couple more people come in than usual, which is good.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, I love the quiet in here, love getting to just read behind the counter and call it work. But, it’s also nice to feel useful at least some of the time.”

“That’s good. What’ve you been reading?”

This is a question he loves to ask you, because you get excited to respond every time. He loves to watch you grab the book and show it to him, to see your hands flick through the pages as you tell him what it’s about, to watch the way your mouth forms the words you speak.

He loves to ask you, because he loves to listen to your voice when you answer. That word’s been in his head a lot lately. Love.

So much that he’s not sure it ever really leaves. It’s a lingering whisper, growing louder when he’s with you. Even after you eat, after the food’s been cleaned, as he walks out the door, the word stays.

“Bye, Steve, see you later!” You say as he reaches for the door handle.

He lets himself look at you again before leaving, his eyes lingering for a second too long. “Bye, honey.”

The bell above the door rings again as he leaves, but it isn’t loud enough to cover what’s rushing through Steve’s mind. I love her. I shouldn’t, I can't. I love her.

God, maybe he should talk to Robin again, he thinks. Or, maybe he could avoid the lecture he’s bound to get and take his mind off things the best way he can: putting on the suit.

-

Turns out that even when he should be focused on patrolling, his mind still likes to wander. That’s probably why he ends up stationed atop the building across from the bookstore, where your closing shift should be ending soon.

He ends up there most nights he knows you’re closing, really.

Before, when he couldn’t even let himself think about his feelings for you, he’d tell himself he stayed near the bookstore because it was a shadier area, more alleyways and all that. Now, though it sort of scares him, he’s able to acknowledge that it’s purely to make sure you’re safe.

He has a whole city to be protecting, but if his senses aren’t leading him anywhere else, he’ll always end up near you.

It’s sort of ironic. You, subconsciously looking for Spider-man everywhere you go, him being right there, and you don’t even know it. He’s so, so close.

Steve stationed himself across the street from you about twenty minutes before the shop was meant to close. His eyes squinted on his mask to see if there was anyone seemingly dangerous around, just in case.

Sometimes, when he does this, he can’t stop himself from thinking about that night when he found you in that alley. When his ears were filled with pure static until he knew you were safe. When he kneeled in front of you and brought you home. He doesn’t want you to go through something like that ever again.

The click of the bookshop door closing behind you has Steve’s heightened hearing turned on, knowing that you’re about to lock up and head home.

You feel like there are eyes on you as you walk. But, every time you look behind you, there’s nobody there. You’re just being paranoid, you tell yourself. You’re fine. And really, you are fine, because the eyes aren’t dangerous—though you don’t know it—they belong to Steve.

He hops across buildings as discreetly as he can while following your pace. Walking you home in his own, secret way.

The next thing happens in a complete blur.

You’re crossing at an intersection when a car runs a red light, speeding and crashing into another vehicle. You’re in the street, the two cars screeching on the pavement and heading straight for you. Even if you ran, you wouldn’t be quick enough.

But he was.

Steve jumped down before it even happened, his vision tunneling on that car, on you in its path. He just knew he needed to get to you first. He shot the web, swung down, and scooped you up right before the collision reached you. His heart pounding, his grip on you tight enough to knock the air from your lungs.

He lands and sets you down at the back of an alley, hidden from the bystanders that screamed at the sight of the crash, at the sight of him.

It takes you an entire minute of silence, of your chest heaving and your ears ringing to grasp what had just happened. How close of a call it was, how he was there to save you again.

Your vision is blurred by tears when you look up at him, at the red and blue suit, the mask. Your breathing is quick, panicked, but it slows the slightest bit when you look at him. Spider-man. Steve. The best boy ever.

When your eyes lock onto his face, Steve rushes forward, holding your face in a gentle grasp. It’s frantic, the way his hands shake when he reaches for you, the way his head tilts all over to make sure you’re okay. His thumbs brush away the tears that fall from your eyes, back and forth and back and forth.

“Hey, look at me,” he says, dipping his head down to make you focus on him. “Breathe.”

You shake your head, trying to calm down the best you can after coming so close. Fuck, it was so close. If Steve would’ve been a split-second later, you would’ve been hit. The thought doesn’t help you calm down one bit.

Steve can see the fear in your eyes, the quick rise and fall of your chest. It clenches his heart in a tight, uncomfortable fist, and all he wants to do is help you. So he lets it slip.

“Breathe, honey. Come on.”

Honey.

That’s all the confirmation you’d ever need. You were right. This is Steve. It’s Steve holding your face and saving your life.

You surge forward and wrap your arms around his neck, and his go around your waist instantly.

“Steve,” you breathe out so quietly, only he could have heard it.

His heart sinks and flips at the same time, if that’s even possible. It sinks because you know, somehow, and it terrifies him so much, he’s not sure what to say. But then, it flips, too, because there’s a relief that’s clear in your voice.

“How did you-” he starts, but you only squeeze him tighter.

“Steve,” this time, your voice breaks when you say it.

Now isn’t the time to talk about this. Not when you were almost hit, not in public. Not now and not like this, Steve knows that. The break in your voice tells him to push that back for now.

“I’m gonna take you home, okay?”

He can feel you nod against his neck, so he lets go of you with one hand and keeps the other wrapped around you and starts swinging.

Right now, at this second, he’s not worried about how you found out, how you know it’s him. No, he only cares that you’re alive, that he can feel your arms squeezing around his neck, that he can squeeze you back just as tight.

As he swings with you clutching onto him, the realization makes his breathing stutter.

You could’ve died just then. In that fraction of a moment, you could’ve been gone without Steve ever getting the chance to tell you he loves you. He can’t let that happen. He’s gotta tell you.

It scares the absolute shit out of him, but he has to do something. He can’t lose you before working up the courage to tell you how he feels, before having the slightest chance at kissing you again.

He won’t let that happen.

-

Steve’s very gentle with you, even when he’s swinging from building to building with you in his arms. The sure grip he has around your waist and the smell of his cologne buried under the suit help ground you as wind rushes by.

You’re alive, Steve’s got you, and he knows you know.

Your eyes are squeezed shut the entire way, and in only a couple of minutes, he’s hanging onto the side of his building by his window and thanking himself for (once again) not locking it.

“Hey, honey, can you open the window for me?”

You lift your face from his neck and nod, twisting to lift it open. Steve’s supporting you with one arm and holding the both of you up with the other. The strength he has is incredible, especially when you’re seeing it first hand.

He helps you get into his room with a hand on your lower back, and lifts himself in right after you. You watch Steve’s back beneath the suit as he shuts the window, watch his gloved hands remove the web-shooters from his wrists.

Then, slowly, watch those same hands lift up to the edge of his mask and tug it off.

Your breath catches. You knew it was him, but seeing Steve’s familiar face and its prettiest combination of features be revealed is different, it’s real.

“Wow,” you say, though you hadn’t really meant to. It slipped. “Hi.”

Steve’s had a twist in his gut ever since he found out that you knew about him, and it only tangles more now that you’re looking at him with widened eyes. He doesn’t want things to change with you, and he’s so scared that they will.

What if you don’t want to see him anymore because of this? What if you’re angry with him for keeping it from you? What if you end up hurt because someone wanted to get to him?

“Um, hi.”

You step closer to where he stands by his side table, your hands twisting in front of you like you’re nervous, too.

“You saved me.”

“Just, uh, doing my job,” he says, shrugging it off.

“Well, then, you’re really, really great at what you do.”

You’re trying to be light with the subject, to take it at his pace given it’s his secret, his life. Steve’s quiet for a few moments, a flicker of something you can’t distinguish crossing over his face.

“How’d you know?” Is all he says, but you know exactly what he means by it.

“Saw Spider-man with the exact same injuries as you on the news. I guess I just connected the dots from there.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

You reach for his hand and hold it lightly, hoping that maybe, just maybe, your touch can help to ground him as much as his does you.

“Don’t be, okay? I understand why you wouldn’t. I just want to be there for you.”

“I don’t tell anyone, really,” he starts, his grip on your hand tightening as he speaks. “Robin’s the only other person who knows. I don’t want to put anyone in danger so I… I just keep it to myself.”

You squeeze his fingers, trying to show him in any way you can that you aren’t going to run away from this.

“You don’t have to keep it all to yourself, Steve. You can talk to me or knock on my door whenever you’re hurt,” he shakes his head. “You can. I keep my first-aid kit stocked for you.”

“It doesn’t scare you? That you might get hurt because of me?”

“I’m not scared for myself. I’m scared for you. Going out every night and fighting the bad guys. I’m scared that you’ll get hurt, Steve. I’m not worried about me,” he glances down but you step even closer, making him look at you. “If tonight shows anything, it’s that you’ll save me from getting hurt either way.”

Steve’s hand that isn’t holding yours moves up, pushing your hair over your shoulder before landing on your face. The fabric of his glove rests against your jaw, his thumb running over your skin, his eyes searching yours for a single hint of insincerity.

He doesn’t find one.

“You’re really important to me, honey.”

“You’re important to me, too.”

You’re close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips, his forehead a whisper away from yours. Close enough that you catch the way his eyes flick down to your mouth and back up.

“I know I said we shouldn’t-”

“Kiss me, Steve.”

“Okay.”

The hand on your face tilts you upwards, and just like that, he catches your lips with his. You’ve kissed before and still, there’s a rush of butterflies in your stomach, a warmth spreading over your skin the way a blanket of sunlight feels.

It’s slow, it’s delicate, and it means something. There are a thousand words that neither of you can say buried in this kiss, in the gentle press of your lips. Words spoken with the tilt of his head to get closer, the squeeze of his fingers interlocked with yours.

Steve doesn’t ever want to not be able to kiss you again. Not when it feels like this. Acceptance and reassurance, softness and the sort of glowing feeling he’s only ever had around you.

When he pulls away, he doesn’t go far. Your breaths meet between your faces, mingling in the silence that follows. Steve rests his forehead against yours, your noses brushing.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” you say. Because you’re still shaken from earlier, because you need the comfort that Steve seems to provide simply by being next to you, because you’re afraid that if you let him out of your sight, he’ll pull away from you again.

“You want me to stay with you?”

You nod. “Please.”

“Okay, honey, I’ll stay.”

As long as you’ll have me, he thinks, I’ll stay.

-

Steve did stay that night. After you both showered and got ready for bed, there was a moment where he stood—almost nervous—in the doorway of your bedroom. You lifted the covers for him and patted the spot next to you, and that was it.

He stayed for breakfast, too. This time, it was him cooking for you, stood over the stove in your apartment. It’s a sight you could definitely get used to. Then, like he could get any sweeter, he even called into work for you, saying you should at least get a day after what happened the night before. What almost happened.

Really, as scary as the crash had been, what you’d been thinking about the most was the way he kissed you. The way you’d woken up in the middle of the night with his arm around your waist. The way you fell back asleep easily with him there.

It’s what you’ve been thinking about in the days since. What you’re thinking about even now.

You know that something shifted that night, with him finding out that you knew he’s Spider-man, with you being able to reassure him that it won’t push you away. You could feel that shift, like a tectonic plate.

Despite that, things have been quiet and relatively the same with Steve. You haven’t seen him all that much, but when you do it’s still friendly. Friendly with something lingering between you, unspoken and palpable.

It’s dark out now, the evening news playing on your TV the way it so often does. It’s static to you until you see footage of Spider-man from earlier, swinging around and fighting crime again.

Naturally, your first thought is Steve, and whether or not he’s okay. Before, when he didn’t know you knew, you’d keep all this worry to yourself, letting it build and build until you saw him again. Now, though, he knows you know and you can do something about that concern.

You push yourself up from your couch and head to your door. Knocking on his comes easy, and he opens it quickly, like he knew it was you.

“Hi,” he says. There’s a smile pulling at his mouth.

“Hi. Sorry for bothering you, I just- um. I saw the news and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Seeing you on the other side of his door already had Steve’s heart doing this silly flutter in his chest. Knowing you care enough to check on him this way does something else entirely. It floods from head to toe, the feelings he has for you. The ones he’s identified as love.

“I’m okay, promise. Not even a scratch this time.”

You nod, a pressure lifting from your lungs. You breathe a little easier seeing him unharmed. Seeing him in general.

“Okay. Good,” you should probably stop there, turn around and go back to yours, but you don’t. “I was just really worried, y’know, ‘cause I’ve seen you hurt and all, so I just wanted to see you and check-”

“Hey,” he grabs your hand gently, cutting off your rambling and tugging you into his apartment, pushing the door shut behind you. “I swear not every Spider-man thing I do is dangerous.”

“Yeah, okay, because swinging from buildings is super safe.”

“I’m a professional at that. Nothing to worry about.”

The wood of the front door is solid against your back, and Steve’s hand still in yours is the same. Solid, reassuring, sweet. Steve steps just a bit closer to you, so that you’re toe-to-toe and there’s nowhere for you to escape to.

His free hand reaches up to fiddle with the ends of your hair, gentle in a way that almost feels like you dreamt it.

“Did you really only come here to check on me?” He asks.

“Yeah, I did. Is that… okay?”

Steve wants to kiss you for that. He thinks you might want that, too. So, he dips his face closer to yours, lets go of your hand only to hold onto the nape of your neck instead. He hesitates, waits for you to push him away, but you never do.

Instead, you tilt your head and meet him in the middle.

You never knew that kissing someone could be so easy, that you could fit together so well that it just works. But that’s how it is with Steve, and you suppose that’s how it is when you’re in love. The pink haze and heart-shaped touches.

Steve doesn’t think he could ever get sick of kissing you, of feeling so light when things are often so heavy for him. When you pull away, he chases your mouth and steals two, three pecks from you.

Then, to answer your question, he says, “it’s more than okay.”

You only notice now that you aren’t distracted by his mouth on yours that your hands had found their way to his shoulders. It’s impossible not to notice the muscles under his skin, the clear evidence of his strength. Heat spreads through you, and you have to pull your hands away to speak properly.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” he tells you. His hand, still on your neck, squeezes so, so lightly. “I know I’ve said that we should only be friends, but that was before. Before you knew, and I was terrified of what could happen to you.”

“What about now?”

“Now…” He takes a deep breath, and focuses his eyes on yours. Whatever he’s about to say, he wants you to know he means it. “Now I can’t stop thinking about you and how it feels to kiss you.”

“I think about you, too.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, and though being honest makes you nervous, the smile that spreads over his face makes it worth it. So does the slight blush of his cheeks.

“I want to take you on a date. If that’s something you’d like.”

“I would really like that, Steve.”

Right then, there’s another shift, a bigger one. You both know there are feelings here. Big, scary feelings that you can’t say out loud yet.

-

Steve took care of planning the date. He wanted to surprise you, to impress you and do something for you this time. You do enough for him already.

Though Robin assured him—after all of her ‘finally’s and ‘I told you so’s—that it would be great, perfect, even, he’s still nervous when he knocks on your door. He’s shuffling on his feet, puffing out a breath as he waits, and then he sees you and the rest sort of melts away.

You open your door to find Steve with a picnic basket in hand and a slightly windswept bouquet of flowers in the other. You smile as he hands them to you and try to hide it by smelling the flowers.

“Thank you, these are beautiful.”

“‘Course.”

“I’ll just put them in water and then we can go.”

Your stomach is a mess of flutters and nerves as you fill up a vase with water and put the flowers in it. Sure, you’ve spent time with Steve alone time and time again, but never like this. It’s exciting and it’s scary, but the welcome kind of scary that comes with new things.

“You’re taking me on a picnic?” You ask, locking your apartment door behind you and then falling into step next to Steve.

“If that’s okay with you?”

“Sounds amazing.”

“My cooking isn’t as great as yours, I have to warn you,” Steve says, holding the door open to the stairwell.

“I’m sure I’ll love it.”

“It’s okay if you don’t, I’m just saying.”

He holds the door at the bottom of the stairs open for you, too. And then the one to exit the building.

As you walk along, Steve leading the way, your nerves fade, replaced with the familiarity and comfort of Steve’s company. Replaced with the feelings that sweep inside you like a huge bubble of pink bubblegum, so close to popping and spilling it all.

You talk aimlessly about anything and everything, and Steve does the same. You both try not to make the little catch in your breaths obvious when your hands brush.

He takes you to a park, one with big trees and a walking trail, with scattered flowers and the fresh smell of nature that makes you feel like you’re not even in the city anymore. He keeps going, and you keep following him, until he finds the spot he’d found before. A small clearing between trees, shaded by their leaves and just enough space for him to spread out the picnic blanket.

“Why have I never found this place myself?” You ask, looking up at the sky through the leaves.

“You like it?”

You nod, sitting down next to him on the blanket he brought. “Thank you for bringing me.”

He shrugs, “thank you for coming.”

You share a smile, a slow spread across your mouths as you look at each other for a moment. A smile saying this is real. Then, like it didn’t even happen, he starts to unpack the food.

Steve can’t even remember the last date he went on, but he knows that it wasn’t anything like this. He’s never felt this light around someone before. Somehow, you turn the bricks that weigh him down into feathers.

You’d thought it before, but you’re sure of it now; Steve is the absolute best boy you’ve ever known. The effort he put into making and packing up the food, the shyness he has about it all, like he should be embarrassed for being sweet to you. You feel unbelievably lucky that you moved into the apartment across from his.

The date goes by in a blink. You and Steve subconsciously moving closer and closer on the blanket, your thighs touching and your arms brushing. The food eaten between conversation and giggles. The picnic basket is now packed up again, the containers empty this time around.

You rest your head on Steve's shoulder and say, “thank you for this.”

Steve’s eyes close for a second, trying to memorize how this feels. He opens them and presses the gentlest kiss onto your head. “You’re welcome, honey.”

You stay that way and breathe each other in, once, then twice. That’s all you allow yourself before you stand and brush yourself off even though you weren’t dirty in the first place. Steve folds up the blanket and places it in the basket, and he stands, too.

This time, as you walk back to your apartment building, when your hands brush, you and Steve feel just a bit more confident, enough to reach your pinkies out to each other and lock them.

Steve’s the one who fully grabs onto your hand, letting your fingers intertwine. It’s how they’re meant to be, he thinks, two pieces of the same puzzle that just happen to fit together. You don’t let go for the entire walk.

Outside your building, neither of you really want to say goodbye, to end the date that feels like the beginning of something really, really good.

But, just as Steve lets go of your hand to reach for the door, he feels it. The tingling over his skin, the goosebumps, the static in his ears. He blinks and turns to you.

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop, it’s okay. Just be safe.”

He’ll never understand how you’re so understanding, how you accept it so quickly. All he knows is he loves you for it and so much more.

“Thank you, honey.”

He presses the quickest kiss to your cheek, sets down the picnic basket, and then runs into the alleyway on the side of the building. When he emerges, he’s in his suit and swinging off.

He’d been wearing it under his clothes. Always prepared.

You pick up the picnic basket and walk up to your apartment half convinced that the last few hours have been some sort of dream. Too good to be true.

-

The issue that had Steve’s senses coming alive didn’t take long to handle. Still, he stayed out to continue patrolling, worried that something else could happen. Worried that it might be too soon to go back and see you again.

Not seeing you didn’t erase you from his thoughts. Not one bit. He spent the hours in the suit waiting for the city to die down, waiting for the moment his senses would quiet down enough to let him know he was done for the night.

All because he wanted to see you, kiss you. God, he’s so fucked.

You were faring pretty much the same. Only, you’d changed into your pajamas rather than a superhero suit, laying around on your bed with a book in hand to hear knocks on your door. Or, at the very least, to hear him get home safe.

When the knock comes, it isn’t on your door. Instead, there’s a tapping on your bedroom window by the fire escape. As soon as you hear it, you shut your book and turn towards your window, and there he is.

Steve hangs upside down, his head level with yours when you open the window to talk to him. If you weren’t so busy being in love with him, the sight would be sort of funny.

“Well hello, Spider-man,” you say, leaning your hands against the windowsill.

“Hey, honey.”

“You aren’t hurt are you?” You ask, moving your hands to hold his face, because you’ve seen him injured enough times to be worried about that, to know it’s a possibility.

“I’m completely fine.”

“You’re really okay?”

“Nothing hurts, I promise,” he says, shaking his head. How could it when you’re holding him like that, looking at him like that. Pain isn’t what he’s feeling in the slightest.

You’re not really thinking when you lean in and peck his cheek over the mask, but it’s enough to scorch his skin, to leave an invisible mark.

And Steve isn’t really thinking when he speaks, “have I ever told you that I think you’re really pretty?”

“You’re upside down,” you tell him, fighting a stupid, lovesick smile. “You must be seeing wrong.”

He ignores that comment and twists himself upright, then climbs through your window into your apartment. You have to back up to make room for him, and when his feet hit the hardwood floors, he’s only inches away.

“I’m right side up now. Still think you’re pretty.”

You’ve never been good at taking compliments, never really thought that people meant them, only that they were trying to be kind. Steve is different. You still don’t believe it yourself, but you can tell that he does. His voice holds enough emotion to do that.

Bashful, you walk around him to shut your window and then lock it. You try to keep your feelings off of your face when you turn back around and find him already facing you, his mask now off and clutched in his hand.

His hair is a mess on his head, his cheeks flushed from being upside down and maybe, just maybe from being so close to you.

“So, what brought you to my window?” You ask.

“I wanted to say sorry,” he says, scratching at his neck. That habit of his. “For leaving the way I did earlier.”

It’s a half truth. He wanted to apologize for that. But, mostly, he wanted to tell you he loves you. He’d been thinking about it his whole patrol. Thinking about when the right time would be then remembering how quickly things can change, how you’d almost been hit not so long ago.

With that, he decided that there wasn’t a right time, that he could lose you just like that and he swore to himself that he wouldn’t let that happen. Especially not without telling you how he feels.

But, he’s always been more courageous with that mask on, and now, he just can’t get the words to leave his mouth. They hover on the top of his tongue, sticky and heavy.

“I told you it’s okay, Steve. I swear,” you step closer to him and reach for his hand, tugging the glove off before lacing your fingers with his. “I know that you had to, that this is a part of you and I’d never expect you to change or ignore it. I-“ love you, you almost say. But the words get stuck for you, too. “I care about you so much. Spider-man included.”

Every time Steve worries, even the slightest bit, that you’ll feel differently about him because of this, you prove him wrong. You say all the right things to make him feel better, to make him want to fall into you completely and never look back.

You’ve proven to him over and over that you’re in this, that you’re this dream of a girl that somehow ended up in his mess of a life. A mess you’re willing to join, helping him clean it without even trying.

You’re a dream, his dream, and he has to say it. He has to say it so he does, those sticky words forced off of his tongue in a breath.

“I love you.”

He squeezes your hand on the second word, like he’s emphasizing it. Love.

“I love you,” he says again, and you realize you’re not dreaming. He really said it, and he’s really looking at you that way with those soft, brown eyes. “You don’t have to say it, I just needed to tell you. I’ve never had someone make me feel the way you do. Never.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

Your heart pounds, thumps.

“I love you, too.”

“Serious?” He checks, because he thinks he dreamt it just like you had.

So you repeat it for him, “I love you, Steve.”

He leans in, not so afraid anymore, and places a hand on your neck, his fingers in your hair. The other hand squeezes yours again before letting go to frame your jaw and tilt your mouth to his.

It’s an easy rhythm to fall into now. Kissing him. And you feel yourself melt into him, your muscles relaxing, your body pushing towards his. Your arms are thrown around his neck, and all you feel is him.

It’s a delicate push and pull, a kiss that’s familiar but now has something new behind it. That acknowledged emotion, the reality of it. It has his tongue sweeping against the seam of your lips and dipping in when they part.

His hand is tangled tighter in your hair, and you’re not sure how long it’s been before you both pull away, breathless, chests heaving, matching smiles on your lips. Your noses still brush, and still, it doesn’t feel close enough.

Steve’s hands shift to run down your shoulders, then your arms, and back and forth.

“Does this mean I’m your girlfriend?” You ask, still breathing heavy, still feeling his breath fan across your lips.

“I’d like to think so,” he says, his hands now settled around your forearms. “If that’s what you want.”

You nod, kiss him quick. “Does it also mean you’ll stay the night?”

“As long as I can use your shower first,” he says.

“Good idea.”

“You saying I smell?”

You shrug, shoulder to your cheek. He smiles, and in turn, so do you, and it feels like the closest thing to perfect there could ever be.

-

Steve emerges from your bathroom with damp hair falling over his forehead and your clothes on instead of his suit. You lent him a t-shirt and a baggy pair of sweats that are still a bit too short at his ankles. You grin when you notice that.

And Steve grins when he sees you. My girl, he thinks. And it’s for real this time.

You’re sitting with your back against your headboard, knees bent and your book in your hands yet again. You needed to occupy yourself while he was showering, after all. Otherwise, you’d just think and think and think about him in the next room, his mouth on yours. His voice saying the words ‘I love you.’

He walks over and sits on the bed by your feet, his side facing you, but his head turned to look at you. Seeing him in your clothes, in your space, you think it’s something you’d like to see forever. Seeing you waiting for him in bed, Steve’s thinking the exact same thing.

“Hi,” you say.

Steve wraps a hand around your bare ankle, his thumb smoothing back and forth. “Hi.”

Though everything’s out in the open now, there’s a shyness there. Like two kids with crushes wondering what to do next. You’ve never loved each other out loud before today. It’s brand new territory.

But with that shyness, there’s so much more. There’s the knowledge of how it feels to kiss each other, to hold each other. There’s want to do it all again.

Steve’s other hand reaches for your book and sets it open and face-down on your nightstand. Then, he pushes your knees over so that he can lean in. He’s not fully thinking about what he’s doing, he’s simply listening to this thread that pulls him closer and closer to you until he’s kissing you again.

It starts with a couple of pecks, innocent, soft, quick. It turns into more and somewhere along the way you’re tugged into Steve’s lap, your knees on either side of one of his thighs. And somewhere along the way Steve’s hands have ventured under your shirt, running across your waist and up and down your back. He groans into your mouth when he notices the lack of a bra.

Steve tugs you impossibly closer to him, tugs you down so that you’re straddling his thigh with all of your weight. You inhale sharp and quick through your nose when he does.

It’s not long after that before you’re panting, unable to keep up with his mouth, and though Steve’s chest heaves, too, he doesn’t take the break to breathe properly. Instead, he dips his head to kiss your jaw, then your neck.

Your head tilts for him easily, an arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other tangled in the hair at the bale of his neck. You gasp when his teeth scrape against the skin behind your ear, your hips hurting unconsciously to rut against his thigh.

“Sorry,” you say, worried it was too much. Still, it comes out breathily.

He pulls back from your neck, looks into your eyes, his brown ones just a bit darker than usual. “Did that feel good?”

Your eyes search his face for an ounce of discomfort, of uncertainty. All you see is the kind of warmth that spreads through you, the kind of intensity that only comes with lust.

“Yes.”

“Do it again,” he tells you, his hands slipping down to rest just above the waistband of your shorts. He encourages you to move, his hands pushing and pulling. You move with him, slowly at first, letting out the smallest whimper when the angle is just right. At the sound, Steve says, “keep doing it.”

“Steve.”

“You’re okay,” his hands urge you forward again, his thumbs running back and forth soothingly. “I wanna make you feel good. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, because how could you not when it already feels so good, when he’s looking at you with kiss-swollen lips, messy hair, and wide pupils. When he’s looking at you like it feels as good for him as it does for you.

You move quicker, his hands encouraging you still. He kisses you again, kisses you until you have to pull away, your mouth dropping open, a moan slipping out before you can stop it.

Steve wishes he could bottle up the sound and keep it, listen to it over and over. Because he’s the one who’s making you feel that way, he’s the one who has your hand tight in his hair. Because he’s thought about you before, and it’s nothing compared to the real thing.

The sweatpants you lent him grow a bit tighter, and his hands don’t stop guiding you over him. He wants to hear you make that noise again.

You drop your forehead to his shoulder, your thighs tightening around his, your clit catching on the fabric of your shorts and his (your) sweatpants enough to make you moan again.

“That’s it, baby. Doin’ so good.”

It’s the first time he’s ever called you ‘baby’ and you hope it won’t be the last.

“Steve.”

“I’ve got you.”

The hand that isn’t in his hair trails down his torso and rests above the waistband of his pants for a second. Your hand cups him over his pants, squeezing lightly and finding him hard. Watching you was enough to turn him on, and the thought makes you whimper again.

“Fuck. You don’t have to,” he says, taking a hand from your waist to pull your face from his shoulder, to look at you.

“Want you to feel good, too.”

There’s nothing but honesty in your words, want in your eyes.

“Shit, honey.”

“Will you let me?” You ask, your voice slightly strained from the stimulation you feel, your hips still moving.

“Yeah.”

Your hand slips under the waistband with his consent, and you wrap it around him, your thumb running over his tip. He groans and leans his forehead against yours.

You’re breathing the same air, moving at the same pace, and you don’t think it’s ever felt this right with anyone before. With Steve, you’re not thinking about how you might look and whether or not he’ll like it, you’re only thinking about being with him.

“I’ve thought about you before. Like this,” he says, a quiet confession broken up by heavy breaths.

“Me, too,” you reply in a gasp.

His hands are both on your waist again, squeezing your skin tighter because you have a hand wrapped around his cock and it has his head spinning.

“You getting close, baby?”

“Yeah, Steve. So good.”

“I know. Keep going. I wanna see you.”

His voice is tight, and he’s holding himself back though it hasn’t been long. Your hand is soft, running up and down and he hasn’t been with someone in so long. The fact that it’s you, right now, doesn’t help him last. Just kissing you would be enough, he thinks.

Your rhythm stutters, your eyes squeezing shut, and just like that, you’re tipping over the edge and coming on his thigh.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he hums, low and scratchy. “That’s it. Look so pretty coming on me.”

Your hand pauses where it was jerking him off, too caught up in your orgasm to keep going. You say his name, say it again, and he keeps you moving over him through it all.

“Fuck,” you open your eyes when the last wave draws away, your legs shaking slightly.

It doesn’t take you long to start stroking him again, up and down and back again. Steve grunts and his hips stutter upwards, chasing your touch. It’s your turn to work him through it.

“Gonna come, honey,” he warns you. “I’ll ruin your sweats.”

“Don’t care,” you say, kissing his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I want you to.”

You run your thumb across the tip again and then his fingers are digging into your skin. He’s groaning and you feel the warmth of his come spill onto your hand. Neither of you had taken any clothes off and still, it’s the best you’ve ever had.

“Shit, honey.” This time it’s his head that rests against your shoulder. “I’m gonna need another shower now.”

You laugh breathily and pull your hand from his pants, wiping it off on the thigh you’re not sitting on, ‘cause they’re already ruined, anyway.

“I’ll get you another pair,” you say.

“In a minute. Can’t move.”

A minute is closer to five, and eventually he lets you go. You hand him a new pair of sweatpants, then clean up in the bathroom and change into different shorts. When you come back, he’s laying down under the covers in your bed. Twin smiles spread on your faces.

“You’re cute,” you tell him.

“So are you.”

You shake your head and flick your light off, the street lights flooding through your window the only thing left illuminating your room. You join him under the covers, and he doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you and pull you into his chest.

Your head rests by his shoulder, one of your legs thrown over his. Having him laying next to you is much more comfortable than being alone.

“I love you,” Steve says, his lips pushing a kiss into your hair.

“I love you,” you say right back.

And then, just like you’d imagined so many times before, you fall asleep cuddling Steve. And just like he’s imagined so many times before, you wake up that way, too.

/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\

thank you guys so much for reading spidey!steve i hope u liked it!!!! pls pls consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought, i promise it makes a difference <333

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter seven — omfg 💋

It was like the entire convention had their eyes on you. And who knew it’d be at the very same booth that you said you wouldn’t go near.

You sat there with an irate expression on your face, coming up with words for the man in front of you that you didn’t think you could muster until now. An aroma of roasted beans clung to your shirt like an unwanted companion.

You were motioned not to say anything else. You were being put on the spot, and you didn’t need to say anything else to him. And in hopes that you smart, you would just apologize like a normal person and move on.

But you weren’t a normal person, and by the looks of the entire crowd around the two of you, Scaramouche wasn’t either.

“This is what you get off on?” You asked him in a low hiss. “I bet. Your streams are full of it.”

“I get off on things worth my time.” Scaramouche bit back a snarl and yet somehow he still made you flinch by how close he was. “Who even are you? You did an entire bit on the internet so my fans would like you more, but nobody's here to see you. You thought showing up would give you a better impression? All I see is a bitch and their whore friends parading around like children.”

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who doesn’t consider me important. Don't talk about my friends like that.”

“Aw, you want to be seen as important? To me?” Scaramouche said in disbelief, to the point where he made himself smile, newer to his usual scowl. "You faded into irrelevancy once you did your little callout. How did that go for you, by the way? Still losing sponsorship?”

“I’m important enough to get under your skin about it, huh?” You replied, a little too snippy that you inwardly cringed. But you couldn't stop. "You're one to talk about drama dying after two days all the time, just get over it."

His violet coded eyes stared down at you, expressionless, a face that you couldn’t read too well. There was a distinct way that his hands balled and unraveled, the creases on the corners of his mouth twitching. He was furious, and you reveled in it.

But as you proudly gave a testing smirk at him, he grabbed the rest of the coffee that you attempted to save and took the lid off, turning it to pour all over you. Your mouth dropped open, feeling more of the warm liquid trickle down the fabric of your clothes and your face. He threw the cup with a simple, hostile, aggressive shoot of his hand towards the crowd.

"People like you keep buzzing in my ear until you get what you want. You waste your breath on useless shit, pick at your ass, and expect to be coddled.” Scaramouche scoffed, his eyebrows furrowing in disgust. "In front of so many people, you had to make an ass out of yourself just to get attention. I can do it by walking out of my room, we are not the same in that calibre. Don't act like you are, creepy fuck. I shouldn't have even gave you the time of day on that tweet."

You felt like his tone of speech was rather familiar, but while you were listening, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You also couldn’t stop the constant ringing in your ears, and it only got worse at his consistent berating.

“Get your shit, and get the fuck out of here.”

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo @justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @melpomenelurks @keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi @kyon-cherri @1lellykins @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

[deancasbigbang]

Title: In Through the Out Door

Author: AlleiraDayne

Artist: Lotrspnfangirl

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: DeanCas, Sam/Eileen developing into but not really depicted Sam/Eileen/Rowena/Gabriel

Length: 39076

Warnings: MCD (temporary), Graphic Depictions of Violence

Tags: Depression, suicidal ideation, alcoholism, prolific profanity, polyamory, ambiguous ending

Posting Date: October 10, 2024

Summary: Castiel was dead. Again. And it was all Dean's fault. After failing to drink himself into an early grave, Dean finds a little resolve to pick himself back up and do the right thing: save people. With Sam and Jack by his side, and a little help from a few other survivors, they take on Chuck, restore the world, the multiverse, and everything's back to the way it oughta be. Everything but Castiel, that is. Dean clings to a death wish five miles wide after that. And he gets it, dying on a hunt. But the worst is yet to come when he wakes up and finds himself in the Empty. And he's not alone.

Excerpt: “I love you.” The memory replayed clear as a bell that time. More than Castiel’s death, his last three words haunted Dean like a restless spirit. And yet… that wasn’t it, either. The words themselves? Yeah, that tracked. Of course Castiel loved him. Duh and, or hello. No, what had left Dean feeling like the biggest asshole to have ever assholed had absolutely everything to do with the fact that, in Castiel’s most vulnerable moment of his entire existence, Dean had balked. “Don’t… don’t do this, Cas.” What a stupid fucking response. Who says that to someone as they’re carving their heart out of their chest and handing it over to you on a silver platter in a last-ditch effort to save your stupid fucking dumbass from your own stupid fucking dumbass plan? Dean. That’s who. He had to make it right… Dean opened his eyes and breathed. “I love you, too, Cas.” There. Done. Did he feel any better? Nope. Not really. Not at all, in fact. Castiel was still fuckin’ dead. Deader than a doornail. But he’d said it. And dammit all to hell, he’d meant it. That was all that mattered. He shoved the key in his pocket with a defeated grunt. At least Billie was dead, too. Gotta pick out the positives where he found them. Right? He’d keep telling himself that until he passed out at the bottom of another bottle. If he could find one. The walk back to his room passed in a blur. He swung the door closed, but never heard it latch. Not that it mattered. Nobody needed him, really. Sam and Jack were busy enough trying to find a solution to the real problem. He’d only slow them down. Dead weight.  Or just dead. If only. Eternal rest in Heaven sounded nice right about then. Reliving his favorite hits from his best cuts. No piece of shit monsters, no asshole demons, no dickbag angels…  That last thought brought him up short at the edge of his bed in a sudden rush of clarity. A Heaven of reruns sounded awful. He shuddered, gagging against that rancid taste rising in his throat again. A drink. One more ought to do the trick. Dean tore open the drawer in his bedside table and withdrew his flask. The cap spun with a practiced flick of his thumb and forefinger. Then he threw his head back and downed the entire thing. Yup. Close enough. The flask clattered on the nightstand as he dropped it and collapsed onto his bed. With his face buried in his pillow, he reached for his lamp, slapping haphazardly as he searched for the switch. If he ever found it, he couldn’t remember. But he must have. Oppressive darkness filled his room, and he closed his eyes, hoping he could at least sleep like the dead. Dead.  Castiel was dead. Again. And it was all Dean’s fault. It was the last coherent thought he had before he finally, blessedly, passed out.

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[toysrguts]

Jeff the Killer Headcanons!!

literally nobody asked for this but these have been sitting in a doc for like a year so i wanted to share :)) (I WILL DRAW HIM ONE DAY!!!)

•19 yrs old and 5'9

•multitude of piercings: 14mm ear gauges, along with snake bites, nips, a navel, an eyebrow piercing on either side, second lobes, and an industrial on the right side

•is naturally brunette but dyes and cuts his hair himself. usually uses the cheapest black box dye he can find at the drugstore, and has a classic 2000s emo cut but messier and slightly below shoulder length (when hes lazy he just hacks away at his hair with a knife and calls it a day)

•picked up guitar playing cuz he thought it was cool and sexy but he totally kinda sucks at it (he cannot keep a hobby to save his life)

•raspy voice from smoking so goddamn much; in the morning hes practically whispering

•nails are always painted black but theyre always chipped cuz he picks his fingers when hes bored or anxious

•kind of a twink but has some muscle mass in his upper body (still skinny to the point where you can see his ribcage) (i guess hes more of an otter 💀)

•has a trampstamp he got while absolutely WASTED

•his car floor is completely covered in cans and bottles and garbage

•and it smells like cigarettes and is practically falling apart

•actually everything he owns absolutely reeks of weed and cigarettes and also blood

•bisexual and usually prefers he/him pronouns but he seriously couldnt care less

•TRANSGENDER.

•cant go a whole 5 seconds without making a sex joke or mentioning his huge dick

•has a really bad temper and would literally pull a knife on you for beating him in mario kart

•favorite band is BMTH and enjoys hardcore, deathcore, and most metal genres the most

•ADHD

•insane pyrophobia due to trauma related to fire

•absolutely no shame whatsoever. literally wanders around the slender mansion wearing nothing but boxers and dirty socks with a cigarette in his mouth and a bottle of jack daniels in his hand

•wears crop tops occasionally just to show off the belly button ring (AND HE LOOKS AMAZING)

•really bad at showing affection but tries his best. he doesnt usually like showing his softer side and hes very defensive but you can tell he cares deep down

•super impulsive when it comes to killing. if something small sets him off he will not hesitate to go on a rampage. if someone looks at him wrong he'll overthink it and wont rest until they're bleeding on the ground gasping for air

if this does well i'll do part 2 cuz theres a lot more where this came from :D OK BYE HOPE U LIKE

[alliskit]

BG3 Headcanons Nobody Asked For.

Part 2: “Cheap” Alcohol.

As Astarion once asked, “But what would they taste like?”

Well, I don’t have the money to spend drinking brandy (sorry Gale), but there’s enough on the shelves I can buy that would describe them quite nicely.

A heads up that these are U.S. based, but I’ll make sure to describe them so you get the picture.

Gale:

He wants to be brandy, scotch, or a flavored liquor, but he’s not.

He’s a mid tier red wine — still a cab sav, but mid tier.

This is NOT a bad thing. This wine is your personal go-to especially if you’ve got no one coming over.

It’s flavorful enough on the palate but not too risky. It’s likely from a good brand that has more expensive options but this is good enough to buy repeatedly.

This is your wine you pair with your favorite dinner, a good book, watching tv, and after a stressful day. Your ride or die wine.

This wine is the kind of wine you can finish in one night and not feel guilty even when drunk. You can buy more later.

It’s dependable and delicious, makes you want to tell everyone about it.

It’s a favorite among many different kinds of palates.

Gale is always either the husband or male wife because he’s the easiest to commit to wholeheartedly, just like this wine.

Lae’zel:

She is Silver Patron Tequila. You will pay extra for this but the pain is worth it.

Githyanki are the definition of work hard play hard.

Once all the nonsense with the Elder brain and Orpheus is done, you will find her beachside on the Astral Sea, tatas out, a fresh squeezed lime house margarita in hand. Some Gith bard singing a rendition of Margaritaville they picked up passing through earths realm.

It’s the drink you deserve for all your hard work now that you’re in vacation mode.

It’s “exotic” but in safe way. Lae’zel may be from an asteroid but she’s your typical Gith fighter.

You don't put patron in every marg, but just the ones you want to hit fast and last.

Karlach:

Fireball Whiskey. The name itself just says it all.

You can get so many bottles of this for cheap in so many flavors.

It hits hard and fast and will make you ache by morning.

It’s not a party until someone pulls this out. Expect to get trashed.

It will coerce you into losing all filters and masks, learning to express who you really are.

It will burn going down and possibly coming back up, yet you will continue to wonder why you’re so willing to get burnt again.

She runs hot and so will you.

Wyll:

Craft beer. All craft beer.

He is ALL craft beer because he is the living embodiment of the dichotomy of an IPA made in someone’s garage that costs $14 a pint.

He is a man of his own making, gritty and self made, who can’t quite escape his silver spoon.

He has variety and many sides. Is he just your average guy or a sly devil? A little bit of both? A little sweet? A little sour?

Also he pairs well with all your favorite comfort foods.

He makes you want to dance a jig or sing a ballad at your local bar. He will lead it.

He’s of great taste, yet something in him longs to fit in. And with him, you can’t go wrong, even if it takes a minute to get past the initial bitterness.

Shadowheart:

Wine seltzer/vodka seltzer. Something really sweet and feels like a soda.

She’s the easiest crowd pleaser, even if it’s really watered down.

She not only tastes like this, this would be her drink of choice. Girl is tired and just wants a buzz while drinking something she can pound after a long day of saving lives.

You can enjoy this for near any occasion. Bring it to any event. (Someone at a funeral is craving a comfort drink and this will slap)

She, like Gale the red, is a comfort drink, but for a pick me up instead of a lay me down.

Astarion:

Prosecco and/or brut (poor man’s champagne because he’s not living the high noble life anymore)

He’s worthy of being celebrated, kicking your shackles off and stabbing your abuser warrants a celebratory kind of drink.

He’s not to everyone’s taste, but you’ll bear him for a good time.

If you get drunk on brut, you are a special kind of drinker. (Just like your fascination with vampires, some of us truly fear the feeling of death in the morning. If you’ve never had a Prosecco hangover, you’re better for it) I can hear him as he asks, “How are you feeling?” The morning after. LOL

He said he likes spicy food and spicy bubbles seem right up his palate. Also brut is great to pair with spicy!

Also drinking from a wine flute just makes you wanna say: “I’m fuckin posh” even if it’s plastic.

Minthara:

Our Spiced Rum mama. I’m talking Kraken spiced. The smooth rum followed by a heat like whiskey that makes you instinctively want to cough as it burns down your esophagus.

But oh how we love how it burns. Similar to Karlach but not nearly as in your face.

You will have a drunk existential crisis while dancing naked to Fleetwood Mac that will change how you see the world as you feel it burn deep in your soul.

You can drink this straight or in a cocktail and you will NEVER forget the experience. You will crave it.

It’s a smooth talker as it insults your inability to hold your alcohol. It will challenge your tolerance, making you think you really are a big baby. And I can hear her saying it. I’ll let her call me a cry baby whenever she wants.

Halsin:

Mead. I could just finish with just that, but I won’t.

Mead is honey wine if you didn’t know. Once again, it speaks for itself.

It’s comforting, it’s hearty, it’s sweet, it’s tasty, it warms the heart. Makes you want to lay back in the sun or sit warm by a fire.

Getting drunk on this is like getting drunk on sunshine and you will end up with the wine version of a sunburn but you’ll keep drinking.

Just like Halsin getting drunk and singing, dancing, and professing his love to strangers, you will too.

Honey wine will always treat you well and will make sweet love you “as nature intended”.

If you have more options you feel each of these guys embody, let me know! 👇🏻

[beelzebuddy-catan]

Obey Me Headcanons - Part 4

Mammon became luckier when the exchange program started. Not because of MC but because of Luke.

Satan is in an improv group but if you ask no he isn't.

Asmo gives people he's modelling with backhanded compliments to throw them off their game. Of course he'll look better but you can never be too sure. Right?

All of the brothers, except Satan sleep with lights on because they can't fall asleep in full darkness after living in the Celestial Realm.

Beel can't tie a tie. Satan tied his once and now he just loosens and tightens it.

Belphie can't tie his shoes. They're either Velcro, slip on, or untied.

He will never admit it.

Which is why he buys lace up shoes and just tells people he's too tired to tie them.

Levi wears heelies religiously and will just zoom out of the room when he's had enough.

Simeon pronounces lmao like LUH-Mayo but nobody will correct him.

Once in a fight when Satan was getting pissed™, MC turned to walk away and he said something under his breath.

MC spun around and slapped him.

It happened so fast he immediately snapped out of his rage fit from surprise and started laughing.

MC sells Mammon's stuff that he's forgotten about (you know he's got storage lockers full of things he doesn't even remember buying).

They save it for when he asks for money and pretends to loan it to him, know he won't pay them back.

MC has said "oh I thought you were the Avatar of ____, not the avatar of being a bitch ass" to at least one of the brothers.

Mammon was fucking around and chased some baby geese only for the mom to beat the shit out of him.

If Lilith had fallen with the brothers and become a demon, her sin would have been wrath.

Any being that can see ghosts/spirits can catch glimpses of her having violent reactions to coinciding with Satan's if he gets mad.

When MC drinks too much and needs someone to pick them up, they voice text Mammon asking for him to come.

Except half way through they always go: oh never mind Solomon just walked in. I'll just have a sleep over with him.

Mammon is ALWAYS there faster than a pizza delivery guy promising 20 minutes or less or a free pizza.

While Levi had his nickname long before Satan, it only really became commonplace when Satan was young because he couldn't pronounce the TH in leviathan.

Asmo can't French braid his hair, it always turns out as a Dutch braid.

Levi, however, is amazing at all different types of braids, so now he has to braid Asmo's hair

Diavolo thinks the funniest joke he's ever heard is the updog joke.

Mammon has gotten tricked into several multi level marketing scams.

He tries unsuccessfully to get his brothers to join each time.

Solomon started one just to mess with him.

It's the only time Mammon has been successful at it.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Reader being spared by an Alternate and straight up letting them stay in your home, perhaps?

"...oh who am I kidding? It's pointless..nobody's gonna pick up..."

Holding the phone with one slightly trembling hand, you strongly considered dialing the number for the police department, hoping someone could come and get rid of the Alternate hanging around your house.

Yet you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

Of course, you knew that stupid "THINK" principle broadcasted throughout Mandela County was a lie. All of it was. It didn't stop the casualties from drastically rising. Nor did it stop the population from falling as people either moved out, died, or went missing.

As of right now, you were in none of those groups, and you prayed that by the end of tonight you'll be able to keep it that way.

Instead you chose to stick it out and protect your home, refusing to let some demonic presence ruin the life and memories you've built here.

You've seen sci-fi films on how mankind rallied together to combat the alien threat and save the world growing up, but sadly...that's all it ever was: fiction.

What was happening in Mandela County right now was reality. Nobody was coming to help...and the "plan" to combat this threat was only made-up to stop the public from freaking out.

All you could do was learn how to survive on your own.

So that's exactly what you were doing, as you put the phone down and checked your computer. It was hooked up to the few hidden cameras around your house, which you've installed long before the invasion ever began.

However, you started wondering if these devices that once gave you peace of mind could possibly be the death of you....considering Alternates can tap into electronics and torment their victims that way.

Rather than shut them off, though, you realized that this one in particular didn't seem...all-that-concerned with hunting you down at the moment.

If anything, it seemed almost confused. As if it stumbled into the wrong house.

As you observed the creature's movements, you saw it walking around the living room, gazing at photo frames featuring yourself and your family.

Despite the video's shitty quality, you could see it was in a purely black form--a shadowy figure with white eyes that never blinked. But the fact that its neck remained very elongated was the most unnerving detail.

Aside from that, it didn't seem to be aware of your cameras, which meant you hid them exceptionally well.

However a minute later, the Alternate suddenly began shuffling down the hallway that led directly to your room, causing panic to seize your body. You got chills as you watched it blend in with the darkness, essentially becoming one with it.

You held your breath and quickly killed the program, shutting off the computer before sneaking over to your bed. There, you hid under the covers and hoped that it didn't realize you were home.

You'd pray for protection, but...the officials advised not to turn to prayers, as the Alternates were known to wage heavy psychological warfare against folks with religious connections.

Then again you weren't sure who to trust anymore..

Regardless, this internal debate didn't last long as you heard light knocking on the door, nearly jumping out of your skin upon hearing a voice that was--and yet wasn't--your own coming from the other side.

"Nobody's gonna pick uppppp....."

Your blood ran cold.

'Fuck, fuck...it heard me..it knows I'm here...'

Every part of you was trembling as you laid there, wishing you didn't have to deal with this all on your own.

About an hour passed before you heard the knock again, as well as light scratching sounds against the closed door. You didn't realize you almost fell asleep...considering how exhausted you were.

Didn't help matters when you noticed it was 2 AM.

'Damn, I'm in for a long night...' Throwing the covers off, you sat up and glared at the door as the knob began to clatter and shake, sighing in annoyance.

How long was it going to keep playing this game?

If it wanted to kill you so badly, why didn't it just get it over with? Did it have some other plan for you?

You'd snap at it to leave you alone, but...that's probably a bad decision that'll drop your chances of survival to zero.

Maybe it's best that you don't acknowledge it.

After a few minutes, it stopped jiggling the doorknob around, although you tensed upon hearing some sort of sad groaning noise coming from the creature.

'The hell? It sounds like a kicked puppy-'

Wait...

Why were you thinking that?

It's only mimicking what a human in pain or sadness would sound like. There's no way in hell you were falling for that bullshit.

But it apparently thought otherwise as it continued whining; and you grew more and more irritated, wishing it would just shut up and go away already.

It continued for about five minutes straight, before falling silent.

And then...ten minutes passed without another sound coming from it, leading you to suspect that it finally gave up.

For a moment, you smiled in relief, thinking it was all over--

Until your computer screen somehow flickered to life and showed you the Alternate itself, looking just as it did on the cameras....wearing the same clothes you had on right now.

Your eyes widened in horror, heart sinking into the pit of your stomach.

"What the-?"

It began typing, words appearing on the bottom of the screen. Despite every part of you screaming to ignore it, you were drawn to the computer, slowly getting up out of bed and walking over to it so you could see the message more clearly:

BE NOT AFRAID

Then the screen switched off.

And you heard a hushed whisper over your shoulder.

"Sorry...it was the only way I could reassure you..."

Gasping lightly, you spun around and finally saw the Alternate face-to-face, with its neck straining to gaze down at you, white eyes staring into your very soul.

Yep..your chances of surviving this were basically in the negative.

But rather than immediately shriek in terror and brace for death, you stood in silent bewilderment, realizing that it actually spoke in its own voice, rather than yours. And it didn't sound malevolent at all despite its threatening form.

Not to mention, it...told you not to be afraid of it. Why is that?

'Well..guess there's no use in ignoring it now..'

"R-Reassure me...of what?" You hesitantly asked, palms sweating as you clasped your hands together.

Its gaze seemed to soften as it spoke something that changed your whole perception of it:

"I don't follow the flock."

It simply didn't have that drive in it.

Seeing your confusion, the Alternate elaborated, explaining that it had a "change of heart" shortly after its creation.

For reasons unknown even to itself, it refused to kill or masquerade as any human victim like the rest of its kin.

Because of this, it felt deeply flawed and became scared, afraid of what its maker would think as "he never made mistakes". So it searched for a place to hide, realized this was your home, and....ultimately chose to spare you, refusing to follow "his" doctrine.

In exchange for refuge, it promised you protection from the other Alternates should they intrude, allowing you to live your life (or at least as safely as you could in this county) and shelter you from symptoms of MAD.

While you were hesitant at first, you wanted to believe this Alternate was being genuine with you.

So you allowed it to stay under your roof under two conditions: No sabotaging your tech except in emergencies, and no mimicking any of your friends or family members. If either rule was broken, you'll report them immediately.

As for its mimicry, beyond whatever clothes you wore on any given day..it didn't try to copy your appearance or voice it all. It admitted to liking your taste in fashion, asking you more about it.

Surprisingly, it complied with them both right away, becoming your "guardian" of sorts ever since and keeping their word.

Somehow you've found yourself being able to sleep better at night, seeing the shadow in the corner of the room as more of a comforting presence than a threatening one.

It's not like you can just say "no" to a demonic shapeshifter. That's just plain rude.

In the end, you found the most unlikely friend in this hellhole that was Mandela County:

A pacifist Alternate.

Ironic as it was, you're just relieved somebody out there heard your silent prayers.

[storiesfromafan]

Dandelion

A/N: Back with Part 2! If you haven’t read Traitor, please do :) Hope this one lives up to what I wish it too. Haha. There will be a Part 3, just not sure when it will be up. As I haven’t started writing it yet. Been in a bit of a writers burnout.

Feel free to comment/message me with idea’s or anything.

Pairing: Mattheo x Fem!Reader Ravenclaw

Out of all the season’s Spring had always been your favourite, Mattheo recalled as he found himself out in a small field of wildflowers, that was a reasonable distance from the castle. It was a spot you both had spent every free moment at in Spring together. But now he was here alone, no you by his side. And it was his own responsibility you weren’t, for he ended it with you over four months ago. He had done it for the right reason, saving you from his father. From getting hurt because of him. Saving you from his darkness. Yet he missed the light you brought to his life. He missed who he was with you.

Brushing his fingers over various wildflowers that surrounded him, Mattheo recalled their individual names. Such as oxeye daisy, lesser celandine, cow parsley, dandelion. The last one being a mix of yellow flowers and the seed heads, most commonly picked and blown, its white sprouts flying off into the sky. A past time you enjoyed, claiming to make a wish with everyone. Nearly everything in his everyday routine and life reminded him of you.

When someone would say his name. Mattheo recalled how you would say his name; be it when you were happy, sad, angry, scared, breathless, sleepy, laughing. Or when he flirted with Anna. He remembered the first time he flirted with you, you had either been oblivious to it or playing hard to get. Because he knew you liked him, as he liked you too. You’d been a bit of a challenge, but in the end you both won when you got together. He hadn’t known anyone like you, still didn’t. He knew there would never be another you. He was glad about that. There was no one like his Y/N…or rather was his Y/N, he had to remind himself of that a lot.

Maybe, it's the way you say my name

Maybe, it's the way you play your game

But it's so good, I've never known anybody like you

But it's so good, I've never dreamed of nobody like you

You had come into his life during a hard time. His father and the Death Eater’s had been plotting and planning their next move and possible future moves. His father had been continuously hard on him, and only getting worse. The expectations he had to live up to were great, greater than anyone his age. But then there was you.

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

Meeting you at a Ministry party that he attended with Lucius and Draco. Your father putting the three of you together. You all knew each other, or rather knew of each other, rarely your path’s crossed. There were a few classes together, but Mattheo had never talked to you. But he was glad he had been placed with you, for talking to you was a breath of fresh air. You treated him and Draco like any other student. You tried to make conversation, and he tried to return it, which you were grateful for. And from there it only became more. Once back at school he seeked you out, making time to chat with you. Talking turned to flirting, and flirting led to dating. Then you became his Ravenclaw beauty, then Ravenclaw Princess after you helped him through so many spiraling moments because his father.

Mattheo picked one of the dandelions with the fuzzy white seed heads, bringing it up and examining it. He never saw the fascination you had in the weed. It didn’t hold any real beauty like a rose, but it had a unique quality.

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on every one that you'll be mine, mine

He recalled the first time you’d both came to this spot. You had named the wildflowers before laying down on the grass, the wildflowers surrounding you. He thought you look breathtakingly beautiful; you were made for wildflowers. From how your soft locks sprawled out around you, to the content smile that graced your tempting lips.

Then there were your eyes. Your bright E/C orbs staring up at him, a warmth and admiration shining in your eyes as you looked at him. It brought a soft smile to his lips, as you returned his smile. In that moment Mattheo felt comfortable, at ease from how your warmth brought him happiness.

And I see forever in your eyes

I feel okay when I see you smile, smile

Mattheo slowly twirled the dandelion between his fingers, as the memories crossing his mind of you reminded him of what he missed. Silently praying he had kept you by his side. Anger slowly began to build, anger at himself for hurting you. But he slowly let it go, reminding himself over and over it was to save you.

Wishing on dandelions all of the time

Praying to God that one day you'll be mine

Wishing on dandelions all of the time, all of the time

I think that you are the one for me

You. The brightness in that darkness of his life. The tether that kept him grounded. The one who showed him compassion and love, knowingly or unknowingly. You were everything to him. You were the one for him...but he couldn’t allow that.

The memory of the Yule Ball came to Mattheo’s mind. The first time he’d seen you dressed like the Princess you were. The dress you’d had chosen to wear was the perfect shade of F/C, fitted your frame perfectly with a skirt that flowed to the floor like water. The neckline was tasteful and the straps just thick enough and perfectly adjusted against your skin. Your neck and shoulders were on display, as your hair was up.

'Cause it gets so hard to breathe

When you're looking at me, I've never felt so alive and free

When you're looking at me, I've never felt so happy

Mattheo, watching you walk towards him, left him speechless. And with some tempting thoughts. Upon coming to stand before the Slytherin male, the bright smile you gave him caused his heart to skip a beat. This beauty before him had chosen him. You took his arm, while greeting him. The happiness and pride Mattheo felt as he led you into The Great Hall, eyes looking at you both, had him standing taller and confident.

That night you had both danced the night away; be it a formal dance or when the Weird Sisters took over the stage, and you both just let go. Mattheo was able to let go, a night to be free. You were just as free. Laughing, dancing and showing Mattheo attention. From dancing together, holding hands or little kisses. He had wished that moment could have been forever.

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on every one that you'll be mine, mine

Being the gentleman that he was, and wanting every possible moment with you, Mattheo had walked you back to the Ravenclaw house door. During the walk you had both tried to take as long as possible. First taking a long route to the door, walking slowly, taking moments to appreciate paintings or sculptures on the walk. Anything and everything to make this moment together last.

And I see forever in your eyes

I feel okay, when I see you smile, smile

Eventually you made it to your destination. You both looked at each other, neither wanting to unlock your hands from the other. Mattheo brought his hand up to brush some of your framing hair behind your ear, before cupping your cheek with that hand.

“You look so beautiful tonight” he said softly, eyes locked with your own.

“Yes...you already told me that” you replied just as softly, scared if you were any louder it would break the moment.

Mattheo smiled. “I know, but you deserve to be told every minute of every day how beautiful you are”.

Those words of his made your breath hitch, before shakily exhaling. These were the moments you treasured. The reassurance of Mattheo’s feelings. He might not speak of his feelings for you, but words like this, with the looks he gave you, spoke louder than anything.

Moving closer, Mattheo finally dipped his head down and captured your lips with his. The peck was soft, testing the waters. Pulling back, he looked to your eyes, and seeing the joy and restlessness in them, he went in again. This time he was firmer, tongue coming out to run along your bottom lip for permission. You didn’t waste time, opening your mouth to him. Mattheo took the lead, his tongue dancing with your own, in a breathtaking kiss. You both could feel how the other felt.

Pulling back when air was needed, you both watched the other with a blissful smile on your faces. Mattheo continued to caress your cheek as you watched each other. But time was fleeting, and you both had to part ways. With one final peck to your lips, Mattheo stepped back, his hand leaving your cheek.

“Goodnight Princess” he said softly. “Till the morning”.

You nodded your head, “goodnight, Theo”.

Reluctantly you turned from him and stepped up to the Ravenclaw door. Briefly you stopped and looked over your shoulder at him. He gave you a cheeky smile and a final goodnight, and you then passed through the door. It closed with a small noise. And Mattheo was left alone, but he felt on top of the world.

Tossing the dandelion from his hands, Mattheo scrunched up his face at the weed. How silly it was the believe making a wish on the weed would come true. It was childish. Yet you did it. You believed in it. You had confided in him that once you’d made a wish on the weed, asking to do well in Snape's class once, for the potion you’d be making was tricky. And you had managed to not ruin it. So, it became almost a ritual of yours, making wishes on weeds.

Wishing on dandelions all of the time

Praying to God that one day you'll be mine

Wishing on dandelions all of the time, all of the time

Looking at the dandelions around him, Mattheo contemplated taking a page from your book. But then the rational side of him told him too not be stupid. So, he turned from the weed and back to the school in the distance. But the curiosity of making a wish crept up, and with a sigh Mattheo picked another dandelion.

He glared at the weed, silently telling it to work. Drawing in a breath, he blew the white fuzzy seeds from the weed, and thinking ‘I wish my father doesn’t hurt her...’

Dandelion, into the wind you go

Won't you let my darling know?

Dandelion, into the wind you go

Won't you let my darling know that?

Mattheo put everything into that wish. He didn’t want anything to happen to you. He wanted to keep you safe, from his father...and from him. With what was to come, he would wish on every weed on the grounds if he had too. If anything happened to you, Mattheo wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on every one that you'll be mine, mine

Picking another dandelion, he intended to make the same wish, hoping to make it come true. But before he blew the fuzzy white seeds, you came to mind clearly. And as he released his breath, freeing the seeds, he found himself wishing to see you right then.

He watched the seeds float up in the sky, dancing from the breeze before floating off back towards the castle. For a moment he watched them float before disappearing, and an approaching form came into his line of vision. As they got closer, Mattheo’s breath caught in his throat, as he saw who it was. You. If his wish had been answered so soon, would his first wish come true too?

When you drew closer you finally realized your spot had been taken. For sitting there among the wildflowers was the last person you wanted to see; Mattheo. The look that crossed your face was sour, which Mattheo saw. You went to turn around and head back to the castle before he got up quickly, calling your name.

“Y/N! Wait” Mattheo called standing a meter behind you.

You looked over your shoulder, “what?” You spat.

Mattheo sighed. “You...you can have the spot” he said softly, looking down at the ground. “I was going to leave anyways”.

He walked around you slowly, and once he was five steps from you, Mattheo stopped before turning back to you. You had been watching him the whole time, studying him closely. You noted the sullen look upon his face, how his eyes lack any shine and how he seemed to have no fight. He was a shell of himself, like you had seen time and time before.

“Are you alright?” You found yourself asking, not thinking. For he was meant to be the bad guy.

Your question caused his heart to ache. Even after all he had done you still asked if he was alright. You may not entirely care, but still took time to ask him. Sighing Mattheo looked away from you. Unsure how to answer you. He didn’t want to lie, nor did he want to upset you. Damned if he do, damned if he didn’t.

“I’m...okay” he breathed, trying to convince himself. “Things have been...hard lately, with home”.

You nodded. “Understandable” you said softly, watching his every movement. Not fully believing his words. For there was truth but also a bit of skirting around it.

Silence took over after that, the spring breeze picking up in that moment. You watched as the breeze tossed Mattheo’s curls around. How you had missed combing your hands through those curls. It was something Mattheo had enjoyed; it soothed his mind and relaxed him. The temptation to do it now growing strong, for the boy before you were in turmoil. You shook your head at the thought of being close to the one who broke your heart.

You had thought it was the breeze playing tricks, but seeing his moving lips showed it was Mattheo who spoke. “I’m sorry” was what he said softly, almost missed by your ears.

At first you were shocked by his apology, followed by a small warm feeling in your chest. Before it died and a slow burn of anger began to take hold of you. How could his words make up for everything? How could he so bluntly say sorry.

“Excuse me?” You questioned, tone a little sharp.

Mattheo looked to you, and seeing your reaction to his words, he was shocked. He had hoped it would have helped. “I’m sorry” he repeated turning to face you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like I did”.

You blinked a few times, blood slowly coming to a boil. “How can you just say that?” You questioned a little loudly. “How does apologizing make up for what I’ve been through?”

Valid questions Mattheo noted. “It doesn’t. But I want you to know that I am sorry-”

You scoffed. “Yeah right. The Mattheo Riddle I know would never say sorry. He might show it, but never openly apologize”.

He frowned. “That is true, but I wanted to put it into words. I at least owe you that”.

“You owe me nothing! Nor do I want it!” you yelled, hands clenching. “You hurt me. Simple as that. And for that I don’t want your apology. So, keep it”.

Mattheo nodded his head. “I deserve that”. His face fell, eyes looking at the ground. He looked so weak.

You took a step back. Taking in his demeanor. You could see cracks of how effected Mattheo was. You wondered how long before it would shatter. The want to hold him, run your fingers through his curls while telling him that he was alright, was strong. And though you didn’t want to, you decided to say the next words.

And I see forever in your eyes

I feel okay when I see you smile, smile

“It’s alright” you sighed. “I don’t entirely forgive you, but I half accept it” you said watching his face.

Hearing your words, Mattheo’s eyes snapped to you. His dull brown eyes, now shinning with confusion, looked right into your E/C orbs. He could see how unsure you were in their reflection. But with it was a small familiar look; admiration. After all he’d done, you still admired him. Part of you wanted him to apologize but majority of you wanted to punch his pretty face.

“You do?” He choked out. “Why?”

Your face softened, thinking over his words. “I won’t lie. I was hurt. I was angry” you looked him dead in the eyes. “But what has it gotten me? Where has it gotten me? It has left me bitter, and it’s gotten me no where”.

He nodded his head slowly.

“So, I’d rather accept some of it than nothing. Because I look back at our time together and I know I was happy” you said fondly, memories coming to mind. “You made me happy Theo. And I would love to see you in as much agony as me, but part of me still hates to see it”.

“Just part?” Mattheo said with a small smirk, trying to lighten the moment. Which you softly smile at.

There might be so much, good and bad between you both, but some familiarity was there. As well as some closure. He said sorry, and you believed me meant it. You had half accepted his apology, which lightened Mattheo’s worries.

You both continued to stare at the other. Unsure what to say, or what to do. But you were the one to break eye contact when you turned, planning to take the spot Mattheo had been occupying. He looked at you, mind thinking so many things. But the one thought screaming to him was your safety. He had to make sure you were safe.

Wishing on dandelions all of the time

Praying to God that one day you'll be mine

Wishing on dandelions all of the time, all of the time

“Would it be strange if I asked you to stay away from Hogwarts next year...to not come back?” Mattheo was unsure but voice a little panicky.

You turned back to him, confusion on your face. “Huh? What are getting at?”

Mattheo moved from foot to foot. “Next year, don’t come back to Hogwarts. I can’t say anything...but I need you to be safe”.

You studied the Slytherin, unsure if he was pulling your leg. But his eyes told you he was serious. “Answer me this; will you be safe here next year?”

He shook his head. “Probably not”.

You gave a short nod. “Then I can’t promise you anything. I will be here next year, no matter what”.

Mattheo’s heart ached at your words. Not what he had hopped. But you were honest. And he didn’t give you a reason why not to return to school. He just hopped you wouldn’t be in the cross fire of what’s to come.

With that, you took your spot amongst the wildflowers while Mattheo took a moment watching you. He was taking in the sight before him, putting it to memory. With it all said and done, Mattheo turned from you and started to head back to the castle.

He wasn’t sure what was to exactly come. But he would make sure, as best to his abilities, that you would be safe from it all. Mattheo needed you to be safe, for no harm to come to you. Be it his father or him, you would be safe.

Tags: @iheqrtaustin @ash-whimsicalfanfic

I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on every one that you'll be mine, mine