#i drew this way before i wrote the fic

[kittyphoenix12-xx]

jargyle be more chill au on ao3

[talietikasero]

me_when_i_get_you.csp

[witchywithwhiskey]

another man’s marks

pairing: toxic!bucky barnes x toxic!female reader

summary: you're texting with your situationship when he asks for a nude photo—but you're covered in marks left by another man. wanting to see what he'll do, you send a photo of yourself, and you're rewarded with a very torturous and enjoyable reaction.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established situationship, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering (f receiving), masturbation (m), come play, bdsm elements, a lot of biting and marking, orgasm delay, choking, some breath play, some pain play, some dacryphilia, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, degradation kink, pet names (baby), begging, teasing, some aftercare, taking and sending nude photos, possessive behavior, toxic behavior, jealousy, referenced but not shown situationship between reader and john walker, very anti-john walker behavior

word count: 7.3k

a/n: so this post came across my dash and i had the thought 'ok but what if you sent a situationship a picture covered in another man's marks?' and i started thinking about how toxic situationship bucky might react and then i wrote the first draft of this fic very quickly 🤭 i actually really love toxic bucky but i'm a little nervous to share this because i just want you all to love him as much as i do 🥺 (and, actually, he's not as toxic as i originally intended but y'know what, that's ok i think). i hope y'all enjoy ♡

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series masterlist

Let me see your tits, baby.

The text message drew a huff of noise from you, one that was half laugh, half scoff. You were laying in bed, already wearing your pajamas—an oversized tee and panties—and catching up with your situationship, Bucky Barnes, before you went to sleep.

His request wasn’t entirely out of the blue. After asking how your day was, Bucky had started complaining about his day, and you’d known the man long enough to know those kinds of conversations often led to him asking you to send a photo of yourself—though he usually wanted a picture of what panties you were wearing.

Most of the time, you didn’t hesitate to take a picture to send to him. But that time, you paused.

You liked Bucky. You liked talking to him and hearing about his day, and when you were together, you had fun. Plus, you liked sending photos of yourself to him, and you enjoyed the fact that he wanted to see your body when he wasn’t with you. It stroked your ego when he asked for a photo, and he always responded with filthy praise that turned you on. 

But that particular night, you had a problem preventing you from simply taking a photo. And, really, the problem was partly to blame on Bucky. 

From the beginning, he’d said he didn’t do relationships, he’d told you he wasn’t ready to commit to just one person. He’d been clear and up front about what he wanted, and it was nothing more than a situationship, which was fine with you. You liked him, but you weren’t going to beg for more.

But you’d also decided that if he wasn’t going to commit to you, then you certainly weren’t going to clear out your roster just for him. You weren’t going to be one of those girls sitting at home pining away for some guy. Not even Bucky Barnes.

Which, in a long, winding way, led to your current predicament. 

After all, there was a difference between Bucky being vaguely aware you were still hooking up with other guys—since you occasionally referenced your roster—and him seeing the evidence of it. And you had to wonder how he’d react if you took a picture of your tits in the state they were that evening…

It had only been about a day since your last hookup, and your mind wandered to the night before. You’d met up with one of the other guys on your roster, John Walker, and had a decently enjoyable dick appointment. You hadn’t expected Bucky or any of the other men on your roster to ask for pics, so you’d let John do what he wanted to your body.

If there were two things you knew about John Walker, it was that he and Bucky hated each other, and he loved your tits. John loved playing with them, he loved sucking on them, and he loved leaving hickeys all over them. Which he’d done the night before—and then proceeded to give you a not very satisfying orgasm. 

Sure, it’d done the trick in the moment, but not even 24 hours later, you were already restless again, your body needing a proper release, which you knew Bucky could give you. But you weren’t planning to see Bucky for at least a couple days, not until the evidence of your hookup with John had faded.

Lifting your shirt, you looked at John’s handiwork. Your tits were dotted all over with at least a dozen tiny little love bites, and your body warmed as you remembered the knife-edged pleasure that came along with each little mark. They were so recent, the bruises were still reddish, not having yet fully faded to a dark purple. 

As you looked at them, you had a devious thought—what would Bucky do if he saw John’s marks on your body? Would he blow you off, stop talking to you, maybe even ghost you? Or would he need to see you so badly that he’d come over to your apartment? Would he fuck you and give you the release you needed?

Thinking through your options, you knew it would be the kind, respectful thing to send Bucky an older photo, one of your tits when they were entirely unblemished. You had plenty of photos like that on your phone—and Bucky probably wouldn’t even notice if you sent him the same photo twice.

Or… You could send Bucky a photo of your tits covered in another man’s hickeys. You could, if he asked, tell him exactly who had given you all those hickeys. And then, you could see what Bucky would do about it. 

A wicked smile crept across your face as you came to a decision. 

Lifting your shirt again, you arched your body toward the light in your room, making sure the marks were clearly visible on your skin, then you snapped a photo of your tits. Before you could talk yourself out of the idea that was probably toxic and definitely a little mean, you sent the photo to Bucky.

His reply was almost instantaneous.

Who the fuck did that to you.

You bit back your mischievous giggle, even if you were alone in your room and there was no one to hear the evil way you wanted to cackle at Bucky’s response. Excited thrills raced through your veins, warmth blooming between your thighs at the anger laced in his text message.

You knew you’d be pushing him further toward anger by answering his question—you knew how much Bucky and John hated each other—but he’d asked. And besides, you were hoping he’d take out all that anger on your body in the most delicious of ways. So you sent a simple response.

John Walker.

You waited for Bucky’s response. 

And waited. 

But as the minutes ticked by and Bucky didn’t text back, your heart sank more and more, and the delighted smile on your face flattened into a frown. You began to think Bucky might actually be ghosting you.

For only a moment, you let yourself feel disappointed at the way your phone didn’t light up with another text from your situationship, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to be sad over a man like Bucky Barnes. Even if he fucked you way better than John Walker or any of the other guys on your roster. Even if you liked him more than any of the other guys you’d been with.

Hauling yourself up from your bed, you went through your nighttime routine, brushing your teeth and washing your face while listening to music. It wasn’t until you were about to slip into bed and go to sleep that your phone buzzed with a new text message. 

Your heart lept into your throat when you saw it was Bucky and you scrambled to read his response, eager to know what had taken him so long. Your breath caught in your throat and excitement buzzed wildly through your veins when you saw what he’d written.

I’m outside. Open your door.

A shiver of anticipation zipped down your spine as you bounded out of bed, an ecstatic grin spreading across your face at the realization that you’d got what you wanted—Bucky was at your apartment. And he was going to do something about the photo you’d sent him. 

It took all your self control not to run to your apartment door and fling it open excitedly to greet Bucky. Instead, you forced yourself to take your sweet time padding to the door, your movements deliberately lazy as you unlocked it and swung it open.

Bucky Barnes loomed on the other side, his head hanging between stiff arms, his hands braced on either edge of the frame like he was holding himself back from kicking down your door. His broad shoulders were bunched up, his short, brown hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it. His chest was heaving as he breathed harshly. 

When he lifted his head, the stubborn possessiveness in his darkened blue eyes slashed right through to your heart. He’d never looked at you that way before, and you had the terrible, fleeting thought that you could get used to being the only girl Bucky looked at so possessively. 

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other. Then, Bucky stalked forward, crowding you into your apartment and gathering you up in his strong arms while he kicked the door shut behind him. It closed with a rough slam that had your pulse skittering in your veins, your heart already pounding in your chest as Bucky crushed you in his arms.

His gaze held yours and there was something about the emotions swirling his eyes, a mixture of uncompromising possessiveness and lustful determination, that felt dangerous. Not to your body, but to your heart. 

“You got a lotta nerve sending me a picture with another man’s marks on you,” Bucky growled as he walked you backward toward your bedroom, his hands groping your hips and ass like every inch of your body belonged to him. “You weren’t trying to make me jealous, were you, baby?” 

His words were a furious hiss that he punctuated by ducking down and snapping his teeth at your plump lower lip, biting you roughly enough to wring a gasp from your lungs. Between your thighs, you could feel your pulse pumping needily, your body aching for so much more of Bucky’s rough treatment even as you forced yourself not to cower and submit like you wanted.

Pushing against Bucky’s shoulders until he leaned back and you could catch his eye, you quirked an eyebrow at him in a dry expression of amusement. 

“You’re a big boy, Bucky,” you said, before pausing to run your tongue along your lower lip, feeling the tender spot he’d bitten. Dark satisfaction swirled in your chest, but you made yourself shrug indifferently. “And I’m not your girlfriend—so if you’re jealous, that’s your problem, not mine.”

“You let him mark you,” Bucky snarled, an accusation in his tone as he stared deep into your eyes.

For a moment—just a brief moment—you saw a hurt look in Bucky’s gaze, and it pricked at something deep in your heart. Something you refused to look at or examine, especially not with Bucky standing right in front of you. You didn’t want to think about the fact that Bucky might’ve been hurt by your actions, or that you cared about his feelings enough to want to apologize.

But you supposed you could take pity on him. You’d tormented him enough for one night. 

“Yeah,” you said, cocking your head to the side, a sly smirk curving your lips. “And what are you gonna do about it, daddy?” You practically purred the final word, knowing how Bucky would react to it. 

Just like that, the hurt vanished from Bucky’s expression and heat sparked in his icy blue eyes, a menacing smile pulling across his face. 

“You wanna see what I’m gonna do about it?” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Oh, baby, you’re not fucking ready for what I’m gonna do to your pretty little slutty body.”

Bucky crowded into you, pushing you backward until your legs hit your bed, and then he was shoving you down to the soft blankets. You crawled backward into the center of the bed while Bucky toed out of his shoes and took off his jacket, leaving him in only a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. 

Once he’d tossed his jacket somewhere in your room, he didn’t waste anymore time, prowling onto the bed and using his hands to push up the hem of your oversized tee. His head fell to your body, his teeth nipping harshly at your soft belly to make you squeal and squirm as he worked his way up. He delivered the same treatment to the curves of your brests and the delicate skin of your collarbone.

When his face finally hovered above yours, his breathing was harsh and his expression was filled with a determination so stubborn, you knew you were going to have a long night while Bucky showed you why you shouldn’t let another man mark your body.

“You’re not leaving this bed until you’ve got so many of my fucking marks on your body that you won’t even think about sending nudes to anyone else,” Bucky growled, tugging off your tee, pushing your legs open so he could settle between them, and descending on your tits. 

He found the first of John’s marks and sank his teeth into the skin around it, sucking hard on the already aching bruise. The spot gave a little twinge of pain from Bucky’s rough treatment, but it only mixed deliciously with the pleasure he was dragging from your body, and your fingers threaded into his hair, clinging to him while he sucked on your skin.

Bucky worked the reddish-purple blemish relentlessly with his mouth and teeth until it was bright again, and so much larger than the mark John had left. Then, when he was done, Bucky moved on to the next hickey, scraping his teeth over the bruise and wringing a helpless cry from your lips before he sucked the curve of your tit into his mouth. 

It went on like that for you didn’t know how long, Bucky working methodically down and across your chest, sucking and biting every bruise John had left behind on your body until each one was replaced with a new, bigger mark.

If you begged Bucky for more—or tried to push his furious mouth down toward your pussy, which was throbbing almost painfully with need—he’d simply narrow his eyes at you, giving you a look like you’d known exactly what you were getting yourself into when you’d sent that photo to him. Then he’d work his mouth even harder, even more roughly against your body, until you were tossing your head back into your pillows and moaning your pleasure.

By the time he was done, you were nothing more than a whimpering, pleading mess beneath him. Your eyes were filled with tears of desperation, and your inner thighs were sticky with the sheer amount of desire soaking your panties and coating your trembling flesh. 

“Daddy, please,” you begged on a sob, shoving at Bucky’s shoulders to get his attention as he roughly kissed a spot in the valley between your tits, licking and sucking a new hickey into your skin. 

At the sound of your ragged voice, Bucky lifted his head, but you could already tell by the determined glint in his eye and the stubborn set of his jaw that he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted just yet. 

“Hush, baby,” he rasped in a dark, patronizing tone, lowering his mouth back to your chest and sucking on the hickey he’d just left. “Daddy’s just getting started marking your beautiful body with all the pretty little bruises I want.” His voice was a rough growl that reverberated beneath your skin.

Between your thighs, you could feel more of your desire trickling into your panties, which were already soaked all the way through and sticking to your clammy skin. A whine worked its way up your throat and spilled from your lips before you could stop it, your legs squirming around Bucky’s sides, trying to grind your cunt against his body but unable to get the angle right. 

While you wriggled frustratedly, Bucky paid you no mind, shifting down your body as he picked a spot for his next mark. When his teeth sank into the soft flesh of your belly, you cried out, arching up off the bed and spreading your thighs wider to make room for Bucky’s broad shoulders. 

Your fingers twisted in his soft brown hair, trying to push his head down further, until it was between your thighs, whimpering a soft sob of, “Bucky, please.” 

But Bucky was having none of it. Despite your pleading and protests, he took his time, only peeling your panties away from your soppy wet cunt after taking his time leaving a trail of hickeys on your belly. 

When he saw how wet you were, Bucky chuckled and murmured, “Such a messy little slut, baby.” 

He’d said the words fondly and, if you weren’t mistaken, there was affection in the curve of his smile that had you feeling something you didn’t want to look at too closely. But your treacherous heart beat a little harder all the same.

Then his words sank into your lust-soaked mind and heat bloomed in your face at the gentle degradation. But what little shame you could conjure up only mixed with the burning of your desire as you stared down into Bucky’s darkened eyes, holding his gaze while he took off your panties and tossed them somewhere in your room.

He turned his focus back to the juncture of your thighs, shoving your legs wide open and smirking when you let out a helpless little moan at the feeling of the cool air brushing against your heated, dripping cunt. You were so worked up, you could feel your inner muscles clenching around nothing, needing to be filled with something.

“Your pussy’s winking at me, baby,” Bucky rumbled, laughter in his voice as he spread your pussy open with his fingers. You could feel it, your body winking at the man between your thighs like you were begging him to slide inside you—his fingers or his cock, you didn’t care. “She wants me bad, doesn’t she, baby?”

Bucky’s taunting words had you covering your face and letting out a low, tortured groan even as your hips twitched, your body yearning desperately to be filled, to be fucked. “Bucky,” you whined, drawing out his name pitifully as your hips bucked into his hands, seeking more of his touch.

But Bucky didn’t oblige your body’s request. His hands skimmed away from your pussy and along your thighs to hold you behind your knees, pushing your legs up to your chest so you were bared fully to his heated gaze. When you peeked out from between your fingers, you saw him staring hungrily down at your cunt, but at your movement, his gaze flicked up and caught yours.

“Do ya want me that bad, baby?” Bucky purred, ducking down to nuzzle his scruffy cheek against your inner thigh—so close to where you needed him, but still too far away. On instinct, your hips bucked upward, trying to press your pussy against Bucky’s face, but he held you down, grinning as he went on. “Ya want daddy’s fat cock to pound into your cute little cunt, huh, baby—want it hard and rough so you’ll be feeling me in your pretty pussy for days?”

“Oh god yes—yes, please, Bucky—daddy, please, I need your cock,” you babbled desperately, your hips squirming as you humped the empty air, seeking any part of Bucky that you could grind your aching cunt against. You didn’t care if it was his mouth or his cheek or his shoulder, you needed something.

Instead of giving you that, though, Bucky turned his face and sank his teeth deep into your thigh, hard enough that your pussy pulsed violently and you thought you were going to cum. But you didn’t. 

Once the blinding sensation of pain and pleasure passed, you knew you wouldn’t manage to tip over the edge just from Bucky’s teasing. You weren’t going to cum until he finally paid attention to your pussy, and somehow you suspected Bucky knew that. 

“Tell me how bad you want me,” he growled, sucking on your skin and beginning to leave a new mark on your inner thigh. His gaze was locked on yours as he stared up your body, past your heaving chest that was already littered with his marks, commanding you with the stubborn, possessive look in his eyes to do as he said.

“Want you so bad, daddy,” you cried, your whole body trembling like a leaf in a bitter autumn wind. Tears of frustration and need were pooling in your eyes again and you knew that if Bucky kept edging you for much longer, they were going to spill down your cheeks. “Want you more than anything—anything—please just fuck me!”

Bucky’s eyes glittered, the possessiveness is his gaze deepening and turning into something feral as he stared up your body. Finally, his mouth pulled away from your quivering thigh—after he placed one last affectionate kiss on the mark he’d left. 

“Tell me you want me more than John fucking Walker,” he spit out, shifting his head to your other thigh and sinking his teeth into your soft flesh as he held you pinned to your bed with his thick biceps wrapped around your legs. 

Your heart fluttered in your chest and your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected to get such a reaction out of Bucky when you’d sent him that picture of your tits with John’s marks all over them. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. Not when he was looking at you like you were his while he sucked yet another mark into your skin.

“I want you so much more than him,” you murmured. “I want your marks on me, I want your cock and your cum in me—I want you, Bucky.”

The words tumbled from your lips—the ones Bucky had demanded—and you were more than a little surprised by the vehemence in your voice, and how easy it was to admit you wanted Bucky more than John. 

Sure, you’d known he was a better fuck than John, but things with Bucky felt right in a way they didn’t with any of the other men on your roster. Like the two of you fit together somehow.

And that scared you. It scared you enough that you rushed on, forcing yourself to raise an eyebrow at Bucky and muster a dry tone as you asked, “Is that what you wanted to hear?” You could detect the hitch of emotion beneath the taunting tone of your voice, but with any luck, Bucky wouldn’t.

Thankfully, he seemed not to notice, responding to your words by growling into the soft flesh of your thigh, his eyes narrowing into a glare. He gave the hickey he’d sucked into your skin one last pull, then pushed himself up. 

Before you could beg again for him to fuck you, Bucky roughly grabbed your hips and flipped you over. His teeth sank so hard into the plush curve of your ass, you screeched into your pillows. There was more pain than pleasure that time, but Bucky knew the edge you liked to walk and he didn’t give you more than you could handle.

As it was, even more wetness flooded between your thighs and you writhed beneath Bucky’s big body, all the small stinging aches of the marks he’d left blending with the pulsing throb of need coursing through your veins. It was enough to break the damn of your tears and you sobbed into your pillows.

“Bucky, please, please, I need your dick,” you cried, straining your neck to look at him over your shoulder. 

Bucky’s dark blue eyes were narrowed into slits and when he finally pulled his teeth from your ass, he continued glowering at you, looking grumpy and almost entirely unbothered by your pleas. You knew he wasn’t entirely unaffected, though, because his cock twitched against your thigh when he saw your tear-stained face.

“Tell me you won’t do it again and I might consider giving you some dick,” he growled, holding your gaze as he ducked down to lick and soothe the bite mark he’d left on your asscheek. 

“I won’t send you another picture covered in John’s marks, I promise,” you rushed to say, arching your back and whining. Your body was moving on its own, trying to present your pussy to Bucky, but he only scraped his teeth over the mark he’d left in your skin.

“Not good enough,” Bucky grumbled, shifting to your other cheek and sinking his teeth into your ass, giving you another bite mark. When you hissed at the pain, Bucky relented, stroking his tongue over the spot as he sucked on your skin. “No one else gets to mark you but me.”

You had to look away to hide the way your eyes rolled at that demand. Bucky wouldn’t commit to you, but he wanted you to promise you wouldn’t let another man mark you. Fucking men. You glared into your pillows, not saying anything and hoping he’d drop it if you didn’t respond.

He didn’t. 

“Say it, baby,” Bucky growled, leaning to the side and slapping your ass. He managed to hit the exact spot he’d bitten, which was tender from his teeth and mouth, making you cry out. “Say I’m the only one allowed to mark you.”

“Men who aren’t my boyfriend don’t get to make demands like that, James,” you snarled, turning to glare at him over your shoulder. 

The two of you glared at each other for a long minute. You knew Bucky could be stubborn, but you could be much more stubborn when you wanted to be—and you fucking wanted to right then. If Bucky thought you were going to let him dictate what you could or couldn’t do with other men while he refused to commit, he had another thing coming.

Slowly, Bucky shifted up onto his hands, climbing up your body with the languid movements of a predator until his bigger form covered your smaller one. 

Still, you glared at each other. 

His hand pushed his sweatpants down until his cock bounced free, the stiff length slapping your ass lightly. His precum immediately started leaking into the valley between your cheeks, and your pussy pulsed in desire.

Still, you glared at each other.

“Say it, or you’re not getting my dick,” Bucky rumbled obstinately, pushing his stiff length between your thighs to drag against your dripping wet slit. 

You sucked in a sharp breath and arched your back, giving him more of your pussy to rub against—but that didn’t mean you were going to submit to his ridiculous demand. And he wasn’t going to turn you into a liar.

“Say you’re my boyfriend, or you’re not getting my pussy, daddy,” you retorted, putting as much mocking sarcasm into the nickname as you could manage. 

Bucky’s eyes flashed with so much annoyance, you couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that curled your lips, which only made his face contort in even more frustration. 

His hand reached between your thighs, pressing his cock deep into your slippery folds until the head caught at your tight hole. But he didn’t push inside. Instead, he let the tip slide through your folds to grind against your clit.

Need and desire pounded an unceasing drumbeat beneath your skin, your hands curling into fists in your blankets as you bit back a desperate moan. But you didn’t let your face go slack with pleasure, you kept right on glaring at Bucky over your shoulder, even as he repeated the motion, teasing your tight little pussy with the head of his big cock. 

Finally, something in Bucky snapped and he ducked down, capturing your mouth in a savage kiss, his lips and teeth attacking yours until both of you were breathless with need. You were practically vibrating with it beneath Bucky’s big body, and even his arms were trembling when you blinked your eyes open as he pulled away. 

“You’re gonna be the fucking death of me, baby,” Bucky rumbled, his voice so low and gravelly, you felt its deep tenor roll down your spine and settle deliciously in your core. As he spoke, he tilted his hips just the right amount and pushed the head of his cock into your dripping hole, making both of you groan in pleasure. 

“Right back at ya, daddy,” you quipped at him, your voice embarrassingly breathless as you clung to the blankets of your bed and arched your spine, pushing back into Bucky as he pressed forward. 

It took one long, glorious moment for Bucky to sink the full length of his cock inside your drenched, sopping wet pussy, and you nearly blacked out at how good it felt after so long of his teasing torture. 

He was bigger and thicker than any man you’d ever been with—though you’d never in a million years admit that to him—and it was always a little overwhelming when he first slid inside. But you loved it. You loved the way your body stretched to fit him, the way you could feel your pussy wrapped so snugly around his thick length. You loved the way you could feel him throb and twitch inside you, especially when he was close to cumming. 

And you could tell by the way his cock was twitching inside your tight hole that he was already close. That was good, because after all his teasing had worked you up, you didn’t think you were going to last long anyway.

Bucky gave you a moment to adjust to his size while he yanked his t-shirt over his head. Then he was pressing his bare chest to your back and pushing you deeper into the soft blankets of your bed until you lay prone beneath his strong body.

Only then did he pull his hips back, making you feel every delicious inch of his thick cock, before slamming inside again. Wrapping his arm underneath your neck, he tucked his bicep beneath your chin and held you pinned to his chest, forcing you to arch your spine more and feel the way his hips clapped against your ass as he pounded into you.

“I’m the only one who can fuck you like this, baby,” Bucky growled in your ear, grinding his cock into the depths of your cunt until you were whimpering beneath him. “You’re daddy’s good little slut, and only daddy can fuck your pussy the way you need it, isn’t that right?”

“Yes—yes, daddy, you fuck me so good,” you cried out, hands scrabbling at the bed sheets for leverage to push back into him. 

“Tell me what I want to hear,” he demanded harshly in your ear, the words sinking into the deepest parts of your brain. 

A twisted smile curled the corners of your mouth because you knew exactly what Bucky wanted to hear, and you were only too happy to give it to him. It was safer to admit what you were about to admit because it was the heat of the moment, and you hoped Bucky would think you were just saying it to make him happy. Only you could know that you meant every word.

“You fuck me so much better than John, daddy,” you purred, pushing your hips back into Bucky’s thrusts, forcing him deeper into your cunt until you were so full of him, you thought he was imprinting himself on your very being. “Your dick feels so good, so big, daddy—you’re the only man who fucks me so good, Bucky, you’re the best dick I’ve ever had. ”

“Fuck—fuck, baby,” Bucky bit out, his mouth brushing against your cheek, his stubble rasping against your skin and making you shiver. He fucked you harder, faster, rutting into your slick cunt like he was trying to leave another mark inside you. “Rub your clit for me, wanna feel you cum on my fat cock.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You slid your hand between the blankets and your body, slipping it between your thighs and circling the tight nub of your clit with a viciousness that matched how Bucky was fucking you. Your inner walls clenched down hard on Bucky’s cock, dragging filthy groans from both your mouths as he pushed deeper and began grinding inside you.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “Never felt anything so tight.” He let out a harsh breath, his forehead falling to your shoulder as he kept up his relentless fucking, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of your release. “Feels like you’re choking my cock, baby—I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Choke me, daddy,” the words tumbled from your lips before you could stop yourself, the deepest recesses of your brain responding to Bucky’s words in a plea for one of your darkest desires.

Bucky’s bicep and forearm squeezed the sides of your neck instantaneously, giving you what you begged for and cutting off some of your air so you were forced to gasp for every little breath. You pussy squeezed tighter around his cock, wringing a rasping chuckle from the depths of his chest.

“You’re such a filthy, depraved little slut, baby,” Bucky murmured teasingly in your ear before nipping the shell with his teeth, dragging a ragged cry from your lips. “Ya like it when daddy chokes you, huh? Bet John fucking Walker doesn’t choke you like this, does he?”

“No,” you gasped, your voice hoarse but genuine as you admitted, “He’d never choke me—he’d never treat me like a slut.”

“That’s fucking right,” Bucky growled, somehow managing to fuck you even harder, his hips snapping into your ass so hard, you could hear the sharp clapping of his skin against yours even over his heavy breaths panting in your ear. 

“I’m the only man who can fuck you like you need it—dirty and rough. That’s how you like it, isn’t it, baby—you like being fucked like a slut?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, as much in response to Bucky’s debauched question as to the feeling of his cock pounding into your cunt. You were so close—so close you could barely think, but you knew everything Bucky was saying was right. He was the only man who fucked you the way you needed it, and you needed to cum on his cock.

Thankfully, Bucky seemed to want the same thing. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he growled in your ear, his hips slamming his cock into your body hard enough to nearly hurt, but the pain-edged pleasure only pushed you closer to your release. “Cum on daddy’s cock while he’s choking your pretty little neck and fucking you like the filthy slut you are.”

Bucky’s words and his cock, and your fingers on your clit, sent you over the edge, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and a ragged scream tearing free from your lips. Pleasure consumed you, body and mind alike, until all you knew was the sensation of ecstasy drowning out everything else. 

It went on for one long, endless moment, pleasure pulsing through your being until it finally abated. Then, the world began to reform around you. Slowly, you returned to yourself, Bucky’s cock still driving into you, his thrusts turning wild and desperate as he growled in your ear.

“Fuck, you feel good, baby,” he was rumbling, rutting into you while your pussy squeezed him in a perfect clenching rhythm. “Feels like your cunt’s begging for my cum. Is that it? Ya want my cum that fucking bad, baby?”

“Yesss,” you moaned, your limbs melting beneath him as you savored the feeling of Bucky chasing his release in your body. “Want your cum, daddy, please gimme it,” you whimpered, weakly pushing your hips into his big body in a wordless plea.

Bucky grunted a soft, “Fuck,” and then pressed deep, burying his cock to the hilt in your still pulsing cunt as he came. He let out a long groan, his cock twitching against your inner walls while he emptied his balls into your pussy, the warmth of his cum filling you up.

It felt so good, your lips curled at the edges in a happy smile. Every part of you felt warm and satisfied, and you basked in the unmatched afterglow that came in the wake of getting fucked by Bucky Barnes.

When he was finally spent, Bucky eased his hips back, pulling out of you gently so he didn’t hurt your thoroughly used pussy. You appreciated the effort, even if you did feel a pang in your gut at the loss of him, like your body was mourning his absence.

Bucky rolled off you and flopped onto his back, leaving you limp and sated. 

And cold. 

The man who’d just fucked you better than anyone else ever had made no move to pull your naked body into his, but that wasn’t surprising. Bucky wasn’t the type to initiate post-sex snuggling, though he didn’t stop you from cuddling into him if you initiated it.

Gathering your strength, you heaved your body toward Bucky, draping yourself on top of him, wrapping an arm over his stomach and hitching your thigh over his hip. Your cooling skin pressed to his heated body as you tucked your face into his neck, cooing happily when his arm curled around your shoulders, holding you against his side.

But a post-sex snuggle wasn’t the only thing you’d been looking for. 

Your mouth found the side of Bucky’s neck, your lips working against his skin, kissing and sucking and biting him while he rumbled soft sounds of satisfied pleasure. You didn’t stop until you’d left a hickey, but when you pulled away to get a look at it, you decided it wasn’t enough. 

After all, you were literally covered in his marks. 

So you went back to work, sucking on the hickey until the bruise was so big, there’d be no hiding it—not unless Bucky suddenly started wearing turtlenecks. Somehow, you knew he wouldn’t. You knew he’d wear your hickey proudly, even if it meant he might not get laid until it faded.

When you were finally satisfied with your work, you brushed one last kiss to the hickey, and settled down at Bucky’s side. Your cheek pressed to his chest and you listened to his heart thumping a steady drumbeat beneath his pecs. 

For a moment, you were both quiet, enjoying the feel of each other. Then Bucky fished his phone out of the pocket of his discarded sweatpants, which he’d kicked off at some point. He held the device aloft over the two of you, tilting his head to the side and using the front-facing camera to look at the mark you’d left.

“I guess I deserve this,” he commented, trailing his fingers over the gigantic hickey. There was no anger or annoyance in his tone, though, only amusement. He skimmed his fingers down to your shoulder and gently rearranged your arm until the marks he’d left on the sides of your tits were visible. “Now we’re even.” 

A snickering smile curved your mouth and you were about to retort that you weren’t anywhere close to even, but the soft click of Bucky’s phone snapping a photo cut you off. 

Reaching up, you tapped the screen to show the picture and you had to admit, it was pretty cute. The hickey on Bucky’s neck was prominent and he wore a cocky grin on his attractive face while you smirked into his chest, his marks dotting your skin even though you weren’t revealing too much of your breasts. 

It was the kind of photo you’d consider setting as your phone’s background if Bucky was your boyfriend. 

He wasn’t, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still want it.

“Send that to me,” you said, trying to keep your tone light.

But Bucky must’ve heard how much you wanted the picture, because he chuckled evilly, pulling the phone out of your reach. When you lifted your head to glare at him, there was a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. 

“If I send this to you, you gotta promise not to let John mark you up again.”

That time, you let him see you roll your eyes while you reminded him, “Only boyfriends get to make demands like that, Bucky.”

Huffing a frustrated sigh and giving you a half-hearted glare, Bucky tapped the screen of his phone a couple times. A second later, your phone buzzed with a text and when you glanced at it, you saw he’d sent you the photo of the two of you. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I just don’t ever wanna see his fucking marks on your body again.” 

You nodded your agreement, saying, “That’s fair.” It was the least you could do, all things considered.

Bucky laughed to himself at your easy agreement, then pushed you onto your back and spread your thighs while he sat up on his knees between your legs. “Now, smile pretty for daddy, baby. I wanna take some photos of all the hard work I did marking you up.”

A pleased grin pulled across your face. As much as you enjoyed taking pictures and sending them to Bucky, you loved it even more when he wanted to take pictures of you himself. So you laid on the bed and let Bucky position you how he wanted so he could take photos of his handiwork. 

“You gonna jerk off to these when you get home, daddy?” you taunted, staring up at Bucky and smiling for his camera. “Gonna rub your cock to pictures of your marks all over me?”

Bucky’s eyes flashed and his cock twitched between his thick thighs, making your smirk widen. You knew you were provoking him again, but you couldn’t seem to stop.

“You gonna make yourself cum looking at photos of me covered in your marks, daddy?” 

Your teasing comments led to you laying helplessly beneath Bucky, his knees keeping your thighs spread wide so you couldn’t grind against anything while he jerked himself off with his fist. The only thing he allowed you to do was knead and grope your tits, your pleasure mixing with aching pain from the bruises covering your skin. 

Bucky came like that, his cum covering your fingers and chest in ropes of his seed, marking you all over again.

He took even more photos of the sight of your hands playing with your cum-covered tits, then fucked your pussy with his fingers, sounding very pleased with himself when he teased you for getting off on him making a mess of your slutty body and pushing his cum deeper inside you. 

It was late when Bucky finally left your apartment, and you realized you’d been right. It had been a very long night. But even though you knew you’d only get a couple hours of sleep before work, it had been so worth it to text Bucky that photo of your tits covered in another man’s marks.

Over the next few days, Bucky demanded an endless stream of photos of the bruises he’d left on your tits and ass. He was busy at the office and the two of you couldn’t find time to see each other, but he didn’t want to miss any of the progression of the marks he’d left as the hickeys deepened into a dark plum color on your skin. 

It turned you on to send so many photos, to see the constant reminder of the marks he’d left on your body, so you indulged Bucky every time he asked for more photos. It helped that he responded with a mixture of sweet degradation and filthy praise that had your heart beating harder in your chest and wetness gathering between your thighs. 

Every night for a week, you got yourself off to the dirty things Bucky texted you, the promises of what he was going to do to your body the next time he saw you. But more than anything else, you kept going back to the possessive text message he’d sent the day after he’d been to your apartment, rubbing your clit to Bucky’s words. 

Don’t you dare show John fucking Walker your tits with my marks on them, baby. Those marks on your body are all fucking mine, and they’re only for you and me.

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series masterlist

[azzibuckets]

letters from dallas part 1

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: in which i neglect all the other series and fics im supposed to be writing to send more angst ur way <3

lfd masterlist | main masterlist

May 1, 2025

Dear Azzi,

It fucking sucks here.

I know I’m supposed to be thankful for this opportunity. And I am, I swear. My teammates are nice. Arike’s been showing me around downtown. Nai and Lyss are funny. They’ve adopted me, called me their child. They remind me of us.

My therapist said it’s good to write down my feelings. Not sure how she’d say if it was letters, letters to you, but hey, something is better than nothing.

I saw a trailer for Frozen 3 last week and I thought of you. I hope you’re doing well. I called KK the other day. She was so excited - I felt bad. I haven’t been as good as I wanted to be with talking to our team - well, your team now - but it hurts too much knowing that they get to spend every day with you and I can’t. I asked her about you. She seemed hesitant to tell me. But I kept nagging her and she told me you’re good, spending a lot of time reading and stuff. Said they finally got you off Colleen Hoover. She wants me to move on, I can tell. It’s killing both of us, how I can’t let you go. But I guess writing these letters and stuffing them in my closet are how I’m trying to get my closure and deal with my feelings, so maybe this will help.

You’re on my fucking mind all the time, and I wish you weren’t. I miss you so bad sometimes it hurts to exist. If you saw the amount of melatonin I take every every night just to avoid you in my dreams, you’d probably yell at me.

Love,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

June 7, 2025

Dear Azzi,

Have I mentioned that Drew hasn’t been talking to me? He blames me for our breakup, and he misses you like hell. I do too.

I played like shit in the game yesterday. I can’t believe we lost to the Sparks. It was nice seeing Cam again though. I don’t know if you remember, but it’s our anniversary. I saw that you were at the soccer game with the girls. You looked really good, really happy. I guess it doesn’t affect you like it affects me. And I know that should make me like, mad, or jealous. But I’m glad at least one of us is healing?

Honestly? it sucks having to see your face all over social media. It sucks even more whenever I go on my Instagram page and you’re all over it too. I could be salty and delete all of it, but that would start too much drama. Besides, that would mean deleting like half my posts

I wonder how Jose and Jon are doing. Jon unfollowed me the other day. That one hurt pretty bad. I miss my little brothers, and I miss your parents.

Love,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

August 28, 2025

Dear Azzi,

Yesterday was a fucking shit show. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to even show up when I heard you guys were coming. It was weird, seeing you in the audience. It was everything I’d always imagined, you coming to my games, but it also made me feel sick, knowing this is what could’ve been. What should’ve been. I was nervous the last quarter thinking about what to say to you after the game, but god, Azzi, you couldn’t even look at me. I tried to talk to you after the group pic but you disappeared.

Maybe it’s a good time to tell you that Katie and Tim were at my game last week, against the Mystics. I’m gonna be honest, when I saw they were there, I avoided them, and I’m not proud of it. I ran to my car straight after the presser but somehow they found where I parked and were waiting next to it?? If this was a different circumstance I would’ve laughed.

All they told me was great game before I started crying. I don’t even know what came over me. But your mom hugged me and that made me cry even harder. They told me I was their daughter no matter what, and they loved me. I wrote it down as soon as I left because I didn’t ever wanna forget.

Azzi, we didn’t even marry each other like we promised, and I still feel like we left a broken family. I didn’t mean for this many people to get hurt, for this many relationships to shatter because ours did.

It makes forgetting you so much harder, and that’s what pisses me off. That I’ve injured my knee and gone through months of rehab and moved across the country to a brand new city, yet this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 2nd, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I was calling KK again and I didn’t ask about you this time. I think I’m making some progress.

Arike keeps trying to get me with some of her friends, but it still doesn’t feel right. I think I need a little bit more time.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 20, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I turn 24 today. Damn I feel old. I’ve spent a third of my life now loving you.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 22nd, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I just got your present in the mail. You didn’t have to. I love it. Thank you.

- Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

November 11, 2025

Happy birthday big head. I think you probably received my gift by now. I debated on writing a card, but you didn’t write me one, and I’ve decided to leave the cards (haha) in your hand. So I’m just following your lead. I hope you enjoy 23.

- Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

December 7, 2025

Azzi,

Hell of a game yesterday. Proud of you. National player of the year performance

- P

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 5, 2026

Az,

LET’S FUCKING GOOOO. Shit, man. Two peat natty champs??? Unbelievable. My hands are tweaking out, I can’t even read my own handwriting. I knew you could do it, Az. Thank you for not forcing me to wear irish merch..I never look good in green like you do

- P

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 13, 2026

Azzi,

Drafted to the Sky????

See you so fucking soon

Nice fit at the draft btw

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

May 16, 2026

Dear Azzi,

Fuck, the way you smiled at me after that game. Maybe I’ll have the courage to finally text you. I know it’s probably not the best idea but…I still regret everything. It’s been a little bit more than a year and it still hurts as bad as it did the first day. Is this normal?

Love,

Paige

[makethatelevenrings]

Lose Control // J. Abbot x gn!reader

*shuffles in and deposits this before sprinting away*

I spent three days trying to write out a huge fic with lots of plot but my brain kept giving up and then I could only fixate on the idea of Jack suffering from phantom limb pain so I wrote this piece of shit that can hardly be called writing and now I'm going to throw it on your dashes and go back to watching Bravo.

and if anyone gets the nickname joke, congrats. ur in my mind.

tw: mention of blood, Jack has a PTSD episode and phantom limb pain, mentions of you (reader) nearly dying in the past

It’s noon when you’re woken up by a crash.

Instinctively, your hand stretched out to find the space beside you empty. The sheets are still warm, so he must have only got up to go to the bathroom. You were about to roll over and fall back asleep when a muttered curse echoed from the bathroom.

“Bugs?”

“I’m fine,” came Jack’s reply. “Go back to sleep.”

Something fell over in the bathroom and you decided to ignore his suggestion and instead, rolled out of bed. The second your feet hit the ground, the bathroom door flung open. Jack stood in the dim light of the bathroom and your heart nearly stopped at the sight of the blood all over his hand.

“Don’t,” he ordered. “There’s glass.”

You took a step forward, your hands outstretched to reach for him to check his injury, but he drew away from you. It was then that you noticed the way his chest heaved with every breath and his eyes were darting around rapidly, as if searching for something in the room behind you. Peeking behind him, you saw what glass he was talking about. The mirror above the sink was shattered, shards and chunks of glass decorating the sink and floor. You looked at Jack once more, noticing how he leaned most of his weight against the wall instead of his crutch.

“Jack.” His actual name coming from your mouth snapped him out of whatever he was thinking and you held up your hand to assure him that you were just stepping away for a quick second. You hurried to the closet and yanked on the first pair of closed toed shoes. When you rounded back around the bed, he hadn’t moved from the doorframe. He looked almost too rigid.

“Hey, come here.” You stepped closer to him and slipped his arm over your shoulders so he could lean his weight on you. The crutch slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground, but you paid it no mind. You just focused on getting him to the mattress. You maneuvered the both of you around so he could sit. He immediately lifted the hand he had injured so as to not get blood on the comforter, but you really couldn’t give a shit. Grabbing a towel from the bathroom, you wrapped it around his hand and then kneeled between his legs.

“Jack,” you spoke softly, as if anything loud would startle him. He looked at you with those chocolate eyes, but it was as though he was staring right through you. You raised your hand to cup his cheek and he inhaled sharply at the touch. His eyes fell shut and you stroked your thumb over the soft planes of his face.

“You’re not there. You’re here, in your place.”

“Ours,” he huffed out and you let your lip curve up into a hint of a smile. At least he was still so stubborn. The two of you had moved into a townhome together in the Strip District just a month ago and you were still struggling to come to terms with that. He insisted he would remind you until it was imprinted in your mind.

“Our place,” you corrected. You rubbed the shell of his ear and he let out a trembling sigh. Your other hand moved down to rub against the chafed skin of his stump but he winced the second you touched him.

“What? Does it hurt?”

“Like I’m on fire,” he rasped out. “Woke me up and I thought…it was like being back in the hospital when…Punched the fucking mirror to try and snap out of it. Sorry.” He grit his teeth at the very memory, and you leaned up to press your forehead against his.

“Look at me,” you ordered. “Jack. Look me in the eyes.” He complied and you kept his gaze on yours. “You are not there. You are experiencing phantom limb pain and it can hurt like a bitch. You’re here. In our home. You’re safe.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded so broken that you felt his words fracture your chest.

“No. No, don’t apologize, honey. We’re in this together, right? We’re a team, Bugs. That’s what you told me.” This wasn’t the first time one of you had been through this. Usually it was Jack helping you through the memories that plagued your mind, but you didn’t mind being the one offering a hand to help pull him out of his mind. He had said it all those years ago when you were bleeding out on the floor of a trauma bay as he kept you stable despite shaking hands and a hospital in lockdown.

“Keep your eyes open for me, baby. We’re in this together, damnit. We’re a fucking team. So you keep those fucking eyes open.”

You took his uninjured hand and pulled it down to rest against the puffy scar that lingered on your abdomen. He traced his own handiwork with a delicate touch and you dipped your chin down so you could meet his eyes once more.

“And don’t you start on that shit about me deserving better or whatever,” you added. “Because I chose you, Jack Abbot. So don’t piss me off with all of that bullshit.”

He chuckled and then grimaced when the adrenaline drop made him realize that his hand actually hurt like a bitch. You glanced down at the towel that had spots of blood appearing on the surface and clicked your tongue.

“Alright, here’s the plan. I’m going to get the full length mirror from the closet down and you’re going to do mirror therapy while I fix up your hand. And then you’re going to let me give you a massage and maybe a bit of melatonin and you’re going to sleep until at least four.”

You stood, but Jack let his hand slide down to linger on your hip. He gazed up at you in what you could only describe as devotion. You reached up to slide your fingers through the silky soft strands of his hair, marvelling at the way the silver reflected off the dim lighting from the bathroom.

“Thank you,” he murmured, dipping his head down to brush a kiss to the inside of your wrist. You smiled and bent down to kiss him. He tasted like mint toothpaste and your strawberry chapstick that he liked to steal. You let out a satisfied hum as you pulled away from him and stood up straight.

“Alright, Thumper. Let’s get you fixed up.”

[delulusionwl]

♡ I See You

Pairing ── Neteyam x Fem!Omaticaya!Reader Word ── 3k Synopsis ── In which Neteyam gets jealous about the reader having a lot of suitors, as he wants her for himself. Warnings ── A jealous!Neteyam, a little bit of angry!Neteyam, Neteyam wanting to confess to Y/N but having an internal block, Possessive!Neteyam? Yandere!Neteyam?! o.O (I wasn't expecting this as I wrote it, fr) Fluffy moments ahead! Let me know if I should warn something :) A/n ── This is my first fic/imagine of Neteyam (hearts in my eyes). I saw the film a long time ago, but I never wrote an imagine for this lovely boy. But now, here I am! Let me know if you liked it <3 Images are not mine, so credit goes to the respective owners. English is not my first language!

Neteyam was irritated. Anyone who looked at him could tell he was practically steaming, his narrowed eyes glued to the ground, his firm steps carrying him somewhere far away from the clan before he did something he might regret—or something that would earn him a stern lecture (and punishment) from Jake later on.

Once again, the eldest Sully had seen Y/n being politely courted by one of the other boys in the clan. He chuckled bitterly to himself, almost scoffing. Of course, Y/n was being courted by every young Omaticaya in the hopes of making her their mate.

If this had been a few years ago, back when Neteyam wasn’t even aware of Y/n’s existence—too busy with training and missions assigned by his father—he wouldn’t have cared about her constantly being approached. But from the moment he truly noticed her, something inside him had shifted. And that something drove him to the brink of madness every time another boy approached her.

Of course, he couldn’t expect that not to happen. Y/n was, by far, the most beautiful young woman in the clan. But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t only her perfectly amber eyes, designed so flawlessly by Eywa, or her long, dark hair that seemed to reflect all of Pandora’s natural light, or even her radiant smile that adorned her small, round face so perfectly. No, it was more than just her looks, though the entire clan—especially the young Omaticaya men—had to notice those things about her, too.

Still, Neteyam was utterly jealous. And furious. He couldn’t just hide Y/n away from everyone, keep her somewhere safe where only he could see her, appreciate her, talk to her. Maybe even touch her—if he didn’t combust from the thought alone.

Every time he interacted with Y/n, Neteyam’s heart would pound harder and faster, his face would flush, and his palms would sweat. When he first started feeling this way, the Omaticaya thought he was ill and grew concerned, which drew Jake’s attention. Eventually, Neteyam couldn’t keep it to himself and told his father what was bothering him.

Jake Sully had to fight back a laugh when his eldest said he was in love—though not in those exact words. Still, Jake kept a serious face to maintain his authority. Jake liked Y/n; she was a good girl. He had practically watched her grow up, just as he’d watched Neteyam grow up. But he didn’t like how much she was distracting his son. As a final piece of advice, the patriarch told his son to focus harder on his training until he felt ready to confess his feelings.

And so, until that day came, Neteyam settled for forming a friendship with the young woman. He poured himself into his training, trying harder every day to push those feelings away.

Neytiri, on the other hand, had noticed what was happening without needing a word from Neteyam. She saw how he acted whenever Y/n was nearby during any clan gathering. She saw his reactions as he struggled to hide his emotions, forget them, and behave naturally around the girl. Neytiri liked Y/n, too. She thought the young woman was beautiful, talented, and caring. If it was Eywa’s will, she would gladly welcome Y/n as a daughter when Neteyam finally woke up and claimed her as his mate.

But Neytiri thought that day might take a while—and she hoped it wouldn’t be too late by the time Neteyam finally confessed.

“Neteyam?” Y/n’s sweet, melodic voice called from behind him, breaking through his thoughts. He kept walking, his long, purposeful strides carrying him anywhere far from the girl who occupied his mind—and who was now standing right behind him.

Neteyam didn’t stop walking, but his ears, along with the stiffness in his tail and shoulders, betrayed that he had heard Y/n and was fully aware of her presence.

Y/n was confused but decided to follow him in silence. She trailed after the boy through paths filled with lush vegetation and small animals, eventually arriving at a breathtaking view of Pandora from the heights of one of the great trees. The girl smiled at the sight but quickly turned her attention to Neteyam, noticing how he stood quietly, avoiding her gaze, seemingly trying to calm himself.

“Did something happen?” Y/n asked softly, taking a careful step closer but keeping some distance between them.

Neteyam swallowed down the words that were forming like a lump in his throat—words like: You shouldn’t be accepting courtships when I’m around. But he couldn’t hold back the frustrated sigh that escaped his lips. “It’s nothing,” he replied simply and calmly. He would never burden her with his confusion or irritation. After all, it wasn’t her fault she was so beautiful and skilled.

“Nete, it doesn’t seem like nothing,” Y/n said with a small laugh. The moment the nickname left her lips, Neteyam’s heart jumped wildly in his chest.

Still, he remained silent, his face beginning to flush as he stood there, choosing to focus on the view of Pandora. The sun was already starting to set, making way for the night.

“Well... I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have meddled…” Y/n said softly after receiving no response, her tone a little embarrassed. She had known Neteyam for years and had never wanted to be a burden to him—quite the opposite.

The Omaticaya girl had always had her eyes on the eldest Sully, the first son of Toruk Mak'to, even before they had built their friendship. Of course, her feelings weren’t tied to his status as the son of a leader but rather to Neteyam’s gentle yet strong demeanor.

His sharp, observant eyes. His posture—one that had been largely shaped by Jake Sully’s expectations, yet which Neteyam carried with a natural grace. His careful, steady way of speaking, free of judgment. And, most of all, the way he would laugh wholeheartedly whenever he had to save Lo’ak from his own troubles.

"I... I didn’t mean to bother you, Neteyam. Sorry," Y/n said, clasping her hands together. Her ears lowered softly, and her tail stopped swaying slowly from side to side.

Before she could leave, though, the Omaticaya stopped her.

"No," Neteyam said quickly, finally meeting her eyes. He straightened himself, feeling the warmth on his face intensify, spreading to his ears, neck, and soon, he was sure, his chest. Taking an almost imperceptible deep breath, he added, "You're not a bother. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to." His voice was soft, and he moved closer to the edge of the tree, sitting down and letting his long legs dangle in the air. The last thing he wanted was for Y/n to think she was a nuisance.

The girl smiled slightly at his words, a bit of her earlier energy returning. Being near Neteyam was gratifying, and she loved it. She loved talking to him, feeling close to him in any way. With gentle steps, she moved to sit beside him, admiring the view.

"This is beautiful," Y/n said, her gaze fixed on the scenery—the setting sun casting its warm hues over Pandora.

Neteyam turned his eyes to her again, mesmerized by the golden light illuminating her face, enhancing her already stunning features.

"It really is," Neteyam replied calmly, though his gaze wasn’t on the scenery but on Y/n.

As soon as she looked at him, he quickly averted his eyes, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Is Jake being hard on you with training, Nete?" Y/n tried to start a conversation. "Is that why you were so upset?"

"A little..." Neteyam replied, avoiding her gaze. He wasn’t telling the full truth, but it wasn’t entirely a lie either. Jake always seemed to expect more and more from him. "I’m just a bit tired, that’s all."

"No days off, huh?" Y/n chuckled softly through her nose. "Jake just wants you to be perfect, Nete. You’re the leader’s son, Toruk Mak’to’s son. There are a lot of expectations for you to meet."

"And that doesn’t help me at all," the boy replied, eliciting laughter from the Omaticaya beside him. Neteyam allowed himself a small smile as he listened to her laugh, watching her face light up.

"The hunting ritual is coming up..." the girl pointed out, softly swinging her legs where they hung over the edge. "Maybe Jake will let you rest after that."

"I’m not so sure about that."

A comfortable silence settled between them. Y/n turned her gaze back to the breathtaking scenery, but Neteyam’s eyes stayed fixed on her, admiring her quietly. He loved moments like this—talking to Y/n, sitting in silence with Y/n. Everything about it felt natural. Like it was meant to be.

"You... you’ll have to make a big choice," Y/n began softly, her voice tinged with hesitation. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

Neteyam didn’t entirely understand her words but chose to remain quiet. Deep down, he knew he could listen to Y/n talk for hours—even if, perhaps, he didn’t fully grasp everything she said.

"Have you already chosen?" Y/n asked timidly, her eyes finally meeting his. Neteyam hadn’t taken his gaze off her.

"Chosen?" Neteyam echoed, a little confused, snapping out of the dreamy state her presence always seemed to put him in.

"I mean... your mate, of course," Y/n clarified, her voice quieter now, tinged with embarrassment.

The truth was, Y/n was scared of his answer. If Neteyam said yes, if he already had someone in mind to share his life with, it would crush any hope she had. But even so, she needed to know.

"Mate?" Neteyam repeated, slightly stunned. Her gaze bore into him, making him straighten his posture. He swallowed hard under her careful observation of his sharp, strong features. "No... I-I haven’t," he stammered, finally looking away. His ears twitched anxiously.

The truth was that Neteyam’s heart had already answered the question for him—loudly and undeniably. The moment Y/n mentioned "mate," his thoughts returned to the hunting ritual and the decision he would have to make afterward. And his mind landed firmly on Y/n.

Because it was her. It had always been her. Y/n was the one he wanted as his mate, the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, to share every moment with.

Neteyam grew nervous as he imagined Y/n waiting for him in their shared home, arms open, ready to embrace him, kiss him, and care for him just as he would care for her. And he would do it well—he was certain of that.

A small but happy smile flickered across Y/n’s lips upon hearing Neteyam’s response that he hadn’t chosen a mate yet.

“Have you… noticed any, um, approaches?” Y/n asked softly, her voice almost a purr, knowing this was her chance and determined not to let it slip away. Not when Neteyam stirred her heart in ways no one else could. Not when she longed to hear his voice or feel close to him.

Of course, just like Y/n, Neteyam was a target of attention. The difference, however, was that Omaticaya girls weren’t as aggressive in their advances toward him. Getting close to him without at least being friends with his siblings was no easy task. And even then, finding a moment to be near him during his rare free time was nearly impossible. Yet Y/n managed it every time.

If anyone hoped to be courted by Neteyam, they had to make their feelings and intentions clear due to his limited availability and the fact that he wasn’t exactly the most expressive Na’vi. Y/n had tried to make her interest obvious around him, but the boy didn’t seem to notice.

Eywa knows how many courting gifts Y/n had carefully declined, all the while hoping to receive one from a particular Na’vi—the eldest Sully. With the hunting ritual so close, perhaps it was finally time for her to be a bit more forward in showing her interest, though still delicately. She didn’t want Neteyam to think poorly of her—not that he could, even if he tried.

“No, I haven’t noticed,” Neteyam replied truthfully to her question. The fact was, he rarely paid attention to anything outside of his parents’ demands, Lo’ak’s troubles, his siblings’ safety, and, of course, every move Y/n made.

“Well… plenty of girls would love to be courted by you,” Y/n said sweetly, letting out a soft laugh as she leaned ever so slightly toward him, her tail moving lightly along the ground. Neteyam’s ears twitched at her words, his gaze drawn to her once more. His own tail began to shift, unconsciously seeking hers.

But then, the scene from earlier crept into his mind—a boy standing close to Y/n, talking to her, laughing as if there were no tomorrow, clearly thrilled to be near her. The memory made Neteyam’s brows knit slightly together, and he found himself looking away from her.

“Yeah. From what I’ve noticed, many are courting you,” Neteyam said, trying to manage the irritation bubbling up inside him. He’d almost forgotten it, but now it had resurfaced. A new thought struck him, making him feel both nervous and uneasy. “You… have you already chosen a mate?” he asked carefully, bringing his eyes back to her.

“No,” she answered simply.

“No? Why not? You…” He cleared his throat, fidgeting slightly. “You’re an incredible girl. I’ve seen what you do for everyone in the clan. You tend to the injured, help prepare for rituals, assist mothers with their children… you’ve even helped my mother.” Neteyam’s voice grew a little shaky, his ears flicking nervously, his tail moving restlessly behind him. He vividly remembered the day Lo’ak got himself into serious trouble, forcing him, Neytiri, and Jake to go and drag his brother back. In their absence, Y/n had kept Kiri and Tuk company, distracting them with her kindness and warmth.

Y/n smiled, realizing that Neteyam had noticed something about her. The boy steadied himself before speaking again.

“Why haven’t you chosen anyone?” Neteyam asked simply, his voice low, though his eyes stayed fixed on the girl beside him.

“I’m waiting…” Y/n began in the same tone, looking deeply at him. “…for someone to make me an offer.”

Neteyam averted his gaze, assuming Y/n was talking about a specific Omaticaya in the clan. His thoughts spiraled, imagining anyone but himself in her mind—something Y/n was trying to make obvious with her intent gaze and the subtle movements of her tail inching closer to his.

“Well…” Neteyam said, trying to swallow the frustration brewing inside him over whichever lucky Na’vi had managed to catch Y/n’s eyes and heart. Maybe he’d challenge him to a duel if he found out. “It shouldn’t take long,” he said simply, still not looking at her, his earlier sour mood returning.

“It could happen now,” Y/n suggested, tilting her head slightly, attempting to catch Neteyam’s gaze.

“Now?” Neteyam asked, looking around and confirming they were still alone. There wasn’t another Omaticaya in sight that he could aim his fists at.

“Yes, now,” Y/n replied, his attention now fully on her. She fluttered her eyelashes gracefully, hoping he would understand her meaning.

“How ‘now’? It’s just us here,” he muttered, confused, though his heart skipped a beat as he caught her beautiful lashes in motion, momentarily forgetting his impulse to pummel some imaginary rival.

Y/n sighed, realizing she needed to be more direct if she wanted him to understand what she meant.

“Nete…” She swallowed hard, steeling herself for what felt like an immense challenge. She placed her hand gently over his, watching his eyes slowly widen as his ears perked up in surprise. “…I see you,” Y/n confessed intensely, her breath quickening as her heart raced uncontrollably.

Neteyam, on the other hand, was frozen in place. His wide eyes and dilated pupils were locked on the girl in front of him, his body entirely still as he processed her words.

“It’s true that I was waiting for something from you,” the girl began, embarrassed, avoiding his gaze. “But... you don’t have to feel pressured by me. I know you’ll have other great options for a mate.” She let out a small, almost bitter laugh.

The Omaticaya boy snapped out of his stupor, blinking several times in quick succession, his pupils dilating greatly, his heart racing faster than ever before. As soon as Y/n pulled her hand from his, Neteyam quickly but gently grasped it, not wanting to startle her.

“Y/n,” the boy called softly, still surprised by her words. She wanted to be courted by him.

Even though Neteyam was consumed with happiness, staring at her intensely, the words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to say “I see you” like he had imagined so many times, but with his heart pounding and his shock overwhelming him, he could only open his lips several times, struggling to find the right words.

Y/n looked at him shyly, waiting for him to say something, while the boy still held her hand gently, preventing her from going anywhere. He traced her soft skin with his thumb, his gaze still locked on her, hoping she would understand him without words, because he certainly would stutter if he started to confess.

The girl looked down at their hands joined softly, gripping Neteyam’s hand firmly, but soon she lifted her gaze back to him, watching him swallow hard.

“Do you feel the same?” Y/n asked quietly, leaning in slightly, and the only thing Neteyam could do was nod—quickly, almost too fast, which made her smile even wider.

Even with his heart practically on fire, the boy swallowed hard and tightened his grip on the young woman beside him.

“Y/n, I see you,” Neteyam said as if making a promise, though it was whispered, it was intense. It was clear that his chest was rising and falling quickly, with a brief flush of purple creeping up his face, his ears, slowly descending to his neck.

Y/n smiled wider, the same color beginning to tint her cheeks. With her beautiful smile, Neteyam returned a smaller one, still immersed in emotions. His skin was showing his anxiety and mild embarrassment, and his palm was starting to grow warmer than usual.

The boy pulled back slightly from the girl, still looking at her, her eyes locked on him with curiosity. Neteyam began to undo one of his bracelets, tightly fastened to his forearm, and once the accessory was removed, he looked at Y/n with expectation.

The girl let out a happy sound, lifting her left forearm to Neteyam, who, with slightly trembling fingers, began to fasten the bracelet onto her. Now, anyone who saw Y/n wearing the accessory would immediately know that she was promised to Neteyam, as the Omaticaya wore the matching pair on his right forearm.

"In the hunting ritual..." Neteyam began softly as he adjusted the bracelet on Y/n. "I will bring the largest animal I find for the clan. And after that, I will come to you and ask if you would choose me as your mate in front of everyone." He continued, his voice still quiet, a little embarrassed but happy, watching the bracelet settle perfectly on the girl. "This is my first courting gift. But please, don't worry, I will give you more gifts so you can adorn yourself with them until the ritual. And also, after it." The boy smiled at her, making the girl laugh too, filled with happiness.

"And I will make your adornments," Y/n replied, thinking of the accessories she had already made for Neteyam, but never had the courage to gift him. However, from now on, she saw no problem in doing so.

The Omaticaya boy smiled at her, gently bringing their foreheads together, and she responded without hesitation, closing her eyes in delight and happiness. Neteyam turned his gaze back to the landscape in front of them, feeling Y/n settle close to his body, resting her head between his neck and shoulder. He accepted her presence gladly, holding her close as they both silently admired the beautiful, dusk-lit landscape of Pandora, content in their mutual affection.

With Neteyam holding the girl firmly and gently beside him, his tail swayed slightly, finding hers, and they wasted no time in intertwining them, causing both to share small, happy laughs. And behind the couple, Atokirinas—the seeds of the Tree of Life—floated softly, undisturbed, as the young pair embraced in front of Pandora's giant moon.

[littlemissmiller]

𝑀𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑌𝑜𝑢

Pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: the summer before you graduated college, Joel Miller became a regular at the bar you worked. he was perfect except one small problem…you already have a boyfriend

Warning: 21+ (drinking), fluff, slight age gap (reader is in her early 20s and Joel is 30) smut, oral (f receiving) p in v, slight body worshipping, porn with plot

Word count: 5.2k

A/N: i did it! i finally wrote a fic to live up to my blog name! i’m so proud of this one y’all like omg…i love it, it’s so perfect. such a cute lil fluffy smut (≧◡≦) ♡ also still can’t get over the fact that people like my little hobby, so thank you for all the love! it only encourages me to write more. speaking of which, i have so many stories for the summer coming up, especially with tom blyth coming back as billy. i already have a few stories started so hopefully they will be out sooner rather then later. ok that’s it i have nothing more to say. enjoy ❣︎

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It was your last summer before graduating college and being home made you want to cherish your last year even more. You were looking forward to it and ready to be done bartending so you could see your friends and have some real fun. Sure, this job made you a ton of cash, but being home was nothing in comparison to being with your college friends in a town totally catered to you and your fellow students. Although your hometown had its perks. At least it used to. Your longtime boyfriend had never left your hometown or went to college. He had instead opted for going into a trade and becoming an electrician.

Your relationship was strong at first, but every semester it became harder and harder to navigate. Time after time you had convinced yourself that he was still your best friend, but meeting new people in college and getting to experience the joys of youth on your own for the first time, had given you a lot of perspective. So every birthday, holiday, and summer, you felt like you were coming home to a completely different man. Yet you stayed with him because you really wanted to make it work and you told yourself you loved him. Yet something unexpected had happened. One evening at work, a group of men came in to watch the Rangers game. That’s when you first met him and that’s the night Joel Miller would become a regular at your bar.

He was clearly older, at least thirty, but you couldn’t help but practically gawk at him all night. And you couldn’t help but think that Joel was eyeing you too. But you felt a wave of guilt overcome you. You knew you shouldn’t feel like this. You knew you shouldn’t be staring down another man like that but you couldn’t help it. But his arms looked so strong, like he could carry you effortlessly. You couldn’t help the way you smiled every time he would share a boisterous laugh with his friends. His own sweet smile drew you in and you noticed he had the cutest cheek nimble on top of it. From his big chiseled nose to his perfectly crafted jawline, he was an absolute Adonis. Just then another wave of guilt washed over you and you tried to shake away your feelings of disloyalty as you walked into the kitchen, putting their food order in.

As you walked out of the kitchen and brought them their next set of drinks, you tried not to look at him so much but it’s hard not to. Then he spoke up.

“Hey darling? Could I get some more napkins when you get the chance?”

“Yeah sure!” You scurried off and came back immediately

He smiled at you as he thanked you which made your heart flutter. As you made your way back to the kitchen, another server catches up to you.

“Who’s the handsome cowboy at 13?” She asked

“Oh” you started “I’m not sure. Are you talking about the man in the white shirt?” You lied acting like she was talking about someone else

“Girl, don’t play. I can see him undressing you right now”

You glanced over, and caught him smiling at you while he sipped his beer. You started to smile back, when the guilt hit you again and you turned back to your co-worker.

“Oh…yeah…h-he is handsome yeah…but not like I’m interested.” You lied again

“Okaaay whatever you say…” she said unconvinced, rushing off to her table

Joel and his buddies left around 9 and you noticed that Joel leaves the biggest tip out of everyone. Around 10 o’ clock you clocked out and headed to your boyfriend’s house where you had planned on spending the night. Once you arrived, you walked straight into his room where he was playing some PC game. His back was towards you and he didn’t notice you at first with his big headset on. You hugged him from behind and kissed his cheek. He startled and you jumped back.

“Woah! Hey! Your home” he remarked, clutching his chest, barely glancing at you “Jesus you scared me.”

“Clearly” you giggled

“God don’t sneak up on me like that. Could have cost me the game” he sighed, as he returned his full attention to the screen.

“What ya playing?

“COD” he remarked dryly

“Are you gonna be finishing soon?” You inquired

“Ahh probably not. I figured you’d be too tired to hang after your shift so I told the boys I’d be on tonight.”

“I thought you said we would watch a movie after work tonight?”

“Oh yeah, I mean I don’t know I just kinda figured you’d want to go to bed when you got home. Plus you fall asleep to every movie we watch together”

“Yeah” you sighed in disappointment, wanting to follow it up with “but that’s not the point.” You knew he’d get upset at you for pulling him away from his game. “I just want to cuddle you.”

“Ok ok I got ya. I’ll be in bed soon, ok.” He said halfhearted, still not looking at you.

You changed into a pair of sweat shorts and an old shirt and got ready for bed. As you climb into bed you want to cry. And you questioned your guilt from tonight. Maybe it was because it had been a while since a man seemingly flirted with you that made you realize just how lousy your boyfriend has become. When was the last time he genuinely made you feel special? You fell asleep, but were woken up by small kisses on your neck, but your boyfriend began to move more aggressively, trusting and grinning his crotch against your ass. At that point you’re too tired for sex, and all you wanted was for him to hold you and care for you.

“Mmm babe I’m really tired” you whined

“I thought you wanted attention?” He asked, continuing his actions. You pushed away slightly but he continued, only pulling you closer against his chest.

“I do, just not like this. Not right now ok? I just want to sleep.”

He sighed, turning over

“See this is why I don’t want to do a movie with you. I knew you would be too tired.”

“That’s not…” you wanted to finish your sentence again and say “that’s not fair” but once again that would probably upset him and now he was annoyed with you so you don’t want to push it. “I just want to sleep now ok.”

“Ok. It’s fine. Goodnight.” He huffed, falling asleep.

The next couple of shifts your mind is preoccupied by your newfound feelings about your relationship. Your boyfriend wasn’t abusive by any means, but it was clear the relationship wasn’t healthy anymore. That’s when the crying at work started. Mainly because you had just come from his house before each shift and every interaction with him pained you. The only thing that kept you from continuously calling off was Joel. Almost every shift around 5 o’clock he would come in, order a few beers, maybe something to eat, and chat it up with you.

By the third week, all your co-workers were teasing you about him. Whenever his truck would pull up in the parking lot, someone would come get you.

“Your cowboy is here!” Someone yelled out to you, stepping out of the kitchen. You left the servers station to greet him.

“Hey Joel! Mich Ultra? You asked

“You know it darling. How you’ve been?” He smiled, causing you to practically melt into a puddle. You gathered yourself and smiled back at him.

“About the same as the last time you saw me.”

“And still as beautiful as ever.” He winked

“You flatter me Mr. Miller. I bet Mrs. Miller is one special lady hmm?” You asked more or less trying to see if he was actually flirting with you or just being nice.

“She would if there was one.”

“Oh I thought you said you have a daughter?” You questioned more

“And a man can’t be a single dad in this world? How sexist of you” he chuckled sarcastically

You rolled your eyes at him and laughed along.

“I just thought such a handsome cowboy as yourself would have a beautiful gal to go home to.”

“I wish…” he sighed, eyes giving you a once over

“So where is she then? Your daughter? If not with her mom. You know we allowed kids in before 9 right?”

“Yeah, she just has soccer practice at this time three days a week. I figured why not wait for her to be done and come see you since I’m out and about.” He explained

“Ain’t you just a charmer.” I’ll get you that beer.”

You walk over to behind the bar and fetch Joel his beer.

“He’s just all over you” one of the bartenders remarked

“And he tips well too.”

“Gee I wonder why” they smirked, giving you a look “how does your boyfriend feel about him?”

“I mean he’s just a customer. They flirt all the time and who doesn’t like the extra cash?” You started quickly

“Mhmm sure” they said

You walk back to him, bringing him his beer and continuing to chat with him. He ordered another beer then left to go pick up his daughter Sarah.

Now every time at work shift, it felt like an escape. It also felt like a fantastic secret that only you knew about. A fantasy being played out in real life. Joel was so charming.

Even though he was older, his youthful demeanor shone through. He was caring too. If he wasn’t asking about you and your life, he was talking about his daughter. You could tell she was his world. He absolutely adored her, and you loved to listen to him go on and on about her. You didn’t quite care what your co-workers would say or how your boss didn’t like that you hovered around his table, sometimes neglecting your other ones.

But he couldn’t complain too much given Joel was a respectful, paying customer. And a great tipper. And he would always leave a little note on his receipt. Nothing too flirtatious, just innocent enough to toe the line. This went on for a couple more weeks, your boyfriend none the wiser. Not like he was paying much attention to you anymore. Every note, you would take them and make sure to hide them when you got home. You stored them in your sock drawer and kept them secret like everything else about him. You still felt guilty though and realize that you need to end things with your boyfriend. It’s harder than you thought and truthfully you don’t know how to leave someone you’ve cared about that much. And been with for so long. But talking to Joel made you realize what you needed. And what you wanted. And you wanted him. And something told you he wanted you too.

Then back at home, living with your boyfriend it was a totally different reality. He felt so disconnected from you, so indifferent. And the more you faded away from him the less you felt like you really loved him still. And he noticed you pulling away from him. One night, you came home and had kept another one of Joel’s receipts.

“See you Wednesday :) Joel”

You left your server book out on his bed, along with your purse and hopped into the shower without thinking. When you got out of the shower, your boyfriend was sitting on his gamer chair, nose deep in your server book. You froze and tightened the towel around you nervously.

“Oh hey babe. When did you get home? I thought you and the boys were having a boys night? “

“We decided to just get dinner instead. What’s this?” He asked, holding up the receipt.

“Oh, just one of my regulars. Don’t worry about it.” You giggled, trying to play it cool reaching for the book. He holds it back from you and stands up.

“Who’s Joel?”

“My regular” you repeated

“Oh yeah. I bet he tips you well hmm? Pays you lots of attention?” He asked accusatorily.

“I-he…he’s just a regular we get them all the time.”

“Yeah, but you said he is one of YOUR regulars. Why yours? Why is he writing you notes?”

“He-he just always sits in my section I don’t know. That’s not too unusual…and a lot of customers write thank you notes and stuff I can’t control them!” You insisted, readjusting your towel again

“You expect me to believe that?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Well I don’t need creepy men hitting on my girl at work.” He barked back

“He’s not creepy and you’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh then what is he?”

“He’s just a customer!” You argued even though it was a lie

From that moment on, your boyfriend had grown highly suspicious of your relationship with him and Joel. Wednesday rolled around and Joel showed up again as expected. You nervously approached him as he sat down.

“Well hey their sugar” he smiled

“Hey Joel” you replied, only giving him a half smile

He searched your face and could tell something is up.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, just life stuff. So Mich Ultra?”

He nodded and you walked off. His eyes followed you, watching you as you went to the bar. You came back and gave him his beer. You wanted to set it down and walk away, but Joel’s concerned eyes beckoned you to say.

“Thinking about food?” You asked him

“Maybe. I’m sorry doll, I don’t mean to pry but if I did anything to put you off-“

“No Joel of course it’s not you it’s just…relationship issues” you huff

“Sorry to hear that sugar. I hope y’all can work it out”

“I hope so” you sigh, knowing it’s a lie.

Just then your boyfriend storms into the bar. You don’t notice him at first, but then you hear a set of heavy footsteps approaching towards you and you look up. Confused, you call out his name.

“What are you doing here?”

“Can’t visit my girl at work anymore?” He asked glancing at Joel

“Excuse me.” You mumble to Joel, walking over to him and grabbing his hand. You lead him out of the building.

“What are you doing?!” You shouted

“Is that him? Is that Joel?” he sneered

“Why do you care all of a sudden hmm? You’ve barely paid attention to me in the last few months. What happened to us?” You nearly sobbed.

He sighed and shook his head

“What do you want from me? I mean I’m frustrated with you too if that helps. You have completely shut yourself off, don’t tell me shit! I’m upset too! Especially that I know you’re flaunting yourself around weirdo old men.”

“Stop! That’s it, I can't do this anymore. I’m so scared to tell you anything because of how you act when I share your feelings. When I come home, you ignore me and frankly it seems like you only give me affection when you want to fuck me!”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed, throwing his arms up.

“Oh my god! You over exaggerate everything. Is this why you’re acting like an attention seeker? Because you think I don’t pamper you?”

“Unbelievable. Pampering really…you know what I’m not arguing with you! I’m done! We’re done!” You shout and storm back into the back

“Done? Really like that? Four years done like that? Fine whatever, be that way, I know you don’t mean it. I’ll see you at home.” And he storms off back to his car.

You wanted to cry as you stormed back into the bar, but you held yourself together.

You tried to hide your clearly upset face as you rushed back into the kitchen and into the back alley next to the dumpsters. Joel noticed and ran out of the bar looking for you. He searched around the building then he called out to you.

“Hey. What’s wrong.”

You can’t help it. One look at him, and you ran into his arms. He embraced you, holding you tight.

“Hey my little firefly…what’s wrong?” He asked, his sweet southern drawl falling like your tears.

“I loved him Joel… why do people stop loving you back…” you sobbed

Joel gently stroked your hair, attempting to calm you down. It didn’t feel strange to be held by him. You felt safe, and comfortable in his arms, despite barely knowing him or even having any interaction with him outside of work, that moment felt right.

“I don’t know darling.” Joel sighed

You eventually gathered yourself and go back inside with him. Your boss thankfully didn’t notice your absence. Joel returned to his table and you returned to your other patrons. After his beer, Joel left and you didn’t really get a chance to see him leave. When you went to collect his tap you saw another note this time with his phone number and it read:

“Gotta go get Sarah. Call me if you need to talk”

Your heart dropped. He had finally given you his number and at the same time you still felt guilty. Even though you had, despite what your now ex-boyfriend thinks, finally ended your relationship. And here the opportunity was. Right in front of you. You look at the receipt, take it, fold it and immediately put it in your pocket to keep it safe. You clock out at ten and are all too eager to get into your car to call Joel. Once you do, you dial the number and it rings.

“Hello?”

“He-hey Joel it’s me…” you uttered

“You ok darling?” He asked sweetly

Maybe it was his voice, the question, or the fact that the weight of the burdens of your life seemed to have fallen apart around you, but you cried again. Letting it all out and at the same time feeling better than ever.

“Hey hey hey” Joel whispered “I just put Sarah to bed…why don’t you come over here? We can talk ok?”

You nodded and sobbed.

“Ok…”

Joel texted you his address and you put it into your GPS. It’s only about a ten minute drive to his house and when you pulled up, you nervously exit your vehicle. You walked up the front door and knocked quietly, not wanting to wake Sarah. A moment later, it swung open and Joel’s handsome face looked at yours with deep concern.

“Come on in.”

You nodded and walked into his home. As expected it’s much nicer than your boyfriends, but then again Joel is an actual adult, with a kid, and mortgage to pay off so it was to be slightly expected. It wasn’t too fancy, just your standard suburban home. You walked over to the couch and Joel followed you.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Honestly I need something a little strong. Got any whiskey?”

He smiled ear to ear.

“Ya betcha.” And he rushed off into his kitchen.

You made yourself comfortable and tried to relax as you looked around Joel’s living room. You curiously strode over to his bookshelf and read the titles. Lots of history books, a few fiction and then you noticed the framed photo of him and his daughter. You realize you’ve never seen a photo of her, but she’s just as beautiful as you could have imagined. You smiled and Joel caught you in your curiosity.

“She’s been my little gem since day one. Just me and her. I don’t think I ever told ya, but her mom left us so…” he remarked.

You looked at him, smiled and nodded.

“She’s beautiful, Joel. You’re a great dad.”

Joel sat the glasses of whiskey down on the shelf and reached for your hand. You gasp slightly, look at where he’s touched you and then look up into his eyes. He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“You asked me why people stop loving people back and ya know, I still don’t have a good answer for that. I guess it’s because I’ve been asking myself the same thing for the last twelve years.”

“Joel…you’re such a good man…” you sighed, squeezing his hand.

“You’re too kind darling.” He smiled

“No really.”

You stared at him for a moment. His eyes searched your own looking for what he suspected you wanted from him. He cupped your face and he leaned in to kiss you. His lips fit perfectly against yours, like he was made for you. It was perfect and passionate. He was so gentle, yet you could feel how badly he had wanted this moment with you. He pulled back for a moment to make sure he hadn’t crossed the line.

“Got a bedroom?” You smirked

Before you knew it, Joel was crawling on top of you and you took off your shirt. At the same time he was busy frantically kissing your neck and jaw. He tossed it off and Joel took a moment to admire your chest. He gasped and reached to grope your breasts. Your soft, perky mounds fit perfectly in his hand and he began to massage you. He was in utter awe of you. Almost overwhelmed that he was getting to have you like this. You stared back up at him, equally in awe at that moment.

His big brown eyes melted your heart and all your troubles melted too. Fuck your lousy ex. All you wanted and needed was Joel. He kissed you again as he continued to play with your breasts. You let out a few giggles that turned into harsh, sharp moans as he moved his mouth down your body.

“Fuck…” you whispered, the word dancing around the room.

As his lips trailed you, your body reacted, your hips bucked and you were practically squirming under him. When his mouth found your cleavage, you felt the heat in between your legs grow stronger.

He continued to kiss you, only breaking away to take off his own shirt. He was toned, his skin smooth and he was unbelievably broad. You couldn’t help but admire the way his collar bone met his neckline. It was clean and sharp. You tried not to think of your ex, but in comparison he was not as fit as the gorgeous man in front of you. You placed your hands on his chest and felt his pecs, running your fingers down to his abdomen. You leaned up to kiss him again. His lips were so soft and addictive. You could’ve kissed him all night, but your desires beckoned for more. He held you up slightly and flipped you over. As he did he unhooked your bra and you let it fall off your chest. He tossed it on the ground and admired your bare chest for the first time.

“You’re so gorgeous. “ he uttered as your hair fell in front of you.

He pushed it out of the way and cupped your face. He pulled you back down to capture your mouth once again, lightly gripping the back of your neck. Your bare boobs pressed down against his chest, a feeling which you love. Skin on skin, the close intimacy and the feeling of being wanted more than just something to fuck. That’s how your ex had made you feel the last few months when you and him had sex, so being touched, cherished by Joel made your head spin. You weren’t used to it and you could feel your body reacting to the unfamiliar sensations. Joel noticed.

“Baby, you ok?”

You blushed at the nickname, smiled and nodded.

“It’s just been some time since I felt like this.”

“When’s the last time he touched you?”

“I-I mean we would have sex once or twice a week…”

“When is the last time he really touched you though. Made you feel special?”

You simply stared at him speechless and tilted your head.

“You know what, forget about him. Just focus on me. Let me make you feel good like you deserve.”

With that, he decided to be bold and reached for your mini skirt. He pulled it down past your hips and you lifted them up so he could pull it off you. He tossed it on the ground with your bra and his hands immediately moved to cup your ass. He squeezed the pillowy flesh as you moved your hips. You could feel him getting hard under you and you eagerly reached for his belt. His hands moved up to your waist, rocking you more. You undo his belt and he lifted up his hips to take off his pants. He slid them off along with his boxers, revealing his length. It was perfect. Just the right size, the mushroom tip red and swollen. Encouraged by his actions, you slide your panties off and you are both completely bare in front of each other.

He soaked the sight of your naked beauty in, eyes trailed over all your curves and edges. You were simply divine to him, a work of art. He runs his hands back up to your chest, briefly groping them, his eyes completely focused on your face. You grab his cock and began slowly stroking it. His mouth drops slightly as he watched you. He tilted his head back on the pillow briefly, before he looked back up to watch you. His breathing became ragged and you picked up your pace. You start to move on top of him, guiding his cock to your entrance, but he stops you.

“Let me get you wet.” He insisted, grabbing your hips and flipping you again. Immediately, he kissed down your body, worshiping you. “You’re so perfect. If you were my girl I’d never stop showing you how perfect you are.” He muttered in between kisses.

He kissed your inner thigh before he experimentally rubbed your clit. You gasped, your hips bucked in his face. He smirked at your reaction, loving how you responded to his touch. Taking that as a sign you wanted more, he gently kissed your slit. He gave you another one and another one until the little pecks of his lips turned into the sloppy mess of his tongue. It had been ages since a man had gone down on you like this. Your ex-never warmed you up beforehand anymore, too eager to satisfy his own desire and pleasure. Joel knew how to be a real man. His tongue and lips suck and rub at your core. He moved his head too, adding to the friction. You reached for his brown locks, desperately in need of something to hold onto. He hung onto your hips and he moved you against his face. He moaned against your core, eating you out like you were the most delicious meal of his life. He pulled back, out of breath and drunk in your juices.

“Could taste ya all day darling.”

You nodded as he inserted a finger in you, twisting it. He slowly pumped it into you, curling it up as he added another finger. He watched as your face scrunched up in pleasure. He sped his hand up, totally focused on getting you to finish.

“Joel…Joel…Joel…” you chanted “Gonna cum”

He nodded and worked you a bit more until you tightened down around his digits. You came hard, the euphoria rushed through your body like a roller coaster.

“So beautiful oh my god.” He praised, rubbing your thighs.

He crawled back up to you. He kissed you letting you taste yourself. You hadn’t felt this kind of passion in a while, this intense feeling of intimacy.

“You ready? He asked, slowly rubbing your clit again.

You nodded as he lined himself up with your slit. You felt as his cock pushed past your folds and stretched you out perfectly. You gasped and he kissed your cheek feather light. He cooed at you as he slid in, hitting the back of your cervix. You gasped, which turned into a raspy moan that floated from your lips. Joel cupped your face, stroking his thumb across your cheek. You two shared in the silence of your pleasure for a moment, taking in how good the other felt. He moved, slow at first then he sped up. He felt so full inside you, and you lost yourself in the sensation of his length. You could have stayed like that all night, the steady motion of his cock pumping into you was pure bliss.

“Does that feel good?” Joel inquired lovingly

“Yes, please Joel I want more. I need more of you.”

Per your request, he gave you more, slightly giving into his own desires to want to ravish you. But given it’s your first time with him, Joel didn’t want a sloppy, lustful encounter. Yet, he picked up his speed, his length now hitting the back of your walls at an almost brutal pace. Joel makes sure to keep checking in on you to make sure you’re okay or that it doesn’t hurt too much. You panted and panted as he continued, gripping onto his waist with your legs, pushing him deeper into you. He moved a bit more then flipped over. You smiled at him, slightly out of breath.

“I want to see that beautiful body riding me. Is that ok?”

You nod enthusiastically, slowly starting to move your hips. Joel’s hands groped your ass, rocking you on him more. He sat up, pressed his lips firmly against yours and held you tight. You started to bounce on him which elicited a guttural moan from his lips. He moved his hand to your hips, looking up at you in awe.

How could anyone not treat you like the absolute treasure you are?

Joel thought and wondered to himself as he held you. He couldn’t believe that your ex-boyfriend would neglect you. What a foolish man, but now he had you. In the exact moment he had imagined. He had you. He moved his hips in sync with yours. You steadied yourself on his shoulders, ecstasy, providing you escape. Your breath hitched as you feel his cock stiffen more inside you. He was close. You didn’t want it to end but then again you had a feeling this wouldn’t be your last encounter with Joel. A few last rocks of your hips and he was spent. He pulled you off him abruptly as he shot his load onto his stomach. You caught your breath, resting your forehead against his. You held his jaw in your hands, settling your hips.

“Joel…” you whispered, the words ghosting over your lips.

“Yes darling..” he whispered back

“Y-you have no idea how much I wanted you like this.”

“I know. Me too, but not just like this. I want you. All of you. Can I please have it?” He nearly begged

Your enthusiasm took over you and you planted a spontaneous kiss on his lips.

“Yes Joel…you can have all of me.”

꧁✩★✩꧂

[cheol-e-kat]

coffee shop and forbidden relationship with seungcheol from bingo please! 🙏🏻🥺

also congratulations 🎉💐🤍

hiii anon, sorry, i know you didn't pick a nsfw square, but i made up for that - also to all of the other anons who have been looking for more alpha!seungcheol - hereeee he is, hope you like him this time too...also this is part 1

♡ kat

[ master list ] [ part ii ]

bingo squares: coffee shop + forbidden relationship

Pairing: choi seungcheol / f!reader

summary: seungcheol shouldn’t have a crush on another alpha, but he can’t help the way he feels about y/n, but he also wonders if maybe it doesn't matter

word count: 2.7 k

genre: a/b/o au (omegaverse), coffee shop au, college au, alpha!seungcheol

Rating: 18+, MDNI, explicit

warnings and author's note explaining some omegaverse stuff below cut

warnings: explicit language, drinking, mentioned bitching, fingering, exhibitionism

a/n: just some omegaverse (a/b/o) housekeeping

generally in omegaverse, alphas are not written as being able to have children (even if they are female in all ways, their second gender - alpha - determines their ability to have children, i.e., they are sterile), so alpha males generally don’t pursue other alphas, they pursue omegas (omegas are able to have children).

So this is the ‘forbidden’ relationship setup - alpha x alpha

‘Bitching’ refers to making an alpha into an omega, usually through a lot of sex with another alpha - it’s often used as a non-con element in fics (it’s not used that way here - or I would have marked this as non-con - I’m explaining these definitions and tropes upfront, that’s all - this is not non-con or dub-con).

Seungcheol couldn’t help that he liked y/n. He knew he was supposed to find some cute omega to be with, but he had yet to meet a single omega who set off every alpha sense he had the way y/n did. 

He knew the moment he met her, when he walked into the coffee shop and the scent of sugared raspberries and apple mint slapped him in the face, that he wanted her as his mate - his full mate - all the fancy ceremonies, everything, no question - he wanted her to be his and for him to be hers. 

He’d been meeting Joshua there, and just standing in line had made him antsy because he knew the scent was hers, and the closer they got to the head of the line, the more nervous he was. He wasn’t sure that he had even really placed an order or if Joshua had stepped in and saved him from being an absolute bumbling mess. 

He hadn’t been able to think about anything else the rest of the day. Even when he had finished his coffee in class, he practically growled at Joshua for trying to throw away the cup - as long as her scent still lingered, he was keeping it. Lying in bed that first night, Seungcheol felt certain that he knew just how silky her hair would feel against his skin and how delicious she would taste. 

The only problem he had was that he had never really had to try when it came to attracting omegas. They always seemed to find him. They all seemed to think it was cute that he smelled just a bit like cherries. He had never been out and been alone for any serious amount of time - there was always someone who wanted to sit in his lap. And he sometimes wondered if some of them didn’t keep a calendar of when his ruts were because they sometimes seemed to know before he did. 

But no matter how many times he went to get coffee, y/n didn’t react the way he expected. She didn’t ask him to meet her in the bathroom or the breakroom or give him her number or any of the things he was used to. She knew his order and how to spell his name. She smiled when she said ‘hi,’ and sometimes she asked how his day was. She had called him cute once, when he wanted the mango lemon square thing they had and had tapped on the glass a little too much. But the only thing he could consider flirting were the little smiley faces or hearts she drew next to his name when she wrote it almost every morning. It was the tiniest gesture. 

But he literally had a desk drawer overflowing with all of the cup sleeves she had written his name on. He could pull them out and stare at the progression from smiley faces to just a few with hearts to the return of smiley faces, and finally to only hearts. He definitely preferred the hearts. Even if they were purely random - he wanted the little hearts. 

Really though, he wanted the girl drawing the hearts - he wanted to pull her over the counter and fuck her while everyone else waited in line until they were finished. Privacy was his last concern some mornings when he was feeling particularly desperate for her attention. 

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

It wasn’t until he was out with Mingyu and whatever omega he was with that night, that Seugcheol ever considered that y/n didn’t act like an omega because she wasn’t an omega. 

Seungcheol had seen y/n standing to the side, sipping a drink and talking to a friend. He watched her, jealous of everything from her friend to her drink straw. He couldn’t help that he loved seeing her out - he loved when she dressed in skirts that were just short enough for him to imagine hiking them up and pushing her panties to the side and eating her the way he wanted. 

He heard the omega laugh, “Why is he paying attention to her? She’s an alpha too.”

He had glanced at the omega, “Who’s an alpha?”

She stared at him like he was an idiot before answering, “Y/n - she’s an alpha - you know, as in useless to you, unless she’s down for bitching,” she smiled as she delivered the snide remark. 

Seungcheol stared for a moment, slightly shocked that she had even mentioned bitching, but still letting what she said wash over him.

Mingyu, though, laughed nervously, “I think you need a drink,” and was immediately pulling the omega out of Seungcheol’s range. 

Seungcheol stayed where he was, reeling from the random fact that had been dropped on him. He had never thought y/n might be an alpha, and even if she were, she was the sweetest smelling alpha he had ever met. He glanced up again, finding her quickly, despite the low light. He tried to see her differently, as in not the person he wanted to mark - he tried to make his mind see her as another alpha.

But even in the crush of alphas and omegas and all the scents that swirled around him, Seungcheol could easily pick hers. He could follow it like a trail if he wanted. He was surprised to see her glance at him then. More surprising was the small smile she gave him and the way she held his gaze for a few moments before glancing back to her friend. 

He realized quickly that he didn’t care if she was an alpha - he wanted who he wanted, especially when her gaze returned to him and lingered. He watched her finish her drink and leave her friend to get a new one. He got up too, following her to the bar. As he walked behind her, he tried to see what about her would make anyone think she was an alpha. 

He had met female alphas, and they were like female omegas, some were hot, some were fun, some were annoying - females were females to him. Especially beautiful ones with long hair that filled his dreams. He loved the way her hips swayed as she walked. He wished he could walk up behind her and slide his arm around her waist and nuzzle close to her - he wanted to scent her so no one else would even look at her the rest of the night, or tomorrow even if he did it right. 

He stood next to her though. She glanced at him, and he watched her smile.

“Hi, Seungcheol,” she spoke just loud enough for him to hear her. 

He smiled, “Hi, y/n.”

She smiled again and picked up two drinks, “I only know your coffee order, so I took a guess,” she held a drink out to him.

It crossed his mind that an omega would never buy a drink for an alpha, not unless they were together. And even then. He took the drink, noticing the cherry and orange peel sitting on top of the cup - he wondered how he smelled to her, as he sipped the drink and it hit him, the drink - that was how he smelled to her. Cognac, and bitters, and the slightest sweetness.

“Good?” she asked, watching him.

He nodded, reaching out to let his fingers skim along her hip.

She bit her lip gently, “You aren’t like I thought you would be.”

He watched her and leaned closer, “How should I be?” he asked, letting his arm snake around her waist, pulling her closer. 

She smiled - he watched the way her cheeks flushed, “Um, just,” she paused, and he could feel her hand on his shoulder, “you kind of have a reputation,” she offered, her fingertips tracing along his shoulder.

“I do?” he asked, smiling - he knew exactly what she meant. 

She nodded, humming positively in response.

“Is it that bad?” he asked, tone more serious. 

She shook her head, “I just didn’t think I would be buying you a drink, you know,” she whispered, her voice playful.

He realized how close he was holding her - how warm she was - how incredible she smelled and felt. 

He leaned down, “Come home with me?” he asked, not hesitating. 

She turned, and she was so close to him then - he tried to take her in. But her eyes had gone a bit wider. He suddenly felt like he had said the wrong thing. 

He blushed, “Sorry,” he blurted out before she could answer him. 

She bit back a laugh - he felt her fingers trace through his hair, “You’re so cute for me.”

He blushed harder, pursing his lips - he was the loser between them - she was the hot one and he was the loser that everyone looked at with curiosity because ‘him with her?’

“Not the bathroom?” she asked, her smile faded - he felt like she was teasing him, but she sounded game too. 

He might have been getting hard, but it didn’t matter - he shook his head. Maybe if she were someone else the bathroom would suffice, but she wasn’t someone else. 

Every surface in his apartment - yes, please, he would beg on his knees. 

Dirty club bathroom with stalls that locked only through thoughts and prayers - only if she wanted it there.

He barely felt the way her hand had slid between them, but he unquestionably felt the way she palmed him through his pants. It was like there was no one else besides them when she touched him - her perfect, slender fingers tracing along his cock, while she pressed a delicate kiss just beneath his jaw. He sighed, glancing and realizing they were still surrounded. He didn’t want anyone else around. 

He reached down, catching her jaw gently before she made him groan like he was the one in heat, “Not here, baby girl.”

 She nodded, “Then take me home.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

He kept his arm around her as they left together. 

The issue that grew in his mind while they grabbed a cab to his, was the fact that he needed to remember everything about how it felt the first time they fucked. He wouldn’t be satisfied if there was a single moan he couldn’t recall the next day. That sentiment didn’t seem to stop him from playing with the hem of her skirt, pushing it just a little bit higher and higher - he could smell how wet she was for him. He felt her hand catch his just as his fingertips swiped against the crotch of her panties. 

“Cute,” she whispered. 

He grinned, “Cute when I rail you too, right?”

She kissed his cheek, “You want me too much right now for that,” she whispered.

“Do I?” he pulled her hand closer to him, his fingers shifting to slot between hers. 

She nodded, “You would have already done it if that were what you wanted with me,” she smiled, knowingly - she was so certain. 

He pressed the tip of his tongue hard against the inside of his cheek. She wasn’t wrong, though.

Even when they were in his apartment, he hesitated. She was in front of him, sitting on the countertop, he was between her legs - he could fuck her there - she was wet and needy. He wanted to fuck but couldn’t seem to get past how good it felt just to kiss her. Or the way she tasted. Or the idea of her in his bed and how good his sheets would smell.

She finally grabbed him, holding his cheeks gently, she stared at him for a moment, “You just want me next to you in bed, don’t you? And not to fuck, at least not tonight.”

He flushed brightly and couldn’t help but nod. 

She whined softly, “fuck,” she whispered, sounding distraught, “I should go.”

He grabbed her before she could move, “Why?”

“Because, I kept telling myself you weren’t into me - that you’re just naturally cute,” she trailed off. 

He blinked slowly, “Why wouldn’t I be? Because you’re an alpha?”

She looked up at him, a shocked look on her face, “Why do you think I’m an alpha?”

“Someone told me”—

“That I’m an alpha?” She sounded even more confused the second time she asked.

He shrugged, “I mean you’ve never acted like other omegas around me.”

She sighed, “I’m guessing you’ve never met a sigma?”

He’d heard of sigmas - he knew they were rare, or he thought they were. He shook his head all the same. 

“We don’t,” she sighed, “I like being chased - I like flirting with you, drawing little hearts and stuff, hoping you notice and like magically talk to me just because I daydream about you.”

He could feel her hand tracing along the center of his chest. “Then why would you leave when I’m saying I noticed?”

“Because I’m not what you think I am,” she sounded uncertain, “I’m way braver when I’ve been drinking,” she whispered, glancing at him shyly.

He watched her, realizing he was maybe wrong - she turned him into a dork, and he made her shy, at least when she was sober. He, on the other hand, was hopeless either way. 

He pressed closer, not wanting any distance between them, “So stay the night,” he kissed her cheek, “at least let me scent you so no one else talks to you.”

She seemed more uncertain than he was comfortable with.

“Please don’t make me admit how down bad I am,” he whispered. 

“You just admitted you want to scent me,” she said, smiling.

He shrugged, “Because I do.”

She leaned against him, “Can I shower? And borrow clothes?”

He tried to be calm, “Yeah, of course.”

He wondered if she could feel how fast his heart was beating. 

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

He tried not to think about her naked in his bathroom and checked his phone instead. His gc had exploded - all questions for him - down to “who’s top?”

He rolled his eyes, not in the mood for his friends. Food, though, he could eat. 

He was scrolling menus when the door opened. He hated that he was too engrossed in a burger menu to look up, but he was happy when she sat next to him. He had never been around her when her scent wasn’t blended with other things, coffee, other people’s. 

He gave her his phone, asking for her to pick while he nuzzled against her throat. She gasped softly when he couldn’t resist pressing his teeth against her skin. He didn’t mark her, but he wanted her to know how he felt. 

“Are you dying for a burger?”

“No,” he mumbled. 

He knew she had placed an order when he felt both of her hands on him. They made out for a few minutes, but he pulled back - he checked his phone and saw the delivery time. 

“I should shower, too.”

But he looked down to see her in his t-shirt and boxers. He bit his lip lightly, glancing up at her.

She just smiled. 

“Do sigmas nest?”

She laughed, “It’s not that time for me,” she answered, still smiling. 

“Still.” He ran his hands along her sides and down her hips. “I like that you’re in my apartment - in my room - in my bed, and I really like that you’re only dressed in my clothes.”

She gave him a light push, “Go shower - it’s not like you’re going to let me open the door to some stranger.”

He imagined for a moment if she were wearing more clothes and shook his head, “Nope, but seriously, make my bed smell like you, please?” he asked. 

“You really are this cute, aren’t you?”

He nodded, “And possessive.”

She grinned, “I did get that impression.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her again. 

She caught his shirt lightly before he pulled away, “I liked when we were in the cab though, what you were doing to me - before I’m too embarrassed to tell you,” she murmured.  

He watched her blush as she said it - he nodded, wondering how the stars had managed to align just right for this moment to even occur. He never wanted her to be embarrassed to tell him what she liked, but that wasn’t something he could address before their food showed up. 

a/n: okieeeeee so, fr i hope you liked this ^^ told you i like omegaverse because yes at least part 2 but part 3 is mapped out

♡ kat

[ master list ] [ part ii ]

p.s. sigmas are like omegas because they can have children, but they can be confused for alphas - btw the drink y/n picked for him is real - it's an old fashioned, bitters give it this herbal note - so cheol is yeah lol

bingo reqs master list

bingo v. 1 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 2 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 3 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 4 ⋆.˚ 333 followers bingo ⋆.˚

seungcheol: knotting + marking | professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) | monster | spanking (neighbor seungcheol) | big dick + hate sex | forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) | voyeurism + punishment | coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (untitled alpha!!cheol pt. 1) |

mingyu: lingerie + praise kink | bed sharing + big dick | praise + worship kink | vehicle sex + oral fixation | drunk pda + no underwear | enemies to lovers + tentacles |

seungcheol & mingyu threesome: oral |

♡ my [master list] if you want to read more

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here]

tag list: ☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @haik-chu [e - o/m] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - o/m/priv] ☁︎ @lovetaroandtaemin [e - b.f.non] ☁︎

[rosenclaws]

Erased || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You are a powerful mutant with powers you hated. They ruined your life and it led you down paths you weren't proud of. Things changed and now you lived happily with Logan. Until your past seems to come back to ruin everything

warnings: angst. traumatic childhood, brief mentions of torture.

wc: 2.7k

Link to part 2

a/n: Hi guys, so this is kind of the you get hurt and he goes feral fic but i've combined it with this other wip i had laying around. I talked a lot about wanting more angst and tw death (my grandmother passed last night) so ive been in this weird state of sadness that i'm repressing. Either way i wrote a fic so there's that lol. I will def have a part 2 btw so don't worry.

Sometimes when you close your eyes you can remember your childhood. What it was like before your, gift, appeared and ruined everything. How your family loved you, how your friends welcomed you, how the world didn’t hate you. Everything was perfect.

Until the day it appeared. All you did was touch her arm. That’s all you did. An argument with your mother, silence, and then you touched her arm to try and apologize and next thing you knew she was asking who you were. Yelling at you to get out of her house. You cried not understanding what was happening.

She looked at you with nothing but confusion. Not even a hint of recognition. Then your father came home and you ran into his arms. Afraid and distraught when he pushed you off him. The same look in his eyes. Who are you? They threw you out, threatened to call the cops. They left you all alone, afraid, and confused.

It didn’t take long for you to understand. A mutant. You had heard of mutants but never thought you could be one. A mutant with a powerful ability. Memory manipulation. You could alter memories, dive into someone's deepest fears, their secrets, and even erase anything from heads. In a single moment their whole lives could be changed. It was a dangerous power and you wanted nothing to do with it.

For years you lived on the road. Keeping yourself moving, stealing when you needed to. Never getting too attached to one place, to anyone. You were alone.

Then one day some people found you. Dressed in stupid costumes. Still they took you in. Gave you a home, fed you, trained you. You grew up there. From teen to adult. Charles was kind and you don't think you could ever repay him for all that he's done. Your powers were strong but he taught you to control your emotions.

Still you tried to stay a safe distance away from people. Not just physically but emotionally. The nightmares of your parents haunt you everyday. They're nice. All of them are. The kids loved you and you enjoyed the mansion.

Still when the team invited you out you declined, when the kids wanted to crowd you during dinner you politely excused yourself to your office. You didn't go to parties, you didn't celebrate the holidays with them. You were just you, a nice, safe distance away from them. Then your world got flipped upside down.

The day Logan rolled into the mansion. He was mean and angry. He had that "I don't like being around people" kind of vibe but he stuck around. Ended up becoming more apart of the team than he wanted. And he liked it.

Logan was the first one to really break down your walls. Just like everyone else you stayed away from him. Smiling and greeting him but never going past that. Maybe that's what drew him to you. You were a mystery who smelled like vanilla. It was your perfume. He would try to flirt but he got nowhere. Eventually he gave up the flirting but his interest stayed. He find ways to talk to you, getting bits and pieces of information from you.

You quickly learned he was just like you in some ways. Guarded, a past life that you don't want to talk about, loners. Somehow in all of it, as he stayed at the mansion and grew to become part of this family, he wormed his way into your heart too. Just too loners who found out that being alone together is better than being lonely.

As time passed, your relationship with Logan evolved into something you never imagined you would experience. Love. You never let yourself feel this way, too afraid that you would do the same thing to them. That you would get close, build this connection, make these memories, only for it all to come crashing down with just a single touch. These memories are precious to you. Every single one of them.

You remember the day your feelings were revealed. Both of you desperate, afraid of what they meant, but neither of you could lose each other. It was the cure. Some company had found a way to suppress the gene. The moment you heard about it you were intrigued. Your mutation wasn't fun. It didn't let you control the weather or turn things to ice. You couldn't touch people. Just like rouge you were at risk for destroying someone's whole life.

Even with the years of lessons you weren't fully in control. You never let yourself try. Logan could see it in your eyes. The confrontation wasn't pretty.

It was anger at first, wondering how you could even consider that. Then it was anger from you, years of pent up feelings releasing all at once. The fighting turned into a deep confession. An intimate moment between the two of you. He cared for you in a way that scared the shit out of him. He couldn't say the words yet but he felt them. You felt the same way but just like Logan. Something was holding you back from saying those three words.

Still you showed your love to each other in other ways. You always let him know how much you cared for him. The words died on your tongue but he knew. You hope he did.

Logan bought you a necklace. Didn't make a big deal of it but you could see the blush on his face. Tossing you the box and mumbling something about him seeing it and thinking of you. It was gorgeous. Just a simple heart necklace with two sparkling stones. One for him and one for you.

Even if you couldn't touch he wanted apart of him to be with you. It was perfect. Everything was perfect. You had Logan. You had the team, the mansion. For once you felt like your life was falling into place.

Apparently the universe didn't like that. Charles had called the team in for an important mission. You weren't on the team due to your own choosing so when Logan came back to bed he started to talk.

"Yeah some rogue mutants. Bunch of assholes who enjoy torturing humans." He grumbled as he threw his jacket on. Fixing his hair in the mirror as you sit on the bed. You're doing everything you can to stay calm, to not set off Logan's super senses.

"Some guy named Mack is their leader. Guess he's got some illusion powers or something." Logan says it all like its nothing. To him it is nothing. Just another mission. To you though, it's the beginning of the end.

"Don't know who in their right mind would do shit like that. Just a bunch of low life idiots." He spits. You wince at his harsh tone. He notices your silence and glances over at you. You're practically frozen in place. An unreadable look in your eyes.

"You alright?" Logan moves to touch your arm but you jerk it away.

"Yeah sorry, just had another nightmare last night." You lie. Logan looks at you strangely before sitting on the bed. His hand intertwining with your gloved one.

"Though I told you to wake me up." You snort and roll your eyes playfully. "And I told you the same thing." You counter. He smirks, you have him there. Part of why you go so well together.

"I'll wake you next time, I promise." There's a loud knock at the door and Logan grumbles.

"Promised some dumb kids I'd take them to the mall. Storm promised me a six pack of beer." After saying goodbye you let your smile fall.

This couldn't be happening. You thought you were finally safe, this was years ago. How could they still be around. Before Charles had found you, you were involved with this group. You weren't proud if it but you were hungry and afraid and they found you. Mutants just like you. They weren't afraid of you. In fact they were in awe of you, something you had never felt before.

You fell into their group, participating in the horrible things they'd do. You never did anything yourself. You were clean up crew. Wiping memories of anyone who saw something they weren't supposed to. Still, you enabled it all. When you finally left, it wasn't easy. You had tried to erase their memories but for some reason they could block you. You got away but they swore one day they'd come back for you. You were one of them forever now. No one would understand, no one would forgive you. You were a monster just like them.

Your mind runs a mile a minute. Thinking of everyone in the mansion. The team. Storm, Jean, Scott, Rouge...everyone.

Logan, oh god Logan.

Would he understand? He would have to. He's just like you. He did things in his past. He was violent, angry, a survivor. He never claimed to be a hero. But that doubt swirls in your mind. Fear overtakes any rational thought. You know what you have to do.

This was your fight, not theirs. You could stop them, you needed to finish what you started. Grabbing your wrinkled old backpack you stuff clothes, money, and any essentials inside of it. You had to move quick before any of the mind readers got a hint of what you were thinking.

Especially Charles. You barely had time to think about this but the fear was creeping into your mind. Poisoning it. It's better this way. It's safer this way. They've done so much for you that you owe it to them to help. You're protecting them. All of them. Logan included.

You held on tightly to the necklace he had given you. Tucking it in your shirt as you leave the room. You smiled as you walked through the halls. Saying hello to those who passed by. By the time you were at the front doors you felt a pull to keep you here.

Deep down you didn't want to leave. Of course you didn't. But you overcome the pull and walk through the doors. Refusing to look back as the mansion grows smaller in the distance. You walked for hours. Your feet aching as you finally reached some rinky dink motel. The room is depressing but for now it's home. Curling up on the bed you bury your face in the pillow.

Your heart longing for Logan. You're scared, so scared. A part of you wants to go back and find him. Tell him everything and ask for help. But then you remember what he said. How would he react knowing that you were one of them? Would he forgive you or would he turn his back on you just like Mack always said?

You barely get a moment to think before there's a loud knock at the door. Hand slamming impatiently against it. You quietly get up and look through the peephole. You cover your mouth to hide your shocked gasp. Logan. How the hell did he find you?

"I know you're in there." Oh he's angry. You open the door and Logan steps through.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" His voice booms through the room.

"I come home to a ransacked room, I thought you were in danger. Only to be told that you ran away." He growls. He's clenching his fists tightly. How could you do this to him?

"How did you find me?" You demand as you slowly sink back towards your bag.

"Why did you leave? What's going on!" Logan is confused, lashing out on you because he just doesn't understand. Things were going great. You loved him and he loved you so why would you just run away. Away from the mansion, away from him. Did you not trust him anymore? Why?

"You wouldn't understand." You try to move past him but he grabs your shoulders and pressing you against the wall.

His claws coming out to pin you to it. The sharp adamantium knicks the chain around your neck, breaking it in two. The necklace falls to the ground but neither of you notice.

"Try me." The anger is slowly fading as he silently begs you to talk. To let him in.

"I'm sorry Logan, but I can't."

"Why not? What are you running from? I can help. Let me help." He begs. Please don't leave him. Please. He can do something. He can heal like crazy, he can track, he's fast, he's got fucking metal claws. He can help.

"You can't help me with this Logan. This is for your own good." You try to stay strong but looking into those gorgeous eyes of his was about to make you break.

"This is my fight and mine alone." He scoffs and lets go of you and starts to pace.

"Bullshit. This is our fight now. That's the deal. I lo-" He sighs and pulls you close. "Its you and me. Together." You gently trace his jaw with your gloved hands.

Tears glossing over your eyes as it takes everything in power to stay strong. To not fall into his arms. He's protected himself his whole life and you can't be the one to put him in more danger. He's a hero, he's your hero but tonight he's the love of your life and you need to protect him. Even if it feels like ripping out your own heart.

"Logan..." You say softly. He looks at you with those pretty eyes and you cup his face.

Slowly your lips brush against his. It's just a hint at first. Then it's everything at once. He smashes his lips to yours. Kissing you with a passion and need that you've dreamed off. This is your first kiss after all. It's everything you ever wanted. To feel his lips on yours. Skin to skin. You'll treasure this moment forever.

He's so wrapped up in the kiss that he doesn't notice you take your hand away. Taking off your gloves and move your hands to the side of his head. Hovering over his temples. He pulls away, breathing heavily as he leans in and kisses you again.

"I love you Logan, I love you so much." You say with tears falling down your cheeks. He realizes too late, a flash of fear as you press your hands to his face.

"No!" He roars but its too late.

Like he's in a trance he stands there. You cry as you erase every memory he has of you. He won't remember you, he won't know why he's here or how he got here. You know that you won't have long before someone else finds you and you'll erase their memory too. It's for the best. It's for his own good. His eyes flutter close as he falls to the floor. You catch his head, lowering him gently to the ground. A pillow placed under it. You can't stay, he'll wake any moment. But you have a few seconds. You lean down and place a kiss on his forehead.

"I love you Logan Howlett." You whisper gently.

You take one last look at him before grabbing your bag and running out the door. Each step apart from him is like a knife in your chest. You tell yourself this what needed to happen. You'd rather lose Logan like this than watching him suffer because of you. This way he can be happy, he can move on.

You did this for him. All of it for him.

-

Logan wakes to a pounding in his head. Confusion washes over him as he takes in his surroundings. Where the fuck is he? He doesn't remember how he got here, why he came here. He stands up and looks around the room.

"What the hell?" He mumbles to himself.

Was this a prank or something? He cracks his neck and looks around. The room is mostly empty but a small glimmer catches his eyes. He walks over and sees six holes in the wall that match his claws.

Leaning down he picks up a necklace. A heart with two stones. He winces as a sharp pain shoots through his head. He stands up and slips the necklace in his pocket, something telling him to keep it close. He feels a pain in his chest. Not physical pain but something else. Maybe he finally got drunk. Drank enough to finally fuck him up.

All he knows is that he needs to get back to the mansion. As he leaves stops for a second. He shakes his head and continues on, hopping back on his motorcycle. For a second there he swears he caught a whiff of vanilla.

Must be his imagination.

[tini5]

In Paris, With You...

Pairing : Drew Starkey x Reader

Summary : What starts as a playful tease from your best friend, Timothée about a crush quickly turns into an unforgettable night. Being invited to the Loewe fashion show in Paris, leads you to get tangled in your sheets with Drew.

Themes : Fluff/Smut

Word Count : 4346

Note : I am apologizing in advance bc it's my first time writing a fic that long, along with first attempt at writing smut and for drew in general!!! I tried my best, even tho i think i wrote more about timmys and taylors relationship i hope you enjoy!! Not proofreaded!!

"I wish you would get invited to Loewe’s fashion show in Paris,” Timothée said, his lips curling into a playful smile as he picked at a piece of sushi on his plate. The familiar hum of the restaurant around you made the moment feel even more personal, like the world outside was a distant dream, a comfortable quiet between you, only interrupted by the clinking of plates as the waiter brought over a fresh round of sushi. 

Your place—our place, you thought—was a small, hidden sushi restaurant in New York, a cozy spot where you two came to unwind, laugh, and share stories you couldn’t share with anyone else. It was a place you and Timothée had claimed as your own since your careers first took off. A lot has changed since then. Starring in Luca Guadagnino’s movie “Challengers” and seeing your career take off at just 22, was truly amazing.  

He leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eyes, narrowing them at you like he was about to reveal a grand secret. “That way, you could meet your lover boy,” he teased, adding a dramatic hand movements with his chopsticks.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding the flush creeping up your neck. “You want me to go to Loewe’s show just because of Drew starkey? I don’t even like him like that.”

Timmy raised an eyebrow, the smirk widening. “Lies, lies, lies,” he sang, his voice dripping with mock accusation. You hated how well he knew you—sometimes better than you knew yourself.

“Whatever,” you muttered, stabbing at your own sushi defensively as you put down your chopsticks. “Do you know who’s the brand ambassador of Loewe?”

The shift in Timothée’s expression was instant, his face scrunching up in a mix of guilt and annoyance, as if he knew exactly where this conversation was heading. He sighed dramatically, but before he could stop you…-

“The most gorgeous woman you fumbled because of you know who – the one who shall not be named,” you said, letting the word her hang in the air, dripping with emphasis.

There was no need to explain further. He knew exactly who you meant. You watched as his shoulders sagged slightly, but the smirk stayed on his face, though now it was more resigned than mischievous.

“Low blow,” he muttered, and you both burst into laughter, the memory of his ill-fated relationship hanging between you like a shared joke.

Who knew that Timothée’s big mouth could sense the future? But here you were, sitting in a car, watching the skyline of Paris blur past as you headed toward Loewe’s fashion show. It was almost too surreal, the memory of that sushi restaurant conversation lingering in the back of your mind.

You glanced over at Timmy, who was typing something on his phone, his thumb moving in rapid, practiced motions. He looked up for a second and grinned. "See? I told you. Here we are, ready for your lover boy," he teased, leaning back in his seat, eyes glinting with mischief.

You couldn’t stop the eye roll that followed. "I swear, you have an obsession with that phrase. But we don't even know if he'll be there."

"You hope he’ll be there," Timmy quipped, nudging your shoulder playfullly.

You tried to suppress a smile, but it was useless. Yes, you hoped. Drew Starkey had become a quiet fixation in your mind—there was something about him that you couldn’t shake off. Maybe it was his blue eyes, his charisma, his –

Your hands smoothed over the fabric of your dress, custom-made by Loewe, every stitch and detail meticulously crafted to perfection. Jonathan Anderson had made sure it reflected not only the brand’s style but also you—soft yet bold, striking but elegant. You looked stunning, and you knew it. 

The car ride felt both too long and too short, your mind spinning with what-ifs. Timmy, noticing your quiet, serious for once, put his phone away and turned to face you. "Hey," he said gently. "We can ditch it if you want. No fashion show and no boy is worth you eating your nerves over."

You smiled softly at him. That was the thing about Timothée—he knew when to be playful, and he knew when to be serious. He knew you. "I know," you said, your voice quiet but steady. "But I’ll be fine. Besides, you’d be miserable if you missed the after party later.”

Timmy shrugged with a grin. "Yeah, you’re probably right. But seriously, if you want to go, we’ll go. If you want to leave, we’ll leave."

You appreciated that more than you could say, but instead of responding, you looked out the window. The car slowed to a stop, and the reality of the situation hit you. The cameras, the people, the flashing lights—it was all waiting just outside.

"Ready?" Timmy asked, holding out his hand like a knight in shining armor.

You took a deep breath and nodded, slipping your hand into his. "As ready as I'll ever be."

The fashion show itself was a whirlwind. Lights, camera flashes, the hum of conversation blending with the soft music in the background. But amidst the glamour, you were determined to keep your distance from Drew. Every time you caught a glimpse of his tall frame, you did your best to blend into the crowd and focus on the runway.

Timothée, couldn’t resist teasing you about Drew, his playful remarks making it even harder to stay composed. Despite your heart fluttering every time you heard his soft laugh, you managed to keep your cool, or at least you hoped you did.

The show itself was a visual feast, with stunning outfits by Loewe that left everyone in awe. Timothée was in his element, charming everyone he spoke to, effortlessly gliding through the crowd. Yet, you could tell he was also trying hard to avoid running into Taylor Russell. 

You couldn’t miss how his eyes flickered toward her now and then, a flash of something in his expression that only you could read. But you gave him space, knowing that whatever was going on between them was its own delicate web.

You exchanged polite smiles and laughed at jokes, did your best to keep up but your thoughts always circled back to one thing: Drew Starkey.

You both succeeded in your mission during the show. But as the show came to a close and the after-party beckoned, the sense of triumph was short-lived. 

The after-party was a different beast altogether. And there, at the heart of it, was Drew Starkey, mingling with his entourage and catching your eye from time to time. Despite your best efforts, you felt the electric pull of his gaze, the gravity of his presence impossible to ignore.

Timmy noticed, of course. "We can leave, you know, get a take out" he offered again as you both stepped into the car. But you shook your head, determined now. “Then stop worrying. He is not going to eat you.” Teased Timmy. 

Then it happened. As you sat at the table with Timothee, you saw Taylor Russell make her way through crowd. 

You quickly turned to Timothée, a note of urgency in your voice. “Timmy, don’t panic, but she’s coming over.”

Timothée’s eyes widened slightly as he turned to look at Taylor. His usual nonchalance faded into a look of mild panic. “You’re kidding,” he muttered, trying to keep his cool. “Why does she have to pick now to come over?”

And before you knew… - “Hello” – Tension shifted as Taylor greeted you with her ever the sweetest voice. 

“I’m going to grab a drink. I’ll catch up with you later.” you said, your voice carrying a light, reassuring tone. You shot him a quick look, raising an eyebrow. "I’ll kill you if you screw it up," you mouthed playfully, earning a quick smirk from him before you excused yourself to give them some privacy.

Making your way to the bar, you tried not to let your nerves overwhelm you. Just a drink, you thought. Just a quick drink, then I can blend into the background.

“One Cosmopolitan, please,” you told the bartender, just as a familiar voice from beside you made your heart skip a beat.

“It’s on me.”

You turned, and there he was—Drew Starkey, leaning against the bar with a whiskey in hand, looking as effortlessly cool as ever.

Your pulse quickened at the sound of Drew’s voice. He stood next to you, casually leaning on the bar like he belonged there—like he belonged everywhere. His tailored jacket hung off his broad shoulders as though it was designed for him alone. His eyes, that piercing blue you couldn’t forget, caught yours as he smiled—a lazy, confident grin that made your stomach do a flip.

“It’s on me,” he repeated, a little softer, his voice low enough to feel intimate despite the crowd around you.

Your heart stuttered, and for a split second, you forgot how to respond. All those times you’d fantasized about running into Drew Starkey in moments like this and now-  He was right there, buying you a drink, and you felt like a teenager all over again.

“Thank you” you finally managed, forcing the word out without sounding too flustered. But your face betrayed you, the warmth creeping up your neck and settling in your cheeks. You prayed the dim lighting would hide the blush.

The bartender slid your drink in front of you, and you lifted it to your lips, hoping the cool liquid would calm your nerves. But Drew was watching you—really watching you—and that made it impossible to relax. His eyes never left yours, and there was something about his gaze that made you feel both exposed and flattered at the same time.

“You look stunning, by the way,” Drew added, his voice velvety smooth, the compliment slipping out so easily it nearly disarmed you.

You blinked, trying to play it cool, but the way he said it made your heart race. "Thanks," you said again, "You’re not so bad yourself."

Drew chuckled, a deep sound that seemed to ripple through the air between you. His presence was intoxicating, almost as much as the drink in your hand. “I’ve been told,” he joked, his smile widening just enough to show a hint of mischief. Your lips tugged into a grin despite yourself. 

“So," he said, leaning in a little closer, his elbow brushing lightly against your arm as if testing your boundaries, "how are you enjoying Paris?”

A warm smile spread across your face, and you took a moment to gather your thoughts. “Paris is... well, it’s like coming home in a way,” you began, your voice tinged with affection. “Even though I grew up in the States, there’s something about this city that just feels incredibly familiar and comforting.”

You took a sip of your cosmopolitan, letting the flavors mingle with your emotions. “It’s the little things, you know? The way the light changes on the Seine, the scent of freshly baked pastries through the streets, It all feels so...Parisian. It’s like stepping into a world that’s both new and deeply personal at the same time.”

Drew’s smile widened, his expression softening, a genuine appreciation in his eyes. “I can see how much this city means to you. It sounds like you’re really embracing the magic of Paris.”

You nodded, a playful smile tugging at your lips“So the Queer, huh?” you asked, your tone light and teasing. Drew’s chuckle was light and warm, making you smile even more. “So the Challengers, huh?”

You both laughed, the easy banter between you making the moment feel effortless and natural. 

“So, how was working with Luca? I know how he gets sometimes.” 

His eyes lit up at the mention of Luca’s name, and you couldn’t help but smile warmly. “Luca is incredible. He’s not just a director; he’s like a creative force of nature. it’s like he has this unique ability to bring out the best in everyone he works with.”

You leaned in slightly, enjoying the conversation. “Oh, absolutely. Luca has this way of making you feel like you’re part of something truly special. I’ve learned so much from him. He’s like a father figure to me.”

Drew’s gaze was warm and appreciative, “Its sweet how full of love you are.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his compliment, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, is that so? But enough about Luca. What about you, Drew? What’s your creative magic like?”

Drew’s smile widened, a playful glint in his eyes. “My magic? Well, I’d say it’s more about finding the right moments to create something special. And right now, I think the real magic is happening here.” He gestured between the two of you with a teasing grin.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what makes you say that?”

Drew leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “Well, I have to say, talking to you is a highlight of my night. You’ve got this incredible energy that’s hard to resist. And I’m not just talking about your career.”

A soft laugh escaped you, and you could feel the flirtatious tension between you growing. “Is that so? I must admit,you’ve got a way of making me feel special.”

Drew’s eyes met yours with a look that was both sincere and playful. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s not every day I get to chat with someone as fascinating and pretty as you”

You felt a flutter in your stomach at his words. “Well, I’m glad I could make an impression” 

Drew’s smile grew, his gaze held yours, But before either of you could continue, the moment shattered.

“Drew? What took you so long?”

Odessa’s voice sliced through the comfortable haze you and Drew had created, and the tension in the air shifted immediately. 

You didn’t have to turn around to know it was her—the sharpness in her tone was unmistakable. Drew’s shoulders stiffened slightly, and though his smile didn’t completely fade, it wasn’t as easygoing as before.

Odessa was stunning, of course—there was no denying that But there was something about her presence that felt... strange. Maybe it was the way she looked at you, her eyes flicking up and down, sizing you up in a single sweep. 

Her expression betraying a hint of impatience. “I was just about ready to head out. Are you not coming?”

Drew turned to her, his face a mixture of apology and concern. “Oh, right. I just got caught up in a conversation here. I’ll be right out in a moment, go wait outside okay?”

Odessa’s eyes flicked to you with a mixture of curiosity and something sharper—perhaps jealousy. She gave you a curt nod. “Nice to meet you.”

You offered a polite smile, trying to keep the interaction friendly despite the underlying tension. “Nice to meet you too, Odessa.”

Drew’s gaze returned to you, and there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart flutter. “I really enjoyed talking with you. I’m sorry –

You nodded, feeling a mix of disappointment and understanding. “It’s okay. I hope you both have a good night.”

Drew’s smile was tinged with regret as he leaned in slightly, his voice low and sincere. “I’ll text you.”

With a final, lingering glance, Drew turned and walked away ,leaving you with a swirl of emotions. You watched him disappear into the crowd before taking a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest.

You downed the rest of your cosmopolitan in one go, hoping the drink would steady your nerves. Pulling out your phone, you quickly texted Timothée, letting him know you were heading out.

As you made your way to the Uber pickup area, you could feel the mix of excitement building inside you. Just as you settled into the backseat of the car, your phone buzzed with a new message.

It was from Drew. 

Drew: I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation. I’d love to continue it… 

You: 44.

You: It’s my hotel room number. 

You: Don’t make me wait. 

The Uber ride back to your hotel was a blur. Your heart hadn’t stopped pounding. 

You leaned your head against the window, watching the lights of Paris blur past as the adrenaline surged through your veins. 

Stepping out of the car and you hurried your way up to your hotel room. Part of you wondered what you were getting yourself into, but the other part—the part that had been down bad for Drew Starkey since the moment you saw him—couldn’t resist the temptation.

And then, finally, not too long after you entered your room, a soft knock was heared.  You froze for a moment, staring at the door, before gathering yourself and opening it.

Drew’s eyes were dark, intense, but his smile was soft, disarming. He stepped inside, the door closing quietly behind him, and suddenly the air between you felt charged, thick with anticipation.

“You really sent me your room number,” he said, voice low, teasing, as he leaned against the wall, watching you with that same amused glint in his eyes.

You shrugged, trying to keep it light, though your heart was racing a mile a minute. “I figured you’d appreciate the direct approach.”

Drew laughed softly, stepping closer, his gaze flicking over you like he was taking in every little detail. “I do,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I really do.”

The touch of his fingers on your skin sent a shiver through you, and before you knew it, you were standing impossibly close, the space between you shrinking with every breath.

“Do you know how hard it was to not look at you all night?” he asked, his voice warm against your skin, his lips just inches away from yours. “You were all I could think about.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled over you, your heart pounding louder in your ears. You looked up at him, eyes wide, and for a moment, all the nervous energy melted away.

“I noticed,” you whispered, barely able to keep the teasing out of your voice.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your cheek, his breath warm against your ear. “Good.”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours, soft but deliberate, like he had been waiting for this moment as long as you had. The kiss was slow at first, testing the waters, but when you kissed him back, everything else melted away. It was just you and Drew, the rest of the world fading into the background as his hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer.

Time seemed to blur as the kiss deepened, your hands instinctively finding their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your lips tingling from the intensity of it all.

Drew leaned his forehead against yours, his breath ragged, his hands still holding you close. "I've wanted to do that for a while," he admitted, his voice low, almost a confession.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his words. "So have I."

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing into his in a kiss that was nothing like the first—a kiss filled with longing and heat. Drew responded instantly, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. His lips moved over yours with urgency, as if he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long.

You moaned softly into his mouth, and that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. He backed you toward the bed, his lips never leaving yours, his hands roaming over your body, sending sparks of desire everywhere they touched. You stumbled slightly, your legs hitting the edge of the bed, and you pulled him down with you, the both of you collapsing onto the mattress in a tangled heap of limbs.

Drew’s body hovered over yours, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His hands, now more confident, slid up the sides of your body, teasing the hem of your shirt before pulling it up and over your head in one smooth motion. The cool air against your skin contrasted sharply with the heat radiating off his body, and you felt a rush of anticipation as his gaze darkened, his lips quirking up in appreciation.

“You’re stunning,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

Your breath hitched as his lips found your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. You arched into him, the sensation of his mouth on you sending a wave of pleasure coursing through your body. He worked his way lower, his fingers deftly unclasping your bra and tossing it aside before his lips closed around your nipple, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin.

A soft moan escaped your lips, and Drew groaned in response, the sound vibrating against your skin. He moved with purpose now, his hands sliding down your sides, tugging at your pants until they were nothing but a heap on the floor. Every touch, every kiss, felt like fire, like he was branding you with his desire.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered against your skin, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver through you.

You reached up, pulling him closer, your lips crashing into his once more. The kiss was frantic now, filled with need and desperation. 

Before you knew it, Drew had shed his own clothes, his body pressed against yours, skin on skin, the heat between you almost unbearable. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every dip, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. And when he finally slid his hand between your thighs, teasing you, you gasped, your body arching into him, silently begging for more.

“Drew,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, laced with need.

He smirked against your lips, his fingers dipping lower, sliding inside you with a slow, deliberate motion that had you seeing stars. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he worked you, his thumb circling your sensitive spot, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice strained with restraint. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop…”

“Then don’t”, Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling beneath him, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. And just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled his fingers away, leaving you aching and desperate for more.

You let out a frustrated whimper, but Drew silenced you with a heated kiss, his body pressing down against yours as he positioned himself between your thighs. The moment stretched out, the anticipation crackling in the air, before he finally pushed inside you, filling you completely. You gasped, your head falling back against the pillows as the sensation overwhelmed you.

Drew groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, teasing you, making you crave more. Your hands slid up his back, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him to go faster, your body meeting his with every thrust.

The pleasure built quickly, each movement sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you. Drew’s pace quickened, his breathing ragged in your ear as he drove you both closer and closer to the edge. Your body was a live wire, every nerve ending on fire as he pushed you higher, the pressure building inside you until it was almost unbearable.

“Drew,” you gasped, your voice trembling with need.

He responded with a deep groan, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate as he chased his own release. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, you shattered, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body trembling beneath him as you cried out his name.

Drew followed soon after, his body tensing above you as he found his own release, a deep groan of satisfaction rumbling in his chest. He collapsed beside you, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat, still reeling from the intensity of it all.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the room filled only with the sound of your ragged breathing. Then Drew turned to you, a lazy, satisfied smile playing on his lips as he reached out, pulling you against his chest.

“I think I’m gonna need your room number more often,” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion and contentment.

You laughed softly, your body still buzzing from the aftermath of everything that had just happened. “I think I can arrange that.”

With that, you curled up against him, your head resting on his chest, your heart still racing as you drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep, the feeling of Drew’s arms wrapped around you the last thing you remembered. 

And just like that, as you drifted into sleep, one thought lingered:

"Sometimes, love isn’t about chasing a fairy tale or clinging to the past. It’s about embracing the unexpected, even if it’s wrapped in a Loewe suit and a pair of smoldering eyes that see right through you."

TMZ_TV : Last night’s Loewe show was nothing short of spectacular! From jaw-dropping designs to unforgettable moments, the runway was on fire. 🔥

🌟 Y/N L/N stunned in a custom Loewe creation by Jonathan Anderson, embodying elegance and innovation. Meanwhile, Drew Starkey’s sleek Loewe suit had everyone talking.

👀 The real buzz? The chemistry between them at the afterparty! The night was filled with high fashion and even higher drama. 💫

Swipe to see the highlights and catch up on the latest fashion gossip! 💃🕺

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────

I am very nervous!! Hope you liked it and i did not disappoint you...

[aventurineswife]

HAI its meeee idk if you've already written something like this before so if yes then my apologies but if not can i request ratio, aventurine, and boothill comforting their s/o after a nightmare? you don't have to go into details about what happened in the nightmare if you don't want to but id love to see how they'd comfort their s/o after one!! i just want these guys to snuggle me and tell me everything's gonna be okay and comfort me tbh ,,

sending lots of love !!

-firefly anon

Whispers in the Night

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Angst, Comfort, Nightmares, Emotional Support, Tenderness, Protective Characters, Relationships, Vulnerability, Soft Moments, Intimacy, Healing, Romantic Tension, Gentle Love.

Warnings: Nightmares, Anxiety, Mild Violence (Mention of weapons), Emotional Distress.

A/N: wrote a similar Aventurine fic like this lol

The moonlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting delicate patterns across the room. Aventurine stood at the edge of the bed, his usually sharp features softened by concern. The sound of a shuddering breath broke through the silence, and he watched as you stirred restlessly, your brow furrowed in distress.

He had been asleep, but the faint tremor in the air, the restless energy, woke him before the nightmare could reach its full crescendo. Without a word, he slid beside you, careful not to startle you further.

"Shh..." His voice, smooth as velvet, was a balm to your frayed nerves. He gently touched your shoulder, his hand warm against your cool skin, his fingers tracing reassuring circles. His presence alone was a fortress—steadfast, unwavering.

"You're safe," he murmured, leaning closer. He could feel the sharpness of his usual detachment slipping, replaced with a softness he rarely let others see. "You’re safe with me. No nightmare can reach you here."

Aventurine's eyes, ever perceptive, studied the way you tensed, the way your breath hitched. He moved a fraction closer, his arm carefully wrapping around you. It wasn’t about force, but an unspoken promise: You won’t face this alone.

He pulled you into his chest, cradling you as if your fragility were his to protect. His fingers combed through your hair, slow and steady, a methodical rhythm that spoke volumes. “Rest easy, love. I’m here. Nothing will hurt you.”

The warmth of his embrace was steadying, and the subtle pressure of his hand on your back made the chaos of the nightmare seem distant. His breath was steady, his heartbeat a quiet lullaby in the still night air.

"Whatever shadows haunt you," he whispered, pressing a kiss into your hair, "they won't have the power to keep you here. Not while I’m with you."

Aventurine’s usual charm was gone, replaced by something far rarer—a tenderness only a few ever saw. He stayed there, holding you close, letting his presence be the anchor that tethered you to the here and now.

His words were soft, but they carried the weight of truth. "You’re stronger than you know. We’ll face this together."

And as the tremors slowly faded, Aventurine stayed by your side, a silent promise to never let you go.

You jolted awake, your heart racing and breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps. The vivid remnants of the nightmare clung to you like a heavy shroud, making it hard to distinguish reality from the terrors of your subconscious. Beside you, Ratio stirred. Though he often appeared detached and consumed by his intellectual pursuits, he was startlingly perceptive when it came to your well-being.

“What’s wrong?” His voice, deep and steady, cut through the haze.

“I… just a nightmare,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Ratio sat up, the moonlight casting a soft glow on his sharp features. His eyes, circled by the faint rings, softened as they studied your face. Without a word, he slipped an arm around your shoulders and drew you close. His strength was reassuring, his warmth a balm against the cold grip of fear.

“Nightmares,” he murmured, his tone thoughtful yet soothing, “are the brain’s attempt to process overwhelming emotions. A chaotic library, if you will, where the books fall from the shelves.” He placed a hand on the back of your head, gently guiding it to rest against his chest. “But they’re not real. You’re here, with me, and no harm will come to you.”

His words, tinged with the calm authority of a scholar, grounded you. He shifted slightly, wrapping both arms around you in an embrace that was as protective as it was comforting. “Let me be your anchor,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of your heartbeat slowing to match his steady rhythm.

Ratio tilted your chin up gently, his gaze meeting yours. “Breathe with me,” he instructed, taking slow, deliberate breaths. You mirrored him, the storm within you gradually settling.

When he was certain you were calm, he leaned back, propping you against him as he spoke softly about the constellations visible outside the window. His words—filled with awe and wonder—distracted you, drawing you into his world of intellect and beauty.

“You’re safe,” he said finally, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And I’ll always be here to remind you of that.”

The nightmare left you trembling, your breaths uneven and tears threatening to spill. Boothill was already awake—he was a light sleeper, his cybernetic enhancements alerting him to even the faintest shift in your breathing.

“Hey, darlin’,” he drawled, his voice low and raspy but laced with concern. “You alright?”

You shook your head, unable to find the words. Boothill didn’t push. Instead, he swung his legs over the bed, his spurs jingling faintly as he settled back against the headboard and pulled you into his lap. His metal arms were cool but comforting as they encircled you, the faint whir of his mechanics barely audible over your labored breathing.

“You’re safe now,” he assured, his voice steady and firm. He rested his chin on top of your head, his long hair falling around you like a curtain. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you while I’m here.”

His shark-like grin softened into something far more tender as he tilted your face toward his. “Look at me, sugar. Whatever it was, it’s gone. Just a bad dream. You’re tougher than that, and you got me watchin’ your back.”

Boothill rocked you gently, the motion reminiscent of sitting on horseback. “Close your eyes,” he coaxed, his drawl soothing as he began to hum a low, calming tune. “Think ‘bout somethin’ good—somethin’ real.”

He reached for his scarf and draped it over your shoulders like a blanket, its familiar weight and scent grounding you. “Ain’t no monster or memory that can take you from me,” he murmured, his eyes softening. “And if it tries, well…” He patted one of the holstered guns on his hip. “You know I’ll handle it.”

The reassurance in his tone and the rhythmic hum of his song eased the lingering fear. “Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Promise.”

[star-sim]

supermassive blackhole ☆ jay park pt. 1

☆ non-idol! spiderman! jay x fem!reader

☆ summary: You and Jay Park couldn't stand each other. But after a drunk makeout session at your university's annual soccer mixer, combined with Jay's secret identity as the city's friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the two of you are pushed closer to each other than ever, challenging your long-time status as 'enemies.'

☆genre: enemies to lovers, suggestive but no nsfw/smut, angst, fluff, spiderman! au, college! au, so incredibly american HELP, reader has glasses bc it's cute and jay has a lip piercing bc i said so

☆ warning(s) ? many mentions and instances of alcohol (all characters are of age) , this is very suggestive but there is no smut

☆ word count:  13.7k

☆ a/n: my dumbass didn't factor in character block limit when i wrote this shit so i'm gonna split this fic up into two parts... sorry guys :( lmk if you want me to tag you in part 2, also this has a diff style so lmk how we feel abt it 😇

part 2

“Oh, thank you so much, Spider-Man!”

It was a warm spring evening, and Spider-Man had been on his evening city patrol. When he found a little old lady calling for help, who was he to refuse her? Her cat had been stuck in a tree, and she needed someone to help her. Hopping up on the tree, he safely retrieved the ball of fluff.

“Of course, Ma’am,” the superhero chuckled. If only she could see him through his mask, he would be grinning. “Get home safely.”

Watching the little lady’s retreating back, Spider-Man shot a web to the top of a building, and hoisted himself up into the air.

On late-spring nights like this, it was peaceful. He liked the breeze that hit his masked face as he swung from building to building. Around this time, rush hour would be beginning, and all the university students would be getting out. Speaking of…

Peeking over a billboard, Spider-Man peered down to the university campus. His own university campus.

There was no reason in particular for this, but he liked to watch the university around evening time. Most people were beginning their commute home or to the dorms, but campus crime was not rare at all. It could be small offenses like graffiti or theft, but he would prefer those types of things to just not exist at all at a place like the university. And, he just liked to check up on his friends or people he knew, to make sure they were getting home safely.

His eyes narrowed at a familiar figure that made its way across campus. Even from a tall building, he could recognize that head. His jaw clenched, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip before shooting another web and slinging away.

By the time it was fully dark out, Spider-Man had finished his night patrol. 

Sitting on the roof of his apartment complex, he didn’t quite want to go in yet. He liked freedom: the physical freedom yielded from spider-like abilities– practically flying through the air– and the social freedom of anonymity. Leaning back on his palms, Spider-Man took a deep breath.

The clouds were beginning to clear up because of the weather, so the moon and stars were extra visible tonight. Clothed fingers creeped up to his neck, carefully pulling up the red mask that covered his face.

He was lucky that no one else casually sat on top of apartment complexes, or else his identity would be revealed.

Jay Park.

The moonlight glimmered on his honey-gold tan skin. The night breeze was cool, kissing his hot cheeks. He ran a hand through his tousled coal-ebony hair, letting his sweaty forehead that had been covered for hours air out.

Truth be told, he was a tad exhausted. It’s not common for the safety of a city to lie on the shoulders of a struggling university student like himself. Throwing his head back and letting dark locks fall over his eyebrows, he let out a huff.

Shit, there’s a party tomorrow.

Everyone liked to boast about the idea of soulmates. 

The idea that fate existed as the binding force that drew lovers of all disparate backgrounds together was prolific, pervading in all parts of history. From severed limbs that shared the same primordial origin, to congenital tattoos containing initials, to even timers that counted down every second until meeting, the concept of soulmates has been longed for, craved for, lusted for- for centuries.

Unfortunately, for you, the notion that everyone had an innate and pre-destined lover was a tad ridiculous.

There was no way that you could believe in soulmates.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

But you did believe in natural enemies.

“I can ask you the same thing, Park.”

Tonight was the soccer team mixer, an end-of-the-year party that the university’s team hosted to celebrate yet another exciting school year. Courtesy of your friends, you and your thick-ass glasses ended up attending. 

Tonight was supposed to be a nice night. It really was. Junior year of university was a stressful one, and you were more than ready to party all your worries away: you figured that you earned it. 

Much to your misfortune, though, there was someone else that decided to attend: the most insufferable, loud, and obnoxious person to ever exist, Jay Park.

There were several reasons to despise him and his funky, tousled hair. He was loud, rowdy, fiery, rambunctious, unruly, uncouth, uncivilized, hot-headed, talked way too much, had no sense of volume, and in your very personal opinion, just sucked. And, apparently, he was a total freak. He would show up to parties and socials, cause a ruckus with his presence, and then randomly disappear. He stood weirdly, and his mannerisms were just strange.

If you could go back and change history, you would have never allowed yourself to even meet such a person. Unfortunately, you two had intersecting friend groups and many mutual friends; there was no avoiding him given your social circles.

It started back in freshman year of highschool. The two of you were sat next to each other on the first day of fourth period English Honors. Your teacher must have seen something that you didn’t, because it was almost impossible for you to even talk to each other. Jay, the pubescent boy he was, would crack a few jokes. You, though, would stare at him vacantly, as if you were expecting him to add on. 

“Can you stop talking?” you asked him once. “Your jokes aren’t funny.”

You had meant it in a helpful way.

“If you want to make it funnier, maybe have a set-up and punchline? Your jokes don’t land.”

Really.

You were genuinely trying to be helpful. 

The only issue was that, like everyone else in the world, Jay didn’t take that well.

From then until the second quarter, you and Jay would only talk to each other if specifically asked to. You would turn around to the girl that sat behind you, and Jay would talk to the guy that sat diagonally in front of him. And when you guys did speak Jay would be unnecessarily dry, and in response, you would get irritated and snap at him.

When you finally moved seats next quarter, you still managed to see each other around. Too much. Your only interactions were limited to a few judgy glances, and occasionally, glares.

During the fourth quarter, Jay made an attempt to mend your relationship when you guys were placed adjacent to each other again. 

Except, now it was your turn to be offended. 

“Hey, I know I was a dick and you were a bitch, but-”

“I was a bitch?”

You’d kick his chair in class, and when the two of you were inevitably forced to talk, it’d be short and curt.

Truly, it was the summer of freshman year that really catapulted your relationship into what it was today. 

When you hung out with your friends over the summer, Jay was always (and truly, always) there. 

Initially, it was awkward.

But when you learned that Jay liked the same band as you– Muse– you thought that you could finally put your terse relationship to an end. 

“You listen to Muse?” You had tapped his shoulder one day at the beach. He was hunched over, listening to his music with earphones jammed into his ears peacefully. He looked bemused, cocking a brow at you.

It must have been the way that you said it. Poor, slightly socially-inept you, who, up until that point, couldn’t control your tone of voice. It was no surprise that Jay thought you were making fun of him.

Brusquely standing up, he snatched his earbuds up to go somewhere [Name]-free, grumbling something under his breath.

From then on, you two rarely got along.

“Something about his face pisses me off.”

“I don’t like how she says things.”

“He makes me so angry for some reason.”

“She’s a total nerdo freak.”

“I need to fight him.”

“I need to fight her.”

For the first two years of high school, there was non-stop bickering. Not necessarily malicious in intent, but it was clear that neither of you liked each other.

The closest thing to a “friendship” that the two of you formed was during the second semester of sophomore year, when your friend started liking his friend, and vice versa.

Both of you were getting tired of seeing your friends so cluelessly in love with each other, so you and Jay joined forces to push them together. Secret in-class texting, after-school discussions, shared knowing looks, and when they finally got together on the last day of school, a perfectly-timed fist-bump. As much as you’d hate to admit it, you and Jay Park made a wonderful team.

After that, you were just on your way to becoming great friends. Obviously, not as close as other friends, but it was undoubted that you had incredible potential to become very good friends.

Until one midsummer night.

“You knew that Taehyun Kang was cheating on Isa– with the girl that he swore up and down she shouldn't worry about– and said nothing?” 

It was a difficult night. Especially when you had to console a weeping friend on one call and yell at Jay Park on the other. 

“He’s my best friend, too,” was all Jay had said.

“And?” You had been incredulous. “Taehyun’s been making googly-eyes at that girl since way before he got with Isa! You knew. You’ve known this entire time and you still-”

“I didn’t know.”

You remembered the anger that began to bubble inside of you. You had spent the past few weeks trying to fix your aggression issues, because it was Jay that told you about your first interaction that got you guys off on the wrong foot. But now, you really couldn’t suppress it.

“Yes you fucking did!” you yelled over the phone. “I know you did. Don’t try to pull this shit on me, Jay.”

He didn’t respond.

“You’ve known this entire time, and you didn’t say anything.”

He had huffed over the phone, grumbling something incoherent. “I didn’t know until a few days before school ended.”

“A few days before school ended?--” You had sunken your teeth into your bottom lip, for the anger that was just beginning to heat up was now rising to a boil– “That was a few days before they got together! You had time to say something– but you didn’t.”

“What did you want me to do?” Jay was now getting angry. “You wanted me to speak up and ruin everything?”

“You could have. You should have. But you didn’t.”

“It’s not my responsibility, [Name]. It’s not your or my responsibility.”

The boiling anger was now seething. “Yes, it fucking was!”

“No, it wasn-”

If Jay could have seen your face over the phone, it would have been twisted with both disbelief and indignation.

“When you and I teamed up to get Taehyun and Isa together,” you asserted through clenched teeth, “there were some things we took responsibility for. And when they got together, we had the responsibility to be good friends. Good fucking people, Park! You–”

You had to take a few moments to breathe. “You had the power– You had the knowledge that your best friend was a cheating bastard that would– You know what? You’re just like him. You could’ve been a normal fucking person and did things the right way, but you lack responsibility and basic intelligence to do so.”

Through the course of that messy break-up, a few more screaming matches between you and Jay came about. Really, it should have been an argument for your friends to have, but you and Jay had had enough of each other. The floodgate that had held your relationship finally broke.

For the rest of your high school years, every interaction would just be blows at each other. It started as subtle, harmless jabs. But over time, those jabs became hostile. Petty actions, like light shoves or stealing pens, evolved into spiteful and calculated attacks, such as purposefully tripping the other or intentionally cutting the other out of a group photo.

Eventually, your friends made up and the break-up rift was resolved, but not you and Jay’s rocky relationship. 

The horror you and Jay must have felt when you found out you were going to the same university.

At the present, pushing up the metal-framed glasses that delicately laid on your nose, you could feel Jay’s dark eyes boring into you. Giving him a once-over, your nose scrunched. Once again, you’re reminded of why you could not stand this guy.

Tonight was a soccer mixer. A college mixer. Looking around, everyone was dressed as if they were college students at a college party. Because that’s what they were.

Girls, including yourself, wore small dresses and short skirts with plunging necklines and fat, wedged heels. They did their hair in all kinds of elaborate styles– you tied your hair into a half-down-half-up style. The guys wore ripped jeans, form-fitting button-ups, leather jackets, and if you were a soccer player, the iconic soccer team jacket- but really anything that was casual and easy to move in.

Jay Park, on the other hand, swore a deep-green hoodie with ripped jeans, like the uncultured villain he was.

Okay, maybe you were being biased.

A few of your friends did come in wearing hoodies and ripped jeans, and you did, in fact, come through the door of this frat house with an oversized hoodie draped over your shoulders. But, the difference was that this was Jay Park. Everything that he did was uncultured and barbaric.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” you remarked, glaring up at him through your lashes. You were on your way to grab a few drinks for your friends in the kitchen when you bumped into none other than Jay Park. “You hang around Jake Sim, I hang around Jake Sim. Use your critical thinking.”

Jake Sim was a mutual friend between you and Jay, who just so happened to be on the university’s soccer team. Great guy, but the only thing that you would complain about was the fact that every time you hung out with him, you would inevitably meet Jay.

Jay scoffed. “Didn’t think a prude like you would actually show up to a party like this.”

“Prude?” Of all times to be calling you prude, it really shouldn’t be now, when you were wearing possibly the shortest and tightest dress with the most risque neckline that you’ve ever worn in your entire life. Those thin spaghetti straps were not doing you any justice. And especially because you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes would linger around your silhouette. “Who’s the one who hasn’t been laid in months? Who’s the one with the worst box-dyed hair on the entire campus? Who’s the one that lacks any social awareness and says the most uncomfortable shit in a voice at 260 fucking decibels? Who randomly disappears? Who moves around like a goddamn insect?”

“That’s not even fucking true!” The man waved his hands in front of himself defensively. “God, you’re so fucking annoying.”

“I’m annoying? You’re the creep that follows me around everywhere.”

“You said it yourself! We have a mutual friend so we always end up-”

“Yeah, but I get the feeling that we end up in the same places because you choose to follow me-”

“I can assure you that no one wants to follow your nerdo freak ass-”

“Oh wow! How creative. You’ve been calling me that since we were fourteen–”

“Because that’s what you are! A nerdo freak that can’t do shit–”

“Why are you even here? You always have that job that you leave to-”

“Hey, hey, hey, party people!” a new voice interjected. 

Jake Sim, your mutual friend, with sleek sunglasses resting on his nose and a beer in his hand, suddenly appeared between your arguing bodies, throwing an arm around each of you.

“Jakey!” you exclaimed.

“‘Sup.” Jake was a suave guy, not a wonder that so many people liked him. “What were the two of you talking about? Looked like you were having fun!”

Jay cringed, his lips curling. Of all words, ‘fun’ would be the furthest from a good descriptor of your interaction. You seemed to think the same.

“Nothing,” you said through clenched teeth and brief glare to the ebony-haired man. 

Jake frowned. “Awww, don’t tell me you guys were fighting again!”

You and Jay locked eyes.

‘Don’t you fucking dare,' his eyes said.

‘Wasn’t going to,’ yours replied.

Jake Sim was a sociable guy. Unfortunately, it made him a little obsessed with making everyone get along. So when he found out that you and Jay deeply disliked each other in junior year of high school, he made it his life’s mission to make you get along.

Didn’t work. It really only made you hate each other more.

“We weren’t,” Jay affirmed, swiping a tongue over his pierced bottom lip. 

When Jake cocked a brow, you added, “Yeah, we weren’t.”

When Jake left you two alone again, there was a thick silence that fell over you (as silent as a rowdy college party could get). You took your drink, and turned to leave.

“Go fuck yourself, by the way,” you spat.

There’s many issues with college parties. A few hundred bodies of sweaty late-teen-early-twenty-somethings all squished together in a single frat house with alcohol and drugs was just a recipe for disaster. Alas, that was simply the college way.

To Jay Park, other than the fact that there was, ahem, usually the presence of people that he didn’t like at college parties, there was the fact alcohol was practically everywhere. No matter how many times he could vow to not drink on one particular night, he always ended up slightly buzzed or full-out drunk.

Like right now.

It was late into the night, but the party hadn’t died down even a little bit. His friends pulled him onto the dance floor. Normally, he would scurry off, probably scared that he might lose control of his spider abilities, but with the booming techno music, blinding LED lights, and alcohol that had happily found its way into his system, Jay’s mind was completely hazy. He could barely feel his own feet below him.

The next thing he knew, there was a body up against him. Definitely smaller than him, but plush and soft, moving fluidly to the music. His mind was completely fuzzy, but Jay could smell a familiar scent. Sweet and almost citrusy, like a summer orange. His arm slithered around the person’s waist, pulling them closer to his own body. His fingers found themselves snaking toward the person’s hip. His larger hands gave it squeeze, earning him a barely-audible squeal. 

If only he knew that the person was you.

Maybe it was the alcohol getting to him, but he felt a shock of fervor and excitement rake through his body.

Bodies moving closely together, he could feel a ghost of your warmth where there was clothes; where clothing was, he could only feel a touch of warmth. 

Jay could feel everything, thanks to his heightened spidey senses and the alcohol. Every motion of your body against his, every breath you took. Which is why even when intoxicated, he could clearly hear the song change from techno to punk rock– Muscle Museum by that one band he’s liked since freshman year of highschool. Muse, was it?

“Fuck, I love this song,” he heard you mutter in your own tipsy state.

Jay was sure you couldn’t hear him, but he slurred back, “Me too.”

His hands explored.

A bare thigh, soft and creamy. An exposed neck, an unclad arm, an ample uncovered chest. Something metal on your face– a piercing? glasses? You must have been wearing jewelry, because he could feel cold metal hanging from your neck and splaying across your chest.

(The amount of practice it took for him to be able to ensure no sticky webs came out of his palms was out of this world. Sober Jay would have been a little more careful, but it was a good thing that he practiced so much.)

When his hand gave your waist another squeeze, something must have clicked in your mind, because you slid your arms around his neck, turning your body to press your chests together. Pedicured fingers ran across his chest through the fabric of his hoodie, ending up at his shoulders. Another jolt of warmth and electricity coursed through his veins.

Jay’s head was way too blurred to really take a look at you in front of him, but again, that familiar scent filled his senses. 

When the lights dimmed and music slowed, you rested your head on his shoulder. He could feel your breath fanning against his neck, lip brushing against his skin. Your lips were half-moist; it must have been gloss that made it sticky, but there was a hint of dryness that he could tell was from being swollen– you were biting your lip so much it was becoming swollen. A warm chill rushed down his spine. 

How drunk was he at this point? He didn’t care, because the next thing he knew, he was pushed up against a wall in a dark hallway.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he muttered under his breath, as you shoved your pedicured hands up his hoodie and played with the belt loops of his ripped jeans.  Throwing his head back against the wall, he heard you giggle, before you ghosted your hand over his lower abdomen, effectively sending waves of warmth down his body. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, flinching. He cursed his spidey senses for making him so sensitive to touch. “Don’t fucking do that- don’t tease me.”

He heard another giggle, before he felt a few nimble fingers grasping his chin gently, pulling his face down for a better reach.

It was a soft, but crazily attractive, voice that whined in his ear, “But you’re so cute like this.”

And then you continued, slipping your hand up and down his bare abdomen, occasionally stopping near his collarbone to tug on the metal necklace that laid so delicately. Meanwhile, you pressed open-mouth kisses on his neck, eliciting the softest sighs of satisfaction.

Truth be told, Jay had no idea that it was you who was all pressed up against him, but for some reason, the fact that he didn’t know turned him on even more. 

The wet kisses, which he was sure left sparkly pink traces of lip gloss, littered all over his skin, trailing from the part where his jaw and ear met, to his collarbones, to his Adam’s apple, and finally, to his chin.

With a squeeze to his bicep, you gently cupped his cheek, pulling him closer. With an experimental hand, you swiped your thumb over his bottom lip, pressing onto the cold metal piercing that adorned his lip.

It was a dark hallway, but it was now that Jay noticed the light that reflected off of your glasses’ lens. When he tried to look for your eyes, he was only met with the sleek shine that reflected off your glasses.

“Let me kiss you,” you purred into his ear as you ran your thumb over his lips. It was now that he could smell the tequila from your breath. “Please?”

Jay, all in his equally-drunken glory, threw his head back again against the wall, making a thud sound. “Fuuuuck,” he cursed under his breath. “Yeah. You’re hot.”

You giggled. You gave his lip piercing one more tap of the finger before entangling your hands in his dark hair, giving it a soft tug. It was a good thing that he was pushed so close against a wall, because Jay swore his knees were going to give out. 

“Thank you, baby.”

You gave his hair another tug, staring straight into his eyes. The half-panicked expression that spread across his face made you crack a small grin of satisfaction, and Jay felt embarrassed under your gaze. Gently holding his face, you pressed soft butterfly kisses along his jawline before you ended up at his chin. You pulled him closer so that your chests were pushed all the way against each other, the majority of your weight on him against the wall.

Jay swiped a tongue over his lip, sucking in a sharp and shallow breath. His chest rose and fell, swallowing so hard in anticipation that his Adam’s apple bobbed. You brushed your nails along his bicep before clasping hands with him; in a swift movement, you pinned his hands flat on the wall next to his head. 

The gap between your faces was closing. You were only a few inches apart at this point. Hot breaths and glassy eyes.

Hands still pinned against the wall, Jay could not tear his eyes away from that glossy sheen on your glasses. He wanted so badly to see your eyes, lock onto them. Usually, the inability to see someone’s eyes would make a kiss less appealing, but for some reason, it only made things more intimate for him. Combined with the darkness and intoxicated state, the anonymity was a turn-on.

Almost as if to tease him, you peppered soft kisses along his chin and around his lips. Freeing his hand from your grip, Jay snuck it around your waist, pressing you all the way up against him. He could feel every curve and divot of your body now; with the softness and plush skin, he wanted to explore it once again with his touch. His big hand traveled down your waist to your hips, caressed your ass, and ended up on the backside of your thigh. He freed his other hand to do the same, resulting in two hands on your thighs.

Jay parted his lips, peering down at you through lidded eyes. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

The music had faded in the background, but his heart pounded to the beat of the slow R&B. 

Ba-dum, ba-dum. 

So close. You were so close.

Ba-dum, ba-dum. 

Sliding his hands up your back to your shoulders, Jay gave it a squeeze. In a swift movement, he flipped your positions around, pushing you gently against the wall and placing a flat palm above you head.

Ba-dum, ba-dum. 

You giggled, grappling for his hair once again. 

Again, he could smell that sweet, citrusy scent.

Ba-dum, ba-dum. 

Jay leaned in. 

There was a sort of tenderness—intimacy— that he suddenly craved for. Closing that gap, having skin on skin, lip to lip, he needed it.

Ba-dum, ba-dum. 

If he just got a little closer… a few more centimeters, and your lips would-

Beep beep!

What-

Beep beep!

Bewildered, Jay flinched back.

It was his watch, which lit up the dark hallway.

You held his bicep, trying to pull him back in. He resisted.

Beep beep! Time to go! his watch went on.

“Baby,” you breathed. “Is everything okay?”

Jay bit his tongue. As sensible as an intoxicated person can be, his eyes narrowed at his glowing wristwatch. 

Fuck.

“I-I have to go.” Jay pushed off the wall, turning toward the hallway entrance. He was feeling dizzy.

“What? But-”

He eyed his watch, which was now glowing a red color.

“Shit, shit-” He turned over his shoulder, slurring out, “I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t see your face but he could feel disappointed and confused eyes boring into his back.

On his way out of the frat house, Jay took a bottle of water and chugged it, sobering up (though still feeling shitfaced and nasty). He rushed out of the house, and the moment he stepped out onto the pavement, his phone rang.

“What happened this time, Jungwon?” he grumbled into his phone, still catching his breath. His hand came up to touch his neck. Even out here and sobered up, he could still feel the sticky kisses pressed against his skin, setting his cheeks aflame against the cold night air.

On the other side of the phone, a childish voice spoke. “Doctor Discotheque!”

“What?”

He heard a huff. “Doctor Discotheque! Remember? That villain guy! He’s here!”

Jay scoffed. “Where’s ‘here’?”

“At home, you dummy!”

Sometimes, Jay wondered why he employed his eight-year-old kid brother, Jungwon, or Wonnie, to help him with his Spider-Man endeavors. Given the fact that the kid was literally eight years old, it might have been a little pathetic to enlist the help of someone who couldn’t even do basic math. But honestly, Wonnie was the best he had– the kid was terribly excited to find out that his big brother was a superhero and he promised not to tell anyone only if Jay 1) told him everything that happened (correction: everything cool that happened, the kid didn’t want to hear about helping old people use the subway) and 2) let him be intel. There wasn’t much a grade-schooler could do to be a valuable informant (what was Jay going to let him do, run around the street at night?), but he sure did have a lot of time on his hands.

“Okay, okay,” Jay rubbed the scar on his nose. “Where at home? Like, in the complex? Outside?”

“Two floors below us.”

“What.”

Just as Jay was outside the general vicinity of mixer-goers, he heard a slew of heavy footsteps and then suddenly felt two arms wrap around his torso.

“What the-”

A very, very, very familiar voice began sobbing into his back. “Why’d you leeeavvvvveee?”

You.

You tightened your hold on him, burying your face in his hoodie-clad back. “Whyyyyyyyyyy?” you drawled.

“The fuck-?” Jay, cringing into his skin, tried to pull away. However, his nose picked up a scent that he was more than mortified to recognize. It was sweet and citrusy. And when his eyes caught the outline of your metal-framed glasses and the illumination that was strewn across the lens, all hell broke loose.

“Jay?” Wonnie’s voice called over the line. “Jay! Spider-Man! Is everything okay?”

“Hold on-” Jay replied. “Fuck, just give me a second.”

You, [Name] [Last Name], possibly one of the most insufferable people ever, was the one that he was all over just five minutes ago. You were the one that had him pressed up against the wall. You were the one that was touching and kissing him all over. You were the one that sent chills down his spine. You were the one that he was minutes away from taking into a spare bedroom and-

He sucked in a sharp breath. Not the time to think about that.

Now that he had soaked in the fresh air outside the frat house, the smell of alcohol was strong on your person. It consoled him that everything happened because both of you were drunk, at least.

“[N-Name],” he muttered. “[Name], let go.”

You were fuckfaced drunk, holding and clinging onto him like your life depended on it and wailing. Jay never thought that he’d find a day where you would be like this to him.

“I want youuuuu,” you slurred. “Come baaaaack insiiiideeee.”

“Jesus Christ, you college kids,” Wonnie clicked his tongue on the other side of the line. “Get a room.”

“Shut it,” Jay spat. Turning his attention to you sobbing in his arms, he figured that you had no idea that the person you were all over was him. If you did, you would be kicking and screaming at him. 

As much as he needed to go, he didn’t feel great about leaving a drunk woman (no matter how much he disliked you) alone at night at the side of a road.

“[Name], where are your friends?”

You sniffled. “I don’t knowww.”

Jay huffed. He couldn’t find your phone, and he wasn’t going to hang up on his brother– who he honestly really needed to get to, like, right now.

He had a few options: fail at his job as Spider-Man by leaving a drunk woman unattended, go inside and physically look for your friends which will delay him going to Wonnie, or take you home himself. He did not have a lot of time.

Which is why he was currently carrying you, his worst enemy, bridal style as he shoots webs across the sky, all the while being on call with his kid brother.

“When are you getting home again?” Wonnie asked.

“Give me, like-” Jay looked around the city- “Five minutes.”

A lucky feat of being Spider-Man was that he had incredible speed and agility. 

It wasn’t going to take much longer to get to your apartment, which he now realized was very close to his own apartment complex.

Actually, he was heading straight towards his apartment complex. 

Weird. 

Maybe yours is the one behind it? 

Nope, there’s just an old construction site behind it.

Wait, so then where’s your apartment…?

Oh my god, you lived in the same apartment complex as him.

Speaking of, you were asleep in his arms. 

“Won, what is Doctor Discotheque doing?”

“Having tea with our downstairs neighbors.”

“What?”

“What kind of question is that?!” Wonnie yelled over the phone. “He’s a supervillain! What do you think he’s doing? Wreaking havoc, duh!”

Jay took a deep breath so as to not yell back at this kid. “Yeah, I know. What in particular is he doing?”

“He’s being rude to the apartment staff.” When he was met with a judgmental silence, Wonnie groaned. “I’m serious. I think he’s waiting for you. He’s just being super mean to people right now.”

Damnit.

Jay took a look at the unconscious you in his arms. “Wonnie, I’m going to drop someone by the balcony. Take her in, will ya?”

Before Wonnie could blow up on him for bringing a ‘her’ home, Jay brusquely said, “I’m going down to kick Doctor Discotheque’s ass.”

Of all things in the world, you did not expect to wake up in Jay Park’s bed. 

The next morning, you woke up with probably the worst headache you’ve ever had. You were never one to drink, but maybe the university stress was really getting to you. Groaning, you sunk your face into the freshly-washed white sheets. All seemed normal, until you realized a few things:

First, who took you home last night? You had no memory of anything that happened at the mixer that night. If you thought about it hard, you could probably remember getting ready for it, meeting some, ahem, unpleasant people, talking to a few friends… and really nothing more. In fact, the bedroom you were in right now didn’t look like it belonged to any of your friends. 

Second, you were still in your clothes from last night. And makeup. And hair.

How did you get home last night? 

This was probably the worst hangover you’ve had in a while. Nevertheless, when you realized that there was talking outside the room, you got out of bed to investigate. 

Which led you to possibly the worst thing to ever witness.

Jay Park, with wet hair, shirtless on the couch.

The shrill scream you let out was enough to get a complaint from the neighbors.

“Oh my fuck, calm down,” Jay, in all his bitch-faced glory, rolled his eyes.

“You- You want me to calm down?” You were scandalized. Horrified. “You’re literally- You’re-”

“This is my house,” his eyes bored into you. “I can do whatever I want.”

“This- This is your house?”

He blinked. “Yeah.”

There was another ear-splitting scream before Jay convinced you to sit down so he could explain.

“You don’t need to sit so far away from me,” Jay dead-panned when you sat at the very edge of the couch.

“I don’t want to be near you,” you murmured.

“That's rich coming from someone that was all over me yesterday.”

The utmost and utter horror painted across your face was nearly laughable. 

You?

All over Jay?

Was that why you woke up in his home…? In his bed?

“Oh my god,” you clasped a hand over your mouth. “Did we…”

“No.”

You breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“Then how am I here then?”

Jay sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

If you weren't completely stunned into silence from the fact that you woke up in Jay Park’s bed, then you were now. Jay recounted a rather detailed account of what happened the night before– the two of you got drunk, and ended up more than touchy with each other. Your face heated up, with both embarrassment and… anger? 

Frowning, you asked, “Then why’d you bring me home?”

“You were crying and begging me to come back inside with you, but I had to go.” 

You glared at him, crossing your arms.

“Go on.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you out there drunk, you know,” Jay shrugged. “I was going to bring you to your apartment, but I had to fight– I mean– Spider-Man had to fight some.. Um, villain downstairs.”

You nodded slowly, but skeptically. Sensing your cynicism, Jay added quickly, “You can check the news. The fight was on the seventh floor.”

Your ears perked up. “Seventh floor?”

“Yeah-”

“That’s where I live.”

Jay’s eyes widened a fraction. “Shit.”

A great thing about being Spider-Man was that he was technically a government worker, a public service provider. The government paid for all the casualties caused by his work, luckily. Gone were the days that he’d be considered a masked menace.

As great as this was, it led to Jay being more or less reckless. Not that he was throwing shit around and purposefully breaking property when protecting citizens, but he had the freedom to do whatever was necessary. If he had to break down walls to save people, then so be it.

Speaking up, Spider-Man went a little.. Err… crazy last night. Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, or the fact that Doctor Discotheque the supervillain was literally insane. Safe to say, when fighting in the hallway of the seventh floor, Jay got a little aggressive and broke a few more things than usual.

If you found out that he-- Jay-- was Spiderman, a.k.a. the one that probably damaged your home, he’d be dead. Luckily, you wouldn't find out. Unluckily, your apartment was among those that were damaged last night.

“Can you stop that?” Jay said.

There were many reasons that Jay Park deeply disdained you. You were nit-picky, snobby, arrogant, pretentious, overly-critical, fussy, and extremely judgmental. Everyone thought you were some sort of genius, and he could tell that you liked the fact that they did. 

“I’m fuckin’ stressed,” you spat as you paced around the floor. “I don’t think I can really ‘stop.’”

Not that he was a sick person, but the expression of genuine distress spread all over your face was almost satisfying. But then Jay realized the situation you were in and he knew it was his fault, so he felt just a little bad. 

You lost your phone last night, and your apartment was more than a little damaged, the entire seventh floor being tarped and taped off. Sitting on the couch, you chewed on your bottom lip. It wasn’t even noon yet. Given your group of friends and the events last night, it wasn’t likely that any of them were awake at this time. And you didn’t have your phone- it wasn’t like you could just easily phone someone that wasn’t there last night.

You had a massive headache, feeling lightheaded with a throbbing sensation up there. You felt gross, with smudged makeup and the same tiny dress from last night. You could definitely walk to a friend’s place and wait there, but the heels you wore last night were the tallest, most painful, party-purposed stilettos. You were absolutely not walking around the city in those shoes.

The worst part about it all was that you were stuck in the apartment of none other than Jay Park. 

Could you appreciate the fact that he looked out for you by taking you home? Yeah, sure.

But could you stand him? Absolutely not.

“Why are you walking around like that?” He was getting persnickety, as payback for all the times that you’d been nit-picky towards him. “You’re going to ruin my floorboards.”

You sent him a glare. Some empathy would be nice, you thought, rolling your eyes.

There really was only one person that was accessible to you if you wanted to get out of here, and it was Jay himself. You never really thought that there would be a day where you would need to ask for his help, but here you were, practically stranded. Speaking of, he was ignoring you, occasionally looking up from his phone to give you a weird look.

If you wanted to go home, you would need to swallow your pride and just ask for help.

You prided yourself in your ability to be blunt. You were a natural leader, ambitious and aggressive. You never had an issue with announcing your wants or needs. But now faced with the piercing silence of Jay Park, you simply could not open your mouth to speak. It wasn’t like you couldn't ask him, but that you wouldn't. Curling your lips, you let the glum, nearly shameful, feeling fall over yourself.

Eyes tracing the man’s outline carefully, you swallowed the lump in your throat. 

‘[Name], you can do this,’ you recited to yourself. ‘You can do this. Just talk to him, just talk to-’

You pressed your lips together, before taking a deep breath and opening your mouth to speak. As you attempted to say his name, no sound came out. When he glanced up at you suspiciously,you quickly averted your gaze and closed your mouth.

When he looked away, your eyes flickered back to him, simply drilling into him. You licked your lips. For the second time, you opened your mouth to say his name, bracing yourself for the sound of your voice, but Jay spoke before you did.

“What are you looking at?” 

You stood up straight like a board, pushing up your glasses clumsily.

“I- Well-”you cursed yourself for stammering. You never stammered like this. “I…”

He looked at you expectantly.

Your ego, that fat chunk of an ego, was crumbling.

“Park,” you brusquely said. 

He leered at you. “What?”

You stared at him awkwardly, lips pressed into a line as thin as paper. “I… I.. um.”

He clicked his tongue impatiently. “On with it.”

You huffed loudly. 

“Can I please use your phone?”

The second last thing that you expected to happen ever was to be sitting on Jay Park’s bed with wet hair wearing his hoodie and sweatpants. And that other than asking him for help.

Never have you felt so ashamed of yourself, sitting on the soft bed with your knees up to your chest. 

The judgy glance that Jay gave you was absolutely soul-crushing, and after a humiliating stutter-filled explanation, he simply said, “Go take a shower.”

Were you initially mortified? Absolutely. But after soaking in the warm water for a few minutes, you begrudgingly thanked him. But only in your head.

Staring at a spot on the floor, you pressed your face into your knee, reflecting upon everything that had happened. As you were lost in thought, what startled you was a loud beeping sound, the slamming of a window, and yelling. You jumped to your feet in reaction, but before you could creep out of the bedroom, someone else came in.

Instead of a tall, well-built man with black hair, it was a young boy no older than ten holding a massive walkie talkie.

“Who- Who are you?”

The boy blinked owlishly, before cracking a grin. “Oh, it’s you!”

You recoiled. “Wh-What?”

“You’re the lady from last night!” he laughed, revealing sharp canine teeth. When you only looked more bewildered, he continued, “The lady that Jjongsaeng brought home last night!”

Jjongsaeng? “You mean Park— er, Jay?”

The boy frowned. “He didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend,” he murmured to himself quietly, before turning over to you. “Mhm!”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” You were a little concerned. Who was this child and why was he in Jay Park’s apartment?

“Oh!” The boy laughed again, throwing his head back. He came closer to you, extending a small hand towards you. “Jungwon! But just call me Wonnie!”

Okay, but your question wasn’t answered exactly. “Are you…” you took a better look at Wonnie. He was just so small! Though, he looked an awful lot like Jay Park… – “Are you his son… or…?”

The boy put an offended hand over his chest, scowling deeply. 

“Son?” he gawked. “I’m his brother!!”

Your lips formed an ‘o.’

“And what’s your name?” Wonnie looked at you curiously.

“[Name] [Last Name]– Just– Just call me [Name].”

A silence fell over you two.

“Do you- Do you know where your brother is?” When Wonnie gave you a suspicious look, you quickly added, “I need to use his phone.”

He gave you another long stare, before saying simply, “He’s not here.”

How could he not be here? Jay was just here, like, twenty minutes ago? “What do you mean?” you narrowed your eyes.

“He-” Wonnie’s large eyes hovered over to the window quickly, before fluttering back to you. “He went to work.”

“Doesn’t he have a night internship?”

Wonnie grumbled something under his breath, almost looking stressed, gripping the walkie talkie. “Yyyyyessss,” he nodded slowly. “But he has a day job too…. As an.. Um, photographer?”

You nodded slowly. “Right. When do you expect he’ll be back?”

Wonnie glanced at the window again. “In, like, fifteen minutes-”

Crash!

You two rushed over to the living room window, peering across to the construction site behind the apartment complex. There, there were news reporters, blaring ambulances and police cars, and rubble and dust everywhere. Not to mention the elephant in the room: Spider-Man and two criminals.

“Oh my god, is that Spider-Man?”

Wonnie didn’t seem as impressed as you, opting to toy with his walkie talkie. “Yeah, he’s here all the time. Cool guy.”

You frowned. You lived only a few floors down and you wouldn’t say that Spider-Man was ‘here all the time.’ 

“Really? This is my first time seeing him.”

Fingering the window handle, you pushed it open.

You’d heard all the stories. Your friends talk about seeing the red-and-blue-clad hero with his iconic spider logo. He was some neighborhood hero. According to a few of your friends, he’d help them fight off muggers and creeps, swinging in with his sticky white webs just moments before all hell broke loose. Apparently, he was a super suave guy, and according to a few, really hot. 

“As hot as a masked hero can be,” you would laugh with your friends. Now watching from a few stories up, you could definitely see the appeal. The sun was out, casting a harsh shadow on Spider-Man’s defined back muscles. The skin-tight suit hugged his strong arms and sturdy build. 

There was something so fascinating about Spider-Man. He was strong, friendly, dutiful, sure. But what made him so alluring was that you wanted to study him– dissect him. It was only in your nature to want to know every single inner-workings of a figure like him.

You then felt a poke at your side. It was Wonnie.

“What, are you in love with him or something?”

You tore your eyes from Spider-Man’s figure. “What? No!”

Wonnie raised his brows. “Hmmm… Okay.”

You turned back over to the window, except when you scanned for Spider-Man, he had disappeared completely.

“Hey, where did he-”

The front door of the Park apartment flew right open, revealing a disheveled Jay Park. 

“Y-You’re back already?” Wasn’t he just at a job….?

Jay waved his hand in front of him, taking off his shoes. “Yeah. Why? Were you gonna do something?”

Your nose scrunched. “No! I just thought you were at a job.”

Jay scoffed. “Who told you that-” He cut himself off when he noticed the awkward expression painted across Wonnie’s face. 

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” he muttered.

Jay Park would have never guessed that you would be sleeping in his bed. For the second night. In a row. None of your friends had enough space for you to crash, and if not, they just didn’t pick up the phone. 

“You need better friends,” Jay had told you in a matter-of-fact way, earning a sharp glare. 

And it wasn’t an easy decision to let you stay with him either.

The apartment was a 2-bedroom one. One for himself, one for his kid brother. He sure as hell wasn’t going to make Wonnie leave his room or you and Wonnie share a room, and he most definitely was not sharing a bed with you. He’d make you sleep on the couch, but the Spider-Man in him told him not to. So very grudgingly, Jay let you take his room.

He was only allowing this because it was him that practically destroyed your apartment. Even if he didn’t like you, he did take responsibility for what happened.

Maybe that one argument you had the summer of sophomore year got to him. 

And plus, he could not stand you. All the little jabs you made at him, even down to your facial expressions, had him riled up. But, for the sake of the child in the room, Jay made no big attempt to fight back.

Curled up on the couch, Jay couldn’t shake off the glum feeling that settled on his chest.

Jay Park never realized how many qualms he would have with another person living in his house. 

He was okay with Wonnie, because Wonnie knew his identity as Spider-Man. And plus, Wonnie was his brother– that little squirt was tolerable. When it’s just the two of them, Jay could do basically anything he wanted. Wonnie was more than enthusiastic when he would use his webs to pull objects toward him or hang on the ceiling just because he could, and it was a rather common occurrence for you two to make a ruckus whenever there was crime in town. Jay could go do Spider-Man things whenever he needed to, and Wonnie would be okay with it.

But now with you living with him temporarily, he had to be a lot more careful.

Especially with your nitpicking everything he does.

“Why do you cut your bread like that?”

“Ew, your butter is so hard.”

“Can you stop chewing so loud?’

“Why does your face look like that?-- Oh, hi Wonnie!”

“Hi, [Name]!”

It seemed like Wonnie and you got along better. 

“Hey, where are you going?” you asked from the kitchen table.

Jay, who was putting on his coat and shoes at the door, made a face. Swinging his backpack over his shoulders, he took Wonnie’s hand. “What do you think we’re doing?”

It was a rhetorical question, but you answered matter-of-factly. “Class doesn’t start until nine though!”

Jay pointed to Wonnie. “Gotta take him to school.”

That was only partially the truth. He did indeed take Wonnie to elementary school, but like every morning, he went on a morning patrol. The amount of small robberies and little school children walking into traffic was a bit staggering, but not to worry, Spider-Man was on his way.

Like right now.

As Jay swung from building to building, he carefully scanned the alleyways and streets to possibly catch any crime. When he stopped to rest atop a mix-use flower shop, crouching in his iconic pose, he spotted two children and a man.

Jay’s enhanced senses allowed him to hear the conversation-

“Let go!” one of the children pleaded, pulling away from the man. The other child, clearly the younger one, confusedly held onto the other.

“Kids, kids!” the man chuckled, continuing his tightened grip. “Just come with me. I’m your parents’ friend!”

The older of the two scrunched her nose, continuing to resist the man.

Jay observed from above. Clearly, these children had no idea who this man was. By the looks of it, there wasn’t anyone else around. Even if the kids screamed, no one would come to the rescue quick enough. This weird kidnapper guy could definitely take these kids without a doubt.

Cue the screaming and crying.

Panicked, the man tightened his grip on the kids, jerking them along as he began to walk towards the alleyway.

Fuckin’ creep, Jay thought before shooting a white web at the lampost a few meters down the pavement, swinging down. Extending a leg, he held onto the web as he suspended across the air. As he closed in on the man, he heard the two children let out shrill gasps just as Jay's foot made impact with the man’s cheek.

The brief moment of surprise made the man loosen his grip on the two children, allowing for them to scurry back. Now on the ground, Jay stood over his fallen figure.

Disgusting, he thought as he peered down at the man. Just thinking about what he would have done to the children made him angry. The man groaned in pain. Jay leaned down to the man, bringing a masked, yet somehow patronizing, face to him.

“Hey, buddy!” His words were ordinary, but very clearly filled with contempt. “Whatcha doin’ over there with those kids?”

When the man didn’t answer, Jay stamped a foot right between the man’s legs, impossibly close to his crotch. “C’mon, man. Wontcha explain?”

The panic in the man’s eyes was satisfying, as he began to draw out a pocket knife. 

“S-Spider-Man?!”

Under his mask, Jay cracked a smirk. “Honored to be at your service.”

The man ogled at Spider-Man’s built figure– he stood no chance against the hero. Regardless, he stumbled to his feet, pointing the blade at Jay. “Stay back!”

Jay laughed.

“Oh no! A knife! Anything but the knife!” Jay feigned fear, cowering into himself. “I’m so scared! Please! My biggest weakness is a tiny little knife!”

The man faltered, staring hesitantly at the hero. Jay took this moment to shoot one more web at the street light, giving him momentum to jump in and kick this guy in the face again.

“Oh, man,” Jay chuckled. “That knife really got me.”

“I-I’m sorry!” The man gawked at the hero’s figure standing over him, spluttering as he struggled to his feet and finally scuttling away.

Jay watched his running back carefully.

“Thank you so much, Spider-Man!” he heard the children cheering behind him. Turning over his shoulder, Jay gave them a salute, before shooting a web and swinging away.

When classes for the day ended, Jay Park wanted a head-start on patrolling. The sun was only beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the city. He liked this time of day the most. There was always a faint citrusy smell in the air, and he wished he could take off his mask to feel the wind rake through his hair. 

He checked all the important places– the bank, the university, the bus station, and especially the central business district. The alleyways were crazy notorious for being crime-ridden, so he was extra attentive with the patrol. 

Speaking of, there seemed to be a bit of a conundrum right now. From the top of a high-rise building, Jay’s eyes zeroed in on the figures a few hundred feet below him. It was no uncommon occurrence for there to be some sort of assault (with Spider-Man here, attempted assault) in a dark alleyway. Jay always followed a basic procedure:

Step one: identify what’s happening.

From above, he could see that– oh shit– a woman was going to be mugged. 

Little did he know, much to both of your luck, that woman was you.

Step two: identify the threat.

Two guys, both disheveled, one with a pocket-knife. Even though he couldn’t see your face, just by the looks of it, you were clearly disadvantaged– these two guys were massive compared to you.

“We see ya wallet, girl,” one of the men said. For two people who were very much advantaged, they were rather shy with the knife, holding it low and with little confidence. “Hand ovah the money.”

When you didn’t respond, they got a little more vindictive, slamming the rusted brick wall, demanding for money.

Step three: swoop in and-

Jay was bewildered by the raucous clanking of metal trash can tops against the dirty pavement. Gaping down, he could see one of the men crashed up against the trash cans, and the other one taken aback. 

Did you just…?

Jay was taken by surprise once again when he heard grunting and groaning in pain. You were kicking these men when they were down. With heeled shoes. And it was now that he finally noticed your physicality: [H/C] hair. Glasses. Big attitude. Oh my god, how did he not realize that it was you?

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” you landed a kick at the crotch. Jay hissed in pain just at the sight of that. “Huh? You think you own this fuckin’ place?” Another kick. “Fuckin’ scum.”

Jay was contemplating whether or not he should go down there and give you– [Name]-fucking-[Last Name]– a hand. He was going to decide against it, when his spidey senses picked up the very crisp sound of a blade scraping across the pavement. While you were busy cussing out one of the assailants, you didn’t notice the way one of the men unsheathed the pocket-knife. 

Jay could see it— In a matter of seconds, the guy’d bare the blade and shank your right in the abdomen. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, tongue swiping right over his metal lip piercing.

“Hey, fuckface!” In one fell swoop, Jay landed a powerful punch to the blade-bearing assailant’s cheek, sending him flying down the alleyway. you let out a shriek. “Spider-Man?!”

It was weird to see you startled like this. “Hey, Gorgeous.”

In his defense, there was not a bone in his body that thought that you were gorgeous. It was simply a habit he took on when he assumed the role of Spider-Man. He said that to everyone.

The second assailant, the one that you had basically beat up with words, was still keeled against the trash cans, eyes widened and fearful of what the friendly neighborhood hero could do.

Jay leaned down to be at eye-level with the man. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

The man spluttered, and Jay sneered. The kick that the hero gave to the man square in the chest subsequently propelled him down the alleyway, joining his friend at the back. 

“Maybe don’t try to mug someone in broad daylight, bud.”

When Jay heard a few clanking sounds and groans of pain, he turned to you.

You were looking at him with large, shiny eyes, utterly consumed in admiration. Jay cringed at the silence that fell over the two of you. It wasn’t normal for there to be such a calm silence between him and you. If there wasn’t arguing, then there’d be an uncomfortable and tense atmosphere.

“I- Spider-Man…” you said, looking up at him through your glasses. The way that your eyes were practically glued to his masked face had Jay scrunching his nose. After a long silence of you just staring at him, you quickly avert your gaze, finding interest in your shoes instead. God, why were you getting so shy? Seeing the abashed expression on your face was like seeing a police officer get a parking ticket– so fucking out-of-character and just pure unnatural.

Jay wanted badly to make a jab at you, to say, “Hey, Jay Park just saved your sorry ass.” 

But he didn’t. 

Because that’s not what friendly neighborhood Spider-Mans do.

You bit your lip before glancing up at him. It was almost like you could feel his eyes questioning you from behind his mask, and once again, avert your gaze, pushing up your metal frames. 

It was now that Jay truly realized what was going on– Did you have a crush on Spider-Man?

You were acting really shy, and you were looking at him like he was some kind of god. 

The thought made him want to shrink into his own skin, but for some reason, it also made him grin. Grin a smug grin. Because now he had something to dangle over your head.

He didn’t have any sinister intentions other than the fact that he wanted an opportunity to be petty with you.

“Thank you, Spider-Man,” you finally blurted, that bashful look still casted on your face. 

Jesus Christ, the way you were acting soft-spoken and coy was so weird. 

He could do one of two things to fuck with you.

He could be extremely cold and distant, making you feel embarrassed. It would definitely be satisfying to see you panicked and flustered. But then again, Spider-Man’s job was to keep the city safe, not be mean to civilians. Even if said civilian was someone he couldn’t stand.

The second he could do was fluster you in a different kind of way: enthrall you with charm to mess with you. It was certainly a more ethical way to fuck with you, but Jay wasn’t sure if he’d be up for practically flirting with the person he hated more than anything else.

You shyly looked at him, expecting a response.

On second thought, he might be up for it.

He didn’t want to break you. Just fuck with that strong head of yours a little bit.

“Anything for you,” Jay took a step closer to you, just close enough that you would be taken aback, “Beautiful.”

Okay, maybe he should never do that again. Jay was not a lady-charmer. He had no game. There was a reason that he didn’t have a girlfriend, and it was because he could not flirt for shit. His skin was crawling with cringe– what he would do to have the ground open up and eat him whole because that shit was the worst thing he’s probably ever done.

His internal squirming was cut short when he saw the way your eyes widened a fraction, before letting a slight abashed curve settle on your lips. 

“Oh- I-” you lowered your head, your glasses laying on the very tip of your nose. 

“Thanks,” you stammered.

.

.

.

Now it was awkward.

What was he supposed to do now? Kiss you? No! What the fuck?

“I’m gonna go now,” Jay muttered. Extending his arm and aiming it at the top of the adjacent building, he prepared to shoot a web. However, he was stopped when you gently grabbed onto his bicep.

“Wait.” Your voice was uncharacteristically quiet, meek almost. “I-I don’t feel safe going home now.”

Jay blinked.

Jay Park never seemed to expect anything. 

For the second time ever, in the same week, he was carrying you across the sky to his own home.

This time, though, you were wide awake instead of black-out drunk.

With your arms wrapped around his neck, you clung to him as he held onto your body tightly in the bridal-style. It wasn’t abnormal for him to be carrying a damsel in distress like this, but Jay never thought that he would be carrying you of all people. 

With you clinging so close to him, Jay could smell that sweet, citrusy scent again. He grimaced when he was once again reminded of the events that had transpired a few nights ago. Whenever he thought about it, Jay could almost feel his skin crawl, remembering the wet and sticky kisses placed on his skin.

Jay tried to ignore the way you stared at him so incredulously, wide and glinted as if he was some sort of idol.

As Jay approached the edge of the high-rise office building, he noticed you bracing yourself for the jump You’d been shutting your eyes tightly and letting out a little peep every time he’d jump across buildings.

Maybe he should try fucking with you right now.

Launching off his feet, Jay had propelled the two of you into the wide valley between office buildings. Usually, he’d shoot a web within a few milliseconds of just being the air. However, with you in his arms…

“S-Spider-Man…!” you squeezed his bicep. You were falling…! 

Jay was taking his sweet time with shooting another web, waiting for them to be just a few hundred meters from the bustling and traffic-filled road, giving you the illusion that you were about to topple to your death. 

“Spider-Man, we’re gonna–!”

When you were practically dangling over the cars, Jay shot a web up to the next building, hoisting you two up and away.

“What, you don’t trust me, Beautiful?” Jay got some sick satisfaction from shaking up the usually-controlled you. If he was Jay, he probably would have made a jab, say something like “I told you so,” but since he was Spider-Man he stuck to the flashy and charming persona that the hero built himself.

“I… I trust you, Spider-Man, just– Eep!” 

Jay threw his head back, laughing. It was funny when you got scared.

“Stop making fun of me, Spider-Man!” you lightly slapped his chest. “I’m just…– Eep!--”you squeezed his bicep again– “Scared of heights.”

Jay gave your waist a squeeze. “I got you, Angel.”

It was weird to pull up to his own apartment and pretend that it wasn’t his.

“This your place?”

Jay was curious as to what you would say. He dropped you off on the balcony, before going into his iconic crouching pose on the thin metal railing.

You shook your head. “It’s my… friend’s. I’m staying with him because….”

You trailed off, before your eyes fluttered over to Jay’s masked face. “Hey, didn’t you fight some villain the other day?”

Oh.

Right.

The reason that you were even staying with him was because… Well, him.

Jay nodded slowly.

“Oh- Well, um,” you wrung your fingers. “My apartment, it got… Yeah.”

It was like you could sense the uneasiness behind the mask. 

For the heinous amount of crime-fighting that Jay did, he did feel a little bad for the amount of infrastructure that got ruined. It seemed like every other week there were glass shards strewn all across the streets. He couldn’t imagine the type of work that would go into rebuilding homes and infrastructure after so much damage.

That, he will take responsibility for.

He lowered his head. “Yeah, fuck, I’m sorry about that.”

A civilian is a civilian.

“No, no, no!” you said rather brusquely, almost in a hostile way, waving your hands in front of yourself. 

Ah, there it was. The [Name] that he knew.

When you realized your tone of voice, you quickly back-tracked, clearing your throat and pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I mean- It’s okay, Spider-Man,” you said, looking up at him through your lashes. “You did what you had to do.”

If you knew his identity ,you wouldn't say that. You would probably file a lawsuit against him.

But he appreciated the sentiment.

“What’s your name, Pretty?” He needed you to formally introduce yourself so he could stop using those cheesy nicknames.

You smiled bashfully again. “[Name].”

“Then I’ll see you later,” Jay jumped to his feet, balancing on the metal railing. He looked over his shoulder, raising a hand up, “[Name].”

With that he began swinging away.

You blinked slowly, eyes trailing his slowly disappearing figure.

When he was out of your sight, your lips immediately broke out into a wide grin. Taking off your glasses, you used a hand to cover your eyes, feeling your cheeks heat up and pull upward. 

Oh, you understood it now. Why everyone said Spider-Man was so charming.

Using both hands to cover your warm face, you let a few giggles out into your palms. 

God, Spider-Man was attractive.

Your momentary fluster was cut short when the screen door of the balcony slammed open.

“Are you gonna come in or….?”

You turned to look over your shoulder.

Jay Park. Always had to ruin everything, didn’t he?

You huffed, removing your hands from your face. “Yeah… Just, give me a second.”

“Okay.”

When you turned back, you failed to notice the smug grin plastered across Jay’s face.

You heard from many people that Jay Park had an issue with disappearing. You understood what they meant. In the classes that you shared with him (which was few because your majors were different but similar enough), he would be absent for a few days at a time. At parties, even if you didn't actively seek him out, you’d see him at the beginning and after a few minutes, he’d just completely vanish. Even at some get-togethers that your mutual friends hosted, you’d hear some people complain about Jay always needing to “go to his job.” 

Now that you, more or less, lived under the same roof as him, you understood to a whole other degree what people meant.

According to what his own friends said, Jay had a night internship, and according to his brother, he also had a day job. He didn’t show up to his classes some days, but you would see him in the morning before class alive and well, so he clearly wasn’t having health issues. How crazy was his schedule? You had friends in his major with jobs of their own, and they weren’t flaky in the way that Jay was.

Jay would be up early, completely disappear for the entire day, and come home late.

It was weird. 

Not that you cared.

You could care less what happened to him.

You just found it strange.

Like right now.

It was late at night. Finals were coming up soon, and you simply couldn’t sleep. 

See, Wonnie was normal. Wonnie had an ordinary, completely sane, schedule. In the morning, Jay would take him to school, and in the afternoon (you assumed that) Jay either picked him up or Wonnie walked home. Either way, the kid had a much more tangible daily schedule, yet his brother’s was the complete opposite. But it didn’t seem like Wonnie questioned anything either.

You saw Wonnie come in and out of rooms, heard him get a glass of milk, you even said good night to him. 

The yellow-white lights that illuminated the apartment were blinding now, wearing down your eyes to the point that they felt watery. There was a sort of morose feeling that set over you as you sat at the cold kitchen counter. From final exams to the fact that your apartment was under reconstruction to the fact that you were practically intruding on our greatest enemy’s home was frustrating.

It would be completely bitchy and ungrateful of you to not recognize the sort of generosity that Jay displayed toward you. You really, genuinely, truly, could not stand him. He was someone who constantly made your day worse, someone who you'd never been able to agree with for years, someone who went out of his way to bother you– and vice versa. It wasn’t like you had no idea why he’d try to help you: he might be a supervillain to you, but he was no monster. It was clear that you were on a “I-only-doing-this-because-it’s-courteous” basis, but even then, for him to give you his own bedroom was more than courteous.

You didn’t like it.

Of all people in the world, why did he have to be so… hospitable?

You didn’t like the fact that you felt so dependent and almost helpless. 

You must have sat at that kitchen counter for a good chunk of time, because the next time you really moved from your lethargic position was when there was a sudden bang against the window. Lost in thought, you violently jerked up, jumping to your feet.

Eyes quivering to the windows, which were blackened by the dark night sky, there was nothing there. 

Strange.

You had your tongue dig into the inside of your cheek, frozen in place. Just when you thought your mind was just playing games, another loud bang against the window resounded through the room, followed by a few jumbled curse words.

You weren’t exactly happy that the one time you would get robbed it would be in your enemy's house.

Shit.

Except, instead of a masked burglar comically dressed in black, someone completely unexpected bursted through the window.

Red and blue spandex suit, complete masked-over face, and that unmistakable spider icon.

“Spider-Man?!”

Oh.

My.

God.

Why was Spider-Man landing in Jay Park’s apartment at this time?

And when you looked down at what you were wearing– a thin tank-top and pajama shorts–you suddenly became a lot more alarmed and self-conscious than you initially were.

“[Name]?” Spider-Man gaped. Except instead of that friendly and playful tone he was known for, it sounded sour. “What are you doing up at this time?”

You, who was now very consciously covering yourself up, gawked. “I’m– I was studying– What are you doing here, Spider-Man?”

“What do you mean? This is my ho–” Spider-Man stopped himself, before clearing his throat. Like a switch had been flipped, the hero began again, “I’m, um, stopping by to see my friend.”

You blinked.

“Y’know, Jay Park– dark hair, lip-piercing, super handsome and cool.”

Your nose scrunched at the description.

“I didn’t know you lived with him, Beautiful,” Spider-Man continued. “You said you lived with a friend, right?”

You pushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I mean, I wouldn’t say friend. We’re like, acquaintances… by association.”

“You don’t sound like you like ‘em very much, yeah, Gorgeous?”

You weren’t about to lambaste Jay Park in front of Spider-man, who was apparently his friend. That would be discourteous, and you weren’t about to flame the guy that was letting you sleep in his house.

“He’s…” You didn’t want to make it seem like you were buddies, especially in front of Spider-Man. “He’s all right.”

Spider-Man was now inching toward you. “Just all right?”

You eyed the hero’s well-built figure as he came closer and closer to you, suddenly feeling shy and exposed. You felt even more shy and exposed when he very clearly lingered around the sight of your silhouette. The way his voice resounded throughout the room, slightly raspy from the yelling he must have done and low due to his exhaustion, sent a chill down your spine. 

“He’s okay,” you responded curtly. “How– How do you know him? How do you know Park?”

You could feel Spider-Man’s eyes on you even through his mask. 

“How do I know him?” Spider-Man crouched down next to your feet at the kitchen island, looking up at you. You could hear the grin in his voice. “He met me in senior year of high school.”

Oh wow. They’ve known each other for a while.

“A spider bit him, or something,” the masked hero continued. “And I found him all sick and sad when his uncle passed.”

That’s right. In senior year of high school, Jay’s uncle, the person who took on a father figure after his parents unfortunately passed. It had taken a toll on him at the time. You remembered passing him in the hallways, seeing the messy black hair overgrown over his brows and dark eye bags. The one person that you regularly debated in AP Macro was no longer interested. At the time, you had contemplated whether or not to reach out to him, but he’d completely shut everyone out.

“That’s great,” you murmured. No matter how much you didn’t like him, it didn’t mean that he should lose someone important to him. “That’s great that he had someone there for him. I remember–”

Spider-Man looked up at you.

“I remember– I tried to talk to him about it once, in… I think it was in Stats?” you recounted. Your lips pressed together before forming a slight curve. “He yelled at me.”

“He yelled at you?”

You almost laughed. “Yeah, he did. Oh man, we never got along in high school– even now– but… It’s not nice to lose someone you love, is it?”

Spider-Man stared at you silently, before quickly agreeing– “Yeah, it isn’t.”

You bit your lip as you recounted. “I wanted to comfort him, but I don’t think he wanted me of all people to do that. At least I tried.” Your eyes fluttered over to Spider-Man. “I’m glad he had someone like you to be there for him.”

Spider-Man didn’t speak.

“Are you and Park close?” you asked.

“Yeah, we are.”

You hummed. “Oh. Do you see each other a lot?”

“Everyday.”

.

.

.

Spider-Man got to his feet.

“[Name], do you want to go on an adventure with me?”

Sometimes you thought you were stupid. Not all the time because you knew you were smart, but some time like now, where you allowed a masked man who may or may have not broken into your enemy's apartment claiming to be his friend to take you around the city at night. And you did it without even telling anyone, so if you got killed in an alleyway no one would know.

Not to worry, though.

Jay Park thought he was pretty stupid, too.

Staying out late at night right before finals week and completely forgetting about the workaholic nerd freak that lived with him temporarily (you). And to make it worse, he mentioned his own civilian self!-- and he obviously couldn’t be in two places at once. 

He needed a way to deflect.

“Wooooh!” Jay hooted as he swung from building to building.

“Spider-Man– Slow down…!”

Unlike the last two times he’d taken you out on some sort of aerial excursion, you had your arms and legs wrapped tightly around his neck and torso, hugging him from the back instead of Jay holding you bridal-style. 

It was nice for a change. For the first time, you were hanging off his back instead of being directly held by him. Jay couldn’t help the snicker that he let out when you would squeeze him and squeal in his ear out of fear.

“I thought ya said you trusted me,” he beamed. Jay could feel the way your face pressed into his back as you dangled in the sky. “C’mon, Gorgeous, don’t get all scared on me now.”

“It’s not fair- Eep!”

“What’s not fair, hm?” He shot another web. You didn't respond, opting to squeeze him harder. “What’s not fair, [Name]?”

“This!” you chided in his ear. “You-You’re not scared because you do this every day!”

“Well, maybe you should do this more then.”

To Jay, it was really weird to carry a frightened you around. He never took you for the clingy type, but maybe there’s a lot he didn’t know about you. It was especially weird when he was Spider-Man, because you were oddly nice to him. When he’s Jay, there’s no denying that you’re hostile.

“Why are you so nervous?” Jay sneered when you two landed on top of the central clock tower. You’d sat down at the top, letting the cool late-Spring night hit you. For someone notorious for their crazy confidence, it was absurd to see such a person all feeble and fiddling with their fingers.

 “It’s just finals,” you mumbled.

Jay nearly laughed. “Wow, you really are a nerdo freak.”

Your cheeks visibly heated up, folding your arms over your chest. “Hey! I’m not a nerdo fre–” You stopped yourself, before you brought your eyes up to the hero. “Did he tell you that?”

The man narrowed his eyes. “W-What?”

“Park is the only person that calls me ‘nerdo freak,’” you frowned, raising up your fingers to make air-quotes. “He’s been calling me that since highschool.”

Oh.

Shit.

“Y-Yeah,” the man responded, sucking in a shallow breath. “He talks to me about you a lot.”

Not true. 

Jay Park doesn’t talk to Spider-Man about anything. 

Because they’re the same person.

You swiped your tongue over your bottom lip. “Really? What does he say about me?”

Oh, this would be awkward.

“Jay thinks you’re really… Uhm…”

There’s two things Jay could do. Tell you his (Jay’s) honest thoughts about you as Spider-Man and effectively make the entire atmosphere both now and at home awkward. Though, it wouldn’t be much of a loss because he (Jay) already made it loud and clear how he felt about you through his words and actions toward you. It would only be awkward because he as Spider-Man was the one expressing it.

The second thing he could do was lie.

“He thinks you’re hot as fuck.”

Oh my fucking god what was he doing.

“Oh… uh… Really?”

Jay wanted to kill himself.

Of all things he could have said, he said thats?– Oh my god, and now you were shifting uncomfortably in your seat– What does he do?

Jay Park was not attracted to you and he will never be! Never! Ever!

It was the first thing that came to his mind! He doesn’t mean it! Jay Park hates you! He thinks you’re ugly and- Well, actually, that’s not true. You’re a very pretty woman, he did indeed get crazy butterflies the night of the soccer mixer, and he did catch himself staring at you a few times, because let’s be honest, the tiny tank-top and pajama shorts looked good as fuck on you– but still-!

“Did he tell you that… or…?”

“Yeah, that’s a direct quote.”

Jay Park! What are you doing?

part 2 here

[inmyheaddd]

wake up call - rafe cameron x reader

summary: pranking soft/tired!rafe after a party, by spewing absolute nonsense warnings: maybee slightly ooc rafe?? nothing really wc: 481 a/n: not too sure why i wrote this, i never write for obx 🤔🤔 i think its the drew starkey edits getting to me

“rafe,” you patted his shoulder, “raaaafe,” he didn’t respond to you, only groaning as he turned in his sleep.

it was nearing 3 am now, and you had just gotten back from some party. you had been so exhausted just 30 minutes ago in the car as rafe drove you home, but now sleep seemed to be the last thing on your mind. rafe on the other hand, fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow. 

after scrolling on your phone for a little while and seeing a video of a girl pranking her boyfriend, you decided it would be a good idea to do the same to the brunette who was dead asleep next to you.

“it’s super important,” you tapped his shoulder, “rafe. quick, wake up.” you lightly shook his arm as he mumbled incoherently, then turned away from you. 

“rafe, it’s an emergency. the beach broke, i need you to fix it for me.” you added, your voice so full of worry that it made rafe stir around again, this time to face you, with his eyes still closed. “…what?” he muttered as he scrunched his face up in confusion.

“you have to fix it, rafe.” you bit your bottom lip, almost shaking with the laughter you were holding in.

“alright, alright. i’ll do it tomorrow, yeah?” he grumbled as he patted his arm around mindlessly, trying to find you.

“you better, it’s really important.” you thanked god that he couldn’t see the wide smile on your face, contrasting to the dead serious, worried hint your voice took on.

“also, can you buy mars for me?” you almost broke out laughing right then and there at the blabber you were coming up with. “i’ve had my eye on it for a while, y’know? i think it would match that red top i have really well.” 

“sure, whatever you want.” he mumbled languidly as he tried to pulled you closer to him, before his face scrunched up in confusion. 

“baby,” he said, “what the fuck are you talkin’ about?” he blinked his eyes open at you, his eyebrows knitted together. “are you high?”

“nooo, oh my god.” your giggles broke out as you threw your head back, “it was a prank! i’m sorry.” you didn’t sound sorry in the slightest, still laughing uncontrollably at your boyfriends confused, and likely annoyed expression.

he tutted, briefly shaking his head and turning it to the side. you weren’t too sure if you were imagining the tiniest of smiles on his lips or not. “don’t play that stupid shit on me, go back to sleep.” 

your laughter began to fade as he adjusted his position and turned you around, pulling your back flush against his front and wrapping his arms around you. 

“you’re no fun.” you muttered, nonetheless with a smile on your face.

“yeah, i know, baby.” you felt the ghost his lips on your neck, “talking about buying mars and fixing the beach. get some sleep.” 

now, you could practically feel the way his lips turned up on your skin. that was a huge win in your book. 

debating your choices, you wanted to see if you could push his buttons just once more.

“…rafe?”

a sleepy hum.

“if you could though, would you get me mars?”

silence. 

you figured he was asleep, so you took the loss and closed your eyes, but then he finally spoke:

“how much did you fucking drink?”

another a/n: this is a rafe version of the “half asleep” grayson hawthorne fic that i wrote!! (sorry guys im incapable of coming up w something new rn…)

[therogueflame]

The Diplomat

Hi friends,

Since I'm a Daemon girly through and through and horny as fuck, I imagined what it would be like to have terrible, angry sex with Daemon. None of the fics were hitting the spot, so I wrote one instead. There are two parts to this story, but the second part can be read as a standalone if you squint a little. Here is part one, enjoy!

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Summary: Your marriage to Daemon has been marked by tempers and tempests, but when he proposes setting the Riverlands ablaze, the need for reason has never been more urgent.

WC: 9.4k

Warnings: 18+, just fluff and a lil suggestiveness, no use of y/n, light descriptions of fem!reader, kind of a little jumping around (let me know if i put too many sword dividers in)

Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

The small council chamber was thick with unease. Though the warm spring breeze drifted through the high windows, stirring the black banners bearing the sigil of House Targaryen, it did little to lighten the atmosphere. The men gathered around the long oak table wore the weight of the discussion in their stiff shoulders and furrowed brows.

Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, spoke first, his voice measured but edged with authority. “The Blackwoods insist their knight acted in self-defense. He claims the Bracken lord drew steel first and would have struck him down had he not defended himself.”

Across the table, Lord Lyman Beesbury adjusted his spectacles, his aged face lined with worry. “Regardless of intent, a Bracken heir lies dead. His father demands retribution, and he’s mustered men to see it done. This feud risks spilling over into open conflict, my lords.”

“It has always been this way between the Brackens and Blackwoods,” chimed in Lord Tyland Lannister, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. He leaned back in his chair with an air of indifference. “Their hatred for one another is practically tradition. Why should the crown involve itself in their petty quarrels?”

“Because they are sworn to the crown,” Otto replied sharply, his gaze narrowing. “Their lands and titles are held in service to the Iron Throne. If we do not intervene, their conflict will destabilize the Riverlands and undermine royal authority.”

Daemon scoffed loudly, drawing every gaze in the room. He lounged in his chair, though his posture was more calculated than relaxed. His dark eyes glittered with impatience. “Destabilize? Spare me your dramatics, Otto. This is nothing more than two dogs fighting over scraps. Let them tire themselves out.”

“And when those scraps include burnt villages and dead smallfolk?” Otto countered, his tone clipped. “You would have the crown turn a blind eye while the Riverlands descend into chaos?”

Daemon leaned forward then, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “I would have the crown remind them who they answer to. Send riders, summon their lords to kneel before the throne. If they refuse, then you send swords.”

Lord Beesbury sputtered, his hand trembling slightly as he adjusted his quill. “Violence is hardly the answer, my prince. Surely, diplomacy—”

“Diplomacy has done nothing but embolden them,” Daemon snapped, cutting him off. “Every year, it’s the same. Bracken blames Blackwood, Blackwood blames Bracken. It’s a waste of the crown’s time and patience. They need to be reminded that their squabbles end where the Iron Throne begins.”

“You speak of violence as though it’s the only solution,” Tyland interjected smoothly. “The Riverlands are already tense. A heavy hand might unite them—against us.”

Viserys, who had remained silent until now, raised a hand, commanding the room’s attention. His weary expression spoke of a man burdened by the crown he wore. “Enough,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “This matter is not so easily solved. Both houses have their grievances, and both claim to act in the right. I will need time to consider our response.”

Daemon’s chair scraped against the stone floor as he rose, his movements sharp with irritation. “While you consider, brother, they will act. And your indecision will be seen as weakness.”

Viserys’s gaze hardened. “Do not mistake thoughtfulness for weakness, Daemon.”

“Call it what you will,” Daemon muttered, turning on his heel and striding from the chamber, his dark cloak billowing behind him. The remaining lords exchanged wary glances but said nothing, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.

Viserys sighed heavily, the sound of a man long accustomed to the burdens of the throne. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair as he watched the doors swing closed behind Daemon’s retreating figure. For a moment, the chamber was silent, save for the distant cries of gulls from Blackwater Bay and the faint murmur of activity in the Red Keep below.

“This council is concluded,” Viserys said at last, his voice quieter now, the fight drained from it. He rose from his chair, and the lords followed suit, their expressions a mix of relief and unease.

“Your Grace,” Otto began, stepping forward as the rest of the council prepared to file out. His tone was deferential, but the gleam in his eye betrayed his eagerness to press his point. “Might I suggest—”

“Not now, Otto,” Viserys interrupted, waving him off. “I’ve heard enough for today.”

The Hand of the King inclined his head, though the tightening of his lips spoke volumes about his displeasure. One by one, the council members departed, their whispered conversations trailing behind them like smoke.

Viserys lingered for a moment after the chamber was empty. The answers would come, but not today. 

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

Daemon stormed through the halls of the Red Keep, his boots striking the stone floor with forceful purpose. Servants and courtiers scattered at the sight of him, their eyes darting to the crimson and black of his cloak, the Targaryen sigil embroidered in rich gold on his tunic.

The prince’s mind churned with frustration, the council’s deliberations replaying in his head like a wound he couldn’t stop picking at. Otto’s pompous tone, Tyland’s smug indifference, Viserys’s endless dithering—all of it grated against his pride.

By the time he reached the chambers he shared with you, the heat of his temper had reached its peak. He flung the doors open with enough force to make them shudder against the stone walls.

Inside, the room was a picture of calm. Sunlight filtered through the open windows, casting soft, golden light across the chamber. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the sweet warmth of spring.

You sat near the hearth, cradling your young son in your arms. His small fingers grasped at a strand of your hair, his innocent laughter filling the room as you smiled down at him. The sight was a balm to any who might witness it—anyone but Daemon in his current state.

The nursemaid, standing a few paces away, froze at the sight of the prince’s thunderous expression. Her hands faltered mid-curtsy, and she looked to you for guidance, her face pale.

“Out,” Daemon barked, his voice sharp enough to cut. He didn’t bother looking at her as he strode into the room, his dark eyes locked on you.

The nursemaid hesitated for only a moment before gathering the child in her arms and retreating swiftly, her footsteps nearly silent against the rush of Daemon’s presence.

When the door closed behind her, Daemon’s pacing began, each step a sharp, deliberate motion that mirrored the storm in his mind. His hands flexed at his sides, as though longing to grip the hilt of Dark Sister and channel his anger into something tangible.

“This is what passes for leadership now,” he began, his voice low but vibrating with suppressed rage. “My brother, the king, sitting in that gods-damned chair, twiddling his thumbs while the Riverlands teeter on the edge of chaos!”

You set your book aside, folding your hands in your lap as you watched him. You had seen Daemon in this mood before, his temper a force of nature that could not be stopped but only weathered. It was better to let him speak, to let the storm rage until it spent itself.

“I told them what needed to be done,” he continued, his pacing growing faster. “Ride out, demand their fealty, remind them who they serve. But no—Viserys would rather sit and think.” His lip curled as he spat the word, as though it were a curse.

Daemon’s pacing was relentless, his steps carving invisible lines into the chamber floor. His voice rose as he continued, his words dripping with scorn. “Otto’s solution? Send letters. As if words written on parchment will mend generations of blood feuds! And Tyland—he all but shrugged! ‘Let them fight it out,’ he said, as though it’s his lands that will burn when the fighting starts. Useless, the lot of them.”

He paused, finally turning to you, his dark eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and expectation. “And my brother,” he growled, his hands clenching into fists. “The great Viserys, King of the Seven Kingdoms, paralyzed by his own fear of making the wrong choice. He’ll sit there until it’s too late, as he always does, and then expect me to clean up his mess.”

You met his gaze calmly, though you could feel the weight of his fury pressing against you like a tangible force. “Daemon,” you said gently, your tone an attempt to temper the flames threatening to consume him.

But he wasn’t ready to be calmed. “No,” he snapped, cutting you off before you could say more. “Don’t tell me to let it go. You weren’t there. You didn’t see the way they looked at me—like I was some brash fool for speaking sense. They undermine me at every turn, and Viserys allows it!”

His voice echoed off the walls, and for a moment, the room fell silent. The distant sounds of the Red Keep seemed impossibly far away, muted by the tension that filled the space between you.

You rose from your seat slowly, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you crossed the room to stand before him. He watched you, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger, his jaw tight.

“I’m not telling you to let it go,” you said softly, placing a hand on his chest. His tunic was warm beneath your palm, the steady thrum of his heartbeat betraying the tempest within. “I’m asking you to save it for when it matters most. You’ll have your chance to be heard again. But not if you burn yourself out now.”

For a moment, Daemon said nothing. His eyes searched yours, his expression still tight with frustration, but the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. He placed a hand over yours, his fingers curling around it as if anchoring himself.

“They don’t listen,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice had dulled. “Not to me. Not unless I force them to.”

“Then make them listen,” you replied, your tone firm but kind. “But not like this. Not in anger.”

His lips twisted into a smirk, though it lacked its usual sharpness. “You think you know me so well,” he said, his voice softer now, almost teasing.

“I do,” you replied simply, holding his gaze.

Daemon sighed, the last of his anger bleeding away as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was strong, almost possessive, as if you were the only thing grounding him in that moment.

“You’re too clever for your own good,” he murmured into your hair.

“And you’re too stubborn for yours,” you replied, earning a low chuckle from him.

When he pulled back, his expression was lighter, though the frustration lingered in his eyes. “The feast,” you said gently, steering him toward a different focus. “Rhaenyra’s wedding is in a few days. You should be thinking about that, not letting the council get under your skin.”

Daemon snorted, but there was no heat behind it. “Unity,” he muttered, echoing words he had likely heard too many times already. “A grand spectacle to pretend the realm isn’t fracturing beneath us.”

You arched a brow. “Then let them believe otherwise. Isn’t that the game of thrones you so enjoy?”

He let out a short laugh, the sound both bitter and amused. “You’ve been spending too much time around me.”

You smiled, brushing a hand along his arm. “Perhaps.”

Daemon released a long breath, the tension in his shoulders finally softening as he stepped away, his gaze drifting toward the open window. The warm spring breeze ruffled his silver hair, and for a moment, he looked less like the fearsome rogue prince and more like the restless man you had come to know so intimately.

“The wedding feast,” he said, the words tasting foreign on his tongue. “A spectacle of union for a realm that can’t even decide which house to favor in a petty feud.”

You stepped closer, your tone light yet pointed. “And yet it’s not the realm’s union we’re celebrating, is it? It’s Rhaenyra’s.”

Daemon turned back to you, his expression softening further at the mention of his niece. His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he tilted his head. “I’ll admit, the girl’s managed to surprise me. Agreeing to wed Laenor Velaryon of all people. I thought she’d have burnt the keep to ashes before conceding.”

You chuckled softly, reaching for his hand. “Perhaps she learned from someone that rebellion isn’t always about fire and blood. Sometimes, it’s about choosing when to bend, so you can strike harder later.”

He raised a brow at that, his smirk deepening. “If you’re insinuating that I’ve taught her anything resembling restraint, I fear you’ve misunderstood me, my lady.”

“Not restraint,” you countered, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “Strategy. She’s clever, your niece. As clever as you are, and just as stubborn.”

Daemon’s gaze softened further, and he let out a quiet laugh. “She’ll need that stubbornness to endure what’s ahead. The Velaryons are not without their pride.”

“And neither are the Targaryens,” you replied with a small smile. “It’s fitting, really—a match to unite two ancient houses and bolster the realm’s strength. A necessary union, no matter how imperfect it may seem.”

He sighed, his free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “A necessary union,” he echoed. “And yet, Viserys sees it as more than that. He thinks it’ll heal old wounds and inspire loyalty. As if a feast and a wedding can undo years of division.”

“Maybe it can’t,” you admitted, your voice softening. “But it can remind people of what’s worth fighting for—family, unity, the realm’s future. Even if it’s only for a night.”

Daemon looked at you then, his expression unreadable. But there was a warmth in his gaze, one that seemed to melt away the last of his earlier frustration. He pulled you closer, his hands settling on your waist.

“You have a way of making everything seem simpler,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Even when it’s not.”

“It’s a gift,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Now, will you let me dress you in something appropriate for the feast, or will I have to endure your complaints the entire evening?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Oh, you’ll endure them regardless. But yes, my dear, I’ll wear whatever ridiculous finery you deem fit. I wouldn’t want to shame you in front of the court.”

“Nonsense, perish the thought,” you said with a grin, resting your forehead against his.

For now, the storm had truly passed, and in its wake, a fragile peace remained. The feast loomed ahead, a symbol of hope for some and an illusion for others. But in this moment, there was only you and Daemon, and that was enough.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The grand hall of the Red Keep was resplendent, its vaulted ceilings adorned with streaming banners bearing the sigils of the realm’s great houses. Flickering torchlight and the warm glow of chandeliers lit the space, casting dancing shadows over the lavish feast laid upon long trestle tables. The scent of roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and spiced wine filled the air, mingling with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

Rhaenyra sat at the head table beside her new husband, Laenor Velaryon, her expression poised but faintly distant, as though she carried the weight of the realm’s gaze with practiced indifference. Her silver hair was woven with pearls, and her gown shimmered with dragonfire embroidery, every inch the picture of Targaryen majesty.

The lords and ladies of the realm had gathered in full force, a sea of vibrant colors and glittering jewels, their movements a choreographed dance of subtle rivalries and unspoken alliances. Among them sat the Brackens and Blackwoods, carefully separated and positioned at opposite ends of the hall. Their faces were schooled into neutrality, their hands busy with goblets of wine or trencher bread, but the tension between the two houses was palpable to those who knew where to look.

You were seated at Daemon’s side at a table reserved for the royal family, a position that afforded you a perfect view of the festivities—and the undercurrents of unease beneath them. Daemon was dressed impeccably in dark crimson and black, his usual defiance tempered into a sharp elegance that suited him well. His expression was unreadable as he sipped his wine, but you could see the way his gaze flickered over the room, cataloging every interaction, every veiled slight.

“They’ve managed not to kill each other—for now,” Daemon murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear. His eyes flicked toward the Brackens and Blackwoods, a glint of amusement mingling with his sharp scrutiny.

“Give them time,” you replied dryly, reaching for your own goblet. “The wine hasn’t yet worked its magic.”

Daemon chuckled, his smirk deepening as he leaned closer. “Or its mischief.”

You arched a brow at him, though you couldn’t help but smile. “You seem far too entertained by the prospect of chaos at your niece’s wedding.”

He shrugged, his gaze shifting back to the hall. “Chaos keeps the night interesting.”

Before you could respond, a herald’s voice rang out, calling for the first dance. All eyes turned to Rhaenyra and Laenor as they rose from their seats, their movements graceful as they stepped onto the polished floor. The music began, a lively tune that seemed to ripple through the hall like a spark catching fire.

The lords and ladies soon followed, filling the floor with a swirl of color and movement. Laughter and applause echoed as couples spun and twirled, their steps weaving together in intricate patterns.

Daemon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming idly against the table. “Are you going to make me dance, too?” he asked, his tone teasing.

You smirked, leaning closer to him. “I was going to let you off easy tonight. But if you insist…”

He groaned in mock exasperation, earning a soft laugh from you. For a moment, the tension of the evening faded, replaced by the warmth of shared humor.

But even as the festivities unfolded, you couldn’t shake the sense that the peace was fragile, a veneer that could crack at any moment. The Brackens and Blackwoods were not the only ones walking a fine line tonight, and in the shadow of the Iron Throne, every move felt like a gamble.

Daemon’s groan was followed by a mischievous grin, the kind that always made your chest tighten and your resolve weaken. “You’re insufferable,” he said, though there was no heat to his words as he extended a hand toward you.

“And you’re predictable,” you countered, placing your hand in his. His fingers wrapped around yours, firm yet careful, as he guided you from your seat.

The music shifted as you both stepped onto the dance floor, the melody lilting into a slower, more intimate tune. The crowd parted, eyes subtly following your movements as you took your place in the center of the floor with the rogue prince at your side. You could feel the weight of their attention, but you were no stranger to it.

Daemon’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his other holding yours as he began to lead you in the dance. His steps were confident, fluid, each movement purposeful yet unhurried. “They’re watching us,” he murmured, his voice low and for your ears alone.

“They always are,” you replied, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’re hard to ignore.”

His smirk deepened, his thumb brushing against your hand. “And you,” he said, his tone softer now, “make it impossible.”

You rolled your eyes at his flattery but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. The dance brought you closer, his hand at your waist pulling you just shy of propriety, but enough to make your heart race.

The world around you seemed to fade, the music and laughter becoming a distant hum as you moved together. Daemon’s presence was magnetic, his intensity grounding yet exhilarating, as though the two of you existed in a world apart from the one where alliances were made and broken over cups of wine.

“You’re rather light on your feet for someone who pretends to loathe courtly things,” you teased, letting him spin you gently before drawing you back into his arms.

“Don’t mistake talent for affection,” he replied, though his smirk betrayed him. “I’d burn this entire hall if it meant avoiding another round of politics.”

“And yet, here you are,” you said, your tone light but pointed. “Dancing at a wedding, pretending to tolerate the people you claim to despise.”

“For you,” he said simply, his voice low and sincere in a way that made your breath hitch. “Always for you.”

For a moment, the tension of the feast melted away, replaced by the warmth of his confession. But it was fleeting, a stolen moment in a night that promised anything but peace.

As the dance came to an end, Daemon held your gaze, his hand lingering at your waist. Applause filled the hall, but you barely heard it, your focus locked on the man before you.

“You’re going to set tongues wagging,” you said softly, stepping back as decorum demanded.

“Let them wag,” he replied, his smirk returning. “They’d do it anyway.”

The spell was broken as the music shifted again, and other couples moved to fill the floor. Daemon led you back to your seat, his hand brushing against yours one last time before he turned his attention back to the feast.

The hall was alive with revelry, yet beneath the surface, you could feel the fragile balance of the evening teetering. The Brackens and Blackwoods had kept to themselves so far, but there was no denying the sharp glances exchanged across the room, nor the tension lingering like a storm on the horizon.

Daemon, of course, noticed it too. He leaned toward you, his voice low and conspiratorial. “How long do you think it’ll take before someone breaks the peace?”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “Hopefully not before dessert.”

His laughter was soft but genuine, a rare moment of levity in a night that felt like a game played on the edge of a knife.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The revelry continued unabated, the music and laughter rising to fill the cavernous hall. Goblets were refilled, plates heaped with delicacies, and the scent of roasted quail and sweet pastries hung heavy in the air. Yet, despite the vibrant atmosphere, an undercurrent of unease persisted—an unspoken tension that seemed to ripple just beneath the surface.

At opposite ends of the hall, the Brackens and Blackwoods remained in their carefully orchestrated positions. Their eyes rarely wandered toward one another, but when they did, it was with the kind of simmering disdain that no amount of protocol could conceal.

Daemon leaned lazily back in his chair, one arm draped over the back of your seat. His eyes roamed the hall, sharp and assessing despite the deceptively casual posture. He sipped his wine, his smirk growing as his gaze lingered on the Bracken table.

“They’re twitching like hounds on a short leash,” he muttered, the words meant only for you.

“You’re not helping,” you replied, though your own gaze flickered toward the Blackwoods, where a young lord’s hand gripped the stem of his goblet just a little too tightly.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of a raised voice—a sharp, mocking laugh from the Bracken side of the hall. Heads turned as Ser Amos Bracken, a stout man with a ruddy complexion, leaned back in his chair, his booming voice carrying over the din.

“Tell me, young Blackwood,” Amos said, his words dripping with condescension, “is it true your family still claims descent from the First Men? Seems a bold thing to boast when all it’s earned you is a table in the corner.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter followed, and for a moment, it seemed as though the insult might go unanswered. But then, a young Blackwood lord—tall, lean, and barely out of boyhood—rose from his seat, his face flushed with anger.

“And yet we’re here,” the Blackwood retorted, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “Unlike your ancestors, who’d sooner kneel to any conqueror who offered them a scrap of power.”

The hall fell silent.

Daemon’s smirk widened, and he leaned closer to you, his voice a low murmur. “Here we go.”

You shot him a sharp look, but before you could reply, the tension in the hall snapped like a drawn bowstring.

Ser Amos Bracken surged to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. “You’ve got a sharp tongue for a boy who hides behind his mother’s skirts!” he barked, his meaty hand slamming down on the table.

“And you’ve got a lot of nerve for a man whose house clings to its titles like barnacles to a sinking ship!” the Blackwood shot back, stepping forward.

The two were separated by the breadth of the hall, but the air between them was charged, their mutual hatred igniting like dry kindling.

From his place at the head table, Viserys rose, his voice booming over the commotion. “Enough!” he commanded, his face flushed with the effort of asserting authority. “This is a wedding feast, not a battlefield!”

The hall quieted, though the tension lingered like smoke after a fire. The Bracken and Blackwood men glared at one another, their hands twitching near their sword hilts despite the king’s warning.

Beside you, Daemon watched with unveiled amusement, his smirk never faltering. “Viserys will tire of this soon enough,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And when he does, the real fun begins.”

You sighed, your hand reaching for your goblet. “It’s a wonder we ever manage to call ourselves united,” you muttered.

The feast continued, but the mood had shifted. The Brackens and Blackwoods returned to their seats, though their tempers simmered just beneath the surface, waiting for the slightest provocation to boil over.

And in the shadows of the great hall, as wine flowed and music played, you couldn’t help but wonder how long this fragile peace would last.

The feast dragged on long after the first sparks of conflict had settled into the deep, tense silence of uneasy truce. The Brackens and Blackwoods remained seated at opposite ends of the hall, their eyes darting sideways, but never meeting. The music played, but it seemed faint, muted by the hum of strained politeness. The air was thick with the weight of unsaid words and the knowledge that the night was not done with its drama yet.

Daemon’s hand never left your side, though he barely spoke throughout the evening. His gaze, sharp and watchful, moved across the hall with the same intensity he had shown in the small council, as if he were cataloging every movement, every slight. Yet, when he turned to you, the ever-present amusement lingered in his eyes, softened by the flicker of warmth that only you could evoke.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

Finally, the night wore on long enough that the revelers began to tire. The hall was slowly emptied of its guests, many of them still nursing their drinks, their conversations lowered to murmurs. It was only then that you and Daemon rose from the table, both of you feeling the weight of the evening—its many unspoken tensions—and the need to retreat from it all.

As you made your way through the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, your thoughts were heavy, your feet quickening to match the pace of Daemon’s long strides. The air had cooled slightly, but the heat of the feast still lingered in your chest, the pressing weight of what had transpired and what might yet come. You were both silent, the quiet of the corridors filled only with the faint sound of your footfalls.

Upon reaching your chambers, the door was barely shut before Daemon’s mouth found yours in a fierce kiss, a hungry press of lips that spoke more than words could. It was a fire that hadn’t been stoked since the tension of the council, since the weight of the evening’s events, and now, it erupted between you both, a spark turning into a blaze.

His hands were quick, unhurried but firm, as they sought the fastenings of your gown, the fabric brushing over your skin like a whisper. He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear, as he murmured words that had no need for meaning—just the undeniable presence of him, the demand of his touch. You responded in kind, your hands threading through his silver hair, pulling him even closer, your own lips demanding, pushing, surrendering.

The world beyond your chambers ceased to exist, only the feel of his body pressed against yours, the heat of your skin mingling in the dim light of the room. The frantic pace, the shared desperation—this was the only way to truly escape the suffocating expectations of the night, of the court, of the world that always surrounded you both.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as you moved together, your bodies in perfect sync, the world beyond the stone walls forgotten. And when it was over, when the storm had finally subsided, you lay together in the coolness of the sheets, breathing heavily, the weight of the night still lingering but now softened, shared between you.

For a moment, there was only quiet, the kind that spoke of an intimacy deeper than any words. But eventually, Daemon’s voice broke the silence, his tone low and thoughtful.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his fingers trailing lazily down your arm. “I expected you to have more to say about tonight.”

You shifted slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow as you looked at him, his silver eyes darkened by the faint candlelight, the weight of the evening still present but subdued now. “What more is there to say?” you asked, your voice soft, though a trace of the earlier tension remained in it. “It’s all a game, isn’t it? A dance between houses, between power, between… everything we can’t control.”

Daemon’s lips quirked into a faint, almost rueful smile. “Not everything is a game,” he said, his voice low, his hand coming to rest on your waist. “But sometimes it’s the only thing worth playing.”

You let out a small laugh, but it was tinged with weariness. “And we’re all just pawns.”

He turned toward you fully now, his eyes sharp but softer, the edges of his smirk fading into something more sincere. “Not pawns. We’re the ones pulling the strings, whether we admit it or not.”

You met his gaze, searching his face for any sign of doubt or calculation, but found none. For all his cynical remarks, for all his posturing, Daemon was a man who knew the weight of power—and the way it could be wielded.

And yet, there was a part of you that wondered if, beneath it all, he still feared being pulled into the same web of politics, of manipulation, of being a player rather than a kingmaker.

“I suppose we have no choice but to play,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now, more resigned. “And if we can’t win, we make sure no one else does.”

Daemon chuckled, the sound low and dark, and he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead. “That’s the spirit. And if the night’s mischief didn’t satisfy you, you can always count on me to make things interesting tomorrow.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers idly tracing patterns along his chest. “Let’s sleep first,” you said, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you. “We can fight the battles tomorrow.”

Daemon’s arms tightened around you as he kissed your hair softly. “Tomorrow, then. But for tonight, let’s leave the world outside.”

And as the flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, you closed your eyes, the weight of the night finally lifting, knowing that come the dawn, the battles would still await—but for now, you were content to simply rest beside him, the world outside a distant echo. ▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The next morning, the tension that had hung heavy over the wedding feast still clung to the air in the Red Keep. Even the rays of sunlight filtering through the high windows of the small council chamber seemed to carry an oppressive weight, as if the very castle itself was holding its breath. The room, normally filled with the dull murmur of routine affairs, now buzzed with the friction of yesterday’s simmering conflict.

Viserys sat at the head of the table, his usually placid expression marred by a faint crease between his brows. The day after Rhaenyra’s wedding feast, it seemed the wounds were still fresh, not just in the eyes of the Brackens and Blackwoods, but in the silent resentments of the council members who had grown all too accustomed to the tense dance of alliances.

Daemon sat with his usual relaxed posture, though there was no hiding the coldness that lingered in his eyes. He had never been one to mince words or tolerate the games of court, and today, it seemed, his patience was thinner than ever.

The council’s discussion was still focused on the aftermath of the previous evening’s altercation. Some spoke of ways to soothe the ruffled egos of the Brackens and Blackwoods, but it was clear no one quite knew how to do so without further escalating the situation.

Lord Mervyn, a portly noble with the tendency to speak before thinking, suggested, "Perhaps we should offer them gold—some measure of coin to settle their quarrels, a show of goodwill."

The Master of Coin, Lord Ormund, a sharp-eyed man with a wry sense of humor, laughed aloud, his voice cutting through the tension. “Gold?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “And where, pray tell, do you expect to find this coin? We are in a constant state of debt, Mervyn. Should we start selling off the castle to please the Brackens and Blackwoods?”

The room shifted uncomfortably, though Lord Mervyn, his cheeks growing redder by the second, remained silent, his suggestion now hanging in the air like a poorly timed joke.

Daemon rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps we should all just stop speaking entirely, seeing as it’s become a contest to see who can drone on the longest about the same petty squabbles.” His words were not aimed at anyone in particular, but they struck a chord in the room.

The rest of the council fell into a strained silence. Viserys sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead as if to ward off the growing headache he surely felt. “Enough,” he commanded, his voice quiet but firm. “Let us take a break for now. I will consider all your suggestions and call upon you when I have come to a decision.”

The meeting, like so many before it, ended without resolution. There were no clear answers, no easy solutions to the brewing tensions in the realm. The room emptied slowly, each member of the council filing out, their faces etched with the same frustrations.

Daemon stood quickly, brushing past his fellow lords without a glance, his movements sharp and restless. He had never been one to tolerate idle chatter, least of all in a place that made him feel like a caged animal.

With a grunt, he headed for the exit, intent on blowing off steam in the training yard. It was there that he could find his peace, if only for a moment—away from the endless plotting and bickering of the council.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The council meeting had ended in a tense, uncertain silence. Daemon’s comments had left the room heavy with discomfort, and the usual murmurs among the lords had subsided into a quiet unease. The entire realm could feel the tension as it thickened in the Red Keep, especially with the lords now speaking in hushed tones about Daemon’s latest tantrum. His temper, unchecked and untamed, was becoming too much even for his own family to ignore.

You, however, were no stranger to Daemon’s anger, and as much as it threatened to boil over, you knew something had to be done. The matter was already critical—his pride had endangered everything, and the last thing you could afford was another of his impulsive decisions damaging the realm.

You had not attended the council meeting; there was no need. You knew that the key to solving this issue would lie not in words spoken around the council table, but in private action, taken swiftly and subtly.

When the last of the councilors had left the chamber, you’d already made your way to Viserys’s solar, your mind fixed on a plan. The moment you stepped into the room, you could sense the quiet weight of the king’s exhaustion. His shoulders slumped under the weight of the crown, and there was a weariness in his eyes that had grown familiar over the years.

He turned slowly as you entered, a faint glimmer of recognition in his gaze. “So, it’s done then,” Viserys remarked, his voice low and heavy with the same tension that clung to the walls. He knew. The moment Daemon’s rage had been unleashed, it had been clear that something would need to be done, but you had taken no part in the council’s discussion.

You closed the door softly behind you, moving closer to the king. “Daemon’s actions cannot go unchecked any longer, Your Grace. The Brackens and Blackwoods have made their demands clear, and the council is growing restless. This will escalate if we don’t step in quickly.”

Viserys’s lips tightened in a frown. “And you have a solution?” he asked, though the weariness in his voice suggested he was more than ready to hear one.

You nodded, settling yourself beside him at the table. “I do. I’ve already considered it carefully.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity but no doubt. “Speak plainly, then. What do you propose?”

You hesitated for a moment before diving into the details, your voice steady and measured. “The Brackens are proud. They demand recognition, something that will soothe their wounded egos and quell their desire for vengeance. We offer them a royal boon—a land claim that will satisfy their pride and keep them from seeking bloodshed.”

Viserys listened intently, his gaze not wavering. You knew that he understood the importance of keeping the peace, especially in the wake of Daemon’s volatile temper. “And the Blackwoods?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he sought clarification.

“The Blackwoods are more about justice. They’ll demand the life of the knight who wronged them, but we can’t allow that. Instead, I will offer them exile to the Night’s Watch. It’s a compromise—justice without bloodshed.”

Viserys nodded slowly, considering the weight of your words. “And how do we prevent Daemon from knowing about this?”

You smiled softly, though there was no humor in it. “That’s where you come in, Your Grace. This needs to be seen as your decision—your action. We will stage a public reconciliation ceremony, where both the Brackens and Blackwoods will swear oaths of peace before the Iron Throne. The realm will believe it was your command. Daemon will not suspect a thing.”

Viserys stared at you for a long moment, his expression shifting as he absorbed the intricacies of your plan. You could see the internal conflict on his face—he had always strived to maintain the appearance of unity between himself and his brother, but there was no denying the mounting pressure to act swiftly. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he sighed, his shoulders drooping.

“This will anger Daemon,” he said, the words heavy with the weight of a decision he knew he would have to make. “He will not take kindly to being excluded from such an important matter.”

You nodded in agreement. “I know. But we cannot afford to let his temper ruin everything. We need to act swiftly, before the situation spirals beyond our control. The realm depends on it.”

Viserys stood slowly, walking to the window and staring out over the city below. You could see the exhaustion and the weariness of ruling in his every movement. Finally, he turned back to you, his expression resolute.

“Very well,” he said, his voice carrying the heavy authority of a king. “I will handle it. But you must understand, this may not be the last time we face such a challenge with Daemon.”

“I understand, Your Grace,” you replied quietly, your voice resolute. “But for now, we act. This will prevent any further escalation, and it will protect the realm.”

Viserys gave a small nod, a faint trace of a smile appearing on his lips as he stepped forward, his resolve hardening. “Then we proceed as you’ve outlined. You’ve made it clear that Daemon cannot know, and I’ll ensure that the public sees this as my decision, not his. It will work.”

You bowed your head slightly. “Thank you, Your Grace. This is the only way forward.”

As Viserys turned back to his window, the weight of the crown settling back on his shoulders, you knew that the plan was in motion. The Riverlands would be pacified, the Brackens and Blackwoods would be brought to heel, and Daemon would never suspect that it was you who had orchestrated it all behind his back.

▪──── ��� ────▪

The quiet hum of the Red Keep was always present in the early morning hours—footsteps echoing down long hallways, servants bustling with preparations, the distant sound of metal clashing as the guards went through their drills. But in the stillness of your chambers, there was no sign of movement save for the careful glide of your quill as it moved across the parchment. The dim light of the hearth flickered, casting shadows across the room, and the quiet whisper of ink meeting paper was the only sound you allowed yourself to hear.

The plan had been set into motion after a whispered discussion in Viserys’s solar. He had agreed, reluctantly, that action needed to be taken—but he had trusted you to carry it out. You had laid out the details of the diplomatic approach, and while it was Viserys’s seal that would adorn the letters, the intricate work, the precise wording, and the careful manipulation were all your doing. The king, though burdened by his crown, knew you were the one with the strength to handle the delicate negotiations.

You’d already sent word to the Brackens, a carefully worded letter crafted with precision. To them, you’d extended an olive branch wrapped in gold. A recognition of a contested land claim, something that would soothe their pride without pushing them too far. You had given them a reason to let go of their anger, without allowing them to feel they’d lost face.

Now, it was time to turn your attention to the Blackwoods.

You dipped your quill in ink once more, the tip gliding across the parchment. This letter was more delicate—more intricate. The Blackwoods had a deep sense of honor, and while they were willing to settle, their thirst for justice could not be ignored. You’d offered them the exile of the offending knight to the Night’s Watch, a compromise that would keep his life intact while still serving a form of justice. It would appease their pride, for their enemy would face punishment, but without the bloodshed that would only fan the flames of rebellion.

Each stroke of the quill was deliberate, forming words that sounded gentle but carried the weight of authority. You wrote as Viserys would, sealing your words in the king’s name, though it was clear to both of you that it was your own hands guiding the outcome. Viserys’s approval had been given with the understanding that the matter would be handled quietly, behind closed doors. The lords wouldn’t question the king’s actions—they would simply follow his lead, as they always did.

The letters were ready, each addressed to their respective families. You carefully rolled them, ensuring no trace of ink stained the edges, before sealing them with the king’s seal. You paused for a moment, looking at the waxen emblem, the sign of Viserys’s rule. It was a symbol of power, but it also carried the weight of everything you were trying to protect.

Ravens were summoned, and you entrusted them with the sealed letters. They would carry your carefully crafted words far from the Red Keep, bearing messages that would shape the future of the realm. And while Viserys would ultimately take credit for the decision, it was you who had orchestrated it all.

With the letters dispatched, you turned your attention to the next step of the plan: ensuring that the public reconciliation ceremony would go smoothly. But for now, you allowed yourself a rare moment of quiet. The ravens were on their way, and there was no turning back.

The small council chamber fell silent as Viserys took his seat at the head of the table, his weary eyes scanning the gathered lords. The air was thick with tension, remnants of Daemon’s outburst still hanging in the room.

“Let us be clear,” Viserys began, his voice steady but firm. “The situation with the Brackens and the Blackwoods has been resolved. There will be no bloodshed, no more open hostilities.”

Daemon, who had been sitting quietly, his expression simmering with frustration, leaned forward slightly, his voice low but sharp. “And you believe you can simply end this, without consulting me?”

Viserys’s gaze met his brother’s, unwavering. “I did not consult you, because this matter required swift and delicate action. It needed to be handled quietly, with the authority of the crown, not driven by emotion or pride.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, but Viserys continued, his voice cool. “I’ve sent a message to both houses. The Blackwoods will receive the justice they desire, but in a way that preserves peace. The Brackens, meanwhile, will be granted a significant boon—a recognition of their claim to disputed lands. A small price to pay to prevent further bloodshed.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “And what of my role in this, brother? What role do I play in this ‘delicate’ matter?”

Viserys looked at him, unflinching. “Your role, Daemon, is not to interfere. You are the Commander of the City Watch, but this was not a matter for the City Watch. It was a matter of diplomacy. Of keeping the peace.”

He paused, allowing the words to settle in the air. “The reconciliation ceremony will take place before the Iron Throne. Both the Brackens and the Blackwoods will swear oaths of peace, under my direct orders.”

Daemon opened his mouth to speak, but Viserys raised a hand, silencing him. “The matter is settled. There will be no further discussion. The lords of the realm will see this as a wise move—one that ensures peace in the Riverlands.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his expression softening as he glanced around the room. “Now, we move on. We have more important matters to discuss. The realm cannot wait.”

The silence in the room was palpable as Daemon, his temper barely contained, stood up abruptly. His chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as he stormed out, leaving a tense stillness behind him.

Viserys turned to the remaining council members, his voice once again calm. “Let us proceed with the agenda.”

And with that, the council resumed, but the air was thick with unspoken words.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

You weren’t expecting to find yourself outside the council chambers today, but the moment you heard raised voices echoing through the halls, you knew something was amiss. You didn’t need to hear the words to understand what was happening—Daemon and Viserys were locked in yet another heated argument.

As you neared the door, you paused, quietly listening to the tension that hung thick in the air between the two brothers. You knew this wasn’t a casual disagreement. No, this was deeper, more volatile than anything that had come before. Daemon’s temper was a fire that could not easily be quenched, and Viserys’s patience had long since reached its breaking point.

“—and you’re willing to let them do this without me?” Daemon’s voice rang out, full of disbelief and fury. “You sit there in your throne and make decisions that should be mine to make!”

Viserys’s voice followed, sharper, colder. “I am the king, Daemon! Not you. And you’re not in charge of the Riverlands. You’ve made it abundantly clear that your temper will only make matters worse, and I will not let you jeopardize everything we’ve worked for.”

You couldn’t help the tightness in your chest as you slowly opened the door. You knew that Viserys had been under pressure, but hearing the raw anger in both of their voices made your heart ache.

Daemon’s eyes snapped to you as you entered, his features momentarily softening when he saw you. But it didn’t last long. His frustration was too much to hide.

“You heard all of that, didn’t you?” he growled, his words aimed not at you but at the air around him. “He undermines me, as always.”

Viserys, still seated at the council table, gave a weary sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s for the good of the realm, Daemon. Your actions, your temper... they’ve made it impossible to move forward.”

Daemon took a step toward him, eyes blazing. “And you think I haven’t sacrificed enough for this family? For you?”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on Daemon’s arm gently, though the weight of the argument still hung between the brothers.

“Daemon,” you said softly, “let’s not do this now.” Your voice was calm, but firm, a gentle anchor amidst the storm. “You can talk about this later, after you've both had time to breathe.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his eyes still locked on his brother, but his posture softened ever so slightly as your touch worked its magic. He exhaled deeply, frustration still etched in every line of his face, but he made no further move toward his brother.

Viserys looked between the two of you, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. There was a faint flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he stood, straightening his robes. “I’m done with this conversation for today,” he said coldly, and Daemon shot him one last, bitter glance before Viserys turned to leave.

As the door closed behind the king, the weight of the room seemed to lift, but Daemon’s anger still simmered beneath the surface. You could see it in his clenched fists, his furrowed brow, and the way his shoulders tensed with each breath.

You didn’t say anything at first. Instead, you gave him a moment to calm himself, knowing all too well that a conversation now would only lead to more frustration. Slowly, Daemon turned to face you, and when his eyes met yours, they were softer, though still clouded with the storm of emotion he was struggling to contain.

“You shouldn’t have heard that,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, the anger in it fading, replaced by a weariness that had settled deep within him. “It’s not for you to hear.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “I know you’re frustrated, Daemon. I don’t like seeing you like this.” You paused, your gaze steady. “But this fight... it’s not one you’re going to win. Not now.”

Daemon was quiet for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all this,” he admitted, his voice raw and vulnerable. “I don’t know how to make it stop.”

You held him a little tighter, feeling the weight of everything pressing on him. “I know. But we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

His arms tightened around you as he buried his face in your hair. For a moment, the tension seemed to lift, and all that remained was the two of you, holding on to each other in the quiet aftermath.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

A week passed since the resolution of the Bracken and Blackwood dispute, and while Daemon’s anger had simmered down to a quiet brooding, the tension in the Red Keep was palpable. The lords had spoken their piece, the council had concluded their deliberations, and the kingdom, for now, appeared to be at rest. Yet you knew better than to believe in a calm that came too easily. The peace had been achieved—quietly, subtly—without Daemon’s direct knowledge.

It had been your plan, executed with careful precision. The letters sent under the king’s seal, the meetings with the Brackens and the Blackwoods, the subtle maneuvering to avoid bloodshed—all of it was your doing. Daemon remained unaware of your role in it, and you intended to keep it that way. His temper, as volatile as ever, had quieted somewhat since the ceremony in the throne room. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the quiet between you both was fragile, and the whispers of the court only added to the unease.

The public reconciliation between the Brackens and the Blackwoods had been nothing short of a spectacle. The Iron Throne witnessed their sworn oaths of peace, pledging loyalty to the crown under Viserys’s direction. And while the ceremony had been regal and well-executed, the true work—the work done behind the scenes—remained a mystery to most.

But not to you. The weight of the success felt heavy, and you knew it would not stay secret for long. Even as you stood in the shadows of the throne room, observing the lords of the Riverlands make their pledges, you could hear the faint murmurs beginning to stir. First, it was a passing remark. A raised brow. Then, it grew louder, until it was impossible to ignore.

It was Daemon’s wife who had orchestrated it, they said. Not Viserys, not the king—Daemon’s wife. The rumors spread like wildfire. How had she managed to bring two feuding houses to the table? How had she secured the peace when all seemed lost? The whispers spoke not of Daemon’s involvement, but of your quiet influence. It was you who had orchestrated the peace—through your diplomacy, your steady resolve, and your deep understanding of the delicate balance that held the realm together.

At first, the whispers were faint, almost unnoticeable. But the longer the court simmered in its quiet post-celebration lull, the louder they became. A glance here, a sidelong comment there, as courtiers spoke behind their hands, careful not to draw too much attention. You overheard their theories—the reader of the letters, the one who had soothed the lords’ tempers, the one who had convinced the Brackens and the Blackwoods to lay down their swords.

Daemon had been busy in the training yard, his mind focused elsewhere, and so the whispers were a quiet storm that he hadn’t yet noticed. Yet, you knew it was only a matter of time before he pieced it together. For now, you kept to your silence. Your role in the peace had been deliberate. The credit, you were certain, would fall to Viserys. He was the king, after all, and it was his decision in the eyes of the realm. But it didn’t make the whispers any less insistent, nor did it quiet the growing suspicion in your heart that your husband might soon learn the truth.

You didn’t seek attention for your actions; your only goal had been the realm’s safety. But with each passing day, you could feel the weight of what you had done. Viserys had given you the freedom to act, trusting you to handle it, and you had. But now, as the court grew more talkative and the truth became less veiled, you couldn’t help but wonder: When would Daemon learn the full extent of your involvement? And what would his reaction be when he did?

The whispers only grew louder as the days wore on, echoing in the hallways and chambers, but for now, you remained tight-lipped. The peace had been secured. The rest, for the moment, didn’t matter.

part two

[xxbirkindoll]

ok for a drew fic maybe you and drew are new parents and he’s all snappy cause it’s frustrating and he apologizes later that night or something idk it’s been on my mind a lot

Together

A/N: i wrote this last night and i was tired so i hope it’s not that bad. i tried my best

warnings: none just angst and fluff at the end

words: 1.9k

——

The atmosphere inside inside the house feels anything but bright. The soft, rhythmic sound of your baby girl’s breathing is the only thing that calms you as you sit on the edge of the bed in the guest room. It’s quiet here, tucked away from the rest of the house, away from Drew.

You’ve been in here for hours, ever since his harsh words had cut through you like a knife, leaving you stunned and hurt. You hadn’t expected it, hadn’t seen it coming. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, the sharpness in his tone, the frustration that seemed to boil over into anger, directed at you when all you were trying to do was hold everything together.

“She won’t stop crying, Y/N! Can’t you just do something?” he’d snapped, his voice loud enough to startle the baby in your arms. Her cries had only gotten louder, and your heart had broken a little more with every word that came out of his mouth.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. You were both exhausted, both overwhelmed, but you were supposed to be in this together. You were supposed to be a team. And yet, when things got tough, instead of leaning on each other, it felt like he was pushing you away, like you were failing him somehow.

You’d had enough. You’d left the living room without a word, carrying your daughter with you as you retreated to the guest room. You didn’t even look back to see if Drew was following. You couldn’t bear to see the frustration on his face, couldn’t handle the way his anger made you feel like you were completely alone in this.

The day passes slowly, each hour dragging on as you do your best to take care of your baby while keeping your distance from Drew. You hear him moving around the house, but he doesn’t come near the guest room. You’re not sure if he’s giving you space because he knows he crossed a line, or if he’s just too wrapped up in his own frustration to care. Either way, it hurts.

You spend most of the day in a haze, your emotions raw and close to the surface. You’re exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and it’s all you can do to keep going. You feed the baby, change her, rock her to sleep when she gets fussy, but your mind keeps drifting back to Drew, to the way he snapped at you, the way he made you feel like you weren’t doing enough.

By the time evening rolls around, you’re completely drained. You’ve barely eaten, barely slept, and your nerves are frayed to the point of breaking. The baby is finally asleep in the bassinet beside the bed, and you’re sitting there, staring at the wall, trying to hold back the tears that have been threatening to spill over all day.

And then there’s a soft knock on the door.

You don’t respond at first, hoping that whoever it is will just go away. But the knock comes again, a little louder this time, and you know it’s Drew. You can feel his presence even before he speaks, can sense the tension in the air as he waits for you to answer.

“Y/N?” His voice is soft, hesitant, and it only makes the ache in your chest worse. “Can I come in?”

You stay silent, not sure if you even want to see him right now. Part of you wants to open the door, let him in, let him apologize, but another part of you is still too hurt, too angry to even look at him.

“Please,” he says after a moment, his voice breaking slightly. “I need to talk to you.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you try to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you get up and walk to the door, opening it just enough to see him standing there, looking more tired than you’ve ever seen him.

His eyes are red-rimmed, his face pale, and there’s a desperation in his expression that tugs at your heart even though you’re still angry. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like the weight of everything is finally crashing down on him.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, his voice thick with emotion. “Y/N, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I was frustrated and tired, but that’s no excuse. You’re doing everything you can, and I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.”

You stay silent, watching him as he steps closer, his hands trembling slightly as he reaches out to you. He doesn’t touch you, just holds his hands out, like he’s waiting for you to decide whether or not to let him in.

“I’m an idiot,” he continues when you don’t say anything, his voice trembling. “I know I am. I’ve been walking around all day thinking about what I said, about how I made you feel, and I hate myself for it. You’ve been amazing, Y/N, and I’ve been a jerk. I should have been supporting you, not tearing you down. I don’t deserve you.”

You can see the sincerity in his eyes, the regret that’s written all over his face, and it makes your heart ache. But you’re still so hurt, so angry that he would snap at you like that, especially when you’re both going through the same thing.

“I didn’t know what to do,” you finally whisper, your voice shaking as you struggle to keep your emotions in check. “I’m trying so hard, Drew. I’m doing everything I can, and it’s still not enough. And then you yelled at me like I was the one failing. Do you know how that made me feel?”

He closes his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. “I know,” he says quietly, his voice filled with regret. “I know, and I hate myself for it. You didn’t deserve that. You’re an amazing mother, Y/N. You’re doing everything right. I was just…” He pauses, taking a shaky breath. “I was just scared. I felt so helpless, and instead of dealing with that, I took it out on you. And I’m so sorry.”

You stare at him for a long moment, your heart torn between the pain he caused and the love you still feel for him. He looks so broken, so desperate for your forgiveness, and you can see that he means every word. He knows he messed up, and he’s trying to make it right.

Finally, you let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping as the last of your anger starts to fade. “You really hurt me, Drew,” you say softly, your voice trembling. “I needed you, and instead of being there for me, you pushed me away.”

“I know,” he whispers, his voice thick with guilt. “I know, and I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Just… please don’t shut me out.”

For a long moment, you don’t say anything, just looking at him, trying to decide if you’re ready to forgive him, if you’re ready to let go of the hurt and let him back in. And then, finally, you take a step forward, reaching out to him.

He’s on you in an instant, pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he’s afraid you might slip away. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s trembling slightly as he holds you, and it makes you realize just how scared he’s been, just how much he’s been hurting too.

“I love you,” he whispers into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much, baby. I’m so sorry for what I said. You’re everything to me. Please forgive me.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into his embrace, letting his warmth and his love surround you. “I love you too,” you whisper back, your voice barely audible. “But you can’t talk to me like that again, Drew. We’re supposed to be in this together.”

“We are,” he promises, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “We are, and I’ll do better. I promise, Y/N. I’ll be better.”

You nod, feeling a tear slip down your cheek as the last of your anger fades away, leaving only the love you have for him. He wipes the tear away with his thumb, his touch gentle, and then leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, a kiss filled with all the love and regret he’s been holding inside.

When he pulls back, there’s a small, hopeful smile on his face, and it makes your heart swell with affection. “Come back to our room,” he says softly, his voice almost pleading. “I don’t want to sleep without you. I don’t want to be apart anymore.”

You hesitate for a moment, looking back at the bassinet where your daughter is sleeping peacefully, but then you nod, taking his hand. “Okay,” you whisper, letting him lead you back to your room.

The house is quiet as you walk through the halls, the weight of the day’s emotions starting to lift as you return to the familiarity of your shared space. Drew doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time, holding onto you like you’re his lifeline, like he’s afraid to let you go.

When you reach your bedroom, he pulls you into his arms again, kissing you deeply, as if trying to convey all the things he couldn’t say earlier. And you kiss him back, letting yourself get lost in the warmth of his embrace, the comfort of knowing that despite everything, you’re still in this together.

Finally, he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours as he takes a deep breath. “I’m going to do better, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice filled with determination. “I’m going to be the partner you deserve. I’m going to be here for you, no matter what.”

You smile, a soft, tired smile, but one filled with hope. “We’ll figure it out,” you say softly, cupping his cheek with your hand. “Together.”

“Together,” he echoes, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leading you to the bed.

You both climb in, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you as you snuggle under the covers. Drew pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you as he holds you tightly, like he never wants to let you go.

And as you lay there, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his body against yours, you feel a sense of peace that you haven’t felt in days. The road ahead might still be difficult, but you know that you’re not alone, that you have each other, and that’s all that matters.

“I love you,” Drew whispers again, his voice barely audible as he starts to drift off to sleep.

“I love you too,” you whisper back, closing your eyes and letting yourself finally relax, finally let go of the day’s tension.

As you fall asleep in his arms, you can’t help but feel a sense of hope, a sense that no matter what challenges come your way, you’ll be able to face them together.

——

ps: i have another drew fic coming soon get ready

[crescenthistory]

You and I, We’ve Grown Comfortable Here

Pairing: Lee x Reader

Summary: Two outcasts with nowhere to go decides to go nowhere together. In each other they find shelter, acceptance, intrigue and a bond neither expected to go as deep as it does.

Words: 13.6k

Warnings: not proofread, basically five fics in one (a year of their relationship developing), assault, hints at sexual assault, implied attempted rape, death, murder, cannibalism (bones&all hello), make-out sessions, blood, implied smut(?), panic attacks, implied abusive parents, kicked out of home, living in a car, crying, angst, slow burn, cannibals in love, hurt/much comfort, happy ending, lee's truck being a character in and of itself

A/N: i am so unwell, i wrote this whole thing in the span of ONE day. this man makes me unwell. anyway, if i ever write any other fics or drabbles for lee, unless otherwise specified, presume it is based on this background because i am obsessed with these two.

***

When you saw the headlights, your heart caught in your throat just a little. It was late, too late to be out walking down a relatively abandoned countryroad, too late to even be awake. With only the stars for company, you were dragging your feet as you were walking in the hopes of hitting a camping site soon. You had heard good rumours of one not far away from the town you are putting in your rearview mirror. Metaphorically of course, with no driving liscense or car, all you had to get from one place to another were your shoes and your bravery.

It had been a couple of months since you left home. Whenever you had the opportunity to sleep, you could still hear the shouting and the slamming of doors when your father finally threw you out for good. The home in question had never felt safe for you anyway, you had never fit into the small town cookie cutter they tried to press you into, even when it drew blood.

After all that, you might be best off alone you concluded, and have stuck to that as you made your way through the US. There was nowhere in particular you wanted to go, you just did not want to be tied down anywhere. You wanted to see, explore and feel.

You had been dabbling in hitchhiking over the months, always sending a silent prayer to gods you did not believe in before getting into the strange cars. With a knife always in the pocket of your hoodie, you felt relatively secure that you could defend yourself if worse comes to worse. Yet you knew you can never truly know. You tried to keep your head on you still.

There had not been any cars on the road you were currently occupying for the past two hours. It had, for a glorious moment, felt like yours. Just you and the pavement and the night. So, when the headlights lit you up for behind, you grew a bit weary. Part of you wanted to jump in it, unsure of how long you had left until the campsite, tired to the bone, but you knew you shouldn’t at this hour.

But you were also so incredibly tired.

The rumble of the engine neared closer and the driver dimmed the headlights. On your left, the car drove into view, an old beat up truck, and it was slowing down to stop beside you. Leaning over the passenger seat, a young man peered out through the rolled down window, a messy head of freshly dyed hair shining like a beacon in the dark. He watched you with a face torn between curios and cautious.

“You good?” he called out, trying to be heard over the noise of his car.

You didn’t answer right away. Instinct told you to keep walking, to keep your head down and stay invisible like you’d been doing all night. But something about him made you stop.

You squinted through the light. “What do you think?”

He let out a breathy laugh, the kind that was more habit than humor. "Yeah, didn’t think so." His voice was rough, not unfriendly, but sharp around the edges. He glanced down the empty road and then back at you. "Need a ride or something?"

Every ride so far had been a risk, a quiet leap of faith, and it wasn’t like you had a good track record with trusting people. Your parents had made sure of that, kicking you out like it was nothing, like you were the problem for being too loud, too you.

Still, you couldn’t keep walking forever. And there was something intriguing about this boy, out here alone in the night, just like you.

“I guess that’s where we’re at tonight,” was your response, and he nodded immediately with a halfsmile.

“Fair enough. Where you headed?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“Same,” he said, and for a moment, the two of you just stared at each other across the empty road. Something about him felt different — like he wasn’t just another passerby. You weren’t scared. Maybe that should’ve worried you.

He threw the passenger side door open. “You coming, or what?”

"Depends," you said, raising an eyebrow. "You a serial killer or something?"

He smirked, but there was a hint of something darker in his eyes, something guarded. "Not tonight."

"Comforting," you deadpanned, but you found yourself stepping closer to the truck anyway.

He watched you climb in with a kind of steady calm, like he was waiting for you to make the call. There wasn’t an ounce of threat in him, no leering or weird comments, just quiet, detached curiosity.

The truck smelled faintly of gasoline and something else, something metallic that made the back of your throat tighten, but you ignored it. There was a quiet ease to him, though, like he wasn’t thinking of you as prey – like he wasn’t thinking of you at all, really. He just… was. And it felt like enough.

The silence stretched between you as the truck rumbled down the road. Finally, you turned to him, curiosity itching at your thoughts.

“So, you pick up girls off the side of the road often, or am I just lucky?”

He gave you a side glance, something like amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “Lucky’s a word for it.”

There was something raw in his eyes when he said it, a guarded edge you recognized. You didn’t push it. 

“I heard there is a campsite in the town over, I was thinking of maybe staying the night there,” you said, not wanting him to feel stuck with you in the car forever.

“The Meadows Site? Yeah, I was actually thinking of parking there for the night myself,” he said, giving you a curious glance before looking back to the road. “But it is a few more hours off.”

“Wow, I really am lucky you picked me up then.”

He snorted at that, a sound you somehow hadn’t expected to escape from him, but was amused to hear. You didn’t feel a need to chat further at the moment, and didn’t get the impression he did either. It was not uncomfortable though, the opposite actually. The atmosphere in his truck was comforting, to the point where you would almost fall asleep, though you really should not. Still, there was one thing left to ask.

“What’s your name, kind stranger?” you quipped, teasing tone evident in your voice. He smiled fully then, relaxing more into his seat.

“Lee. And yours, lucky girl?”

You told him your name and settled back into your seat yourself, watching the stars blur into the dark as the truck carried you further and further from everything you’d ever known.

***

It turned out you both had nowhere to go. No one waiting for you at the end of the line. No real reason for him to drive off without you the morning after your night spent in Meadows Site. He had borrowed you a blanket to lay on, thicker than the one you had been surviving on for a while now. After eating breakfast at a shop nearby that he showed you, clearly more familiar in the area than you, it just made sense to get back into the truck with him. That’s how you both rationalised it, as your eyes sparked with interest and entertainment whenever they met. Just made sense.

From that day, Lee’s truck became the closest you had had to a home in months. Maybe even years.

The miles between you and the world grew, but so did the distance between you and the versions of yourselves you left behind. You had nothing to offer each other apart from company, and nothing to lose from spending your days with one another. 

It became easy, almost too easy. Long stretches of road, music humming through the truck's radio, filling the space between the two of you. Conversations about nothing that meant everything — favorite songs, old memories that still hurt, silly stories from childhood, tragedies that were so massive it became intrinsically hilarious to you both, Stories you told in the dead of night when the world felt softer, more forgiving. 

Lee felt true in a way no other had. His company was comfortable, natural. A genuine friend that you could tease, maybe even flirt with a little when the mood struck. Nothing serious you would say. All in good fun, teenagers cruising through the Midwestern countryside.

It felt like forever, though it had only been a few weeks. The truck was a much better bed than the thin blanket you had relied on since you left the house you grew up in. You’d sleep in the backseat, sometimes curled up in the trunk with blankets piled up like a nest. On rare occasions, when exhaustion weighed you both down, you’d spring for a cheap motel, a temporary reprieve from the road.

The more you got to know Lee, the more that sense you had gotten about him on the night you met grew. Something was different about him, something you could taste on your tongue, a kind of unspoken understanding that simmered beneath the surface. You couldn’t explain it, not exactly, but there was something in Lee that reminded you of someone else. It wasn’t just the way he moved or the sharp look in his eyes – it was the way he held himself, the way he watched people, sizing them up like he knew more about them than they’d ever want to know.

You had known someone like that before.

Your uncle.

Your family never talked about him, not after he disappeared, but you remembered the day it happened like a movie in your mind. The last time you saw him. He had come to visit, just passing through, or so he said. You were young, but not young enough to forget the blood that stained his clothes, how his face was drawn, pale, like he was barely holding it together. How his teeth were off-white in a way you had never seen before. He had brushed it off when you asked him, saying he had gotten into a fight, nothing serious, but the way he smelled… it stuck with you.

The metallic tang of blood, the way it clung to him even after he cleaned up, how his eyes seemed wild and unfocused in the dim light of the kitchen. You could never explain it to someone without sounding insane. But yet somehow, you knew what he was. You knew.

Your parents didn’t say much about it then. They just watched him with wary eyes, their faces tight with something close to fear, though they never admitted it. When he left, they didn’t even look at that, and once he was gone they removed all photographs. They never mention him again, not even when you asked. It was like he had never existed. Like he had never even been part of the family.

You never met someone like him again, someone you could feel deep in your bones.

Until Lee. The Lee you looked at as he drove nonchalantly down roads, almost too relaxed to be sitting in a driver’s seat. He made all those pieces you had tucked away begin to slot together, forming a picture that put words to your instincts. The way your uncle had looked that night, the way your own body sometimes seemed to hum with something restless, it was all there, just waiting for you to acknowledge it.

You did not bring it up to him, it never seemed natural. And honestly, you didn’t feel the need to. For some reason, the idea of it all didn’t bother you. Lee was just Lee still, your road companion.

One night, you and Lee had parked the truck somewhere far off the main road, the stars stretched out like a tapestry above you. It was late, the kind of late where the world felt quieter, where the darkness seemed deeper, more honest. You were lying on a blanket in the bed of the truck, side by side, the silence between you comfortable but heavy, like something was waiting to be said.

The two of you had shared a lot already, more than you thought you had in you to share. He was still technically a strange man to you, it had not yet been a month. Still, you felt a bond with him you could not explain. His presence brought you peace in a world too large for you to grasp.

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the way his fingers twitched restlessly by his side, like he was working through something in his head. Lee had been quieter than usual lately, more thoughtful, more distant. You didn’t push him – he was always like that, a little withdrawn when he was trying to sort through whatever was going on in his head. But tonight, it felt different. More pointed.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"Do you… know?"

The question caught you off guard. It was so vague, so quiet, that for a second, you weren’t sure if you had heard him right. You turned your head to look at him, but his eyes were still fixed on the stars above, his expression unreadable in the dim light. There was something in his tone, though. Cautious, like he wasn’t sure how you would answer. Like he was afraid to hear it.

You swallowed, your heart picking up speed. "Know what?"

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he shifted slightly, still not looking at you. It seemed like he had hoped you would not ask. He was always careful, always measured with his words, but this time, you could tell he was holding something back. He exhaled slowly, and then, without turning his head, he said it again, this time more direct.

"About me. About what I am."

There was no uncertainty in you about what he was referring to. There it was, the thing you had been skirting around, the thing neither of you had spoken aloud. You knew, deep down, that this conversation had been coming for a while, with all the time you spent together, but now that it was here, the weight of it felt like a stone settling in your chest.

Your mind raced, memories of your uncle flashing through your thoughts, the blood on his hands, the way your parents had never spoken about him again. The way it all lingered in you like electricity. 

You nodded slowly, your voice quiet. "Yeah. I know."

Lee didn’t move, didn’t say anything for a moment, but you could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his body seemed to coil like a spring, ready to snap. His fingers drummed lightly against the truck bed, a habit he had when he was nervous, though he’d never admit it. 

You wondered how he knew to ask you, if he had seen it in your eyes. You guessed you could ask him. But this moment hung in the air between you with such fragility. It felt like something had shifted irreversibly between you, and you were not yet certain if it was a good thing or not.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, strained. "And you… don’t care? Or what? You don’t wanna leave?"

You turned to him fully, propping yourself up on your elbow to get a better look at his face. The starlight cast shadows over his sharp features, but his eyes—his eyes were clear, burning with something raw, something vulnerable he never let anyone else see. They were straining to remain trained on the sky.

"I’m not scared of you, Lee," you said softly, your voice steady but firm. "Or of it. I know who you are. And I know you’re a good person."

Lee’s breath hitched, just for a moment, barely noticeable, but you caught it. His eyes finally flickered toward you, the walls he kept up so carefully starting to crack. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. He just stared at you, a thousand thoughts racing behind his eyes, none of them quite making it out.

He swallowed hard, his voice dropping even lower when he finally spoke. "You don’t even know what I’ve done."

"I don’t need to," you said, your gaze locked on his. "I know you. I’ve been with you this long, and I think I have known all along. And I’m still here."

He stared at you for a long moment, his brow furrowed like he couldn’t believe what you were saying, like he was waiting for you to change your mind. But when you didn’t, when you just kept looking at him like none of it scared you, like you weren’t about to run, something in him seemed to shift. The tension in his shoulders eased, just a little, and he let out a slow, shaky breath.

"Why are you not afraid?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You shook your head, almost wanting to laugh. “You’re just Lee to me.”

Lee looked away again, his eyes tracing the stars, but his mind was far from the night sky. The silence stretched between you once more, but this time, it wasn’t heavy with tension. It felt lighter. Like a weight had been lifted, even if he wasn’t ready to say it yet.

You settled back in beside him, arm grazing his. Comfortable. 

For the first time in a long while, Lee let himself relax. He was always aloof, physically all over the place, but his mind remained alert. Now, he let it fall onto the pillow your words provided. He realized then, though he didn’t say it out loud, that the tightness in his chest, the thing he had been fighting for weeks, it wasn’t just nothing. He didn’t want to think the word, let alone say it. It had crept in slowly, so quietly that he hadn’t noticed it until it was staring him in the face. 

Love didn’t feel safe to him. Love was complicated, messy. Dangerous, even. And yet, here you were, sitting beside him, telling him you weren’t afraid, telling him you knew who he was and that it didn’t matter. That you’d stay.

It was a feeling he didn’t know how to name. Not yet.

He turned back to you, his eyes softer now, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’re really not gonna leave, huh?"

You laughed a little at how he shared it like a revelation, shaking your head. "Nope. You’re stuck with me."

Lee let out a breathy laugh, a sound that seemed to ease the last bit of tension between you. He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time since he met you, he felt something close to hope. He didn’t say it, but in that moment, he knew he’d do whatever it took to keep you by his side.

"I could get used to that," he murmured, his voice quiet but sincere.

And as the two of you sat there, side by side under the stars, the unspoken understanding between you deepened, solidified. You weren’t leaving. You weren’t afraid. And for Lee, that was enough.

You fell asleep side by side, just you and the stars.

***

Nights passed like that, over weeks and months, with you and him slowly gravitating closer. 

Whether it be in the seats of the truck or the trunk, you always slept near each other. Originally you slept on either side of the trunk, or in each your seat, but as you spent most of your nights talking until either one of you passed out, it just felt natural to be close by.

Waking up with your limbs accidentally having gotten entangled, faces closer than you ever would be when conscious became a norm. The first time it happened, Lee woke first, but did not move until you woke, revelling in the touch of your body against his. Eyes studying your calm face, fully convinced this would be his only opportunity to be this close to you. When you came to, he pretended your movements woke him.

Neither of you spoke of it. There was no need to. Some things didn’t need words.

The more you got used to waking up entangled, the more intimate it became. You would find yourself laying on top of Lee’s chest, or his face would be tucked into the crook of your neck. Once this started happening, you both happened to begin to prefer sleeping in the trunk.

Despite your increasing comfort with each other, the nights were never completely peaceful. Sometimes you would wake up to find him gone, wandering somewhere. It was usually in the aftermath of a nightmare, but you also knew that he sometimes had other reasons for being gone.

You woke up in the middle of the night, the truck’s trunk feeling too empty, too cold. Instinctively, your hand reached over the space where Lee usually lay beside you, but all you felt was the crumpled fabric of his jacket. He wasn’t there. For a few seconds, you blinked in the darkness, groggy, your mind slow to catch up with the situation. The air felt wrong, too still, too quiet. That was when you noticed the faint sounds of movement just beyond the trees, down near the creek.

When possible, you two tried to park near a body of water, so you had the opportunity to wash up. You had also mentioned to Lee how relaxing you found lakes, and he started planning his routes around it after that.

You could hear heavy breathing and splashing by the water. Without thinking, you slipped out of the trunk, pulling on one of Lee’s hoodies he had discarded beside your blankets, and you quietly padded down toward the sounds. The moon hung low over the horizon, casting long shadows across the water, and that was when you saw him.

Lee was crouched near the edge of the creek, his shoulders tense, his hands dipped in the water. The pale light from the moon caught on his skin, but more than that, it illuminated the dark smudges smeared across his neck and arms. Blood.

He had not heard you yet, too focused on what he was doing – trying to scrub the blood away with frantic, almost desperate movements. He was shaking, his body too tense, like he was on the verge of unraveling. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, the material soaked in water and blood. His hair, usually a mess of carefully maintained chaos, stuck to his forehead in sweat-soaked strands.

For a moment, you didn’t move. You just watched him, heart aching at how broken he looked. It wasn’t like the Lee you were used to. This wasn’t the confident, quippy guy who could brush off anything with a smirk. No, this was the other side of him, the side he didn’t let you see. The one that carried all the weight of what he did, of who he was. The one that bled in more ways than just physically.

“Lee?” Your voice was soft, careful. You didn’t want to startle him, but you couldn’t just stand there, watching him like this.

He froze for a moment, his hands stilling in the water. He didn’t look up at you right away, just stared down at his own reflection rippling in the creek. “Go back to the truck,” he said, his voice rough, a little shaky. “I’m fine.”

But you could hear it. He wasn’t fine. Not even close.

A closer look at where he was sitting, you could see that he wasn’t fine physically either, his torn shirt revealing scratches across his upper body, bruises already forming along his arms in the moonlight. Whoever encountered your Lee tonight had put up a fight.

You ignored him, stepping closer, your bare feet sinking into the wet grass near the water’s edge. “You’re hurt.”

He let out a harsh breath, finally looking up at you. His face was pale, a little gaunt under the moonlight. His eyes, usually so sharp and full of something unreadable, were glassy. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, turning back to the water. “I’m just cleaning up.”

But you could see the way his hands trembled, how his movements were too rough, too quick, like he was trying to scrub the guilt away more than the blood. You stepped closer until you were beside him, crouching down at his level.

“Lee, look at me.”

He didn’t. His jaw tightened, and he kept scrubbing, the water turning pink as it mixed with the blood on his skin. 

"Lee," you said again, firmer this time, reaching out to gently touch his arm. 

He finally stopped, his hands hovering just above the surface of the water, but still wouldn’t look at you. “You weren’t supposed to see this,” he muttered, voice raw. “You weren’t supposed to—” He cut himself off, his shoulders hunching forward like he was folding into himself. “Shit.”

"What is wrong with me seeing this?" you asked quietly, your fingers tracing the outline of a bruise forming along his arm. "Why do you have to fix it yourself?"

He swallowed hard, still staring at the water. "Because you don’t need to deal with this. With me. You didn’t sign up for… any of this." His voice wavered at the edges, frustration mixing with exhaustion.

You shook your head, biting back the sting in your own chest. "You think I care about blood? About this? I knew what I was getting into, I told you so. If you’re hurt, I want to help."

He finally looked at you then, his expression flickering with something like disbelief. “You shouldn’t have to… see me like this. Like some… fuckin’ monster. No, no.”

“You’re not a monster,” you said firmly, and you didn’t waver. You tightened your grip on his forearm. You could see the bruises, the blood streaking down his neck in shapes that looked like somebody had scratched at him, put up a fight. You saw the way he clenched his jaw like he was holding everything in, trying not to crack open. You saw the way his eyes flickered with guilt, shame, like he couldn’t stand himself in that moment. The same boy that laughed with you in the car, who played jokes on strangers. Who usually tried to seem totally content with this lifestyle of his.

"Yes, I am," he whispered, his voice breaking. "You don’t… understand what it’s like. To have to do this, to –"

"I don’t have to understand everything," you cut him off, your hand sliding up to his neck, gently brushing through his damp hair. "But I know you. And I know you don’t have to do this alone. That is my choice, and I choose to be here for you."

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes closing for a brief moment like he was trying to pull himself together. But when he opened them again, you saw the vulnerability in them, the rawness that he tried so hard to keep hidden. He was struggling, fighting to keep himself together, to not fall apart in front of you.

You sat down beside him fully now, your knees brushing his, your hand still resting at the back of his neck. “Let me help.”

He hesitated, his pride fighting against the offer, but he was too tired to resist for long. Slowly, he nodded, his body slumping in defeat as he let you take over.

You helped him take of his torn t-shirt, leaving him bare to reflect the moonlight, and dipped it into the creek. The cold water soaking through the fabric as you carefully brought it back up to his skin, gently wiping away the dried blood from his face, his arms. He winced slightly when you dabbed at a few deeper cuts near his ribs, but he didn’t pull away.

"You don’t have to pretend with me," you said quietly, your eyes focused on cleaning him up. "You don’t have to be strong all the time."

Lee didn’t respond right away. He just watched you, his eyes following the way you moved, the way your touch was soft, careful. He let out a low breath, something like relief mixing with the exhaustion in his voice. “I hate that you’re seeing me like this.”

“Why?” You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Because you’re hurt? Or because you’re human?”

He laughed roughly at that, shaking his head slightly. “I haven’t felt human in a long time.”

You paused, your hand stilling for a moment before you continued cleaning the blood from his neck. “You feel human to me.”

He went quiet again, his eyes studying you, the way you didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away from the mess of him. For a long time, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the gentle ripple of the creek as you worked, the soft splash of water as you wrung out the bloody fabric.

“He-” Lee began but his voice broke. You were patient, continuing to tend to him as he seemed to wrestle with whether to continue the sentence. Eventually: “He was a bad guy. I always try to make sure they are.”

It broke your heart to hear the pleading undertone of what he was saying. What he was trying to convey to you.

You weren’t entirely sure what the best response was, but you settled on telling him you believed him.

When you were done, you leaned back slightly, your hands resting on your thighs as you looked him over. He still had some bruises that would take time to heal, but most of the blood was gone, his skin clean again under the moonlight. None of his scratches were in need of any serious medical intervention, but you made a mental note to stop by a pharmacy in the morning regardless.

“There,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Better.”

Lee stared at you for a moment longer, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Then, without warning, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “You shouldn’t have to take care of me like this.”

You closed your eyes, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “I want to.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, just stayed there, eyes closed and his forehead resting against yours. His breath slowly steadying as he let himself lean on you, just for a little while.

“Thank you,” he murmured, so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

You smiled slightly, your hand moving to the back of his neck again, gently threading your fingers through his hair. “I told you. You’re not alone.”

“Not alone,” he mumbled and wiggled his forehead against yours briefly before pulling back and getting up.

He stretched a hand out to you, ready to pull you back with him to the truck.

***

A few states had ended up in your rearview mirror since you turned that creek pink and your hearts slightly softer. The atmosphere between you had shifted yet again, growing deeper and deeper each time. There was no acknowledgement of it, but there didn’t need to be. In the unspokeness, you could grow bolder. The touches, the glances, they took up more and more space in your increasingly small truck. You would yet again wake up in each other’s arms, and it no longer felt accidental.

It was the small things, too. The way his hand would brush yours when you walked side by side, or how he let his fingers linger a moment longer when you passed him something. The way your legs would press together in the truck when you shared the cramped front seat, neither of you moving away. Sometimes, when the truck was pulled off the road and you were both leaning against it, talking under the stars, his knee would bump against yours, and instead of pulling back, he let it stay there.

It felt like you were both waiting for something. The tension was not sharp, it was warm, almost inviting. You both knew what was next, but neither of you had made the move to cross that last, thin line.

You and Lee had spent the evening like you always did—driving, talking, letting the hours slip away into easy silences and the occasional laugh. Planning where to head to next. You had decided to drive to see the silliest places you could find, asking random strangers was the weirdest tourist attraction they have heard of is. On the list is Ben and Jerry’s Flavor Graveyard, the world largest ball of paint and a nuclear waste adventure trail. The night had come over you, and you ended up parked on the outskirts of a town, the lights from them illuminating you even in the dark. The two of you sat on the hood of the truck, your legs dangling off the edge, shoulders brushing.

He was quieter tonight. You could sense it in the way his gaze kept drifting over to you, then back to the stars. His hand rested on the metal beside you, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm, like he was thinking through something he had not decided on yet. But it wasn’t the usual restlessness that seemed to rule Lee’s entire existence. This was something different. Something quieter.

You nudged him gently with your shoulder. “You’re awfully quiet for a guy who never shuts up.”

He huffed a laugh, his head tilting toward you, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?”

You smiled, your eyes catching the faint light of the stars reflecting in his. It was moments like this that you felt the pull most strongly – the way his face softened when he wasn’t trying to keep his guard up, the way he let you see parts of him he didn’t show anyone else. There was something magnetic about Lee when he wasn’t hiding. It made you want to keep his doors open, to take them off their hinges.

His hand shifted, almost imperceptibly, his fingers brushing against yours on the deck of the trunk. It was barely a touch, just the faintest hint of skin against skin, but you felt it like a jolt, a reminder of how close you both were. You didn’t pull away, and neither did he. 

The silence stretched between you again, thick with something unspoken. It struck you how much serenity you felt in your soul in the silences with him, even when there was something brewing in it. You could feel him beside you, the warmth of him, the way his breath had slowed, his body still as if he was waiting for something.

Your fingers twitched, brushing against his again, and this time, you didn’t hesitate. You turned your hand over, palm up, an invitation as much as it was a question. Lee glanced down at your hand, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, like he had so many times before. But instead, his fingers curled slowly around yours, his grip gentle but sure, and your breath caught in your throat.

Neither of you spoke. The understanding that had hung between you for weeks was right there, all you had to do was lean into it.

“Lee,” you whispered, not even sure what you were asking. You liked having his name in your mouth. 

He turned his body towards you at his name, shifting closer, eyes locked on yours. You could see the hesitation there, the way his brow furrowed slightly, like he was still fighting something inside himself, still holding back.

But you weren’t. Not anymore.

You leaned in, closing the space between you before you could second-guess yourself, your lips brushing his softly, testing. Just once, enough to give him an out, enough to say I’m here, if you are.

For a moment, nothing happened. Lee stayed perfectly still against you, his breath caught, his fingers tightening around yours. Then, slowly, almost tentatively, he leaned in further, his lips pressing back against yours, soft and warm. Open mouthed, lovingly.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate like you might have imagined. It was careful, deliberate, like he was letting himself feel it for the first time, like he wanted to make sure it was real. His free hand came up, brushing lightly against your jaw, his fingers tracing the edge of your face, almost as if he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on.

You deepened the kiss further, savouring his touches, the feeling of his tongue against yours. Your hand glided up to his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. Slow but steady, the tension between you finally breaking in the gentlest way possible. It was like everything that had been building between you – every touch, every glance, every unspoken word – was spilling into that moment, into the way his lips moved against yours, into the way he held you like you were the only thing to hold.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. Lee’s eyes were still closed, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if grounding himself in the moment, his lips parted, trying to catch his breath.

You stayed like that for a while, it didn’t matter how long. Few things mattered, you had found. Lee did. 

When he finally opened his eyes, they were unguarded in a way you hadn’t seen before. He didn’t smile, but the look in his eyes said enough. He was here, with you, in whatever this was.

He whispered your name, a late response.

You hummed with a smile, your fingers still tangled in his shirt. No words were needed. There were none that could be said, not now, not yet. 

Lee chuckled softly, a sound that felt more like relief than anything else. He slid down from leaning against the truck, to laying on the deck, still not letting go of your hand. You followed suit, for the first time purposefully laying your body half on top of his, head resting on his chest. 

No more waiting.

There was a whole civilisation right before you, just out of reach, but for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about the next destination. You were here, together, and that was all that mattered.

***

Once that barrier was breached, you and Lee found yourself stealing kisses of varying intensity more often than not. There was no label on the two of you, with your pasts you both were guarded from being the first to admit the intensity behind your actions. Yet, the need to be close was not dissipating as the days passed, if anything it only grew the more of a taste you got for each other.

One night, you found yourselves at a dive bar on the edge of some no-name town. The music thumped through the walls, too loud and too fast, but it matched the energy buzzing between you and Lee. The dim lights made everything look a little hazy, like the whole world was moving in slow motion. Lee leaned against the bar, his back to the crowd, his eyes fixed on you as you stood close to him, sipping on a cheap cider that barely tasted like anything. He hadn’t drank much tonight, which made the way he was looking at you feel even more intense.

There was something magnetic about him, the way he carried himself, the way his arm seemed to naturally find its way around your shoulders when in public, protective and possessive without being overbearing. You could feel the heat of his skin through your clothes, and you leaned into it, enjoying the comfort of his touch. 

It was late, and the air between you was only magnifying your need for him, his fingers barely touching yours on the bartop like he was daring you to pull him closer. He only moved them to order another round from the bartender, shooting you a wicked grin.

“Thoughts?” he asked you as he handed you your new drink.

“This place isn’t too bad. The guy at the bar isn’t either.” The smile you flashed him was teasing and he all but rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I guess we’re both alright.”

You were about to make some quip about his soft spot for dive bars when a figure caught your eye, and you tensed. A guy had sidled up to the bar a few feet away, his eyes fixed on you, too interested, too familiar. You glanced at Lee, but he was already clocking the guy, his body going still beside you, though his expression didn’t change.

The guy stumbled closer, his drink sloshing in his hand. “You two look like you’re having a good time,” he slurred, his gaze flicking between you and Lee with a smirk that made your skin crawl.

Lee’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away from the guy. His look could draw blood, but his voice stayed calm, almost flat. “We were.”

The guy either didn’t notice your discomfort and Lee’s adverse stance, or he just didn’t care. He leaned in a little closer, still grinning like this was all a joke. “Come on, man. Just trying to talk to her.”

You didn’t have time to respond before Lee shifted, his arm moving in one fluid motion to slide around your waist, pulling you against him in a way that felt natural, like he was drawing a line in the sand. “She’s not interested,” he said, voice low and steady, but you could feel the warning beneath the surface.

The guy blinked, clearly caught off guard by Lee’s calm intensity, and he let out a nervous laugh. “Hey, man, no need to get all protective. Just having fun.”

Lee kept staring him down, his grip on you tight, steadying you as much as he was putting space between you and the guy. “Well, you’re done,” he said, still in that same measured tone, like he wasn’t giving the guy a choice in the matter. “Go back to your drink.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, backing off with a muttered, “Alright, alright. Chill.” Slunking back into the crowd, he cast a few annoyed glances over his shoulder, but lacked the bravery to follow up on his annoyance.

Lee’s body was still taut with that lingering tension, eyes scanning the room again before he finally let out a breath. He didn’t pull away from you though, his hand resting on your hip as if he needed the contact to remind himself that you were alright.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, his voice softer now as he finally looked down at you, concern flickering behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you whispered, trying to take in what just happened and how swiftly Lee handled it. Never before have you gotten away from a situation with a creepy man so fast. 

“Are you?” you eventually asked, looking up to see his jaw still slightly clenched.

He nodded, his expression softening slightly as he glanced down to meet your eyes. "Yeah. Just don’t like guys like that."

You smiled a little, leaning into him, your hand resting lightly on his chest. "I noticed."

His lips quirked into a small grin, and it felt easy again, back to just the two of you, even in this crowded bar. "You ready to get out of here?" he asked, his voice low, his breath warm against your skin now that you stood so close.

“Think so.” You finished your drink and without another word, he took your hand, leading you out into the cool night air. 

The bar’s noise faded into the background as the two of you walked back to the truck, your fingers still intertwined with his. There was something about the way he was holding your hand that made your heart race. It was tighter than normal, his thumb brushing over your skin.

You stopped by the passenger side door and Lee immediatley closed the gap between you, pressing you gently against the side of the truck. His hands rested on your hips, it was as if he had realised he could place them there now. When his gaze met yours, his eyes flickered with something dangerous, something raw.

"You know," he murmured, his voice rough, "I will always protect you. In any situation.”

You almost didn’t know what to say. It was so simple, yet he poured so much emotion into those words, and you felt them entirely.

“I do know,” you whispered. “I have never felt safety like this before.” The last part felt like a confession more than an answer. 

Lee’s breath hitched and he laid his forehead against yours, leaning more of his body against yours, so you were flush between him and the metal of the car.

“I’ve been trying not to kiss you all night. You’ve made it difficult.” Lee looked into your eyes as he said it, searching your face for a reaction. His pupils were wide, gaze intense.

You felt a shiver run through you at his words, the heat between you burning brighter. "Then stop trying."

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His lips crashed into yours with a force that knocked the breath out of you, one hand sliding up to grip your face while the other remained held your hips tighter, closer. His kisses were always languid, open-mouthed and passionate. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair and pulling at it as you kissed him back with equal intensity, your body arching against his. His mouth was warm and demanding, and when he kissed you, it felt like everything else in the world fell away.

The kiss deepened quickly, his hands moving up under your shirt, the cool air mixing with the heat of his touch. His mouth trailed down to your jaw, your neck, each kiss igniting sparks along your skin. You gasped softly, tilting your head to give him better access, your fingers travelling to dig into the skin of his back

"God," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and breathless, like he could barely control himself.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, merging under the stars, the truck a silent witness to the way your bodies moved together, the way you couldn’t seem to get close enough. You lost track of time, lost track of everything except the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands on your skin. He was beginning to become your Lee.

***

Living with Lee changed you in many ways, but the most important was that for the first time in your life, you felt free. Whether it was the boy’s attitude or his attentiveness to you, or the roads that stretched for miles like ink on paper, you settled into your own body and existence. You owned yourself and your destiny in a way you didn’t think possible.

As you shared more of yourselves with each other, you realised just how repressed you had been, just how much of you had been shut off. In your newfound safety in Lee, you could open up.

Things long locked away were stirring within you. Some painful, some exciting. And some, you didn’t have the words to describe yet.

For the time being, you were on a quest to a museum of the history of cheese that an old lady at a café had been raving to you about. It was another state over, but this sweet woman insisted it was worth it, and as you were the ones who asked her about a recommendation, you felt it only right to trust her word.

On the way there, you were stopping in a typical shittown, the kind where nothing really happens but somehow everyone knows everyone else’s business. Craving excitement after a long day in the car with your feet in Lee’s lap, you asked him to go looking through town for something to do. There was a bonfire party that night, something thrown together by a group of locals, and you figured that would do.

 The fire crackled in the center of the gathering in the middle of the forest, the air heavy with smoke and alcohol. Lee’s arm was slung loosely around your shoulders as you walked through, scouting the place.

"You wanna stay long?" he asked, voice low in your ear.

You shook your head, leaning into him a little. "Nah. Let’s just see how it goes."

He nodded, but you could feel the tension in him, like he was always keeping one eye on the crowd. That protective streak ran deep in him, and you couldn’t help but wonder where it came from.

The two of you settled down on a log by the fire, chatting with some locals and getting your kick out of listening to them drawl away about town drama. A man had been circling where you were sat, both you and Lee noticed, but he never approached.

Needing to get some water from the truck, you squeezed Lee’s leg and told him you’d be right back.

He let his arm fall from around you to let you up, but looked at you with concern. “Don’t be long.” You just smiled. He watched you go, his eyes lingering on you longer than you realized.

You were walking back with water in hand, still on the outskirts of the bonfire and shielded from view when you saw the man coming up towards you. He looked the exact same as every man who had been a bother to you since you began life on your own and your stomach soured.

"Hey," the guy’s voice was a slurred mix of alcohol and bravado, his grin too wide, too familiar. "Why’d you leave your pretty boy toy behind? Done with him and ready for me?"

Your skin prickled with unease, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “I’m good. You should head back.”

He ignored you, stepping closer. "Come on, don’t be like that. We’re vibing, right?"

He reached for you, his hand brushing your arm, and you jerked back instinctively. “Don’t touch me.”

The grin on his face faltered, replaced with something darker. “You’re just playing hard to get,” he muttered, his voice low and threatening now. "Girls like you always do."

“Back off!” you tried, but he took quick steps toward you.

Your heart raced, and before you could step away, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with bruising force. You twisted, trying to wrench yourself free, but he was stronger than he looked. His other hand moved to his pocket, and when he pulled out the glint of a blade, panic surged through you.

"Stop –"

"You’re not going anywhere –"

What happened next was a blur—a clash of instincts, fear driving your body into overdrive. He lifted the knife towards your throat, likely to threathen and not harm in the moment, but you could not wait to see how that would turn out. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, your hands lashed out, grabbing his wrist with one and prying the knife away with another. Suddenly the blade was in your hand, and when he threw himself on top of you, you shoved him off with one hand and used the knife with the other. 

It found its home in his neck.

You scrambled away, not yet realising what had just happened. At your hands. You stared at him in shock where he laid in front of you, the sounds sickening, wet gurgle as his throat opened up. Blood poured out in a thick stream, hot and fast, soaking his shirt.

In shock and desperation, you grabbed at the wound as if to counteract what you had just done, but he took that opportunity to grab you by the hair and neck, attempting to choke you. Fear surged through you once more, but his once-hard grip was already weakening and you could wrestle free.

By the time you recovered and looked up, the life had drained from his eyes. All you could hear was your breathing and the pulse in your head.

You could smell the blood. On your hands, on his clothes, still oozing from his wound. It was dizzying, the world becoming distant as you were trapped inside this bubble that consisted of the two of you. You and the corpse.

You realised you had never seen a corpse before, not in person. Smelling fresh blood was different from smelling it once it had harkened on Lee’s skin. Not even the thought of Lee could drag you out of the state you were slowly being pulled into.

Without fully acknowledging your movements, you moved back towards the man, the one who had wished you dead and died by his own knife. Your eyes were fixated on his wound, something building inside of you at a rapid speed. A coil built in your stomach, one you had known was there for essentially forever, without the ability to give it a name.

It snapped. And as it did, you leaned down and sunk your teeth into his neck.

Everything felt right, not the kind of comfortable right you had developed with Lee, it felt like your body was finally getting air after a long period of suffocation, it felt like water after a long run. It felt like a meal after having been starving.

Your face was buried further and further in the flesh, your mind completely void of all thoughts. Just your fingers and teeth, blood and bone. Feral, instinctive, lost in the hunger that just kept building, like it was never enough. 

"Shit."

A switch went off, and you were snapped back to reality. The smell of forest pine and moss, bonfire and smoke crept back in. As you slowly lifted your gaze, you saw him standing at the edge of the clearing, eyes wide, his face pale in the moonlight. His gaze was locked on you, and for the first time since you met him, you saw real shock on his face. Not fear exactly, but something close. Something you didn’t expect.

Horror.

“Lee…” Your voice broke, barely a whisper. The reality of what you’d just done hit you all at once, crashing into you like a wave. “Oh, God.”

Your eyes flashed back down and suddenly it was as if you realised you had a corpse at your feet. You scrambled backwards, breathing quickening, horrified and lost. You stared at your hands as tears were beginning to blur your vision, only worsened by how you couldn’t even see your skin’s colour through all the blood. Small curses kept spilling out past your lips as your eyes darted between the man, your hands and Lee.

“I– I didn’t mean to, I–” Your voice broke.

Lee took a step forward, his face still a mask of shock. For a moment, he just stood there, frozen in place, staring at the blood smeared across your skin. He’d always sensed something in you, always felt that you and him were the same in some way, but this… this was different. He hadn’t smelled it on you before. He had no idea.

“I didn’t– I don’t know what happened, I just–” You couldn’t make sense of it. Of anything. Your world was turned upside down.

“Hey.” Lee had made his way over to you, sitting on his knees in front of you. His voice snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts, low and firm but not harsh. He closed the distance between you grabbing your arm, pulling you up from the ground. His grip was steady, but there was urgency in it now. “We gotta go.”

You blinked at him, still in shock, the reality of what you’d done slowly settling in. “But –”

“I know, I know, okay?” He pulled on a piece of hair plastered to your skin by blood, tucking it behind your hair. “I get it. But we gotta go. Now.” His voice cut through your haze of confusion and guilt. He didn’t wait for you to respond, didn’t give you the chance to argue. He grabbed you by the waist, practically lifting you off your feet as he dragged you away from the body and into the trees.

The world around you blurred as he pulled you through the forest, his grip firm, unyielding. The pounding in your head drowned out everything else– the sound of the party, the crackle of the bonfire, the smell of blood still clinging to you. All you could think about was what you had just done. What it meant. What you were.

By the time you reached the truck, you were shaking, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Lee shoved you into the passenger seat, his hand still gripping your arm like he was afraid you might bolt. He climbed in beside you, slamming the door shut, his face hard and unreadable as he started the engine.

For a while, there was nothing but the hum of the road, the world outside the truck a blur of dark trees and empty stretches of highway. Lee didn’t say anything, his eyes locked on the road ahead, his grip tight on the wheel. Mind racing almost as fast as the car, as he sped down the highway, determined to get as far away from the scene as possible. You sat beside him, leaning your head on the dashboard in front of you as you tried to gather yourself. Your hands still trembling, blood still drying on your skin. 

You could barely breathe, the walls of the truck closing in around you. The reality of what you had done hit you again, harder this time. You had killed someone. Eaten someone.

You choked on a sob, tears already streaking the blood on your face. Your chest was tightening, your vision blurring. “Lee, I–”

There was no way for you to finish the sentence.

With your eyes clenched shut, hidden away, making yourself as small as possible in your seat, you couldn’t see the pained look he gave you. He needed to protect you by putting distance between you and the crime. But all he wanted was to pull you close.

“It’s okay. I will stop as soon as I can. It’s okay.” 

Eventually he caught eye of a discreet sideroad and veered the truck down it as fast as possible. He slammed on the brakes, parking the car on a plot of grass by a river. The engine cut off, leaving the night in a sudden, heavy silence. In the blink of an eye, Lee was out of the truck, opening your door to pull you out as well. You were too out of it, not processing anything that was happening. He ended up scooping you into his arms and carrying you bridal style down to the riverside. 

One bloody bride that is.

He sat you down by the water, his hands still firm on your arms, not giving you room to break down yet. "Sit here." His voice was softer now, but still edged with urgency. He knelt beside you, shrugging off his jacket and dipping it into the water. The cold night air hit your skin, but you barely felt it, still lost in the haze of panic.

You sat there, frozen, as he started to clean the blood off your hands, your arms, your face, as carefully as he could when hurrying. His touch was careful, deliberate, the way it had been when you first found him at the creek, battered and trying to clean himself up. But there was something different this time, something softer, more protective, like he wasn’t just cleaning the blood away, but trying to take some of the weight of it with him. Like he was saying, You don’t have to carry this alone. His jaw was clenched, eyes focused entirely on you, like he was trying to fix you, trying to put you back together piece by piece.

“Lee,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “Am I–?” You couldn’t finish the sentence.

He paused, his hands stilling for just a second before he looked up at you. His expression softened, something breaking in his eyes. He reached up with a wet hand, brushing over your cheek and simultaneously cleaning some blood off. "You don’t have to be scared of it," he murmured, his voice low, steady. "Or of me."

You blinked, tears welling in your eyes. "I don’t understand."

“I’m here.” His fingers remained on your face, wiping away the tears before they could fall too far. “I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?”

You gave a faint nod. 

For a long moment, neither of you said anything, the weight of what had just happened hanging between you. He kept trying to get as much blood as possible off you, making you presentable again both in case someone saw you and to help you feel normal again. He didn’t try to explain it, didn’t try to rationalize it. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “He attacked me, I protected myself and then, then–”

“I know,” he said quietly, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “I know.”

Lee made sure your face and hands were free from blood, and then he helped you out of your stained sweater, leaving you in just your top underneath. He discarded it quick and turned back to you, grabbing your shaking hands.

“We need to move again, sweetheart” he said, voice low but certain. “We can’t stay too close.”

He stood up, reaching out to pull you up with him. His movements were quiet, purposeful. He didn’t rush you, but there was a tension in the air now, like he was calculating the next move. You could tell his mind was already working ahead, mapping out the quickest way to get you both far from the scene, far from the mess you left behind.

Your legs wobbled as you stood, your body still weak from the adrenaline crashing out of your system, but Lee’s grip on you was firm, guiding you back toward the truck. He opened the passenger door, helping you in before sliding into the driver’s seat. He tentatively took your hand with the one that wasn’t on the steering wheel, rubbing circles on it with his thumb as a silent comfort. The truck rumbled to life beneath you, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of the engine, drowning out the thoughts you didn’t want to face.

"I didn’t know it would feel like this," you whispered once you were back on the road, your voice shaking. "I never… I didn’t think I’d ever be like this."

Lee was quiet for a moment, his eyes trained on the road, like he was thinking carefully about what to say next. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, though there was something distant in it, like he was pulling from his own memories. "First time I fed… I couldn’t stop shaking afterward. Not ‘cause of the blood. It was the way it felt. Right and wrong all at once. Like it was something I was supposed to be ashamed of, but my body just didn’t care."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words hitting you in a way that made your chest tighten. It was exactly how you felt – the rush of power, the satisfaction of feeding, mixed with the horror of what you had done. You had never wanted this, but it was like your body had decided for you.

"I didn’t want to stop," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t even think about it. I just… gave in."

Lee turned to you, his eyes soft but serious, and for a moment, you could see the weight of his own guilt mirrored in his expression. "That’s what it does. That’s what the hunger is." He paused, his jaw clenching briefly before he continued. "It takes over. And once it does… it’s like you don’t have a choice anymore. You just need."

You shivered, wrapping an arm around your stomach, trying to shake off the phantom feeling of the blood on your skin, the taste of it still faint on your lips. "I’m going to need it now,” you said, the realisation setting in. “How do I handle that?”

He exhaled slowly, and you saw the streetlights reflected in his eyes as they grew somewhat glossy. "You learn. Little by little. You get to know the hunger, learn how to control it instead of letting it control you. I will help you with it. You won’t do it alone.”

The tears you’d been holding back started to spill over, and you turned away, trying to hide your face. "I don’t really know what to do with myself now.”

He remained quiet, just held your hand tighter. 

For a long while, you just sat there, letting the silence and the weight of his words wash over you. The night felt vast around you, you realised now that Lee had rolled down the windows for you. Likely to help you breathe better. You should have known Lee would understand, because of course he would. Yet, there had been fear that he would be angry, disgusted. He wasn’t, not even a little bit. If anything, he was calm. Steady. Like this wasn’t something that could break you.

He built a little bit of confidence you, even as you felt your insides caving in.

The road stretched out ahead of you in silence, the dark trees a blur outside the windows. Lee was counting the miles until it would be safe to stop for the night, just a little bit longer. The truck was filled by spiraling thoughts from you both.

Lee had to stop himself from going down a rabbithole of blaming himself. Thinking that he influenced you, that maybe, if you hadn’t met him you never would have discovered this part of you. He wanted to hate himself, he wanted to break down, but with every glance over at you he knew he couldn’t. Your feelings were what mattered tonight. He knew he needed to keep it together to guide you through it. 

You had been crying on and off for the past hour, struggling with too many emotions at once. To process the assault and the intense fear you felt. Guilt consumed you, but not necessarily for killing the man, as you knew you had to, but then you felt guilty about your lack of guilt, and it was a never ending spiral. You felt horrible about feeding on him, about the discovery that you were an eater. When it was Lee it didn’t bother you, because, as you had come to realise, you just loved him. You know he is good. But you? That one was harder.

Then, your mind went to more practical matters. You had killed someone, feasted upon their body and then abandoned it. There were so many layers of illegal in those actions, and a new kind of fear and panic grabbed you.

Lee had seen these emotions develop in his peripheral, subconsciously speeding a bit faster, looking for somewhere safe to stop.

Your chest began to tighten, the panic from earlier threatening to bubble up. “Lee…” Your voice cracked, barely holding itself together. “What if someone finds out?”

He glanced at you briefly, his face unreadable. “They won’t.”

“But–”

“We’re not going back. Not to that town, not anywhere near it.” His voice was firm, cutting through your panic with the same intensity he had used earlier. “By the time they realize anything, we’ll be long gone. We’re already long gone.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they didn’t settle the storm in your chest. You squeezed your hands together, spotting some leftover blood around your cuticle. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like the air in the truck was too thick, too stifling. The man’s corpse was laying on top of your lungs and you were suffocating.

“Lee… I…” You gasped, scratching at your skin, your vision starting to blur. You couldn’t catch your breath, couldn’t think past the overwhelming guilt, the horror of what you’d done.

He called your name, but you couldn’t register anything anymore.

The truck swerved again as Lee pulled off the road, gravel crunching under the tires as he pulled up to a small clearing, hidden behind a stretch of trees. An answered prayer. 

He immediatley turned to you, his brow furrowed with concern, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "Hey. Hey, breathe. Sweetheart, I think you’re having a panic attack."

You tried to speak, but your words got caught and you were doubling over in the space that felt more and more confining.

In a swift motion, Lee had pulled you over the console and into his lap, opening the door beside him to let in as much air as possible. He held you securely, tight grip meant to ground you as he tried to talk you down.

With a hand on your cheek, he made you meet his eyes. "Look at me. You gotta breathe, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth. Focus on me."

You tried, but the panic had taken hold, your mind spiraling out of control. "I killed him. I killed him, and–"

"I know," Lee cut you off, his voice soft but firm. "You did. But it’s fine. It is fine, you are fine. I know. But you’re gonna be okay. You’re not in danger. Just breathe. Please breathe."

His words didn’t allow for you to argue, quelling your disagreements before you could make them. He cupped your face, stroking his thumb along your jaw, and exaggerated his breathing so you could follow it. In and out. He was so close, his eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, all you could focus on was him. He was pulling you back from the edge.

"Breathe," he repeated, his voice a low murmur. "That’s all you need to do right now."

You closed your eyes, following his lead, trying to pull air into your lungs the way he told you. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slowly, painfully, the tightness in your heart began to ease, your breath coming in shaky but more controlled gasps.

When you opened your eyes again, Lee was still watching you, his hand still gently cupping your face, his thumb brushing away the tears you hadn’t noticed falling. "There you go." His voice barely above a whisper. "Just like that."

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch, your body still trembling but no longer on the verge of breaking. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice fragile and raw.

Lee shook his head, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong."

You wanted to argue, to tell him that you had done something wrong, something unforgivable, but the way he was looking at you – like you weren’t broken, like you weren’t some monster, made the words die in your throat.

"I’ve got you," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. "I always got you. You’re good."

The weight of his words, the certainty in them, settled deep in your chest, pushing back the panic, the fear. You weren’t alone in this. You had Lee. You always had Lee.

You stayed like that for a while, just sitting in his lap in the truck, your breath finally steadying as the night stretched out around you. You didn’t notice how hard you were holding onto Lee, clutching his shirt and even some skin, but he didn’t say anything either. He just stayed beside you, his hands never leaving you, grounding you, pulling you back from the edge every time the panic threatened to take over again.

You breathed together. Through it all.

After what felt like hours, he finally spoke, his voice quiet but sure. "Let’s get settled down, okay?”

You nodded, too tired to argue, too drained to do anything but follow his lead. Lee helped you out of the seat, his arm steady around your waist as he guided you down. He went around the truck, gathering the blankets from the backseat, more than he would usually grab, and set up your usual makeshift bed in the trunk as quickly as possible.

Together, you climbed into the softness he had created just for you. It felt odd to do something so familiar when it felt like everything had changed. Lee had not, still watching you, as he leaned back against the cab of the truck. You pulled on one of his sweaters, settling in beside him. He tangled your feet together and grabbed your hand, but didn’t initiate more than that, expectantly waiting for you to process your thoughts out loud with him.

Your eyes were slightly glossy again when you whispered, "Thank you."

He shook his head, immediately softening. "You don’t have to thank me."

"I do," you whispered, your voice catching. "You didn’t have to do any of this. And you did."

Lee’s hand tightened slightly on your knee, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your pants. "Of course," he said, his voice low but firm. "You’re stuck with me, remember?"

A small, broken laugh escaped you, something warm flickering in your chest. You looked up at him, tears blurring your vision, but there was a kind of quiet relief there, too. Lee’s gaze was steady, unwavering, like no matter what had happened, no matter how far you had fallen, he was there to pull you back.

"Lee…" you started, but the words caught in your throat, too many emotions swirling inside you to put into words.

He seemed to understand anyway. Without saying anything, he angled himself more towards you, his forehead resting against yours. The closeness, the way his body pressed gently into yours everywhere, was enough to calm the last of your racing thoughts. You let out a shaky breath, your hands reaching up to gently hold his face, your fingers brushing through his hair.

For a moment, you just stayed like that, your breaths mingling, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

"I’ve got you," he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost lost to the night air. "You’re safe."

Something in his voice, the way he said it, made your heart clench. He had never said it out loud, but you knew. He tipped your chin up, meeting your lips with a searing kiss, one that felt like promise. 

It felt like forever before he pulled away, far enough to be able to see your eyes, searching your face for more hurt to quench. You could see his bottom lip quivering slightly before he said it.

"I love you.” 

Life stilled in the small clearing, and the weight of the past year came tumbling down on you. All you had done, all that had changed. How painful it had all been. How worth it it all was, to be sitting here in this boy’s arms now.

You took him in, your breath shaky. His words hung in the air between you, raw and real in a way that made your pulse race. 

He smiled, understanding your reaction. His forehead went back to yours, his hands cradling your face gently, his thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin. There was nothing aloof about him now. He was all here, in this moment, focused on you like nothing else mattered. "I'm serious," he murmured, his voice soft, the vulnerability in it something you'd never heard before. "I love you."

Your throat tightened, grappling with the weight of it all. "Still?" you whispered, your voice trembling. 

His grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer, his breath warm against your lips. "You think this scares me? You think any of this changes how I feel about you?" His gaze was intense, a burning passion that steadied you, even as your heart threatened to tear itself apart. "You’re still you. This doesn’t make you someone else. So, yeah. Still. Always."

Your heart soared, a flood of emotions you hadn’t expected surging to the surface. You kissed him again, slowly, just lips pressed against lips as you tried to calm yourself.  "I don’t know what life looks like for us now.”

"Then we’ll figure it out," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like there had never been another option. “Part of the fun, right?”

He pulled away just to kiss your forehead and temples, lingering there for almost a beat too long before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "You're not alone in this. I’m not letting you go through it alone. Got it?"

You blinked back the hot, stinging tears that threatened to spill over. The calm in his voice, the unwavering certainty in his eyes grounded you like no else. It felt impossible, but here he was, telling you that you weren’t lost, that he wasn’t leaving, no matter what happened.

"I need you, you know," he whispered against your cheek, kissing it once more. "I don’t think you get that."

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer. You clung to him. "I do," you said, your voice soft but firm. "I need you, Lee. Desperately."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Then don’t overthink it." 

And before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, kissing you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. There was a quiet desperation in the way he kissed you, like every ounce of the feelings he couldn’t quite say were being poured into that moment. His hands cupped your face, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as though he was trying to erase the space between you.

You kissed him back with the same intensity, your fingers tangling in his hair, your body pressing into his, craving the closeness, the connection. Everything else faded into the background, drowned out by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his hands on your skin.

His lips left yours for just a moment, brushing against your jaw, then trailing down your neck, each kiss soft but deliberate, making your breath hitch. "I’m not going anywhere," he murmured again, the words muffled against your skin. "You’ve got me. No matter what."

You couldn’t find the words, so you kissed him again, your hands tightening in his hair, pulling him closer. He responded instantly, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight against him as though he was afraid to let go, as though you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

For a long moment, the world was just the two of you. Nothing else mattered. It was just you and him, and the quiet understanding that you were in this together. 

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your forehead pressed to his, you let out a laugh, more from the relief of having him here than anything else. It made him give you a curios smile, just happy to see you regain some of your usual behavior.

 "So," you whispered, your lips brushing his as you spoke, "are you gonna say it again, or what?"

He let out a low chuckle, his arms still wrapped around you, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. "I love you," he said, his voice warm, no hesitation this time. "I love you. I’m not scared to say it, even if you make me say it a thousand more times."

"Good," you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again, softer this time, but no less meaningful. "Because I love you too. And I’m not letting you go."

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he kissed you back, slow and lingering, like he wanted to memorize the feel of you against him. When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

"We’ll figure this out," he promised softly, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm. "Whatever happens, we will be fine. Together."

You nodded, your heart finally settling, a sense of calm washing over you. "Yeah. We will."

And with that, the two of you sank down into the blankets, the night quiet at last. Lee’s arm stayed wrapped around you, his lips pressing soft kisses to whatever exposed skin he could find, as if he couldn’t quite believe that you were real, that this moment was real. 

As you lay there, tangled together, the world felt a little less terrifying. You had each other, and somehow, that was enough.