#silkholland writes

[silkholland]

Knowing that THIS is way Steve looks when my reader starts to realize she has feelings for him makes me giggle.

[silkholland]

I’m the second one.

[imagine-knb]

Halloween ask of Nigou staring at nothing and absolutely scaring the shit out of Seirin please 🙏

Glad to have you back!

Question to my readers, have you ever experienced something supernatural or otherworldly that you couldn't explain? I have. Let's talk about that! (ʘ‿ʘ✿) Admin Neon

It had been raining all day, the sky overcast with dark clouds that looked heavy with precipitation. Riko had been forced to turn on all the gymnasium lights, the sky outside providing no natural light due to the less than desired weather. It made for a gloomy atmosphere that had the entire team on edge from the beginning of practice all the way until the final whistle. Even now, as they cleaned up after themselves and tidied up the gymnasium, there was a tension in the air that couldn't seem to dissipate.

"Come on, first years!" Hyuuga called out, a hand cupped around his mouth so his voice would carry. "Get a move on with putting that equipment away so we can all get out of here."

Across the gymnasium, Fukuda, Kawahara, and Furihata were rolling along a cart full of basketballs, their destination the supply closet. With quiet grumbles and dragging feet, they hauled the cart over to the single door that held all their supplies.

Or, at least, they would have if not for Kagami standing in their path, blocking their way.

"Hey man, you're kinda in the way," Fukuda deadpanned, nudging Kagami with the other end of the cart.

When the taller male still refused to move, his back facing toward his peers, Furihata leaned forward to get a better look at the team's ace. He looked pale, as if he had seen a ghost, and a single shaking finger was pointed in the direction of the door. When Furihata's eyes followed Kagami's direction, he saw Nigou sitting at the entrance of the supply closet, his nose up and his eyes locked on something inside.

"Aw, it's just Nigou," Furihata commented with a short laugh, patting Kagami's back. "You're seriously still scared of him?"

The sound of a keening whine coming from the small dog caught all their attentions and the boys moved their gazes back onto the small animal. He was fidgeting, paws lifting from the ground only to press back down, and his ears were flat against his head. His tail, normally on a never ending cycle of wagging, was flat against the ground. They were sure that if the dog were standing, his tail would be between his legs.

"What's the hold up, guys? You know how Hyuuga gets when you guys take too long." Izuki was shaking his head as he came up behind the group of first years. When he noticed them all hesitating, he glanced around to look at the supply closet door. "What's Nigou doing?"

"I don't know," Kawahara responded. He had moved to stand behind Kagami, using the taller male as a shield. "Looks like he's staring at something."

"Or someone," Fukuda added ominously.

"Don't say stuff like that!" Furihata cried, shivering at the thought of Nigou looking at something unseen.

The boys hadn't noticed Kiyoshi walking up as they stared at the small dog. Having heard the tail end of the conversation, the Iron Heart could only chuckle as he added in his two cents. "You know, my grandparents used to say that animals were sensitive to other worldly things." He looked down at Nigou, crouching slightly as he talked to the dog. "How 'bout it, Nigou? You seeing something we don't?"

When Kiyoshi's only response was a low, warning growl coming from Nigou, the dog's eyes still fixated on the open supply room, all the boys felt a sudden chill run down their spines. The air was filled with silence as they wrenched their eyes toward the open door, the room inside pitch black. Above them, the slow pitter patter of rain began to bounce of the gymnasium roof.

"Nope, fuck this, I watch movies. I know what happens next." Kagami dropped the broom he'd been carrying onto the floor with a clatter, turning on his heel and speed walking away from the area.

"Kagami, you need to put that away," Hyuuga scolded from across the gym.

"You do it!"

It devolved into an argument from there with Kagami trying to push his way through his upperclassmen to get to the gymnasium exit. Meanwhile, Hyuuga tried to keep him inside, warning that there would be punishment if the first year didn't finish with his cleanup. While that commotion happened, the remaining boys in front of the supply closet tried to rationalize what was happening.

"It's probably just a rat or something," Furihata tried to reason. With a strained smile, he knelt next to Nigou and held out his hands. "Come on boy, let's go look for Kuroko so we can all go home, yeah?"

Crash!

The lightning that had struck overhead was loud and nearby, blinding them with the sudden flash. The lights above flickered once. Twice. Three times before settling on off, casting the entire gymnasium in darkness. Everyone felt their hearts stop for a second while their eyes worked double time to adjust to the sudden inky black. It was silent.

Until it wasn't.

"Nigou..." A ghastly voice called out from inside the supply closet, the syllables dragging like they were slurred. The dog whined before yipping once.

A sudden flicker of light from within the supply closet caught the entire team's attention. The only light source was easy to spot, but what was even easier to notice was the pale figure standing over the illumination. The boys screamed.

And then Furihata got a better look. "K-Kuroko?! What are you doing?!"

"Putting away the supplies," the blue haired shadow replied, tone flat as he held up the mop he'd been using earlier with one hand and his cellphone with the other. He set it against a shelf before stepping out of the small space, using the flashlight on his phone to guide the way. Nigou immediately hopped up into his arms, comforted by his presence.

Fukuda let out a heavy sigh. "See guys, it was just Kuroko that Nigou was staring at," he muttered, though the slight quiver in his voice betrayed the fear he'd actually felt.

As Kuroko left the supply closet, Fukuda went back to pushing the cart inside. Behind him, Kawahara picked up the broom Kagami had abandoned and set it next to the mop. Despite convincing himself that they'd all imagined the spooky aura radiating from the supply closet, Kawahara still felt an uncomfortable tingle against his neck as he turned to leave.

"Nice timing waiting for the power to cut to scare us," Kawahara commented as he fell into step beside Kuroko. "That totally didn't sound like you at first when you called out for Nigou. How'd you do that?"

Kuroko furrowed his brows, fixing Kawahara with a concerned stare. "I didn't call for Nigou..."

[mandosaur]

Full Masterlist

Link to AO3 Here

Fandom Masterlists

Films Heroes and Villains House of the Dragon Star Wars

Masterlist Reading Guide

Here

[marvelstoriesepic]

The ropes that bind me

Pairing: Fisherman!Bucky x Mermaid!Reader

Summary: Being a creature of the sea, you are bound to a life beyond the surface, always in sight of the human realm, yet forever out of grasp. But after centuries of this finned existence it’s a fisherman coming to the docks day after day that compels you to bridge the gap between your worlds, despite the warnings about humanity being ingrained into your kind your whole life. Will you meet the same tragic end as several of your sisters before?

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: mentions of murder; capture; death; a terrible father; slow burn

Author’s note: This is part one. I planned on writing this as a one-shot but I felt like it got a little too extensive, so I decided to split it up. I'm working on the second part but I can’t promise y'all anything about when I will publish it.

[Divider from @silkholland ]

Masterlist

It’s a risk. You know that.

Your kind rarely ventures out of your sacred sanctuary.

But there’s a curiosity you’ve kept guarded for so long, one that manifested, trembling in your soul for such a long time. And the time has come for it to reach the surface, urging you to do something.

It’s a reckless decision that would send your sisters into a chorus of disbelief, their voices sharp and laced with warning, if they only knew about your whereabouts.

If they only knew what pulled you to the green horizons, uncharted by your finned existence.

“Only a foolish heart dares to venture where the water’s touch has never extended.”

That’s what you’ve been told centuries ago. That’s what you’ve been told almost every day since the first. Because living on land meant living like a human. It meant dying like a human too, shortening the span of your life to the ones of the townsfolk.

And yet, here you stand, arms outstretched to feel the wind on your skin, the soil beneath your trembling feet like the softest moss kissed by the light of the sun. You haven’t used your legs in a while. After years and years of floating through jeweled depths, where silence cradles and the currents hum lullabies, your legs feel unfamiliar, unfurling from limps long forgotten, awakening with an overwhelming buzz of sensation.

The very earth breathes beneath your bare toes and the thrill that thrums to life in your belly elicits a laugh that slips free.

You had managed to steal a pair of trousers and a shirt from a man near the shore and you relish in the way the fabric brushes against your bare skin underneath.

At first, the feeling of standing on land is surreal, a strange rapture coursing through your body as you feel the ground’s warmth seep into you. And you do your best to recall the forgotten melody of walking, the sweet cadence of motion.

It’s like the earth has a heartbeat and you feel it in your toes, in the balls of your feet. The texture of the grass feels tantalizing, each blade teasing and tickling your senses as a slight breeze tangles with your long hair, making it sway and play with the wind.

The air is suffused with the sweet scent of flowers you don’t know the names of and you hear notes of music spilling from open windows of the cottages you get closer to with each timid step.

And as the uneven cobblestone of the streets meets your feet, you gasp at the new feeling. It’s hard and cold at your delicate skin and you let it sink in.

Your heart races with every, still slightly unsteady step as you get used to the headiness of gravity.

This moment feels so fragile, yet monumental and you don’t do much to try and suppress the wild exhilaration that keeps you going, reclaiming a new kind of freedom you only observed from your watery haven for so long.

The first time you made use of your legs, you were only able to half-crawl, half-rob to a canopy of trees where you hid behind, watching them in their community.

Humans.

One of your sisters, Zephyra, insisted you come with her and watch them.

Thus, you observed, hidden between thick trunks of trees and branches hanging above and beside you - surrounded by the forest at the edge of the village. You drank in the melodies of laughter, the tender exchanges, the innocence of life that beats through the streets of the town like a heart so deeply treasured.

You watched with wide eyes how children chased one another through fields, their giggles, and squeals carried over to you by a breeze you’ll only feel on land.

People walked hand in hand, words soft and sweet like the gentle cooing of doves not far off, picking at crumbs on the ground, and you never had been so in awe with anything before as in that moment, never felt a longing so implanted in your veins it actually made something squeeze in your chest. A stab tore through you.

It was their emotions that fascinated you most - the way a mother knelt to catch her child’s tears or the fervent embrace of two people in the shadows of the cottages. In every glance, every smile, you saw the depths of passion and sorrow, joy and despair, that you so longed to fathom.

The humans live under a sun that dips into the horizon, casting shadows you only ever watched hidden away from all of this.

You craved it. You wanted it.

But after Zephyra and you returned home, the stories you were told scared you off enough to never set foot on this land again. Humans could never understand, could never accept your essence. They would hunt you the second they lay eyes on you, kill you with a spear so quick there’s nothing you could do.

You’ve been told that’s what happened to your sisters Aella and Lirienne as they disappeared decades ago.

But oh, how you always yearned to touch their reality, to be a part of their existence, if only just for a fleeting instant. It was an intoxicating allure that called to the very core of your being.

So, you continued watching those men.

The men that steal the fish out of your waters. You would peek out of the surface and watch the boats bobbing, fishermen casting their nets and sharing conversations.

You always take great care to remain hidden, only your head peeking out of the water, cloaked with delicate seaweed and bubbles that would shimmer in the light of the sinking or rising sun, shadowed by the willows hanging over you from the land.

At dusk, when the fishermen would return, you'd delight in the warm glow of lanterns illuminating the harbor, casting a golden light over the water, as if honoring the creatures that live there.

But even in the countless years that followed, you kept your distance from the town. The allure of a home just out of reach kept resounding in your heart, but remained unacknowledged. It was a promise carved deep into your resolve, a tribute to your fallen sisters.

Even your beloved sister Zephyra disappeared one day, never returning to the waters again.

So, you stayed away, left with a solitude that cradled your pain. You lingered on the edges of the world, where your sisters’ memory lay, resting heavily upon the water’s surface.

Until him.

At first, he was a fleeting silhouette, unnoticed by your eyes. Just a boy with an impish grin and eyes that sparkled like the dappled sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees whose shadows help you stay unseen by curious eyes. He was just a flicker of movement by the shore, a mere shadow dipping nets into the shallows.

But as the seasons turned and years rolled by, he transformed in a way that lured you in. And as he grew, so did your awareness of him. Brown strands - long, wild, and tempestuous in the summer breeze, then neatly cropped in the chill of winter - framed a face that was a canvas of boyish charm, deepening into the rugged handsomeness of manhood. Each summer blossomed him into a stranger you couldn’t help but behold, yet feared to know.

He now wears marks of the earth, the land you craved to wander. Sun on his skin, wind in the creases of his brow, roots by his eyes.

He seems to know the waters well - the waters you call your home - and it fills you with an emotion, a warmth, you can’t place. His eyes always hold a depth and you even found out their color after a reckless pursuit drove you to getting a little closer one day - a color so bright you only ever get to see it when looking up at the sky when the seas are at their calmest.

He always moves with an elegance that belied his trade, as if the sea itself had taught him the rhythm of the tides.

You watched him as one watches a season unfold, slowly, each detail revealing itself over time. His shoulders are broad and he bears a certain strength - a strength that speaks of patience, of waiting, of knowing what to do after so many years of doing it.

Each glance you steal at him, each morning you wait for him to show up like a living poem crafted from sunlight and shadow, you feel a rising anticipation for something you haven’t been sure what to make of.

His laughter often reaches you and it enthralls the very essence of your being, lifting you from the deepness where you had long chosen to dwell.

It made you question whether this man was the kind to put a spear through your chest at your first encounter.

He’s a quiet being. And yet a single look at him sets your skin aflame and everything within you bubbling in ways you never felt before.

It’s in the way he would linger by the water at dawn, his gaze distant, as though he, too, could sense a world just beyond his reach. And it was then, when he was alone and unguarded, that you could almost feel the beats of your different hearts aligning, as if he sensed you there, as if he might turn his head just once and meet your hidden gaze.

He never did. And so, you watched in silence, a lonely witness to his life. Until watching no longer felt enough, until the towns call and the pull of his shadow became a song that demanded to be answered.

Because in those stolen moments, you felt the tumult of a long-suppressed yearning. A yearning that whispered sweetly of possibility, beckoning you to reclaim what had been left behind.

A longing that both terrified and thrilled you, as it slowly chipped away at the fortress you had built around your heart. Every fiber of your being wished to reach out to him, yet the ghosts of your fallen sisters remained a haunting reminder, ever ready to dissolve the hope that rose anew.

“Hey, you.”

You had memorized the voice of this man, cataloged its nuances like a precious artifact, each inflection etched into the tapestry of your consciousness.

You’ve come to know it like you know the sound of the soft patter of raindrops landing on your watery home, each variation a note in a song you never asked to learn yet can’t unhear.

Sometimes it’s soft as a breeze rippling across the water, a gentle murmur that barely touches the air nor reaches your ears.

Other times it’s light, like the hush of wind through a grove of the willows that shadow you, gentle and easy, coaxing warmth from the marrow of your bones.

And then there were moments when it sharpened, an imperceptible blade glinting in the sunlight. It didn’t happen often. Rarely.

But you remembered the time when that little girl with the same chestnut hair moved perilously close to the water’s brink, stumbling and almost falling into the cold.

You held your breath as he acted, pulling her away swiftly with a reflex that was impressive to you. His voice had shifted then, tone arching with urgency and fear as he scolded the girl with authority and a warning in his tone.

You felt the force of his words ripple through the water, almost enough to draw you forward, enough to make you long to touch the shore.

But then she gazed up at him and he stopped, hanging his head and letting out a long breath before crouching down to her height meeting her eyes with his own burning cerulean. His voice had lowered to a gentle mumble, too soft for you to make out the words. But you could see the way his shoulders had slumped, saw the soft brush of his fingers as they tucked a stray brown curl behind her ear, coaxing reassurances and apologies from deep within.

You came to know his voice in all its colors - the rough, the tender, the ache of his untouched presence as it stretched across the sea, reaching without knowing, searching without seeking.

And now, that voice; the same you’ve traced in the chambers of your heart - this time, for the first time, it’s meant for you.

You don’t know what to do, so you simply stop, every part of you coming to an abrupt, swaying halt. It’s so sudden, your balance on limps that aren’t yet truly yours, teeters and your new-forged feet betray you with a faint, unsteady wobble. You falter, nearly tipping forward but somehow catching yourself before the moment could betray your clumsiness.

A low, hushed laugh floats across the space between you, perhaps carrying a hint of an apology. A chuckle you only ever were granted to hear with an ocean separating you. There’s a kindness in it that verges closer to your heart than you’ve ever let anything reach. You feel it curl around you, lingering like the air just before rainfall, filling every part of you with a building awareness.

Slowly, you turn, each movement deliberate as it dawns on you that this is the first time you’ll see him up close. And it’s earlier than you had expected.

His gaze is trained on you with a calm you can’t quite reconcile with the way it leaves you breathless. For the first time, you look into his face and watch him look at you in return. You really see him as you had only dared to from afar before, and the sight is somehow more vivid than anything the light and shadows of memory had ever sketched.

It takes everything in you to keep you from losing your footing, to hold yourself back from tumbling headlong into that gaze. Those eyes are even softer up close, quieter somehow as if they hold within them the deep, untroubled patience of still water.

They look at you in a way that sets your spirit ablaze, a look that feels like an invitation, an opening - a silent gesture drawing you into something vast and uncharted, like the dark waters that stretch out from the shore, the waters you now see from his point of view.

“Apologies if I startled you.” His voice is soft, a gentle curve of his lips and an apology in his tone. His smile feels like it is made for you, as if shaped by the kindness he carries.

His gaze settles on you, taking in details with an openness that lets you hold steady, your heart fluttering wildly.

His eyes drift, skimming over the loose folds of fabric draped awkwardly over your frame, too loose to be your own. You’re not even sure you put the clothes on correctly. There are so many holes and ends, it’s confusing, despite the fact that you watch them wear those kinds of things every day.

Still, it’s a strange weight that tugs at your shoulders and you feel each thread press against you. The fabric hangs from you in off places, sagging and bunching, like a poorly assembled cloak.

You watch him closely, like so many times before. Noticing the exact shirt he is wearing, the glint of something - a chain - around his neck that always catches the sunlight on the docks, the tousled strands of dark hair falling onto his forehead. Not as long as some years but not as short as others. Somewhere in between.

And the kindness on is face that doesn’t shift at the sight of your appearance. There’s nothing but warmth in the smile he gives you. Perhaps a hint of curiosity glints in his eyes and a little bit of sympathy, but his expression is devoid of the sour notes of judgment.

He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t narrow his gaze into some cold scrutiny. Instead, his eyes linger softly, understanding, the kind of look that might calm your beloved waters in the midst of a storm.

“I have never seen you here before,” he quietly ponders and you’re not even sure if he even directed that your way. Though, human interactions are obviously not your forte, so you can’t be sure.

You don’t know what to say to that, yet it seems like his attention isn’t exactly fixed on a possible answer you might give him. He glances downward and something in his gaze pulls tight. You look down at yourself, only seeing your feet splayed against the damp, chilled stone, the skin bare and exposed against the rough and dirty ground.

His brow creases, a subtle furrow pulling at the lines of his face, shadows gathering where light once rested. His smile is replaced by a slight frown - a soft, thoughtful sorrow - and in that shift, you see a compassion as real as anything you’ve ever known.

“Where are your shoes?” he asks, voice gentle but confused and also blending in with something else. Is that concern, perhaps? You’re still trying to get a hold of human emotions. “You really should wear some! Or else, you will get sick.”

The words catch you off-guard, pulling you from whatever veil of composure you’d managed to hold. You meet his eyes then, startled again at the intensity you never were on the receiving end of before. He looks at you as if he’s seeing right through you, past this fragile disguise of human form.

You realize then, with the thickening air between you, that he indeed waits for you to say something.

You open your mouth, letting the air hold his question a little longer as you only manage to take a breath in. Your skin heats up and you feel exposed without the lap of water on your skin. A strange pulse quickens inside you.

What could you say?

You’re not wearing shoes because you’ve never needed them, because your feet have only known the touch of smooth stones and seaweed and cool, endless water in the form of fins.

But these words falter before they ever reach the air, answering the question that still lingers there, drowning somewhere in your throat.

You manage only a small, soft sound, a hesitant beginning of something - yet it withers almost as soon as it forms.

But he’s still watching you, still waiting. The kindness in his face shifts into something almost protective, as though he senses the way you shrink back, the unease that rises in you.

The air stills around you as he begins to lower himself to the ground, hands moving with intent and you watch him in shock as he fumbles with the laces of his own boots.

One by one, he slips out of them, his bare feet settling against the cold, unyielding stone with a casualness that leaves you bewildered.

You stand there, caught somewhere between astonishment and a strange, blooming curiosity. What is he doing? The question hangs on the tip of your tongue but it never quite forms.

Instead, you only stare, your eyes wide, your heart tripping over itself as you watch him in his crouched position before you. His head tilts upward, a faint smile gracing his lips at the sight of your confused and startled expression.

His hands are steady as he reaches toward you, his fingertips pausing just a breath away from your skin, so close it sends a shiver over you and he hasn’t even touched you yet. His eyes flicker to yours, asking without words, his gaze careful, as if giving you a chance to retreat if you wish.

But you don’t. You can’t. All you’re able to do is watch, motionless, as he gently lifts one of your feet, his touch feather-light and yet enough to send a shiver of heat through your body. Carefully he slips your foot into the empty space of his boot.

The leather envelopes your foot and it feels foreign and strange, but there’s an odd comfort. The warmth of his skin still lingers. He glances up at you every few seconds, his gaze still questioning, but also assuring, all blended in the same shade of blue.

You still don’t say a word. You’re simply frozen, gaping at this man in wonder and disbelief as he kneels before you. He slips the other boot onto your remaining foot, his touch leaving you, only hovering now, like the softest ripple across the surface of the sea.

And when he finally stands, he moves up slowly, looking at your now covered feet, wrapped in the warmth he left behind. Satisfaction enters his features, easing some of the lines on his forehead and he nods subtly.

For a moment, he simply looks at you, and you are captivated by the light that swims in his eyes, a light you never captured in a glance from this far away.

You watched this man for years from your hidden places, observing without ever being seen. But never would you have anticipated this kind of reaction. This kind act doesn’t seem to come from the same folk of people who murdered your sisters.

Humans have always been strange. Their motives elusive and tangled, but now, as you stare down at his boots on your own feet, something deeper drops in your stomach, like a stone thrown into the waters that marked your home for so long.

But never in the centuries living there, you had known this sensation.

You look down at your feet and it’s weird not to see the familiarity of your skin you come to expect. Feet so used to water, now wrapped in the leather of his world.

A faint shake of your head accompanies the slight crease of your brows, a wordless attempt to deny this generous strangeness. But before you can actually say anything, he speaks up.

“You should have them. Keep them,” he insists, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards his smile that seems to reach you, almost warming the air between you both.

You lift your eyes to him, gaze wide and unsure, searching his face as though it might hold the answer to a question you’re just now learning to ask.

He nods with his smile in place, reassuring eyes focused on you. He doesn’t seem to mind your lack of answers, doesn’t question the quiet you keep.

But your eyes drop to the cold stone beneath him, where his own bare feet now rest. Guilt picks at your chest and you tug your bottom lip between your teeth.

However, he catches your look and waves it away with a soft shake of his head, his voice low and soothing. “Don’t worry about me, yeah?” He gestures to the boots on your feet with a tilt of his dimpled chin. “I’ve got another pair of those back at home. You need them more than I do.”

That’s far from the truth but again you don’t manage to say it out loud.

You’ve waited for this moment - a moment with him - in the lonely spaces of longing for years that drifted by like currents, each one pulling you back to him. Watched him from the shadows of the willows, hoping for this closeness, wondering what it would feel like to stand before him in this strange new world of breath and heartbeat.

You had thought a thousand times what you might say, how you might reveal yourself, how you’d keep your hidden nature to yourself. But now, standing in front of him, with his kindness covering you like the borrowed warmth of his feet, you find that words slip from your grasp, elusive as the mist on morning water.

This outcome is something you’ve never envisioned.

He’s so unlike anything you’ve ever known or even seen in the years of observing. You thought you’ve come to understand this whole other world of living by simply watching, but it seems like you were wrong.

And now, with him so near, you feel an ache within you. It’s an urgency, to hold onto this moment, to gather it like water cupped in your hands without letting it seep through your fingers, slipping away and only leaving few drops of memories.

The thought of him turning, of watching him fade back into his life while you slip back into the waiting depths, unsettles you in a way that feels almost as if it could be human.

Before he can drift from this shared quiet, you open your mouth, desperate to get an answer to a question you’ve been craving to know for so long. Words rise up in a fragile rush, each one carrying the weight of years without knowing.

“What’s your name?”

The question comes out soft, hesitant, unused to forming sound above the water’s edge, especially not in the presence of a human.

Your voice is so unfamiliar in the open air, it feels like something fragile and newly-formed, like your human legs, still feeling slightly foreign and unstable.

The words feel small, tentative, yet they seem to reach him with a firm presence, judging the wide grin that splits his face. You’re blinded for a moment, despite the sun having set already.

There’s a flash in the brightness of his eyes, like a spark in the deep blue dusk.

“James,” he drawls, and his voice drapes over the name like a soft weave of warmth, rolling off with ease and a hint of satisfaction at your question that sends a shiver trailing up your spine.

It’s strange to put a name to the face of your dreams. He feels almost different now. He feels closer. And every soft whistle of wind even far off in the distance seems to echo his name back to you. Every lap of the water against the shore seems to repeat it for you. As if you could ever forget.

“But,” he adds, his grin deepening, voice dropping to a softer, more intimate note, “you can call me Bucky.”

The words lap at your skin like the water has so long. You only heard it now, but it feels so familiar already, despite it sounding like something so foreign. Bucky. You repeat it in your mind. You will repeat it until the day you die.

It sits strange but soothing in your mind, something he handed to you, something he gave for you to keep. He stands before you now, not as the man you’d glimpsed from afar, but as James - Bucky - a person with a story, with a name that now belongs to your memory just as surely as he belongs to this moment.

And though you have only just spoken to him and his actions did surprise you, somehow, in a way you can’t explain, it feels as though you’ve known him all along.

****

Your sisters hadn’t noticed your absence that day.

But they did notice the way you lingered with your head out of the water, watching these fishermen until the sky darkened day after day. You only retreated to the depths, once Bucky’s back disappeared down the cobblestone streets.

Because since you got the chance to meet and talk to Bucky, you neglected subtlety.

You just wanted to see him again.

“Be careful,” Thalassa had murmured, her voice a whispering tide as she glided to the surface next to you, also watching the human figures along the docks. Her emerald tail brushed against your turquoise one for a moment, as if conveying the importance of her words.

But you didn’t offer a response. And after a short while she retreated into the depths with a reluctant flick of her tail, leaving you alone to the swell of emotions you only thought humans to have for a long time.

Your heart was alight with a strange duality, torn between the allure of the surface world and the dark abyss of your home. The lapping of the soft waves against your skin tenderly reminds you of the boundary you danced along.

Your sisters could not know of Bucky. Could not know of his attachment to your heart, because revealing him would be to unleash the tempest that lay between the realms of man and mermaid.

So you ignored their probing gazes, the burn of their suspicions. Rather, you watched another day come to an end, dusk velveting the horizon, painting it with strokes of amber and indigo as he vanished between the silhouettes of aged buildings.

It had been weeks since your encounter. Weeks that mean nothing to your endless life, mere moments devoured by the deep vastness of time. But perhaps it feels longer for Bucky and his human life.

He’s been a little different at one point. He looks around more, takes pauses to watch the people walk down the streets with shadows across his brows.

With every sun that dips below the horizon, every glow of light flickering on across the docks, you watch him in interest as he lingers.

His gaze sweeps more, taking in everything around him - the bustling streets that lay deserted at night, the infinite expanse of water that holds you. It’s as if he’s looking for something - or perhaps someone.

Each glance holds a flicker of hope, but it gets dimmed as day after day passes.

The disappointment weighing on his shoulders almost persuaded you to reach out from the abyss, to slip through the veil that separates your world. The sight pulls at you as strong as any current, urging you to bridge the distance between you.

There were moments you almost did - almost let yourself glide toward him and let your fingertips brush the fabric of the surface where his distant gaze lingered.

But each time, just as your heart crested with resolve, you’d stop, some inner instinct tugging you back down. With tendrils of kelp tangling around your tail, a benevolent force pulling you under, as if the ocean itself were binding you, holding you fast in the memory of your lost sisters.

It kept you from making a possible mistake.

Perhaps the same one your sisters did before you.

You crave his attention once more, the way his eyes met yours, the way they traveled over your human form. So gentle. So intrigued.

Yet, each time, you quelled the urge.

What if the world above bears little resemblance to the dreams you harbored beneath the waves?

What if Bucky is the only man - the only human soul tender enough, strange enough to pull the boots from his own feet and place them on yours, bare and unaccustomed to the earth’s cold bite?

A fisherman like many others, working in an air full of salt and sun, roughened by the chores it entails, yet soft in a way that lured you in, creeping into the imaginations of a world that’s cruel to your kind.

But he looked at you with a gentleness, so unbidden and unassuming, so freely given.

He gave you his boots and didn’t expect anything in return.

The boots, sturdy and worn, carrying the scent of the shoreline and the faintest trace of him, as if they still carry his warmth.

You hid them. Hopefully well enough away from your sisters to find.

They’re tucked deep in the hollow of a great rock crevice beneath the ocean floor, enveloped with kelp, nestled between beds of soft sand.

They lay there in waiting, concealed from the curious eyes of your kin, camouflaged among the seaweed and driftwood that crowds the small cavern.

When you visit them you let your fingers brush across the leather, feeling the texture of the old fabric, the rough weave that had known the weight of his footsteps.

There has to be a reason why he alone has caught your attention. Why his face moves like a movie in your mind. Why his voice sounds in your ears even when you’re diving deep through the water.

You had watched the men at the docks for centuries. Watched their faces hardened by work, their voices loud and grating, their laughter rough as stones grinding together.

They are everything that Bucky isn’t.

He became your project, your indulgence, the one spark that lit through your endless existence in an undiscovered world.

And with each passing week, the waters of your mind seem to grow murkier, filled with the haze of a foolish infatuation. You found yourself growing bolder, your curiosity morphing into a reckless ache that defied the cautious distance you were never meant to cross.

So, right now, you drift closer to his boat, close enough to feel the whisper of his oars cutting through the water, to catch the careful pull of his hands as he gathers his nets.

The urge to help him sneaks up on you, a strange, insistent pull that makes no sense. But you stay near, watching, waiting, wishing somehow to ease his work as if you might soften the weight of his nets or guide the fish into his reach.

There was a time when the very sight of a fisherman stirred only bitterness in your chest. You remember the way you used to despise them, the men who intruded upon your world, robbing it of life with no thought to the dynamic of the sea.

The fish are companions. Creatures who share your water, belonging to the ocean as much as you do.

These men would come, nets spread wide, taking what was not theirs to take, disturbing the balance you and your sisters held so dear.

You remember watching with a cold, simmering anger, feeling the injustice sharp like the end of the spears that slice through the surface of the calm waters to hit their mark.

They would descend upon your waters - eyes cold, features grim, hands rough, determination in their rowdy voices - as if they owned the very nature of life that swam right beside you.

How you loathed the way they dredged your domains, the waters bared of their bounty, the fish that once had danced freely in the ebb and blow of the tide. Their insatiable greed felt like murder in your heart.

In those times, you and your sisters lurked near their boats, hiding beneath the water’s shadow. With a thrill of mischief, you made the waters churn and swell, coaxing the fish to retreat, your shared laughter a sweet counterpoint to the gruff curses hurled by the men.

You hummed the call that kept the fish away, a high and reverberating sound that sent the scales darting to safer depths.

It left the men bewildered and you sent them home with empty nets and a frail temper.

It was a game of sorts. A contest that played out in silence. A protest raised by the scorn that lived in your heart.

But Thalassa, the eldest and sharpest, had lectured you and your sisters. She watched you from the shadow of the rocks and willows, her eyes stern and unsympathetic as she spoke of caution, of balance, of the risks of tempting human wrath.

“Leave them be. They are dangerous,” she would warn, “we cannot disturb their world without consequence.”

You listened with half an ear, always eager to return to the surface and defy them once more.

Yet now, you find yourself drifting even closer to Bucky’s boat with none of that bitterness. He works in a way that seems careful and respectful, his voice low as he murmurs into the open air. Sometimes to himself, sometimes to a companion, sometimes to the sea.

He never shouts or lashes out at the water, doesn’t hold the same harshness as most of the others. There is something in him you want to protect, to ease, to give him some small reprieve from the toil of his days.

So, something calls you to help him, to slip through the currents unseen, guiding fish toward his nets. Perhaps he might even feel the abundance, sensing something unusual in the generosity in his catch, as though, he, too, were being seen, were being cared for.

You know his boat well by now. Know the way it cuts through the waves. You had watched it from afar, drifting close enough to feel the subtle pull of its wake, but never daring to let it come too close.

But you crave details. The sun-cracked lines that spider across the surface. The exact color that marks the wood.

Deliberately, you reach a hand up, fingertips weaving through the water until they brush against the boat. It is rough to the touch. Rougher than most of the things in the smooth underwater life.

Your eyes focus on the flecks of rust around the nails, and thin cords of rope frayed at the ends where his hands must have held them countless times.

You move around the net that innocently floats in the water beside you. It brushes against your scales. A teasing brush, as if it’s alive, curious just as you are.

But you’re too caught up with the way he’s so close to you, right above you, that you don’t give the net much of your acknowledgment.

Foolish. That’s what your sisters would call it.

It twists, rough weave pressing against your waist, looping around you and you notice it too late before it tightens. It’s almost aggressive in the way it scrapes at your scales, clinging, pulling tighter still until you realize, you’re bound.

Every knot - perhaps handmade by Bucky himself - presses into you, pinching at the soft places that had never known the feel of something so abrasive, so coarse.

Panic rose sharply in your chest. An emotion you hadn’t felt in this expanse. An emotion you hadn’t felt at all. A silent scream holds you back as you struggle, feeling the ropes bite into your skin, its fibers digging like tiny claws.

Each movement makes it worse, the net swallowing you with each panicked twist and turn, until your fins lay trapped, folded painfully against your body, your long hair caught between strands.

You tug, hiss, pull, in a desperate attempt to escape. But it only digs deeper with each effort.

Your tail is twisted agonizingly, arms bound by your sides. You understand now, what Thalassa had meant. What she had warned you about. The stories of your sisters who strayed too close to the human world and found themselves ensnared.

The stories that ended in a tragedy you might experience yourself. Caught in the same cage that claimed so many lives from the sea, that captured breath and flesh without mercy.

Every inch of the net presses into you, relentlessly, a weave too tight for escape with a brutality that forces every inhale to catch, every exhale to strain. You feel your own heartbeat thundering beneath your skin. A sensation that’s so new and overwhelming, you lose all sense of direction for a second.

You’re trapped as surely as the fish you once pitied.

You hiss, fangs bared in desperation, mixed with a sliver of fury that coils as tight in your gut as the ropes around your body.

A shadow falls long across the water, over your form, and you still. Your breath quivers but another hiss sounds from your body as the water shivers around you and the net begins to rise. The net you’re caught in.

You are lifted, inch by inch from the depths that are your sanctuary but feel so far away in this moment. So unreachable. You miss it already.

Water slips away from you, flowing past your limbs, leaving you heavier in the net’s trap. You wonder, in those painful, breathless moments, if this is what the others had felt. If this is what Zephyra had to endure alone all those years ago.

Did she too feel her body pressed into the harsh fibers of this human snare, her breath coming shallow as her world receded, giving way to theirs? Your mind whispers a silent prayer in loss and sorrow, a prayer that sounds like her name. You know she won’t be able to answer.

The net holds you mercilessly, a tangle that knows nothing of you, knows nothing of the life it’s entrapping. It just takes it.

Fragments of thought flash through your head - images of your sisters who’d be filled with grief if you too wouldn’t come home again; the sea caves that hold Bucky’s boots with the secret of your infatuation with the man; the drifting kelp you passed countless times; the soft beds of sand where you once lay undisturbed.

You’re bound like any other fish of the sea, the dignity of your form crumpled into the harsh weave of the net as it lifts you even higher, into a world you begin to realize you were never meant to enter.

You wonder if this is to be the end.

If Bucky will draw you up from the water and look upon you with the same indifferent gaze he might give a dying fish, a thing captured and condemned. Or if his face will fill with hatred and disgust, driving his spear through your delicate body faster than you can react.

It would be almost poetic, wouldn’t it?

To die by his hands, those hands that gifted you warmth, that smiled upon you with kindness, that once held you in a gaze so soft it stole your resolve.

The man you’d spent countless hours watching, the one who captivated you beyond reason, the one who drew you closer despite every warning. James. Bucky. His name echoes through you as the net drags you upward. A bittersweet irony that cuts deeper than the thin ropes around you.

You break the surface, the water’s last drops slipping from your arms as the harsh bite of air claims you. Its chill presses close, where the net presses closer. The cold seeps fast, faster than you thought air could reach, sinking sharp teeth into you.

The thundering of your pulse rushes through your veins and spreads through your entire body until it sounds in your ears. It’s both, desperate and fierce. Your bound and bruised body awakens to the fire that flickers with each throb, and you tug and twist with a new fury, igniting against the woven lines that dig and press, refusing to relent.

The sun cuts down in a blinding blaze, harsh and painful in your eyes, and it strikes you like a glare from another world. You squint, hissing through your teeth, fangs exposed; scales, skin, and face pressed to the net’s unforgiving roughness. It takes several heartbeats - long, dragging seconds - before the light dims enough to reveal the world above, the world you’ve glimpsed but never known.

And then your eyes adjust, widening as you take in the shape before you, hovering over you, leaned over the edge of his boat.

Your hissing stills. Fangs pull back. The fight in your body slows.

Bucky’s hands are steady and sure on the net, gripping it and holding you with a kind of strength that is impressive for humankind. But they are frozen. Neither pulling nor loosening his grip, holding you just so - poised between worlds. Caught where the water clings but air consumes, where your tail flickers on the edge of transformation, not quite yet splitting into separate, human limbs.

You are held, suspended, both in body and gaze and in the stillness even the ocean seems to hold onto.

Bucky’s face is wide open, slacked, features drawn in a way that lets you see it all - shock, utter disbelief, something deep and vulnerable you cannot name.

His mouth is parted as he stares, silent and struck, and there is a tremble in his grip now as if he himself has become the one who is captured. Spellbound.

There is no cruelty in his face, none of the hardened indifference you’d feared to find in a fisherman’s eyes.

But your breaths are still shallow, each one strained as you cling to the scratchy lines of the net, fingers wrapping tightly around its strands, your chest heaving in dragging motions.

You’re caught in the pull of his gaze, the vehemence in his blue eyes, wide and wild, locked onto yours with an intensity that burrows deeper than you’d have thought a human’s eye could reach.

You feel exposed, more naked than the sea has ever left you, as though he sees through the scales, the sharpness in your gaze and fangs, right down to the pulse of fear that flutters beneath your skin. He stares and, impossibly, you stare back.

But then, after what feels like an endless, drowning silence, something shifts. His gaze softens, something curling at the brink of his stare as he takes you in with something beyond shock.

His shoulders ease, the rigidity in his body smoothing as his breathing starts again. His grip remains firm on the ropes that hold you. But there is no malice in his touch, only a steady hand, a gaze that pulls you in even if you strain to resist it.

The fear within you thrashes wildly like you’re just a wounded creature sensing its end. You feel yourself trembling, breath coming faster, more desperate, betraying the dread that swims in your eyes the longer you are held half above, half in the water.

Bucky notices, his brows drawing together, a crease deepening between them, concern coloring his expression in a way you do not understand.

His gaze slips away from you for a moment, surveying the open water. He glances around, looking at the stretch of horizon where boats might appear, where more of his kind could descend upon you if he called out, if he raised his voice to summon help.

Your chest tightens, breath catching in a strangled gasp as terror flares anew, your eyes widening. Would he actually call for help? Would he actually hand you over like every other day’s catch and watch your execution?

Another hiss builds up, but it leaves your lips faint and broken, the sound weak with fear. Not of warning but of helplessness.

It echoes soft and strained over the water, barely more than a whisper against the waves. As if your voice is held captive just like your body.

He hears it, the small note of despair hidden in your voice, and his head jerks back. His gaze finds you once more.

There is something in his eyes that speaks of an apology. A remorse that settles deeper as the water below. His hold on the net loosens, his grip easing so that more of the water can reach you again, its familiar caress lapping at your form. As if trying to pull you back toward the safety you called your home for so long. As if desperate to help you escape this cage.

He recognizes you. You see it in his eyes. You basically watch the gears turning, the way realization washes over his features. But there is so much more. Wonder. Inquiry. Awe. Astonishment. One that seems to draw him closer, as if he is not simply looking at a creature of the sea but at something miraculous, something precious.

One of his hands slips free from the net, and you feel its absence like a weight lifted, the net sagging slightly around you, allowing you to feel more of the water.

He turns his shoulder, his movements slow, careful not to startle you further. He searches behind him, brushing over the clutter of his boat. But his gaze remains softly tethered to yours.

Then, a glint catches your eye, a flash of steel in his hand. A knife. Sudden tension bolts through your limbs. Instinctively, your body tries to recoil but is still unable to do so.

Alarm shoots through his eyes at the subtle tremor rippling down your form.

“Easy,” he soothes, “it’s alright.” He says it with a whisper, a softness you only ever watched his lips form from afar but the sound never reached your ears before. Your body stills with the ease that sinks into your bones.

His mouth lifts into a faint, reassuring smile, quieting the last stirrings of panic.

With slow hands he presses the blade to the lines of rope, wielding it with a care that feels sacred. His brow furrows in concentration as he cuts through the knotted fibers, slicing where they press too tightly against you, but never letting the blade get too near to your skin.

He doesn’t even hesitate. Doesn’t pause a second to consider the effort it probably took to craft this net, nor the care in each knot that now falls loose under his hand.

Every movement of his hands are deliberate. His gaze flickers from the net to your face, to your trapped form, careful not to linger anywhere that might unsettle you, cautious not to graze the skin and scales stretched vulnerable against the bindings.

You watch him as you did when he slipped those heavy boots onto your bare feet those many weeks ago. That same startled disbelief makes itself some space within you, spreading like the cold dawn light always filtering through the water’s surface, that usually shimmers on your scales.

Your eyes linger on him, trying to understand, to piece together this contradiction in the form of a fisherman. A human, as gentle as he is foreign.

Again and again, you were told of their harshness, of the relentless cruelty they carry, their disregard for the life coursing through the sea.

So how is this man real? How is he here with his soft eyes, hands working with such care, brows drawn into a crease of concern? Instead of malice, there is a kindness in the lines around his eyes, deeply ingrained in his irises and it startles you all the same, like it has the first time.

This man - James - Bucky - is no villain of your sister’s stories.

He is not the faceless terror of the human shore.

He is something else entirely. An exception, perhaps. The one who is gentle where others might be harsh, who frees instead of binds.

Somehow, that exception is enough for you.

Enough to loosen the warnings of your sisters they etched into your memory, the caution they expect you to keep, the dread they drape over the very mention of men and nets and sharp steel.

Because you’re not looking at a murderer. You’re looking at your savior.

And he is working for your freedom, movements leisurely and measured, until the last binding of rope has fallen away, each woven knot surrendering beneath his blade.

You feel the grip of it loosen, and with it, a strange new lightness fills the parts of you that had been pinned down, captured.

There are bruises now, dark and tender, littering your skin, and small cuts where the net bit into you. But the pain is an afterthought, dissolving as you stretch, the water rushing around your fins in a cool balm, as if trying to soothe you.

Bucky’s gaze does not lift from you. His eyes drift over the marks, those dark welts and stinging cuts, and something painful shivers across his face.

His hands tighten on the final piece of rope as he pulls it away from you like it might continue hurting you with just a brush at your skin.

His lips press into a hard line, his jaw working in tension. His brows furrow deeper as he studies those lines against your skin, a look that holds none of the satisfaction of a hunter admiring his catch.

No, it’s an expression of someone caught in the grip of remorse, a guilt so heavy it seems to tug at his shoulders.

You realize then, that he’s holding the rope like something unholy, an object of disdain. His knuckles whiten around the last severe piece, and his eyes narrow on it.

The disgust is there, but not for you - not for the creature freed from his net. The disgust is for the remnants of the trap. For the scars it left on your skin. For the way it squeezed your fins to a painful angle. For the role he unwillingly played in it.

He seems to soften though as he watches you glide into the water gracefully, breathing deeply, reverently, as though the sea itself is an extension of your soul. As if it’s greeting you, happily taking you back into its arms.

He pulls the remaining lines of rope from the water with a certain hesitation, as if you’re having a moment he doesn’t want to interrupt. The torn and useless remnants of his net slip from his hand into his small boat. He won’t be able to redo the net with those ropes but his eyes hold no regret.

You could have disappeared already. Could have slipped down beneath the surface, beyond the reach of his eyes, back to the quiet depth that cradles your secrets.

Safety is waiting only a single dive away, already touching your tail, yet something is holding you here. You linger, your head just above the waves, suspended in that fragile space where your world touches his.

And in the stillness that forms between you, you see him truly looking. Not with the distance of a man glimpsing a mystery but with a reverence that seems to slow his every breath.

His gaze is not hurried. He takes his time, as if each second reveals another layer, another detail. As if he is memorizing the curve of your cheek, the foreign power in your eyes, the salt-laced droplets sliding down your skin.

Wonder fills his features, curiosity softens the angles of his jaw. He’s admiring you.

Admiring the way the sunlight catches on your scales, painting his face with the shimmer of your being. Shades glimmering turquoise, veined with trails of silver that follow along your translucent threaded fins, blurring into rivulets of cerulean and jade.

His lips are parted, but you watch the faint whisper of a word forming, the trace of something fragile and bare. Perhaps he doesn’t even realize he’s spoken, the words drifting to you like a half-breathed sigh.

“It’s you.”

It’s a murmur, more to himself than to you, the sound barely louder than the lapping of the waves against his boat.

It sounds like an answer. An answer to some unspoken question he must have asked himself, again and again, as he scanned the shoreline, the streets of his town, in the dawning light.

His voice clings to those words, as though he has been searching, always searching, for a glimpse of you amidst the townsfolk.

Though he’s been looking in the wrong places all along.

****

You’re no longer the only one observing.

Seeking a glimpse into a life so different and out of reach, yet always in line of sight.

The day after he rescued you, he returned to the docks early, hours before he would normally start.

The docks were silent, wrapped in the pale blue serenity of dawn.

You watched him intrigued, covered by the tall willow trees leaning over the water. The long branches heavy with dew, draped down to veil you in their green gloom.

You could see him clearly. More than ever. Perhaps because, deep down, you knew he came here for you. Came here because he wanted to catch a glimpse of the creature he caught like a fish the day before.

His gaze drifted over the water’s surface, searching. He was close enough for you to make out the lines easing from his brow. You weren’t quite sure what they meant but it had been one of the same looks he gave you yesterday.

The glint of the early light caught in his eyes as he looked across the innocent waves, perhaps feeling that you were close by.

You held yourself still, heart pounding and soul pondering whether to show yourself. Nervous, you pressed yourself further against the knotted roots of the trees, feeling the solid earth interlaced with the touch of water.

You studied him as you always have. Safe, shrouded, and yet, feeling so near like you never had before, as though a single soft lap of the water could give you away. This was a spot you hid in all the time with Bucky standing on the docks. Same distance as always. But he never felt so close.

Still, you held back, watching the line of his shoulders, how he stayed and watched, silent and waiting.

And just before you could catch a glimpse of disappointment in his eyes, another fisherman strolled over to him, voice loud and angry, a brash disturbance in the quiet morning.

You saw the older man shake the remnants of Bucky’s net in his hand, the shredded ropes still damp and torn. His words rose in harsh waves, berating, biting, blaming.

They rose with your anger. You felt it heat your skin, curling your fingers, snipping your tail.

The waves around you stirred, a flash of dark blue swelling as the currents twisted at your will, the sea restless beneath the fishermen’s feet.

The desire to rise and cast the old man back with the tides pulsed through your veins in a dangerous urge. But you felt Thalassa's resignation at your actions in the back of your mind and reined it in. So, you forced the currents back to calm, just enough that they would think it was only the morning breeze pushing at the water’s surface

Nobody seemed to have noticed. Well, nobody but one person. Because he didn’t take his eyes off the sea.

Bucky did not turn way, did not shrink into himself, standing rooted on the wooden planks. He seemed to ignore the older man’s harsh words, not bothering to defend himself.

A light ran over his eyes, a relief flickering like the soft glow of sunrise breaking over the water.

His lips curved ever so slightly, a subtle tug at the corners, as though the fisherman’s anger mattered as little as the waves lapping beneath them.

He came earlier the following days as well.

He would step up to the edge of the planks, where his gaze would drift over the soft ripples of your world.

There was patience in his silence every time, like he understood. Like he seemed to get that you weren’t going to show yourself. Still, he came every day. Came, stood, and watched.

It stunned you.

Softened eyes filled with wonder at what lay beneath the unseen. Beneath the innocent stir of the currents. It was as though he had uncovered a hidden treasure, and rather than clutch it, he merely held the idea of it, savoring the knowledge of something beautiful and rare close by, unrevealed by the rest of the world.

It became a ritual of sorts, something he seemed to relish. His own little secret with the sea and with something - someone - he knew lived just out of sight, as if he’d finally found the invisible pulse of the waters he’d crossed all his life without ever realizing.

He always seemed so relaxed in those morning hours. Just him and his secret. Simply watching in contentment, as if not wanting to disturb the calm that held you in its depths.

He traced the waves with a soft smile, admired the way the early morning rays glistened on the water.

As if only now realizing the beauty that lay just outside his door his entire life.

He is currently out on the water again.

You’re always aware when he is. Always know when he sails along your home. He basically becomes a part of it in those moments.

But it’s not his ship that cuts through the waves.

Its form is harsher, its hull thicker, forged more for might than the gentle trawl of his simple craft. It's built like a wall against the waves, not gliding with them like Bucky’s boat normally does.

No, this ship slices through the blue with a purpose that doesn’t belong here.

And he is not alone on deck. There’s that same man that had yelled at him the day after he tore his net to save you.

That’s the reason you followed it out in the open sea - a tinge of protectiveness over the man who saved you. Even years before he laid an eye on you.

Voices ring out above, warped and muted by the water surrounding you, yet they pulse in jagged waves that pierce the quiet.

You narrow your eyes, feeling tension build.

There is an argument happening, rough and sharp, and you wouldn’t bother with it, if his voice wasn’t a part of it.

There is a strain in it. Frustration. Defensiveness, that tugs at something inside your chest.

It pulls you upwards slightly, despite the instinct to sink back into safety.

You linger close enough to feel the force of the anger that tears through the air, even as the water dulls the hardness.

His voice is smaller, caged in by a louder tone, cut down even as he tries to speak. There is something drained in it, something almost defeated and it coils in your chest like a knot, winding tighter with each second you remain just below the surface.

The boat rocks more roughly, as though the weight of their frustration puckers down into the sea itself.

The reckless part of you, the one that caused you to get tangled with the human world before already, again makes a decision for you.

Carefully you move higher, the blur of the voices clearing out the closer you get. The closer you are to exposing yourself to the same air that breathes their argument. Your head is out of the water before you can think, hands holding you steady on the rough wood of this intimidating vessel.

The first voice is one you have heard plenty of times. Older, rough-edged and hard, like waves crashing over jagged rock. It’s the same raised voice Bucky had stood on the receiving end before.

“You’re telling me you cut through a net because you couldn’t be bothered to reel it out right? It would have lasted another season, James!” You flinch at a thud that makes the ship groan. Perhaps a first meeting wood. “Just carelessness - plain carelessness.”

Your fins flutter as the swell of your anger moves in the water with you. Your gaze shifts to the dark outline of the larger vessel above you, hiding your exposed head, not to be seen by the people moving along.

There is no trace of Bucky’s care in this ship, only an imposing sort of power that presses on the water below in all the wrong ways.

You hear Bucky’s strained breath. See his hand grip tightly to the worn wood of the rail.

“It was tangled. I wasn’t going to bring it back all ripped and knotted, without fixing it myself. I know how to mend it.”

He sounds done with this conversation. A tiredness in his voice that never makes it to his eyes when he comes relishing in your tranquil presence in the mornings.

There is a scoff. “You know how to mend it?” A bitter laugh sounds in the air. But it holds no joy. It’s dark. “Well, son, do you also know how to catch fish with it? Half the time you’re out here, you’re thinking about something else. What do you think your mother would say, watching you waste time and gear like this?”

The coldness of the words washes down into the depths, an accusation that somehow bears down on you, too. The water around you shivers and it's then that you realize that’s your doing. You don’t do much to stop it.

Bucky doesn’t reply right away. But you can feel the weight of his silence.

And you’re surprised for a second at the lack of fear inside you. Fear, because he still could be telling this man, who seems to be his father, about you. About how you - a creature of the sea - were the reason he came home with a torn net. Lines of rope all frayed and in pieces.

He could. He could tell him. But, somehow, deep down, deeper than the ocean floor, you knew he wouldn’t.

You basically feel Bucky shift on deck. Feel his gaze roam over the vastness of your home. As if it could give him comfort. As if it composed him enough to speak.

“The net’s on me. I'll have it replaced,” he then says, voice low, flat. “But don’t act like I haven’t pulled in my share of catches.”

A dark, disappointed groan drones in your ears. “You keep saying you’re here, that you’re focused, but I don’t see it, James. I don’t know what it is you’re chasing after, but it certainly is not in these waters. So, you better figure it out, son, before you waste any more of my time.”

He seems to step closer to Bucky. The thumping of footsteps reverberates around you, sending shivers through your skin, making you instinctively recoil. Your head stays above water but you’re tense. Ready to sink back down at any second.

A shadow nears the edge. Closer, closer, until a figure looms right above the railing. You catch a glint of a big hand gripping the side, knuckles sharp and bloodless.

He seems to lean in, dark hair entering your vision and you dive beneath the surface. But not before hearing the commanding tone of his voice again.

“Now, give me that. You should not have it any longer.”

You’re poised, back in the water, but your heart thrums wildly against the pulse of the sea. The timbre of his authority makes your skin prickle, sounding in your ears as sharp as you’d heard it moments before although it is muffled again.

You keep diving a little deeper. The cold water is bracing you, rushing around you as you sink. You’re low enough to feel safe. To feel the familiar comfort. But you don’t.

You’re restless, nerves tingling.

You can still hear him up there. Bucky. But his voice is tinged with a weariness that’s almost painful to hold inside yourself. The words themselves are lost in the currents, swept away before they can reach you, but you feel them all the same.

It’s worn, like driftwood tossed by a thousand waves. Softened by the relentlessness of it.

You hear his surrender. The long battle that he seems to fight against himself, its breath barely hanging on. Each word carries a heaviness that seems to drift through the sea as though seeking a place to settle but always getting pulled with the stream.

Your heart clenches painfully at the guilt inside. He cut that net, sacrificed it for your freedom, and now here he is, caught in a tangle of it all, left without a defense. And he lets it weave around himself, lets it bind him like his ropes had bound you. But now, he doesn’t reach for a knife. He simply lets it squeeze. Lets it suffocate him.

Before you can get lost in your mind, there is a soft sound coming from above. A plink. It’s delicate, as a raindrop over calm water.

You glance upward, startled at first, your heart doing a jump in synchrony with the rush that disturbs the surface.

Something glimmers, silvered, tumbling in slow motion, catching fragments of light as it drifts through the blue toward you.

It spins and glints, looking like such a fragile thing as it nears you.

Entranced, you reach out, letting it settle into your palm, where it rests cold against your skin, weighty and exquisite all at once.

It’s a chain. Slender, woven like river reeds into an elegant braid, its polished links softened by wear. At its center, a small pendant hangs, swaying gently in the currents that surround you both, learning the cadence of the sea for perhaps the first time.

The pendant is engraved with fine lines, winding into elegant patterns that glint faintly, illuminated by the underwater light.

You don’t known what it means but you run your fingers over it, tracing the grooves and smooth imprints. It’s beautiful and you find yourself admiring the little details. The weight is a comfort in its smallness, like something that belongs close to the heart.

A realization halts your thumb that’s been swiping over it.

Your pulse stirs anew.

You have seen this before - watched it sway against a familiar chest, catching flecks of sunlight as it moved in time with each breath. You’ve watched it rise and fall with every step, tucked close, held as something treasured. Sometimes atop his shirt, sometimes beneath it, where it touched the skin over his heart.

It is Bucky’s.

You have noticed it often enough to recognize it. Saw the flash of it when he leaned forward, the light of it dancing against his skin.

But you never saw the details before. The intricate pattern that makes it so unique.

A surge tugs at your memories. The way his hand would reach up, seemingly on its own, fingers softly grasping it, brushing over its surface like you just had. As if it holds something for him. Something valuable. Something of a price no coin in the world could ever reach. And it grants him access to it by a simple touch.

And now, it rests in your palm with a weight of importance so irreplaceable, doomed to drown and sink into a pit of darkness where it would lay unattainable but never forgotten.

You can’t let that happen.

There’s no way to find out what happened for it to fall where sky meets water but you won’t let it get dragged to its watery grave.

And something tells you it wasn’t Bucky’s decision to let go of it in such a way.

****

Bucky seems different this morning.

He was even earlier today. Sitting there already when you came up from the deep, shadows clinging to his frame, pooling in the curve of his shoulders. They are slumped in a way that makes him almost look unfamiliar, as though he’s been folded inward.

He would have caught you the moment your head met the first air of the day but with his eyes tipped downward you were able to retreat to the shadows of the willows without him noticing.

He drags a hand over his face, a sigh in his chest.

When he finally looks out across the water, there is a longing heavily dripping from his gaze like the water droplets from your lashes. His sadness seeps into the air, causing your breath to hitch.

Fingers tighten around the pendant that basically fell into your hand yesterday. It digs into the soft skin of your palm, pressingly reminding you who it belongs to.

There was no good time to give it back to him the day before but now there is.

But there is no way he won’t see you placing it on the wooden planks near enough for him to find.

Your heart hammers.

You wish for the pendant to give you that something it seems to grant Bucky so many times. Perhaps a bit of courage.

A deep breath fills your lungs. It wobbles on the way out but it’ll have to do.

Slowly, you submerge, sliding back beneath the water where silence engulfs you once again. Maybe that’s all you need to calm down.

You glide forward with the grace that comes naturally. Fish flit past, a scatter of silver that parts seamlessly around you. The water yields to you, always knowing your intentions before you do. Algae sway with your passing, green tendrils blending softly as you slip through.

You near the dock, near Bucky, and draw in another centering breath before pushing yourself to rise. The pendant is still tightly gripped in your palm, fingers almost aching.

The water responds, curving away for you to swim through. You emerge, inch by inch, already seeing his blurred form, a soft tether pulling you upward.

And when you break through, lifting your head into the open air, your eyes meet his.

Bucky’s breath catches, and he stills completely, eyes widening with that flicker of disbelief you remember from the first time. His face is struck by surprise. But it melts. Softening. Faster than the first time.

The shock in his gaze is fleeting now, submitting to something else, something that lingers, far lighter and deeper.

His mouth is open, caught mid-breath, and then his lips curve. A faint exhalation slips past his lips - half gasp, half laugh - an unguarded sound that leaves him like he’s been holding it, too fragile to release but too powerful to contain.

He holds himself still. Each muscle in his body restrained, as though he’s afraid the slightest shift might scare you away, making you sink down to the bottom of the ocean where he could not follow. He doesn’t even blink. As though he’s afraid that you might be a figment of his imagination and vanish the second his eyes open again.

But there’s a tremor in his hands. And the sudden rise and fall of his chest with the curling fists betray his desire to draw near.

His gaze trails over your features, each line of your face, lingering as if he tries to convince himself that you are real, despite him having seen you already.

The way he looks at you feels almost too much - so full of amazement that you feel your heart stutter, feel heat rise in your cheeks as his unabashed gaze rests so intensely on you.

You drop your gaze from him, rather keep it on the wooden planks as you slowly lift your hand out of the water. The one with his lost treasure in it.

Quietly, with a shyness you haven’t expected, you move closer. Carefully. Purposeful.

His eyes follow. Darting from your face to your hand, back and forth. His gaze softens with every passing second as you approach.

You stop beside the outside of his thigh, and with a breath that almost stuck in your throat, you unclench your fist while lowering it to the dock, setting it down as if even the wood beneath should bear its weight with care.

Taking your hand away, you reveal the chain and pendant that gleam like a secret laid bare between you both.

You draw back slightly, giving him space to process what lay before his eyes.

Bucky remains motionless. Suspended between reality and a cruel fantasy that plays tricks on him. His gaze is glued to the pendant as if it’s something sacred.

The bewilderment painted across his face that slackens his features and lets his mouth hang open is almost comical. A childlike miracle that softens his features to something so unexpectedly vulnerable. Your chest feels light and you can’t help the smile that softly tugs at your lips.

One of his hands reaches toward it as if on its own accord, callous fingers brushing over it with a slow tenderness, as though he is rediscovering a lost part of himself.

He lifts it in his palm, the chain glinting faintly in the dim morning light, and he stares at it like he’s seeing it for the first time.

The breath he releases is shaky, a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, breaking from him with the relief of something heavy lifted.

He closes his hand around it, pressing it close to him as if it’s something to be treasured, as if he’s able to draw warmth from its metal. His eyes squeeze shut for a moment and his fingers tremble around the newfound relict.

You avert your eyes. This feels like a moment you shouldn’t take part in. It feels like you’re intruding into something private with him so unguarded.

So you prepare to return to your hidden shadows, to leave him with his thoughts, to let the moment be his alone.

“Wait!”

The word is barely more than a croak, a rasp of something unsaid that was out before he could gather his strength.

You turn your head up to him again, meeting his gaze as his hand scrubs over his face, eyes wide and shining with something he can barely hold back.

He tries again, voice steadier but no less quiet. “I- I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

His gratitude floats between you both, the sincerity making your breath catch. His eyes search your face with something akin to incredulity. As if he’s still not sure if you’re really floating in the water before him. As if you still could be something his mind just made up. Even though the evidence of your presence is clutched tightly in his hand.

You don’t understand how he sees this as a debt. He was the one to gift you back your freedom. Your life. So why would he believe the debt could ever belong to him and not to you?

You watch him searching for language, his mouth shaping words that never quite leave his lips, his hand pressing the pendant to his chest.

He breathes deeply, almost as if bracing himself. And when he speaks again, his voice is low and quiet.

“Thank you,” he whispers, softer than before, his voice thick with gratitude that runs deeper than you will ever understand.

Something warm rises from some deep place within you and you feel it light up your face like the morning sun upon the water you’re floating in. Your mouth curves into a soft smile.

In response, his eyes brighten, a glimmer finding its way back into the blue depths as if he, too, is warmed by some inner sunrise.

His lips twitch upwards, hesitant yet honest, corners of his mouth tugging until it spreads into something whole, something radiant.

He holds you in his gaze as if he’s made a room there for you already. Something for you to stay. Something to keep you.

His eyes hold the kind of devotion that moments ago he had reserved for the pendant alone. But now it’s turned to you as if you’ve become the rare treasure placed back into his open palm.

He looks at you as if you’re the one who saved him today.

And before you can even so think about slinking back under, he speaks up again.

“May I-” He studies you for a heartbeat longer, contemplative. “Do you have a name?”

It’s intimate. A question only meant for you. Only uttered for your ears and not for the listening sea around you. The note is stronger, clearer, as though a surge of determination forced him to ask, not letting him leave until he gets an answer.

You can’t stop your smile from widening. Heat creeps up along your neck to the tips of your ears and the impulse arises to dive away, hiding from this emotion, resisting it. But you can’t let his question hover above you like that. Not when he answered you after it was you asking for his name those weeks ago.

A flicker of something crosses his eyes. Something you might interpret as an endearment. He seems to cherish this moment, eyes so fully fixed on the way your cheeks redden under his attention.

“Y/n.”

He beams. Face lighting up with a smile so pure it renders the sun climbing behind him rather useless.

He repeats your name - breathes it, really. He couldn’t help himself. Each syllable drips off his tongue like he’s tasting it, savoring it as if the sound itself holds some secret sweetness he never knew he craved.

Your tail flicks, cutting a gentle line through the water, a motion so out of your control like the sudden thrill in your chest.

He seems to engrave each note, each cadence of your name into the deepest folds of his mind.

As if he might hold onto it forever.

As if he can’t bear to let it fade.

“I am in love with the impossibility of us.”

- Lauren Eden

[silkholland]

That’s it, I’m adding it into my fic.

After Steve cums inside you he flops down next to you and goes in for a high five

I- honestly… I fear you may be right. With all his other dorky things (“time to giddy up, yeah”) I can honestly see him doing this

[cherienymphe]

When The Party’s Over XXV (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, mentions of DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, forced pregnancy, breastfeeding kink, toxic relationship, violence, jealousy, stalking, underage drinking, drug use, manipulation, public sex, innocent reader, Heyward!reader

This is it! My longest Rafe series is complete and I had a lot of fun writing this for you all. Enjoy!

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @silkholland​​

➥ series masterlist

summary: Manipulated into a secret relationship with Rafe Cameron, you’re finding it much easier said than done to do the right thing and walk away…especially when he refuses to let you.

~

You were rocking him to sleep, soft hums leaving your lips as you did so. He still seemed so small in your hands, something that was hard to believe. It was a nice day out, and you’d taken advantage of the sun and light breeze, opting to sit outside for a while. It was good for him, for both of you really. Rose’s paranoia about the one-year-old getting sick had more influence than either of you wanted to admit.

You looked down at him in your arms, hair simple and pulled back out of your face. Your lashes fluttered as you gazed down at him, a look on your face like he was your favorite thing in the whole world. It was a sight, like you two were the only ones in the whole house…the whole island to be exact. The dress that Rose had bought you clung to you, some baby weight lingering, the top of it straining across breasts that were much fuller than they used to be.

Rafe had done that.

The glow in your face, the extra softness in your frame, and the mewling baby in your arms was all because of him. He knew that if you’d had it your way, your son wouldn’t be here, at all, anger bubbling up in his chest at the memory of what became of his first child. He tried not to linger on that or think about it at all if he could help it because it would send him into a blind rage all over again. He was trying to be better. He was trying.

He'd told you that, and he meant it.

…but you had a way of getting underneath his skin.

You always had.

From the first moment he came across you on the side of the road like some hapless prey ripe for the picking, the sight of you had stirred something in his chest. You’d looked so unsure, so nervous, and what had started out as a ploy to get a pretty girl into bed had turned into something more the second he realized who you were.

To say that he and Pope had an ugly history would be an understatement. They’d left their mark on each other more than a few times, and staring into the face of the Pogue’s sister, having you completely at his mercy, had him smiling in a way that was less than friendly. He’d wanted you then because it would be fun and would eat at Pope better than any punch could.

…but then…

He’d wanted you because he didn’t want anyone else to have you.

You were sweet—too sweet—and kind—too kind—and where Rafe would normally have the desire to squash someone like you, all he’d wanted was to have you all to himself. You were just too trusting, letting Rafe touch you and talk to you in ways that he could tell you’d written off as nothing. You were too naïve…and too caring.

He hadn’t lied when he found himself at your window all those months ago, knuckles bruised from the force behind his punch. The concern in your eyes was almost enough to make Rafe feel bad, a genuine fear for him in there that he’d never seen in anyone’s eyes before. It had almost been enough to make him turn around, or at the very least, just leave you alone after that night.

However…

The thought of you looking at anyone else like that had made his chest tighten. Rafe didn’t want to imagine you letting anyone else climb through your window. He hadn’t wanted to think about you sitting on your bed like some rapt student, listening to some other asshole go on about whatever dull family problems weighed him down. He didn’t want to think of some other guy being on the receiving end of that soft voice and those expressive eyes and gentle hands.

No one had ever apologized for the relationship between him and his father before. The most Kelce or Topper had offered up was a halfhearted ‘that sucks’, and Rafe got it. They dealt with the same thing from uptight parents who expected too much, so what else could they really say? Sarah had only ever given him smug looks accompanied by some variation of ‘I told you so’, but you?

You’d been genuinely sorry. You’d looked at Rafe like being at odds with Ward was the worst thing you could imagine. You’d been so bothered by the thought of the older man making Rafe so angry to the point where he needed to take it out on a wall, hurting himself. You’d listened to him, comforted him and actually tried to make him feel better.

…and that was the moment that Rafe decided he had to have you.

You were just too good to be true, too good to pass up, and he hadn’t cared how he achieved it, only that he knew he was going to have you…for good. The slight guilt that he’d felt at taking advantage of your drunken state was quickly swallowed down by the feel of you underneath him, so tight and so warm. It was almost like he just didn’t deserve something as sweet as you, but if that were the case, you would’ve never been in his arms to begin with.

“Where are you going?”

The sight of you coming back inside pulled him from his reverie, and Rafe evenly gazed at you as you came up short at the sound of his voice. He hated the apprehension that seemed to live in your eyes now, knowing that he’d done that, but what was the alternative? Let you get comfortable enough to try and leave him again? Let you get bold enough to actually fight him off? Rafe was happy with your fear of him if it meant staying by his side.

“He’s been asleep for a while, now. So, I’m just going to put him down,” you told him, a look in your eyes like you wanted to mockingly ask him if that was okay.

He felt his lips quirk up into a small smirk, and he waved you off.

His eyes followed your every move as you breezed past him, gaze lingering on the way your dress hugged you as you climbed the stairs. There was a time where Rafe didn’t have to corner you and hold you down to have sex with him. There was a time when you initiated it just as much, happy to roll around in his bed and sneak around behind Pope’s back, and even though you were at a place where you could barely stand the sight of him, Rafe knew you’d get back to that once again.

It was only a matter of time.

You’d be raising a kid together for the next eighteen years. Not to mention however many more Rafe planned on having with you. Your only other option was to be completely miserable, and you were a lot of things, but stubborn wasn’t really one of them. It was solely your fear that drove you to keep your relationship with him a secret for so long. Not stubbornness.

He wouldn’t lie.

Rafe did feel a little bad about how it all came out, but in the end, it didn’t matter how everyone found out really. All that mattered was that the whole island knew you were his. This whole island would look at you and that baby in your arms and know that you both belonged to Rafe Cameron. He wouldn’t have to deal with assholes—both rich and low-class alike—hitting on you, and he wouldn’t have to keep arguing with you about it.

That was one aspect of your former relationship that he didn’t miss.

The secrecy was fun at first, so much so that Rafe could ignore how much it bothered him to keep you a secret and be a secret. Rafe was nobody’s secret, but it got old fast, and it was solely because of the horny fuckers that couldn’t put their tongues back in their mouth to hear you turn them down. He hated having to watch them run their eyes over you, tracing every inch if you with no effort to hide what they were thinking.

It was enough to drive him crazy, and he had let it.

What drove him crazier was your inability to see it. You’d treated him like he was silly, and all he’d wanted was to not have to sit back and swallow it down as countless guys approached you with every intention of doing to you what Rafe did every night. That was the only thing that kept him from losing it completely.

Knowing that when the party was over, it was his bed you were climbing into and his cock you were wrapping your lips around.

Not theirs.

Looking back, that was really all that mattered, and maybe he should’ve done a better job of remembering that. Hell, he’d even allowed his mind to run wild with the possibilities of you and Topper. It couldn’t be helped. Despite Topper’s own history with Bunny, Rafe saw the way the other blond looked at you sometimes, and even without Rafe in the picture, you weren’t the type to cavort with your friend’s sloppy seconds. That still didn’t stop Top from imagining what it’d be like though, and his fear as Rafe had confronted him only confirmed what Rafe knew he’d been thinking.

He recalled the way his best friend had seemed to trip over himself, stuttering to deny what they both knew was true. After all, if Rafe was threatening him over some girl, then it was serious and he’d been close to crossing a line he couldn’t uncross. Rafe knew you would never, but you’d been angry with him that night, and when he came back to the party to find you gone, only to track your phone, his mind had jumped to the worst.

You weren’t the vengeful type, that was more Rafe’s style, but he hadn’t been able to stop his imagination from getting the better of him.

He’d fucked up.

Bad.

He knew that that same night when it was just the two of you on the water, and you’d been trembling underneath him. He’d been determined to right his wrong, to apologize and beg for your forgiveness. You had to see how messed up he was. You had to see how stupid he’d been to let his paranoia get to him. He hadn’t meant it, and he thought that he’d made you see that.

He thought you understood how sorry he was for that mistake he’d never be able to undo.

He hadn’t anticipated you leaving him. Not really, anyway. After all, Rafe loved you, and he was shit at showing it properly yeah, but did that really matter? He knew he loved you, and he thought you knew too. If he didn’t, would he really have gone through so much trouble just to keep you? To protect you from assholes that’d had the same intentions he’d had?

Rafe had gone above and beyond to keep you at his side, and as he leaned against the doorway, staring at you as you peered down into your son’s crib, none the wiser to his gaze, he wondered if you really knew just how much you meant to him even if he sucked at showing it.

“If you’re going then I’m going.”

Rafe heard you huff, a tired sound that clued him in to the fact that he was going to get what he wanted either way.

“Rafe…”

He didn’t respond, lightly bouncing his son and smiling back at the cherubic infant as he tried to grab at his face.

“Pope’s home for the weekend, and I just want to spend some time with my family. I want them to play with him and bond with him-.”

“…and you can’t do that with me there?”

“I don’t want you there!”

The rise in your voice gave the infant pause, and Rafe cooed at him before his face had time to scrunch up in preparation of a wail.

“I just want it to be us,” you continued.

“Not happening,” he replied with no room for argument.

There was a brief pause, one thick and filled with tension. He could feel your eyes on him, and Rafe was unbothered, only lazily looking towards you after some time. You were sitting on the bed, as beautiful as ever, face pinched into a frown. He took great care to ignore the tears in your eyes.

“You have to know that I’m not going anywhere by now,” you told him, voice cracking. “I can’t just want a few days away from you?”

“That’s not very healthy,” he sarcastically told you, slowly walking around the room. “We have a family, now, beautiful.”

“You’re insufferable,” you mumbled.

The insult merely rolled over Rafe’s back.

“You can go wherever you want, you know that, but you’ve lost it if you think I’m not going with you,” he said, sitting next to you.

You both watched as your son reached for you, and Rafe happily handed him over. He couldn’t swallow down his smile as the infant made himself comfortable in your arms, a happy sound leaving his tiny lips at the sight of you. Rafe loved how much he loved you, and he loved how much you loved him in return. The sight made him happy, and you only gave him a scathing look when he reached out to gently touch your face.

“You tried to run from me before…and you tried to take him with you…”

His voice was soft as he reminded you of this.

“I’ll never put it past you to do that again.”

He watched you lick your lips, tongue darting between them as your eyes flashed, memories of that night going through your mind.

“You didn’t really give me much choice, Rafe,” you whispered. “How could I not want to be away from you?”

Rafe looked away at that, hating how much that affected him. He knew it was his own fault, he recognized that, but how could he right his wrongs when you didn’t give him the chance?

“I…messed up,” he said, catching himself after a glance at his son. “I know that…okay? But I love you and-.”

“You can’t really believe that, Rafe,” you whispered, not looking at him. “You don’t treat someone the way you’ve treated me if you love them.”

“I’m shit at showing it, alright?” he spat. “You don’t…you don’t need to tell me that. I know.”

He looked towards the empty crib, swallowing.

“You don’t…”

He trailed off, letting his words die in the air. How could he explain it to you? How could he make you understand that he was so terrified of losing you that it made him go overboard to make sure he didn’t?

“I just can’t lose you,” he finally murmured. “…and…it just makes me so desperate to do anything to make sure I don’t.”

Your scoff had him looking at you.

“Do you hear how messed up that is, Rafe?”

You blinked at him, looking at him like he was crazy, and of everything that happened, he hated that the most. Unlike everyone else, you’d never look at him like he was crazy or horrible or the problem.

“I should be able to leave if I want to,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t be trapped into a relationship, threatened into staying with you. That’s not right-.”

“I know it’s not right,” he spat, breathing through his nose as he looked between your eyes. “I know that. I know that it’s wrong and doesn’t make sense and every other bad thing in the book. I know that, okay?”

He pushed himself off of the bed, taking a deep breath.

“…but I’d rather that than not have you, at all.”

When he looked at you, he couldn’t place the look in your eyes, but you were staring up at him with parted lips. His son squirmed in your arms, and it was almost like you didn’t notice.

“I’d rather you be dead than not with me.”

You flinched, and he watched the way a lone tear escaped, skipping down your cheek. You shakily exhaled, looking away from him with a shake of your head. As Rafe said it, he realized that it was the truth. He’d set out to have you, he got you, and he wasn’t going to settle for losing you. It didn’t make sense for both of you to exist and not be together. It didn’t make sense for you to be alive and well and not with him.

Let alone with someone else.

He watched you look down at the infant in your arms, his son much quieter now.

“You terrify me, Rafe,” you finally said.

When your eyes met his again, he could see how true that was, and his own gaze found the floor.

“You’re not who I thought you were, and you terrify me,” you went on. “…and even if I was some dumb broad who wanted to just pretend like nothing happened and forgive you for everything you’ve done to me, you terrify me.”

When his eyes met yours again, you were glaring at him.

“You’ve hurt me more than anyone ever has. You hurt me in ways I never thought I would be, and I can’t be around you without wondering when you’re going to hit me again or hold my head under water or-.”

“I told you that I’m trying!”

Your words were getting to him, making his chest tighten and his jaw clench. His son squirmed and made a small noise of protest, and you held him closer. Rafe forced himself to take a deep breath, running his hand through his hair as you just…stared at him.

“I’m trying my best.”

“Well, your best sucks,” you whispered, swallowing. “They’ve put men in jail for less.”

Rafe didn’t really have anything to say to that other than an apology.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “You’ve said that before, Rafe. Some things you just can’t fix with an apology.”

You told him that in a tone filled with finality, and even though it wasn’t the first time you’d said it, it was still something he didn’t want to hear. Rafe knew that he’d wear you down eventually, even if it took years, but as long as you’d wake up next to him with a smile on your face, it didn’t matter how long it took.

Your nails pressed into his shoulder, and Rafe hissed. The sting added to the heat that was already coursing through him, and he tightened his free hand around your wrist. The other was digging into your thigh, his mouth buried between your legs, tongue laving at your folds. Rafe was sure that he’d never get enough of you.

Truth be told, Rafe never liked going down on any girl much. He much preferred them going down on him, but his ego was too big to resist a chance at hearing some faceless bimbo moaning his name and clinging to him like her life depended on it. It was always a means to an end.

…but with you…Rafe loved the taste of you.

He loved swiping his tongue over you, sliding it between your folds, thrusting it into you as best as he could. He loved the way your breath would catch, and the way your thighs would press into his head, almost suffocating him. He liked to look up and see your parted lips, eyes wide and on the ceiling or half-closed and lashes fluttering.

Rafe had once thought that he could stay between your legs forever if it was possible.

He pressed his hand into your stomach when you came on his mouth, letting your leg go and reveling in the feel of your thighs tightening around his head. You were twisting your arm, trying to get him to let go, but Rafe was having none of that. You were still fighting to catch your breath when he kissed his way up your body.

Your bundle of joy was sleeping in Ward and Rose’s room tonight, something Rose was happy to agree to when Rafe had brought it up. You seemed to be just on the precipice of sleep when he’d made his way into the bed, his lips on yours before you had an understanding of what was happening.

Despite your verbal protests, and the hands pushing against him, your body greedily clung to his when he pushed himself into you. You were so wet, a simple and smooth intrusion, and Rafe groaned at the feel. He heard your sharp intake of breath and felt your nails press into his skin. His forehead lightly rested against yours as he just held himself there, basking in the feel of you wrapped tightly around his cock.

It was a feel he’d never get tired of.

He pressed his forearm into the pillow beside your head, leaning over you as he pulled his hips back. The action made you gasp again, and your chest arched up into his when he pushed into you to the hilt. His thrusts were slow at first, taking his time, and Rafe pressed his lips to your neck.

Rafe did love you.

At least, he thought he did.

He knew that the thought of never being with you drove him crazy, drove him to terrifying lengths. He knew that you were the first thing he thought about when he woke up and the last thing before he went to bed. When he wasn’t with you, all he wondered was what you were doing. Your smile alone was enough to calm him down from any violent high, and sometimes when he thought about how badly he hurt you, it hurt him.

He would think about the frown on your face when he held you too tight or the fear in your eyes that day on the yacht. He remembered the way you shrunk in on yourself in his truck that night, clutching your cheek and wanting to be as far away from him as possible. It hurt Rafe to think about those things, some of them necessary, some of them not.

Sometimes you just made him so angry that he lost control, and while he never cared in the moment, the aftermath always had him feeling bad. He always wanted to hold you and tell you how sorry he was. Always wanted to kiss it better and beg for your forgiveness. Rafe had never wanted to lose control with you, and he’d failed at that so many times.

Your sharp moan brought him back to the present, and he curved his hips into yours, plunging into you without abandon. Your nails were drawing blood, but he didn’t care. He welcomed the feel, the pain, and his teeth grazed along your shoulder before his lips traveled to meet yours. You jerked your head away, but Rafe followed, covering your lips with his own.

He deeply inhaled, breathing you in and tasting the inside of your mouth. Every thrust had you shuddering beneath him, and Rafe felt like he wasn’t going to last for much longer. Against what you probably wanted, you clung to him, wrapping your arms around him and lifting your hips to meet his every thrust. Under the cover of darkness, you seemed to lose yourself, and it reminded Rafe of the early days in your relationship.

He missed waking up to the feel of your lips wrapped around him or your hand sliding along his bare skin in the middle of the night. No matter how much you might’ve wanted to erase it all, your body would never forget, and it was so evident in the way Rafe played you like an instrument, knowing exactly what to pull and what to stroke to make the sound he loved.

“I miss you,” he whispered into your mouth. “I miss you so much.”

You didn’t respond, pausing for half a second, and Rafe kissed you again.

“God, I miss you.”

Being with you was the only time Rafe felt…heard. Seen. You had never dismissed his problems because of however much money he had. You had never just placated him. You’d always genuinely felt bad for him and had always been open to listening to him and trying to make him feel better—whether that be with your words or your body.

In truth, you’d been way more understanding than he deserved at times.

…and that was how he knew you’d come around one day.

You had to.

There was no other choice.

When you came around him, he held you down, still pushing into you and fucking you through it. Your head was thrown back, and one leg was hooked along his waist, and Rafe didn’t want to look away. You were fighting to right your breathing, and Rafe took the time to kiss along your chest. His son was the greatest thing you’d given him, and despite your silence on the matter, Rafe could tell that you weren’t all that comfortable with the changes in your frame.

Rafe had never been happier, to be honest.

The fullness of your breasts were addicting to look at, even more addicting to feel, and knowing that it was to nurture his pride and joy turned him on so much. His teeth grazed over the rounded flesh, and his palm pressed over one, massaging it and squeezing it, and Rafe didn’t miss the mewl you let out. Nursing him before bed was something you hadn’t done today, and he both felt and heard your sigh of relief when he wrapped his lips around a hardened bud.

The pressure from his hand and mouth eased the pressure in your chest, making a mess on your skin and eventually the sheets. Rafe wondered what it felt like, that relief combined with the feel of him inside of you. When it was Rafe’s turn to come, he did so inside of you, jerking against you and rutting into you until he was spent.

You yourself were completely spent when he pulled away from you, resting on his back beside you. The only sound in the room was that of your combined breathing, and this was the part where you beat yourself up and allowed guilt to force you into more isolation. Rafe refused to let you, reaching over and pulling you closer. You didn’t react, and he’d take that over a fight any day.

“I love you,” he whispered after a while.

When you didn’t respond, Rafe continued.

“I know you don’t believe that, but I do. I-.”

“You’re obsessed with me,” you tearfully mumbled. “That’s not the same.”

Rafe swallowed, frowning.

“You want to possess me. You only care that I’m with you, never mind if I’m happy or not-.”

“You were happy with me before-.”

“…and that was before!”

You pulled away from Rafe, sitting up and wrapping the covers around you.

“That was before I knew what you were really like and before you tried to drown me and before…”

You trailed off, hurrying to your feet and quickly looking for something to put on. Rafe watched you with a frown, huffing to himself.

“Where are you going?”

“To be with my son,” you spat out.

You were moving out of the room before Rafe had time to respond, and he only stared after you.

Rafe knew that getting to where he wanted with you wasn’t going to happen overnight. Hell, it might not even happen in two years, but Rafe was patient when he knew what he wanted. He was patient the morning after you had sex with him, calm as he told you he wanted more from you, knowing the kind of girl you were and the pressure you’d feel to be in a relationship with him.

He’d been patient before that, content to orbit himself around you until he was a regular part of your routine. Patient until he’d made the decision that he wanted you all to himself. He was patient when he’d tampered with your birth control, knowing it was only a matter of time before your worry drove you to seek out a pregnancy test.

He had not anticipated the abortion.

That had shocked him, and it was only then did it click for him just how badly you wanted to cut ties with him.

Rafe had been patient that day he and Ward pulled into your yard, relaxing in your living room as his father talked to your parents and he waited for you to arrive. Rafe was impulsive, this was true, but he was patient when he needed to be. He’d been patient in tracking you down, following your every move until he had you right where he wanted you, alone on the side of the road and at his mercy.

…and Rafe could be patient with this too.

He fingered a familiar box in his hand, taking it from its place in the nightstand. The ring was ostentatious and shiny and perfect—fit for a Cameron woman. Fit for the wife of Rafe Cameron. He was unsurprised to find you in the other guest room, leaning against the headboard with his son in your arms as you nodded off.

It was a sight that warmed Rafe’s heart with pride, and he gently sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake either of you. You looked so peaceful in your sleep, a contrast to how you looked whenever you were looking at him these days. You were beautiful and the kindest person he ever knew, and you’d given him a healthy baby boy.

How on earth was he expected to just let you go?

He grabbed your free hand, your left one, brushing his own fingers over your own. You hated him, now, but you wouldn’t forever. You were afraid of him, now, but you wouldn’t be forever. Rafe was confident that a day would come where he’d hear the sound of your laughter mixed in with his son’s, and when you’d look up at him, it wouldn’t disappear.

He knew you’d probably scream at him in the morning and probably hurl it at him, but that didn’t stop Rafe from slipping the heavy ring onto your finger. It looked like it belonged, and Rafe brushed his finger over the solitaire. It wouldn’t be tomorrow, and it probably wouldn’t even be next year, but a day would come where you wouldn’t take this ring off, and while that day couldn’t come fast enough…

Rafe loved you just enough to wait.

Fin.

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 24: Behind the Scenes

Word Count: 701/Rating: T/Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader/CW: Eddie's got a crush, theatre girl!Reader, reader wears a dress, one dirty joke thanks to Gareth/Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Grant, Jeff, theatre girl!Reader, Principal Higgins

Divider credit to @silkholland

“This is all your fault,” Gareth hissed at Eddie. “I should be behind the bleachers, making out with Annie right now.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, swiping a paint brush over a two-by-four. “Sure, blame the guy standing up to The Man. Let’s not consider that Principal Higgins was the one who banned us from the talent show.”

Jeff hiked up his sleeves and grabbed the nearest hammer, ready to construct the Scarecrow’s perch. “Higgins didn’t ‘ban’ us,” he countered. “He just told us we couldn’t play War Pigs.”

“And that’s better?” Eddie shook his head. “No, we were given freedom of speech for a reason! We should be able to play whatever we goddamn want!”

Mrs. Porter, the school play’s director, glared at him and shushed. Eddie held up his hands in surrender, but continued complaining in a loud whisper. 

“All I’m saying is, if he didn’t want us putting on our own lunchtime performance, he should’ve let us do our thing at the talent show.”

“I think the lunch ladies enjoyed it,” Grant chimed in, earning himself a thwack in the back of the head from Jeff. 

Eddie was about to thank him for his support, but a flash of pink caught his eye. You were standing in front of the girl playing Dorothy and twirling in your Glinda dress. After a few spins, you got dizzy, and Dorothy caught you as you both burst into laughter.

Gareth resumed his rant, oblivious to Eddie’s sudden smittenness. “I’d rather play Girls Just Wanna Have Fun than build sets for the fuckin’ school play.” He held the perch in place so Jeff could hammer in the nail. “At least we could write lyrics and plan campaigns in regular deten–are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?” Eddie blinked a few times, snapping himself out of his daze. “Yeah. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. Got it.”

“What’re you looking at?” Grant peered around one of the fighting trees, his face splitting into a grin when he saw. “Oh, that’s why you’re not pitching a fit about this set design detention.”

Jeff batted his eyelashes flirtatiously. “Eddie, do you have the hots for the fairy princess?”

“Shut up!” Eddie grumbled. “And she’s not a fairy princess; she’s Glinda the Good Witch.”

The backup guitarist put up his hands in mock surrender. “My apologies.” 

“You gonna ask her to play with your wand?” Gareth snickered, but he quickly stopped once Eddie shot him a look that could kill.

You disappeared back into the makeshift dressing room, and Eddie let out a silent sigh of relief. He might not be able to stare at you from afar, but at least he could think about you without the guys interfering. The subject naturally shifted to the songs they wanted to add to their setlist for their Hideout gigs, and Eddie was in the clear.

Until.

“Those look great!” 

Eddie’s head shot up at the sound of your voice. His cheeks reddened and his mouth relaxed into a sheepish grin.

“Thanks, yeah. I’m not much of an artist–like, a painting artist. I band. Um, I mean, I play in a band. So, like, music artist. I do music. Yeah.”

You raised your eyebrows, clearly unsure how to interpret his rambling. “Well, a music artist is still an artist.”

“Yeah.” Christ, Munson; is that the only word you know?

Gareth was more than happy to supply further conversation. “Sorry, he’s kind of an idiot around girls he’s hopelessly in love with.”

‘I hate you’ was perched on Eddie’s tongue, but you stepped in. You paid no attention to the menace-formerly-known-as-Gareth as you spoke directly to Eddie. “Well, we always need music artists to help make the orchestra pit fuller. If you’re interested.”

“No–I mean, yeah, I’m interested. Super interested.” The paint brush clattered to the ground, but he barely noticed. “Where do I sign up?”

As Eddie followed you to where the orchestra conductor was tuning violins, Gareth leaned closer to the two remaining bandmates. “Think it’s a good idea to tell him that Higgins is technically the reason why he got to talk to his dream girl?”

Jeff clapped a hand on the drummer’s back. “Good luck with that.”

--

[silkholland]

Aww a picture of @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

being a writer is hard

[silkholland]

after struggling with a title for the fic I’ve been working on for so long, i think I’ve finally decided on one.

Thank you, PVRIS.

[harrywavycurly]

It Was Just One Night Part 25: Time Flies

Masterlist: Here

Tag List: @ihatepeanutss @sofaritsalrightt @emma77645 @ietss @1paire2vans @robyn-118 @josephquinnlover0 @mommymilkerfanclub @littlemoon-beam @lodeddiperrodrick @silkholland @shotgunhallelujah @prestinalove @allsortsedits @a1ex-ba1ex @eddiemunson-fanfic @josephquinnsfreckles @hiscrimsonangel @rustboxstarr @idkbbyx3 @silky-luxe @mrsjellymunson @amberpanda99

A/N: Here we are! The last part to this wonderful series! I have loved writing this so much it’s brought me a lot of joy and I’m so thankful y’all have given it so much love and support! Don’t worry this isn’t the last of these two and Dotty!✨

[tom-whore-dleston]

Like Real People Do masterlist

Pairing ▹ Adam Warlock x f. reader (WandaVision AU)

Genre ▹ tbd

Synopsis ▹ You finally have everything you want - a loving husband, an adorable pet, and a beautiful house in a beautiful neighborhood. Could your perfect little world get any better than this?

Notes ▹ I decided to make this a series with no definite plot. With that said, I am open to taking requests for fics that fall under this AU. I'll accept smut, fluff, angst, crack, and some dark requests/thoughts/suggestions. Please be mindful of what I will NOT write in this AU. Aside from that, thank you for all the love and support towards this ongoing fic bbs 🫶🏽

The Warlocks' soundtrack | Help build the story | inspo tag

divider by @silkholland

My Love, My Darling coming soon

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hey, I have a request for you for Chris Beck. Could you please write it where he is still in the space and his little daughter calls him? And he tells her about the mission and shows her a few things. And she is excited and presses her phone the whole time into her face to be closer to her daddy. And his girlfriend (the reader) tries to get the phone back. And then the little daughter shows her mommy's face in the camera?

Thank you in advance.

This is so cute!!🥹 I had so much fun writing this!!🥰 I hope it’s what you expected🩵

Cute Space Calls » Chris Beck

Pairings: Boyfriend/Dad!Chris Beck x Girlfriend/Mom!Reader with daughter Nova

Summary: Chris, his girlfriend (the reader), and their daughter have fun on their space call.

Warnings: Fluff, language, nothing but cuteness, hugs and kisses, nicknames for daughter (moon girl, princess), nicknames for reader (sweetheart)

Written on my phone so sorry if there’s any mistakes or typos.

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found this gif on Pinterest.

DIVIDER IS NOT MINE!! Credit goes to @silkholland

Nova is practically jumps up and down on her spot on the couch as she waited for her daddy to answer the phone. Her smile grew bigger when Chris appeared on the phone screen.

“Daddy!” Nova squeals with excitement. “Can you see me?!” She asks, pressing her cheeks against your phone screen.

“Yes, I can see you, moon girl!” Chris smiles. “How are you?” He asks.

“I good!” She smiles. “Mommy is here too!” She says, shoving your phone in your face.

“I see her.” He laughs. “Hi sweetheart.” He says.

“Hi, babe.” You smiled.

“Take this, mommy! I gots to show daddy something!” Nova says, shoving your phone in your hand.

Nova slid off of the couch and ran to her bedroom to get something. She came running back to the living room with her new Outer Space coloring book that you just bought her. She practically snatched your phone from your hand and showed her daddy her new coloring book.

“Look daddy! Mommy bought this for me!” She smiles.

“That’s really cool, princess!” Chris says.

She opened it and showed Chris the pages she colored. She showed him a picture of a moon that she colored pink with blue stars.

“That’s beautiful, Nova. You’re a real artist.” He says.

“I’m not an artist.” She says with a pout.

“Then what are you?” Chris asks curiously.

“A space doctor like you!” She says.

Chris smiles proudly at his daughter. It made him happy to know that she wants to be like him when she grows up.

“There’s a problem though.” Nova says.

“What’s that?” He asks.

“I don’t know anything about space.” She says.

“That’s not a problem.” Chris starts. “I can tell you everything you need to know.” He says.

Nova looked at the screen with a smile on her face.

“Tell me please!” Nova says.

“There’s a lot you need to know. Like the moon, the stars, the planets.” He says, telling her the basics.

You smiled at the two of them as they talked about space.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your guys’ space conversation. Nova, is is ok if I talk to daddy?” You asked, reaching for your phone.

“No!” Nova moves to the other side of the couch. “It’s me and daddy time!” She says cutely.

You and Chris laughed at her cuteness. You decided to tease her and reach for your phone again. Nova playfully smacked your hand away.

“I don’t get to see daddy?” You say with a pout.

Nova moved to your side of the couch and crawled onto your lap, shoving your phone in your face.

“Here you go, mommy!” She says.

You laughed and took your phone out of her hands.

“She gets her cuteness from you.” You say, looking at Chris.

“I beg to differ, sweetheart.” Chris says.

“Agree to disagree?” You say.

“Sounds good to me.” He smiles.

Nova managed to squeeze herself in between you and your phone, squishing her cheek against your phone screen making you and Chris laugh at her cuteness.

“Can I have the phone back please? I have to ask daddy something.” Nova says, doing grabby hands.

You smiled and gave your phone back to her.

“What do you want to ask me, princess?” Chris asks.

“Can you see the moon and stars in space?” She asks curiously.

“Yes I can. The stars are all around me and the moon is big.” He says.

“No way!” She says almost speechless, putting your phone closer to her face.

Chris can’t help but smile at her cuteness.

“Nova, I can’t see your face and I can’t see mommy either.” He says with a small laugh.

Nova moved your phone away from her face so he can see her better.

“Sowwy, daddy.” She giggles.

“No need to apologize, princess. You’re just being cute like your mommy.” Chris smiles.

You felt yourself blushing. Even when Chris is in space, he still manages to make you blush.

“I wish I could talk longer, but I have to get back to work.” He says.

“No!” Nova whines. “A few more minutes please!” She begs with a pout.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could, princess.” He say.

Nova sat there with a pout on her face with her bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

“Don’t pout, princess. We can’t talk tomorrow.” He says.

“Promise?” Nova says.

“Promise.” He smiles.

Nova smiles and kisses your phone screen.

“I love you, daddy.” Nova smiles.

“I love you too, moon girl. Give mommy hugs and kisses for me.” Chris says with a smile.

“I will!” She smiles. “Say I love you to daddy, mommy!” She says, shoving your phone in your face.

You giggled and took your phone out of her hand.

“I love you, Chris. See you soon.” You say, blowing him a kiss.

“I love you too, sweetheart. I’ll be home before you two know it.” He says with a smile and blows a kiss back.

Once you guys hung up the phone, you sighed and looked at Nova to see her smiling.

“What are you smiling about, princess?” You asked.

“Daddy told me to give you hugs and kisses!” She says.

Nova jumped on you, attacking you with hugs and kisses making you laugh. You wrapped your arms around her and gave her hugs and kisses as well.

Thank you for requesting!🩵 @buckys-wintersoldier

-Bucky’s Doll

[itsasilentreader]

Itsasilentreader favourites

Hi all! I can imagine what you are thinking; who is she? I understand, I don't have a lot of followers on here or even mutuals. But since I have read a lot (and I mean a LOT) of Eddie Munson fics, I want to share my favourites of this moment.

Even if I can influence one person with this post, I would be happy. Where to begin, where to begin? I have so many that I absolutely love but I will share some in this post, in no particular order.

DISCLAIMER! This contains 18+, NSFW themes > minors DNI! Also, this is going to be a long read. Enjoy!

Note: I love every single blog on here, especially the ones that I follow. There are a lot of people who are so talented and have a writing gift (please share your talents with me) and I don't want to exclude anyone. If people like this, I will continue creating posts of my favourite fics and recommendations (of that time).

Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @silkholland

1. Title: Twenty-Four Hours

Writer: @ghost-proofbaby

Summary: In which Eddie Munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. What happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty-four hours consecutively together?

CW: NSFW eventual smut > minors DNI! Strong languages.

Pairing: Modern!college!Eddie Munson x fem!college!reader

Tropes: Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

My notes: This series has two of my favourite tropes: enemies to lovers and forced proximity. It is so well written and so much fun to read. Also, starting off with a bet?! One of my favourite things and takes me back to those 90s/00s rom-com vibes.

There is a story behind what happened with Eddie and the reader before, and it is so well-written that it keeps you on your toes while catching a glimpse from time to time of what happened that night they met. I can't wait to discover what happened and why they are the way they are right now.

I just can't get enough of this series and it is so good. It has enough banter, angst and humour. There is one scene in this series where the reader goes through Eddie's.. stuff, that got me giggling and almost cackling while trying to imagine Eddie's reaction. If you wanna find out which scene I'm talking about, you should read this series!

If you like these tropes, this one is for you!

2. Title: To know you're mine

Writer: @blue-mossbird

Summary: Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

CW: for obvious reasons, NSFW > has a lot of smut. Minors DNI! body insecurity, swingers, group sex, dirty talk, emotional hurt/comfort, cheating, angst with a happy ending.

Pairing: Modern!au, Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham x Steve Harrington x you, fem!reader, chubby!reader

My notes: Okay to be completely honest, I had my doubts when I came across this fic and before I started reading it. I am not that keen on the tags swinging and cheating in fics (with main characters). Most of the time, it is just not my cup of tea. But man oh man, when I read this, my doubts were gone, GONE I tell ya.

This is one of the best and most well-written pieces of art I have ever read. It is, obviously, a dirty and fun story. But the aspect of confronting changing feelings for another is written in such a mature way, it really sucked (pun not intended) me into this story.

Also, as someone who is not as skinny but not as chubby, it did make me feel better about myself while reading a reader that has the same insecurities as I have, and actually seeing it written in a story like this makes me feel validated.

If you like romance, angst and a LOT of smut? This one is for you!

3. Title: The "Yes" Policy

Writer: @pinkrelish

Summary: After a lifetime of questionable decisions, you moved from the big city to the sleepy town of Hawkins with your best friend, and took the first job you saw: answering phones for the most boring auto shop in the dullest place on Earth. It wasn't exactly the adventure you wanted it to be... but attempting to win over the jaded mechanic who insisted on ignoring your existence proved entertaining.

CW: It is NSFW since there will be eventual smut. You know the drill > minors DNI! angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, depictions of poverty

Pairing: singledad!mechanic!Eddie x fem!reader.

Tropes: A delicious written slow burn

My notes: Honestly, I cannot get enough of this one. This is my all-time favourite at this moment. The way this is written will make you giggle and blush like a high schooler. I don't think I can put into words how much I love this series.

Every chapter is a long read and every word got me hooked. Anticipating what is coming next. Every word, every action and every thought is so well written that I sometimes forget it is fiction and they don’t exist.

Also, Eddie Munson as a girl dad? Sign me up! The relationship between them, and his daughter with the reader is so adorable it makes my heart hurt. (I just wanted a happy ending for him).

It is also set a little bit later than season 4, it does look back on certain aspects of that season, but you just have to read this to find out!

If you love slow burns and strangers to lovers, this is it for you!

4. Title: Honey, I'm home

Writer: @trashmouth-richie

Summary: You were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.

CW: NSFW, eventual smut > minors DNI! crude behaviour, Eddie is a fucking menace

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Tropes: enemies to lovers

My notes: Okay so enemies to lovers is my favourite trope, and yes I have issues but that's what therapy is for.

I don't know why everyone is writing enemies to lovers!roommate Eddie at this moment but please never stop. I love you. This series has three parts (as of creating this post) and the relationship between these two is so funny but also like, more realistic of some sort? Eddie is a fucking menace indeed but the reader is so stubborn as hell and does not let Eddie walk over her.

The way Eddie is written here made me cackle so hard because this is what I can imagine being roomies with him is like, to be really fucking honest. Anyways, I can't wait to see how this series goes and how the relationship between Eddie and the reader will shift to something more.

If you like enemies to lovers and menace Eddie, this one is for you!

5. Title: Bad Idea

Writer: @lunarzstarz

Summary: Not wanting to leave for college with your virginity still intact. you turn to the last resort that you know can only end terribly...

CW: NSFW > minors DNI! drugs, first times, oral (F receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, nicknames (princess/sweetheart), Eddie being a goof but also an asshole

Pairing: fuckboy!Eddie Munson x Virgin!fem!reader

My notes: okay listen up, this was so good. Normally, I stay clear of fuckboy!Eddie because I can't handle angst and there is, of course, always angst involved with him.

But this one? My god, I want him. Currently, as I am writing this, Shameless by Camilla Cabello came on and it is so fitting even though I do not know what is coming next. This was a delicious read and I can't wait to find out how Eddie will get his head out of his ass. I'm hoping the reader will have this impact on him that he can't explain and drive him crazy. That's all.

No but in all seriousness, this is also a piece that is so well-written and I can't wait for part two and three!

If you are into fuckboy!Eddie, this one is for you!

6. Title: The customer's always right

Writer: @lovebugism

Summary: Eddie Munson is a virgin and doesn't want anyone to know (because being an adult who's never fucked anyone is a total reputation ruiner). But you, his favorite customer, are more than willing to change that.

CW: Also for obvious reasons, NSFW > minors DNI! Virginity loss, new relationship shenanigans, mentions of previous toxic relationships, angst with a happy ending, canon divergent

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Tropes: friends to lovers

My notes: Okay you can never go wrong with friends to lovers, right? This is a fun and spicy read, with finally a not-so-confident and experienced Eddie regarding sex.

Meanwhile, I am a total sucker (pun definitely intended) for a confident, know it all, sex-god type of Eddie (because who isn't?!), this is a refreshing read. It shows a different side of Eddie. There are probably more virgin!reader x eddie, than the other way around, but I love to read these types of fics.

It is cute and spicy and has the right amount of angst. Like I have mentioned before, I'm usually avoiding angst fics because my heart will ache so bad and I physically can't take it, this contains just the right amount.

If you are also into virgin!eddie, friends to lovers, this one is for you!

7. Title: I want you to want me

Writer: @upsidedownwithsteve

Summary: Basically you go to a summer camp as a camp counselor and meet Eddie. You have one personal rule: no boys.

CW: So fluffy, it is sickening. A few almost kisses. Billy does make an appearance so I think that should be considered a CW?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Trope: strangers to friends to lovers I think

My notes: When I came across this fic, I was already hooked by the fact is like a camp counselor!Eddie AND the first part was already 33K words. (if you haven't noticed, I loved long chapters). It fits the whole vibe with Eddie.

This is just pure fluff, teeth-rotting fluff and I absolutely love it. This is one of the best camp counselor fics I have ever read and it is overall just amazing. There is a part two and baby blurbs available to read too! I read these two back to back and even though it was a long read, it is worth it.

If you like camp counselor Eddie like me, this one is for you!

8. Title: Is it my body, part of the Super Freak series

Writer: @punk-in-docs

Summary: The one where Eddie gives you a ride home after your friend ditched you at a terrible party.

CW: This particular part doesn't have any CWs in particular, just fluff and pining. Some parts are NSFW (minors DNI!) because it contains smut.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

My notes: I am currently rereading this series because this is just amazing. This particular part has my heart. The flirting, the pining, the fluff, it all makes my heart melt.

Overall this series is so much fun to read. It finally has a reader who is not particularly popular but also not a total outcast. It just kind of hangs in between, just like I was in high school. Maybe that is why I love this series. And his nickname for reader is fucking adorable. Please.

Also, the friend of the reader in this series reminds me of my ex-friend who has a similar personality. I don't know why I gave you this information.

With that being said, I'm going to reread this series again and blush at this part.

If you like fluff, goofy Eddie with some smut, this one is for you!

If you made it to the end, congrats! Thank you so much for taking the time to read through a few of my favourite fics at this moment. They are all talented writers and I absolutely love all of their work. If you decide to check these fics out, please also check out the rest of their work! This took way too long to write but I hope you enjoyed it!

Thank you all, have a great day/night <3

[hornyhornyhimbos]

Welcome To: hornyhornyhimbos' smutmas celebration

Happy Ho(e)lidays to my favorite people!! I hope you're all doing very very well. I know I am, and it's because I'm so excited to tell you guys about this lil event!

So, to preface, this is very heavily inspired by @lovebugism's various seasonal events! You can check out the latest one here and show her some love! 🫶🏻

All rules and such are going to be listed below so keep reading if you wanna find out all about my lil Smutmas Celebration 🥰

The Rules:

As always, the rules for this blog are listed on my pinned post, so please be sure to check here before you put in a request!

Other than my boundaries, the only absolute rule to this challenge is that your requests must be Christmas-themed. 🎄💚

Things I'll Write:

This is gonna be divided into a couple different sections for you guys, for easy navigation and inspiration for your requests!

a list of au's/themes i will write:

Celebrity!AU

Parents!AU

Royalty!AU

Vampire!AU

Modern!AU (for Stranger Things muses)

Inexperienced!Reader or Inexperienced!Muse

Older!Muse

Friends/Enemies with Benefits

Other AUs may be available upon request! These were just the ones I thought up lol.

previously written themes i will do spin-offs for:

Cowboy!Steve Harrington

Inexperienced!Eddie Munson

Rockstar!Eddie Munson

Vampire!Eddie Munson

Sugar Daddy!Spencer Reid

Bucket List!Spencer Reid

if you guys need any further inspiration, here are some lists of prompts and kinks to choose from!

'Christmas, But Make It Sexy' prompts

'Smut-ful Holiday' prompts

'Tis the Season for Smut' prompts

'69 Kinks' prompts

There also a couple of prompt lists linked on my pinned post if you guys would like to check those out as well!

smutmas artwork: made by me!

candy cane dividers: @silkholland

christmas support banners: @saradika

-> tagging some mutuals if anyone would like to spread the word!

@dungeons-are-too-cold @rupsmorge @reidsbookclub @writer-in-theory @serenity-lattes @foxy-eva @reidselle @battymunson @reputationmunson @reidsbtch

[3-frogs-in-a-trench-coat]

Day 18: Pining

Going with 1 prompt today. Special shout-out to my twin for giving me the idea. (You know who you are. 😉)

Phoenix begins to find strange envelopes in their mailbox.

Divider by: @silkholland

NOTE: The poems mentioned throughout this fic have been taken from real poems written by people. The credit to the poems told within this fic don't go to me or my f/o. Full credit goes to the original authors of these poems, and I don't wish to ever steal any of the credit for what they wrote.

....Weird...

Phoenix stood outside their house, leaning slightly to the right so their elbow lightly propped up against the top of their mailbox.

An unusual envelope held within both hands.

They didn't know when it had arrived, but it seemed pretty new. The envelope itself seemed to have been made by hand, with a square scrap of scrapbook paper. Decorated with a light, almost mint, green colored background with a violet pattern across it.

A single heart sticker sealed the envelope. Its position up on the envelope a bit cricked, as if it was left there by either a nervous or energetic hand.

Other than sealing the envelope, the sticker had another purpose. A single yellow dandelion, not fully bloomed yet and slightly wilted, sat between the sticker and the paper of the envelope.

Phoenix took care to peel the sticker, making sure not to break the dandelion's stem and, holding it on their hand for a few seconds, ended up deciding to tuck it between one of their ears. Patting it gently to make sure it stayed in place. They wanted to make sure it stayed safe, while they looked at the contents within the envelope. Even though they didn't know who had sent this.

Before opening the envelope, they looked around the outside of it one more time. No address anywhere.

No address, no name, nothing to help Phoenix find out who had sent this....

Phoenix's mouth twisted in confusion. A bit hesitant at first,before they finally unfolded the envelope.

A single slip of paper fell, fluttering down towards the ground.

They gasped. Grabbing it in one hand before it touched the ground. Cringing a bit as they felt the paper scrunch up a bit within their tightened grasp.

Straightening their posture, they gently tried to un-crinkle the paper, before reading.

It seemed to be a letter. A mix of sweet nothings with an excerpt of a poem at the end. This is the part that particularly stole Phoenix's attention.

It said:

"Our hearts are so gentle, so pure. I'll keep loving you, I know for sure." - Mohit

And that was it. Besides the words that filled the paper above the bit of poem, there was nothing else added. No names or initials at all.

Phoenix felt.... Emotionally numb. They weren't sure why, but the way everything was written was so... Familiar, but new. They could have sworn they saw that hand writing somewhere before, but the words said within it came with a type of.... Elegance and such a deep love that didn't seem to be fully recognizable to them.

They took a deep breath, and sighed. Gently folding the letter, they walked back into the house. Standing in the doorway temporarily to look around outside for any signs of this mystery person, before closing the door behind them.

The next few days were similar as the first. Soon, Phoenix would end up checking the mailbox every day due to the pure anticipation and curiosity of it all.

Each day they'd open their mailbox. Each one enclosed within a handmade envelope made from a square sheet of scrapbook paper, each one with different flower patterns. Sometimes there'd be a heart sticker sealing the envelope, other times it would be a random postage stamp that depicted different animals or plants.

A leaf or a single flower would sometimes be stuck up on the sticker, while on other times small paper confetti in the shape of flowers or hearts. The confetti falling down towards Phoenix's feet like snow.

Phoenix would end up picking up each piece, and placing the confetti into a single sealed bag. Feeling like it would be disrespectful to let this person's dedication to their craft go to waste.

As for the letters themselves, they'd continue to stay nameless. The only names being the ones that ended the last poem at each letter, giving credit to the original author from which the excerpt of the poem had come from.

Each poem itself slowly becoming more and more romantic.

For the rest of the letters, the parts that were written before the poems, Phoenix could never seem to be able to place a finger on where they'd recognized that hand writing from.... But this person's words.... Each loving sentence becoming more intimate as time went on.... They'd begin to fill Phoenix's heart with a feeling they didn't feel before. So much romance on a day to day basis.... It was overwhelming. The passion this person gave in their letters....

Phoenix would end each day telling their partners about these letters. They didn't notice it, but Aza and Thimble would give each other this knowing look whenever Phoenix wasn't paying attention...

And then.... It all stopped. No more letters. Nothing to ever signify that the letters had even arrived at all, in the first place.

Phoenix wouldn't notice it at first, but their heart would slowly fall.

Did something happen to this person? Were they hurt? Sick? Did Phoenix upset them somehow? Was this all some kind of mistake??? Was Phoenix mis-reading what the person had been writing to them?

Phoenix would find themselves on some days re-reading the past letters that had been given to them, on their free time. Silent. Brooding, in a way that gave off their obvious curiosity towards this situation.

This whole situation was just..... Unusual.

"Come here."

The voice was a bit softer than usual. A bit shaky too. Strange...

Phoenix looked up, snapped out of their thoughts. Thimble stood before them, dressed up in one of her nicer looking outfits.

Something seemed to be on her mind, but Phoenix couldn't figure out what.

"To where?" Phoenix asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

The house was a bit more silent than usual. Aza was at a leg modeling job. This new company was a bit smaller than the others he sometimes worked with, and wasn't as old as the others to. They seemed to really like his work though, and had asked Aza to stay a bit longer, to discuss a possible modeling job with them in the near future.

Due to this, and Thimble's strange silence, Phoenix couldn't help but feel a bit more anxious than usual.

All Thimble did was reach out a hand, letting Phoenix place their hand in his, and gently pulling up their partner to a standing position, before leading them outside, to the back of the house.

It was near night time. The air a bit chilly, but not uncomfortably so. The sky lit just enough for you to still see clearly.

A small section of the yard held a fold out table and 2 chairs. The table decorated with a tablecloth the color of moss, and the chairs topped with cushions of the same color.

A small cluster of various sized candles sat on the center of the table. Phoenix was pleasantly surprised that they gave off the scent of sandalwood as the couple walked closer to the table.

They stopped just a few inches from one of the chairs, before Thimble let go of Phoenix's hand, and took a few steps backwards, not breaking eye contact.

It took a slip of paper out of its pocket.

He spoke. Not looking at the paper, but instead seeming to speak from his heart.

His words were full of love and care. Voice a bit shaky, but slowly becoming more confident as his voice became that of someone who'd often recite poetry. (Which he actually would often do, to both Phoenix and Aza.)

Something about these words seemed familiar. Phoenix could swear they heard at least some of these sentences before... That they came across this same feeling they were currently feeling, before...

And that was when Thimble held up the slip of paper he recently took out of his pocket. Flipping it around to show Phoenix the words on it.

Only 15 words were written on it.

"Our hearts are so gentle, so pure. I'll keep loving you, I know for sure." Thimble recited, as Phoenix read the words.

These..... Were the same words written in the first letter they got from their mystery person. But that would mean....

"That person.... That was you?" Thimble gave a slight smile at this question.

Phoenix continued. "The envelopes. The hand writing. Ohhhhh it makes so much sense now!" Phoenix cried out, not knowing how they didn't notice this at the start.

"The paper from your scrapbooking supplies. The... The hand writing..." They had to stop to take a breath. Exasperated at their lack of words, despite having so much to say.

Thimble took a step towards them.

"I thought it could be something to surprise you with... I know you like poetry. And that you haven't had things like this happen to you before. I guess... I thought that maybe it would help you realize more that you're worth feeling loved more than you might tell yourself. It was... Both mine and Aza's idea, but they thought it might be good for the both of us if I were to do most of the work."

Phoenix began to tear up. Thimble did too, up on seeing this.

Phoenix fell into Thimble's arms. Who of which, admittedly stumbled back a few steps, due to how short they were compared to their partner. But he was able to balance the both of them, and held Phoenix close.

"I don't know what to say..." Thimble turned their head towards Phoenix a bit, their partner's voice a bit hard to hear due to Phoenix speaking barely above a whisper.

"Thimb, I..... I really needed this.... Thank you."

Thimble's grasp on their partner tightened as they could feel them begin to cry within their arms.

Thimble's shoulder getting a bit damp from the tears.

Phoenix looked up soon after though, and sniffed.

"Thank you." They repeated, voice just about hoarse.

Thimble took a while to make sure Phoenix was taken care of, before leading them towards one of the chairs. Having them sit down before sitting down in a chair himself. The next hour or so was spent with Thimble serving Phoenix their favorite dishes. At one point they were able to cheer Phoenix up by doing a few different accents. Something they knew seemed to entertain their partner.

At the end of the night, Thimble led Phoenix inside, and to bed. And it all ended when she joined them, both partners holding each other close as they both drifted off to sleep.

Aza would join them soon after. Finally back home and having had some dinner, he made sure to slowly crawl into bed, careful not to wake his partners, and joined in the cuddle. The energy both Phoenix and Thimble gave off was one full of a new found closeness and intimacy at a bigger extent. It was almost irresistible not to join in.

Plus seeing Phoenix's face lightly streaked with dried tears, made him want to join in even more.

Aza could tell tonight was a good night for both of their partners. And their love for both of them only grew after sensing how good of a time they had. They needed this.

Soon all 3 partners laid in bed, lost in a deep sleep, arms wrapped around each other in an embrace that would, if they had the option to, never break apart.

Taglist:

@faerie-circle-ships

@sennamybeloved