#this is the last piece of art I’m making I swear

[robertbelcherjr]

Babygirl

[g1rld1ary]

the way i see you ; remus lupin x reader

➻ synopsis: you're an artist, but you never let any of your friends see your work. they finally attend one of your exhibits and see your feelings on paper

➻ word count: 4346

➻ content: swearing, allusions to sex, gryffindor reader but literally mentioned once, no pronouns but implied to be fem reader, kissing, no war AU!!

➻ the remus brainrot is strong rn

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You were an artist, you had been the whole time the boys knew you. Even in first year as a shy eleven year old, you were always scribbling away in a little sketchbook that lived in the big pockets of your robes. The hobby only developed as you got older, expanding mediums and filling countless sketchbooks. When you weren’t studying (or even when you were supposed to be) it was almost a given that you’d be working on a piece somewhere, far from the prying eyes of others.

Your friends caught glances of your art sometimes, doodles on the corner of your essays or notes, maybe a stray page left out in your dorm which told them you were good, but you never ever willingly let them see it. They didn’t know why, truthfully, you didn’t know either, but it had always been that way and everyone had more or less accepted that.

“Have you ever drawn me?” Sirius asked one afternoon as you all sat out by the Black Lake, cocky grin on his face.

“’Course,” You answered simply, moving to turn back to your conversation with Remus.

“Wait, really?”

“Well you have to have drawn me then, right? Can’t just be Padfoot!” James cut in quickly, making you laugh, nodding.

“Before everyone starts asking, lets just establish that I’ve drawn all of you at some point, okay?” You thought that would calm them down, but it only riled them up further, much to your chagrin.

“And you haven’t shown us?” Marlene cried dramatically.

“I deserve to see you capture my beauty!” Sirius collapsed in an exaggerated performance and you couldn’t decide whether you were amused or embarrassed, giggling and hiding your face in Remus’ shoulder. He merely pat you on the shoulder, shooting you a fond gaze you couldn’t see. James caught it though, and smirked in a way that Remus knew he was about to be embarrassed.

“Have you drawn Moony?” He asked, and you both looked at him suddenly.

“Prongs, don’t,” Remus said sternly, then turning to you, “It’s okay, you don’t have to answer… I know they must ruin the picture.” He gestured down to his scars. You just looked at him for a moment, utterly baffled.

“As if some silly scars would stop me from drawing you,” You said, a sweet smile on your lips, “You’re my biggest inspiration, Moony.” He blushed at that but the rest of your friends tactfully ignored it, though the boys shot him some shit-eating looks.

It was probably true that you drew Remus the most, but it was only because you spent the most time with him! Or, that’s what you told yourself anyway. Remus Lupin was your best friend in the world, and you loved him more than anything. Since you were always together and hanging out, clearly you’d draw him more, it was perfectly natural!

Your study sessions together in the library often devolved quickly, essays abandoned to the side, both of you falling into chatter as you studied and sketched him.

“What’re you drawing, dove?” He’d always ask, knowing you’d never tell. You’d simply press your lips into a cheeky smile, shaking your head resolutely.

“Uh-uh,” You’d say, “An artist never reveals her secrets.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s magicians, stupid,” He laughed, running a hand through his curls.

“Oh,” You frowned, “Well I’m that too, aren’t I?”

“Hardly,” He snorted, “Your essays are more doodles than writing.”

“Hey, Slughorn gave me a whole extra mark for the portrait I drew last week, so none of that.”

Or you’d follow him out of the pub you were all in when Remus needed a smoke, sitting on the blacked out window ledge as he lit up. You thought he might have been the most beautiful person in the world when he smoked, the way the lighter brought out the gold flecks in his eyes and hair and the shadows of night emphasised his unreal bone structure. You’d probably drawn him in that exact scenario hundreds of times, but it wasn’t your fault he looked like a fallen angel. When he leaned over to give you a puff you took it gratefully, if only for the proximity. You weren’t much of a smoker, but for Remus you’d let your lungs rot.

It was moments like that where you’d wonder what it would be like to kiss him, lean past the cigarette and put your mouth on his. Sometimes you thought he wanted it too, the way he’d get slightly too close for best friends, his own hand being the one to stick the dart into your mouth, sometimes so close your lips brushed his fingers. Moments like that made you wonder if he loved you back. Then later, when everyone was drunker, you’d see him stick his tongue down some prettier girl’s throat and you’d remember your place as his best friend. If it stung you tried not to show it, letting some sleazy guy a few years older than you buy you drinks until Peter told you it was time to leave.

Still, you were mostly alright with just being friends with Remus. You still got most of the benefits; his conversation, his dry humour, the ability to look at his gorgeous face. Who needed everything else? Plus, you could draw him whenever you wanted, doing whatever you wanted — not in a weird way. Mostly. You still would never admit that you’d drawn him holding your hand, or kissing you, or other things you desired… The magic of art, right?

After years of bugging, you finally submitted to your friends constant nagging. The day that you officially graduated Hogwarts was an emotional one. Seven years of constant laughter and magic (both literal and the sentimental kind) were over, and the world seemed too large and intimidating compared to the familiar walls of your school. Yet there was no stopping it, and you were all Hogwarts graduates.

While all your parents cried and reminisced over coffee in the Great Hall, your friends had gone for one last deep conversation by the Black Lake. Discussions of the future were unavoidable, but were mostly positive. Talks of trips you’d take, apartments you’d live in and hell you’d raise. When you all quietened down slightly, struck by it being the last time you’d sit in front of the lake, you cleared your throat.

“Um, I have something for you guys, a graduation gift.” From your purse you pulled the envelopes, all filled with fancy cardstock from the art shop near your family home. You’d drawn a simple grey-lead portrait of each of your friends, framed with a little message of congratulations. You watched anxiously as they each opened the envelopes, nervous all the hype would make the art seem inconsequential. Your fear couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Sirius gasped dramatically as he saw what it was, but a genuine smile followed straight after. James burst straight into tears, hardly getting the picture all the way out. You could tell Lily was trying not to follow, but seeing her boyfriend cry set off the waterworks for her. Marlene and Mary were inspecting the others, pointing out the little details you’d put in, like Mary’s favourite daisy earrings or the slit Marlene had impulsively shaved into her eyebrow only a few weeks before. Peter was bright pink, flattered to the highest degree. Remus was hard to read, simply staring at you with the strangest look in his eye. You couldn’t ask him about it though, being ambushed with hugs from every direction.

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding all this talent from us,” Peter said, the rest agreeing.

“Didn’t know we had our very own Da Vinci hiding behind a Gryffindor tie,” Marlene added, making you blush and grin.

You dreaded to imagine what it would look like from an outsider’s perspective, the eight of you teary, sweaty messes all piled on top of each other. Well, seven of you.

“Come on, Moony,” James called in a sing-song voice, “If you can’t submit to a hug at our graduation I am going to give you the biggest, slobberiest kiss and you won’t be able to do a thing about it.” Remus snorted, rolling his eyes.

“You look like absolute wankers,” Was all he said, but joined the pile nonetheless, and you were extra glad he was mainly holding on to you. When you all finally pulled away it was minutes later, but the whole thing was strangely cathartic.

“We all have to promise that we’ll always be friends, no matter what,” Mary said, putting her pinky finger out. The rest of you agreed, sticking your pinkies in for a very convoluted eight way promise. With that sorted your friends started heading back up the hill to the school building, ready to leave Hogwarts forever and prepare for a long night of heavy drinking. Remus held you back. James sent you a suggestive glance when he noticed but left it that, drawing Lily in for a bittersweet kiss.

You turned to Remus, only for his eyes to be locked on the portrait. You’d spent so much time trying to get it perfect for him, practising the stupid knot he insisted on tying every day despite the rest of the school going with a less convoluted method of wearing their ties.

“Do you like it?” You asked, subconsciously twisting your ring around your pointer finger. Remus let out a half laugh.

“I love it, honest. It’s insane, really. That you can make this just like that. It’s just…” You searched his eyes for the rest of the sentence. “You make me look…” He didn’t finish but you knew immediately what he meant. Remus hated looking at himself, training his eyes down in the bathroom and opting to always be the photographer so he didn’t have to see himself in the final product. You knew of course it was because of his scars, but you genuinely couldn’t believe he thought they were ugly, much less made him ugly.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, just once,” You sighed, grabbing his free hand and interlocking your fingers, leading him back to where the others were waiting.

Four years out of Hogwarts and you’d all kept your promise. Of course you didn’t see each other quite as much as the boarding school schedule allowed, but the boys all had an apartment together which brought you together often enough — except James and Lily who were married and had moved down to Godric’s Hollow to raise baby Harry. That similarly brought you all to meet often, all determined to spoil Harry as his aunts and uncles.

You weren’t a full-time artist professionally, though you still did it just as much. You’d evolved to paints by then; living with a muggle because the rent was cheap had the added bonus of not having to worry about leaving your paintings on the easel since you didn’t really care what they thought about your art anyway.

Your friends were all huddled in the boys’ apartment living room, every seat taken as you all caught up. You were on the couch with Remus, absentmindedly running your hands through his hair as his head rested on your lap. You still weren’t dating, but Lily always said you might as well have been. You laughed her off every time — if he hadn’t said anything by now how could he feel the same way? You tried to pretend it didn’t still sting.

You’d tried dating, Remus too. He’d had countless partners since you’d finished school — even more one night stands. Nothing lasted more than a few months. You’d done slightly better, you made it about a year with some bloke that Remus hated before he revealed himself as a colossal dickhead, and you’d been mostly single since.

The group was trying to organise their next meeting.

“What about the movies next Friday? I wanna see that new muggle film, Knife Runner,” James suggested and you and Remus both snorted.

“Blade Runner, love,” Lily corrected with a giggle and James burst out laughing, making a quick joke at his own expense. You’d dug your planner out of your purse to check your availability and frowned, closing the book quickly.

“I can’t do next Friday, sorry, how about Saturday?”

“And what plans have you got on a Friday night, you minx?” Mary asked with wiggling eyebrows. Even Remus looked interested, which made your heart stutter.

“Just a work thing,” You answered quickly, not wanting to reveal the real reason.

“You lie like a rug!” Marlene yelled, sitting up from her spot on the floor. You winced, you shouldn’t have made an excuse that she could so easily disprove, being in the same department of the ministry. “What plans are you too embarrassed to tell us about, slag?” You laughed shortly, their assumptions were so completely off.

“It’s not what you think—”

“Not what you think my arse, who’s ‘Davis Show’ and why is he surrounded by hearts, you absolute tart!” Sirius cried, displaying the planner for everyone to see. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, wheezing as you looked at your friends’ faux-scandalised expressions.

“Look you twats, Davis Show isn’t a man. I’ve been invited to put my art in a show at the Davis Gallery down on Welking Road next week. I can assure you I’m not shagging a man named Davis.”

The whiplash was immediate, the gossip sniffing exchanged for celebrations, you couldn’t tell whose yelling was whose. Peter immediately ran to the kitchen for a bottle of champagne, passing glasses around the room. When the initial excitement wore down you were subjected to a million questions, and tried to answer each of them patiently.

“I can’t believe you weren’t gonna tell us,” Mary pouted and you sighed.

“You know how I get about my art,” You explained, “It’s not that I don’t love you all, obviously, it just makes me so nervous thinking about you guys all seeing my stuff.”

“You know we’re all coming now, right?” James said, wiping his glasses where the champagne bubbles had created smudges.

“You really don’t have to,” You put in quickly, “It’s so embarrassing.”

“Why won’t you let us appreciate you?” Marlene whined.

“It’s just, my art is like an extension of my soul. I don’t think I’d be able to recover if you didn’t think it was good.” Your friends grew rowdy at that, offended you’d even think they wouldn’t adore your art no matter what. You felt Remus put a hand on your thigh and gave him a weak smile, knowing he’d shut down the conversation if you wanted him to. You didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing though, especially when everyone was being so supportive. You figured everyone was so busy they’d forget it by the next week anyway.

Friday came, and you were a wreck of nerves. Although you’d sold pieces here and there throughout the years, this show would be the first time your art would be displayed as a collective, and you were terrified of rejection.

You’d figured your friends weren’t actually coming since none of them had really mentioned anything since. Apart from Lily, of course, who’d sent an owl to your desk that morning with a sweet good luck note and your favourite chocolate.

Even Remus hadn’t said anything when you went for coffee on your lunch break. That did puzzle you, you knew he would never go if he thought it would make you uncomfortable, but it wasn’t like him as your best friend to forget something so monumental in your life. You thought he was acting kind of weird though, more affectionate than he usually was. He kept looking at you longer than he should, and you wondered if you’d miscounted how far away the next full moon was. When you asked him about it he just brushed it off, looking down at his tea instead like he’d been caught.

“I love you,” He said and you laughed.

“I love you too, Lupin!” You cooed, patting him softly on the hand.

“You’re amazing, you know?” You arched a brow.

“What are you trying to make up for?” You asked suspiciously, giving him a once over to search for answers.

“Nothing, promise,” He smiled in a way that made your knees a little weak, “I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“You’re gonna give me an ego,” You grumbled, packing up your things to get back to work. As you parted ways he pressed a kiss down to your cheek and you stumbled. Remus was never this affectionate as a person — a pat on the back, a hug if you needed one, yes, but he was never one for casual platonic kisses. You figured it must have been his way to apologise for not coming to the art show? But he knew you didn’t mind, so what was he apologising for? You tried to shake it off and get back to work, but you couldn’t get your closeness out of your head.

Evening fell and you were setting up your stall before the other patrons came in. Rearranging the paintings until you were pretty much perfectly happy, you looked around, still not fully believing you were really here. People were filtering in, well dressed and chattering softly as young waiters handed out flutes of champagne. You straightened out your silky black skirt in an effort to look more presentable, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

At first things were slow, and you almost regretted not inviting your friends, if only so they could make your area look more interesting. And once you let that thought in, you kind of regretted not inviting them anyway. After all, they were the dearest people in your life and this was such a meaningful event to you.

You couldn’t think about that for long though since people had begun to filter over to you, making polite small talk as they admired your paintings. You tried to be energetic, smiling widely if you ever locked eyes with someone. However, deep down, you just wanted your friends.

A little old woman approached you for a while, wanting to know the meaning behind basically every painting and you told her happily, sharing the memories that inspired each work.

“Seems like you’ve got some true friends,” She said, “I hope you keep them close.” You agreed, thanking her profusely as she bought a landscape of the Whomping Willow.

It was growing closer and closer to closing, and honestly, it had been a wonderful night. Seeing the way that people reacted and interacted with your art was a magical experience, and changed the way you thought about it entirely. You decided that if you ever got the opportunity again, you’d want to share it with everyone else.

You were just moving to start packing up when you heard a myriad of gasps.

“What the fuck, dude?” The unmistakeable voice of Marlene McKinnon said from behind you. You whipped around to meet them, breaking into a cheek splitting smile.

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked, rushing over to scoop them all up into a hug.

“Fuck that, why didn’t you tell us that we’re your exhibition?” Sirius cried, running up to examine the paintings more clearly.

“And that they’re literally professional?” Peter added, eyes wide in wonder. You flushed red under their praise. If your friends thought your pencil portraits were good, they were nothing compared to your paintings.

Plus, every one of them was of your friends, or something sentimental to you all. Landscapes of Hogwarts, portraits of your friends, captured memories of long summer days, or life sketches from when you were all together. You watched them observe the paintings with nervous excitement, loving as they gave specific, personal compliments that only people who truly knew you could give.

“This our apartment,” Sirius said, pointing to one of your biggest pieces, “That’s our couch, the pillow Prongs has permanently ruined with butterbeer, that’s Moony!”

“There are a lot of paintings of Moony, aren’t there?” James whispered to you, wiggling his eyebrows. You flushed again. Sirius continued on, seeming (or pretending) not to have heard.

“We have to have this in the flat. Right boys?” Your eyes widened.

“Really?”

“For sure,” Peter said, “I’m buying this one too.” He gestured to one of him and James playing chess in the Gryffindor common room.

“And this is taking pride of place at home.” James pointed to a portrait of his and Lily’s wedding, and Lily similarly chose one of her and baby Harry. Marlene took one of her and Mary on the beach and Mary took one of the group at a house party. Half your paintings ended up being sold by the end of the night, and you couldn’t feel luckier. The only one who hadn’t said anything was Remus, who couldn’t keep his eyes off the paintings.

You shooed your friends out of the gallery once it really was closing time, and got to work packing away your things. You were deep in thought, reflecting on the wild day when someone cleared their throat behind you. It was Remus, and he moved to help you put your things away, stacking the paintings between bubble wrap to protect them.

“These are really beautiful,” He said, “I mean, we knew you were talented but… these are seriously on another level.”

“Thanks, Remus.” You smiled, unable to make eye contact as you watched him handle all the paintings you’d done of him. Portraits like the others, but also studies of his hands — god you were obsessed with his hands — his profile, and one less than innocent picture of his back, scars resting over muscles. You probably shouldn’t have put that one out, but to be fair you didn’t know he’d see it.

There was a somewhat awkward silence between the two of you. Not uncomfortable, per se, but there were definitely things you both wanted to say that neither knew how to.

“Let me drive you home,” Remus settled on and you nodded, letting him help you load your work into the boot of his car. You sat in the passenger seat, absentmindedly tapping your fingers on the dashboard to whatever radio station Remus had turned on. Remus stared straight ahead, knuckles pulled tight around the steering wheel.

“I’m really proud of you, you know. This whole show was incredible.” You went to thank him again but he kept talking. “I just wanted to know, um, there were a lot of paintings of me. I was just wondering why, why me?” You hesitated, unsure of what was going to come out of your mouth.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” You decided on with a bit of a sigh.

“You’ve said that before, what does that mean?” Your breath hitched. You definitely didn’t intend for it all to come out tonight, but if you didn’t say it now you doubted you ever would.

“You are the most beautiful person I know, Remus. I mean, even aside from your personality — which we know I have to be at least somewhat a fan of after all these years — you’re totally fit. Your eyes, your hair, God, your fucking bone structure, you’re literally a walking renaissance painting. And I know you think your scars make you ugly, but you don’t know how turned on I get thinking about how they’d feel on my skin.” Shit, you probably should’ve stopped talking.

You hadn’t realised he’d parked while you were rambling, but now you were sitting outside his apartment and he was looking at you with eyes that looked more like the wolf than him.

“I turn you on?” He whispered, voice suddenly gravelly as he leaned closer in to you.

“More than anything,” You breathed, brain buffering at the feeling of his breath on your face. Suddenly his mouth was on yours, hot and electric and not at all gentle. It felt like years of pent up frustration being let out all at once, and if he was anything like you, it probably was.

“Up,” He mumbled between kisses and you heard him undoing his seatbelt, hurrying to do the same. You barely disconnected to get out of the car, attaching yourself to his arm as he led the way up to the boys’ flat.

You made it up the three flights of stairs, not without Remus pushing you up against the stairwell wall to stick his tongue in your mouth, and stumbled straight into his bedroom, shedding layers as soon as the door was safely shut.

The next morning you awoke first, initially convinced you were dreaming when you saw him lying peacefully beside you. Eventually you rolled onto your side, ready to get out of bed for a glass of water when his nightstand caught your eye. There, in pride of place, was your graduation portrait of him, with a polaroid of the two of you stuck to the corner. Maybe he really had liked you as long as you’d liked him.

[always-just-red]

Hey, a fluff scenario for cuddling with Rafayel? Thank you 🐡✨

This one really got away from me ahaha, whoops. There's also a moment where my fine art degree really leaps out, so look forward to that, everyone. My first time writing for Raf - thank you anon!!

Perspective

Rafayel x Reader 🎨

Summary: You've spent two hours preparing a meal for Rafayel, and he has absolutely no intention of sitting down to it.

Genre: fluff fluff FLUFF!

Warnings/Additional tags: established relationship, cuddling, kisses, lots of intimacy tbh (soft, not spicy!)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Thirty minutes. You and Thomas had spent thirty minutes on the phone trying to figure out where your boyfriend actually was. Half an hour of he’s not with you? and no, I thought he was with you!— back and forth, like a metronome, and it wasn’t exactly the first time, either.

You’re seasoned investigators at this point: called constantly out of retirement for one last job you swear you’re too old for, and yet you know is never going to really be the last. You’ve already got matching t-shirts printed for the tortured agent’s next birthday: ‘Special Unit: Find Rafayel.’ (He won’t find it half as funny as you do.)

Neither of you had heard from the artist since Tuesday, and— it being Friday— he was either in his studio, painting, or definitely dead. It fell within your jurisdiction to find out, so you’d driven here two hours ago, texting Thomas upon arriving:

He's alive!! 🥳🥳🥳

You’re less excited about it now.

Stood at Rafayel’s kitchen island, you lay out the last of the buffet you’ve prepared to try to entice him away from his art. It’s worked in the past: has seen him sniff the air and follow his stomach to whatever you were cooking, like a stubborn stray cat.

“C’mon, Raf,” you call out, because he’s not taking the bait. “Food’s getting cold.”

“Not hungry!”

Your fists ball around the cutlery you’re setting down on the marble; he’s not eaten for three days. You glance up at him across the open space of his home, taking a deep breath through your nose as you watch him scrawl away at his painting. Somewhere in your mind, Thomas is speaking. This is what you signed up for, remember?

Reluctantly, you cross between the rooms, folding your arms as you come up behind Rafayel. “Raf,” you insist again, “come and sit down. Please? You need to eat something.”

“I’m fiiiiiine.” His paintbrush drags viridian over the lower third of his piece.

“You’re not fine,” you huff, and he doesn’t respond. “Rafayel.”

“Rafayel?” he mimics with a chuckle. “You’re mad.”

He’s ‘Rafayel’ in only two types of circumstance: when he’s making you really, really happy, or he’s making you consider the career-leap between bodyguard and assassin. It’s an extraordinarily thin line, and he just loves walking the tightrope.

“I’m not mad, just worried. Can’t you come eat with me? Your painting isn’t going anywhere.”

“It’s not,” he agrees, smoothing out a stroke of paint, “but what about my inspiration?”

“That’ll be waiting for you, too.”

“You think?” His lips curve as he pensively pokes at them with the wooden end of his brush. “I guess you did spend a lot of time cooking, huh? And if you’re really that worried, then…” He spins around with wide eyes. An epiphany. “Feed it to me?”

You stare back, unmoved by the puppy-like expression. He looks cute, yeah, but you’re not falling for it again. This is exactly how he looked earlier, when you’d convinced him to at least accept a glass of water. You’d almost drowned him in your subsequent efforts to actually get it down his throat.

Rafayel mixes three colours on his palette as you relive the ordeal. Like the once-white of his shirt, it’s awash with vibrant greens and blues, some fresh, some days-old. He pauses when he’s done, but you can tell he’s itching to get back to the canvas. “Give me, like… half an hour?” he estimates. The number’s been plucked from thin air. “The food’s gonna be delicious, even if it’s cold. You made it!”

“Raf, I—”

“And how can I even enjoy it if I’m racing to get back here? I wanna savour it, y’know? And anyway…” he trails off, his attention drawn by something above.

“Yeah?” you prompt, glancing upwards. There’s nothing there.

His gaze snaps back. “Sorry, the ceiling was doing something weird. But yeah, anyway, it’s not like you have to— I mean, it’s not like I’m going to— wait. What were we talking about again?”

Not much surprises you these days, but your mouth is still agape. Enough is enough. “Put the paintbrush down. You’re done.”

He nonchalantly returns to the painting. “I’m really not, though.”

You narrow your eyes. Reassess. “You were right about the ceiling.”

“Yeah?” He looks up.

You snatch the paintbrush. “Ha!”

He blinks blankly at you and your eagerly-clutched trophy, unfazed by the moment of triumph. “Cute trick,” he shrugs. He runs a finger across the palette and applies the new colour to the painting with a quick sweep. “What’s next, Miss Bodyguard? You gonna cut off my ha— ow, ow, ow! Hey! Take it easy!”

You’re pinching his ear, dragging him wordlessly to the kitchen, because you're out of things to say.

“Fine. Fine!” he groans as he tries to keep up with you. You release him and he straightens, his face pink, but not as pink as his ear. “You win! Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

You stop dead in your tracks, then turn with a look so cold he couldn’t melt it with all of his fire.

“I mean— ahaha,” he laughs nervously, rubbing his neck. “It smells amazing, cutie. You’re amazing. I can’t wait.”

…

Rafayel sits back on his stool, still staring at his painting. The mood is different from earlier. There’s no more restlessness or impatience; he isn’t in a rush. He’s humming a soft song you’re almost certain you’ve heard before, but you can’t quite place the melody. It’s pretty, though: the sort of tune one might recall from a childhood music box, or maybe even a dream.

There’s a clink as you stack two finished plates. Then another. And another.

“Don’t,” Rafayel says quietly, catching your hand before you can collect the plate nearest to him. “I’ll do it later— promise. Sit with me?”

You were never going to say no, but his hands are on your hips before you can say yes, and he’s turning you gently— pulling you up onto his lap. You smile as his arms wrap around you, keeping you from slipping, and he’s warm as you relax back against him.

“What do you think?” he asks, staring out over your shoulder.

Your gaze follows his to the painting, still waiting for him. “It’s okay.”

“Oh yeah?” You can feel him chuckle before it reaches your ears.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a smile, shifting to face him as much as you can. “Kinda pales in comparison to my favourite masterpiece. This one,” you poke two fingers to his chest. “Right… about—” they walk higher, “—here!”

You boop his nose and he immediately scoffs, his face going red. “Sheesh,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eyes. “That was lame.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Am not!”

He squirms as you laugh and try to touch his cheeks; they’re going to feel hot, and he’s a sore loser. His hands don’t manage to capture yours, so they settle for finding your hips again, swivelling you around until you’re trapped by his embrace. You’re both one misjudged move away from toppling to the floor, so you let him keep his victory. What’s left of his dignity, too.  

Your laughter rescinds like a tide, but the quiet is far from empty.

“C’mon,” Rafayel tries again. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, nudging your head, urging you to look forward. His hair is feather-soft on your skin, and he peppers chaste kisses along the line of your jaw. “Tell me. What do you see?”  

You hum contentedly. “A painting.” You’re not thinking about it at all; your eyes are closed.

“And?”

“A plant. A sofa. Some curtains,” you recall.

“You know what I meant,” he grins against you.

You lean back with a sigh, no longer supporting your own weight, but sinking into him with trust and begrudging compliance. It’s not bad, as surrenders go. He gives you a squeeze of encouragement and your head rolls back, stopping at his shoulder. His breath is skirting over your cheek, just barely.

You open your eyes and really look at the painting.

“It’s beautiful, Raf,” you murmur. It is; it was always going to be. “Everything you do is beautiful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, “I know.” But he wants more. “Does it make you think of something, maybe? Anything?”

There’s no right or specific answer. This isn’t remotely your field of expertise, and you’re oceans apart sometimes, so he has to outstretch a hand. Two viewpoints. Two sides of a coin; you never should have seen each-other.

Your life is hunting monsters, and his is finding beauty in a world where they exist. It’s not what you see, it’s how you see it. Crimson to him is a sunset; to you it’s blood.  

Something in you aches as your eyes roam over his latest work. He won’t tell you what it’s meant to be, not really: that’s a private understanding between him and the canvas, his heart and every stroke of paint. Does it make you think of something? Though the marks are fixed, they’re somehow fluid. The emerald tones are marred by shadows, as though something’s lurking beneath the surface, but there are traces of white, too. Light: shimmering.

“Reflections,” you finally answer. “Scattered to anonymity by a now turbulent lake. They belonged to something else, once, but they’ve taken a new shape— a restless and ever-changing identity— and no-one knows what it is, let alone what it was.”

With a satisfied smile, you close your eyes. That ought to keep him quiet for a minute.

Sure enough, Rafayel is silent. You don’t have to see his crystalline eyes to know they’re set on the painting, soaking it in with a new perspective. His favourite perspective: yours.

You have never been strangers to each-other. Two sides of a coin are still the same coin.

With a light laugh of surprise, he plants a kiss on your shoulder. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.” He’s nuzzling into you again. “I know I can be—”

“A pain in the ass?”

He laughs louder. “I was gonna say eccentric.”

“Oh…” You draw air through your teeth. “Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Your voice is humourless, your face plain. It lasts all of two seconds, and then the charade is falling to pieces; he’s nibbling at your ear, your neck, and it tickles mercilessly. You giggle, but you don’t try to escape. The punishment fits the crime, and who are you to deny him his justice?

You’re quickly running out of breath, so Rafayel ceases his assault, letting you get it back. “Can I look at you now?” you ask.

He clicks his tongue. “I’ll allow it.”

You shift and he lifts you a little— helping you twist around to face him. He smiles fondly as he links his hands behind you, stopping you from falling as you lean back to enjoy the view. It’s the best kind of smile: one that reaches his eyes and makes them sparkle, like the water in the painting, but infinitely more pretty.

You want to feel that smile on your lips, so you lean in and kiss him.

It’s tender and perfect and when you’re done, you snuggle closer, wrapping your arms around him and nestling like you’ll be staying there for a while. You can hear his heart, and though a part of it is in his painting, the rest is with you. Always with you.

“Shouldn’t you get back to your work?” you ask as you think of it, smiling into his shirt. He won’t— not tonight.

“Nah,” he says, running his fingers through your hair. “It can wait.”

[strawberry-eden]

violence solves (most) problems — danny johnson x reader

↪ summary — you're relatively new in the fog, having been here just long enough to get a hold on the working order of this place when you catch the unfortunate eye of the most obsessive man on the planet, who decides that you're going to be his newest plaything.

or, your first encounter with the notorious ghostface killer goes very poorly.

↪ tags — canon typical violence, swearing, crack treated seriously, blood & injury, obsession at first sight, gender neutral pronouns/description for reader, no use of y/n, and danny's weird way of flirting

↪ word count — 2.4k

a/n: i wrote this originally way back in february but i found it again and figured i would share with the class. inspired by a cool piece of art i saw on twitter that ended up spiraling from there. enjoy!

The cold air of Mount Ormond ski resort bites angrily at your bare face, your shallow breaths manifesting in puffs of white fog as you fight to keep giant spidery talons from spearing through your torso. A low, guttural growl sounds from all around you and nowhere all at once, your arms shaking from effort as a particularly hard shove from the entity forces your hooked shoulder to shift, sending a ripple of white-hot agony through your body. “Fuck!”

This is your first match of the day. Not a single generator has been done and none of your teammates have been hooked yet. If anybody is coming for you, you can’t see through the cage the entity’s talons have created around you, itching to close in and take you back the campfire. You’re half tempted to let her do it.

You barely register the second pair of hands that appears and bats her away until they’re gently pulling you down from the hook by your armpits, holding you up until you’re steady on your feet. You blink away a few stray tears to look up at the face of your savior. “No offense, kiddo, but you look like shit,” says Bill.

You almost shrug instinctively but stop yourself last second. “A little bit taken. I feel like shit,” you mutter. He shoots a cautious glance over his shoulder, then takes you by the arm and leads you away from the hook towards a safer spot to patch you up. You can’t help but flit your gaze all around the area, searching for that haunting white mask or floating strips of leather, wondering if you’re being watched from somewhere.

Bill catches your paranoid expression and frowns. “Christ, what’d you do to him?”

Unable to hide your frustration, you round on Bill with an exasperated cry, “I don’t know! He just—” You make a vague gesture. “Set his eyes on me and decided he wanted me dead! I haven’t even touched a gen yet, for fuck’s sake.”

Bill pulls you behind a boulder secluded somewhere in a corner of the resort. You squint at the shape of the killer shack some ways away, trying to get your bearings. Bill whistles lowly. “Maybe he’s just trying to get an easy win, then. Lord knows it’s working. The rest of us are struggling to keep up.”

You collapse into a bloody pile into the snow, leaning against the rock and pressing a hand against your wounded shoulder while he pops open his medkit. “Yeah, well. I’m still pissed about it.”

“Oh, we all are,” he replies. “Nobody likes being down a teammate this early on. You got anything to help you out?”

Your face scrunches in confusion. “What?”

He raises a grayed eyebrow. “You know, like that trick David pulls to endure pain, or how that girl Laurie hides glass in her sleeves. They teach you any of that?”

“Uhh… No?”

Bill curses under his breath. “You’re kidding, right?” He curses again, louder this time when you shake your head. He digs into one of his many pockets, pulling out something that he clutches tightly in his palm, then motions for you to extend your hand. He places something smooth and warm into it, closing your fingers around the object. “Hide it well, okay? If he sees it, it’s game over. And make sure you don’t. Miss. That was my second chance, and I’m giving it up so you a better shot. If you end up fumbling, I’m never gonna let you live it down.”

Bill holds your gaze until you give a slow nod, retracting his hands as he returns to rustling around the supplies in his medkit. When you open up your fingers, you are greeted by your own reflection looking back at you from a small, sharp piece of glass. It’s almost shaped like a knife if you turn it right. “What do I do with it?” You ask curiously.

Bill wheezes out a laugh. “Stab him with it, obviously.” You bite back a painful hiss when he begins stitching your wounds back together, which he apologizes for under his breath. “But don’t just swing it around all willy-nilly, you gotta wait until he isn’t expecting it—like when he’s got you slung over his shoulder like a sack of meat thinking you’re gonna be an easy kill. Then, you take your opportunity to prove him wrong and stab it right into his shoulder. Always shocks ‘em so bad they drop you then and there. Gives 'em a taste of their own medicine, which they don’t like too much, y’know?”

You stare thoughtfully at the shard. If it’s such an effective tactic, then why in the world hasn’t anybody told you about it? You can’t help but feel a bit betrayed.

“Doesn’t always work, though,” he says, pulling the question straight from your mind. “After a while, they start to expect it, which means you gotta change it up. Start playing stealthier, like Zarina or Jake—the guy’s got an iron will. Real impressive. I have no idea he’s even hurt until I realize he’s left a streak of blood halfway across the map.”

This is all too much information to ingest when you feel about five seconds away from dying via blood loss. “Got it,” you mumble breathlessly.

Bill blanks at you. “You didn’t retain a thing I just said.”

"I got all the important parts."

“Sure you did,” he huffs. He starts opening up some gauze, when all of a sudden, his head shoots up and his whole body goes rigid. Bill’s wide eyes find your alarmed ones, and all that he’s able to get out before all hell breaks loose is, “Run.”

There’s an almost imperceptible rustle of clothing that doesn’t reach your ears. You’re frozen in place, barely given enough time to register the command as you watch him jump to his feet. “What?”

“God damnit, kid, I said run—!”

“There you are,” a third voice purrs, and you barely get a glimpse of the knife that glints maliciously at you just before it’s buried in Bill’s back. The hoarse scream that’s torn from the older man’s throat echoes hauntingly in your ears as it digs in deeper, forcing him against the ground. Dark red splatters across the snow when Ghostface violently wrenches it out of him.

Your shoulder cries out as you feebly scramble backwards, every little cut and bruise on your body flaring in pain as you awkwardly clamber back to your feet. Ghostface steps clean over Bill, who groans in pain on the ground, and the shard in your sweaty hand suddenly feels a thousand times heavier.

You can hear the simper in his voice when he says, “You didn’t forget about little old me, did you?” He wraps his gloved fingers around the bloody knife, wiping it clean with one swipe. “Oh, darling, I’m hurt.”

You’re running before you even know it. The cold air stings your lungs with each intake, your muscles burning with every step. You don't have a clue where you’re headed until you’re tearing through the killer shack, narrowly avoiding crashing into the generator that sits in the middle. You don’t need to look to know that he’s right behind you if the sounds of crunching snow and throaty laughter are anything to go by, and when your bare fingers find the splintered slab of wood sitting against the doorway, you waste no time throwing it down behind you.

You stop and turn to shout obscenities towards your assailant, but he’s nowhere to be found. You blink, and a knife is suddenly jammed between your ribs. “You should really look behind you sometimes,” Ghostface says coolly, pressing the blade deeper in emphasis and relishing in the way you whimper in pain. “Maybe you would have actually seen me go around the side of shack. Kind of embarrassing to fall for that, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

He tsks, ripping the knife out of your side and effectively taking away the only thing keeping you upright, letting you fall to the ground in a bloody heap. You look up at him through hazy eyes, looking like a dark mist against the pale gray sky, the screaming white mask being the only thing to come into focus. “You know, I don’t usually do this—”

You watch as one of his hands dives underneath his cloak, searching around for something for a solid five seconds until he pulls out a small handheld camera with a muted A-ha!

“—but I like you, so I’m willing to make an exception.”

“An exception?" You spit out a wad of blood and saliva. "What the hell are you—”

The air is unceremoniously knocked out of your lungs when he plops himself down on your stomach, knees caging you in and pinning your hands against the snow. You flinch when the glass shard hidden in your sleeve pinches the skin of your wrist.

Gloved fingers firmly grip your jaw and force you to turn toward the camera lens as he leans in close, the scent of cheap cologne assaulting your senses and filling up your head. You swear the smell alone would kill you before he ever could.

“Smile,” he breathes into your ear, and you’re blinded by the flash that goes off when he clicks the camera. You’re busy recoiling in the aftermath while he gazes quietly at the picture in the viewfinder, blinking away the green and purple splotches in your vision. Still gripping your jaw, he forcefully turns your head to show it to you.

The picture looks about exactly how you’d expect it to turn out. You're staring wide-eyed at the camera in shock and fear, blood seeping from your various wounds and soaking into your clothes. His mask takes up the entire left side of the photo, but if you look hard enough, you think you can spot a pair of dark eyes staring into the lens—they’re squinted at the edges, like he’s actually smiling underneath it as he casually holds up a peace sign.

"Say, you weren't a model or anything before this, were you? 'Cause damn." He lets out a low whistle. "This one’s definitely going in my collection.”

He takes one last, long look at the picture before tucking the camera back into his coat and stands, allowing the blood to resume flowing through the veins in both of your arms again as they’re overcome by that numb, prickly feeling. Too hurt and exhausted to resist, you limply allow him to maneuver you into a sitting position, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he effortlessly hauls you up onto his shoulder.

"Alright, playtime's over," he huffs. "Duty calls, blah blah blah, you know how it is. Ain't no rest for the wicked."

Something smooth and sharp slides into your palm from the depths of your sleeve. Catching a glimpse of your reflection in it’s surface, you let out a gasp that Ghostface assumes must be from the sight of the giant meat hook that appears at the corner of the shack, because he gently pats the backs of your thighs in what you assume is meant to be reassurance.

"Now, don't you worry, sweet-pea," he says, “the next time you and I get matched up, I promise I’ll play nice. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll even let you escape, yeah?” He laughs, and you can feel it vibrating through your ribcage. “After I kill your friends, of course.”

You grip the glass so tight in your palm, it digs into your fingers, drawing blood. You see your own eyes staring back at you through a thin stream of red, wild and angry and terrified, Bill’s words bouncing around in your skull as you raise the shard and slam it hard into the back of his shoulder, digging in viciously and twisting.

He inhales sharply, hands immediately losing their grip on you as he drops down to one knee, letting you slide off of his shoulder and land face-first in the snow. You push yourself up to your hands and knees, then to your feet, and glance nervously over your shoulder.

You meet those same eyes that had peered gleefully at you in the picture, no longer hiding behind that wretched mask as it lays by your feet in the snow, but they’re not squinting like they were before. They’re wide, pupils shrunken into tiny pinpricks as they bore into you, nostrils flaring and lips curling into a grimace as he reaches behind him and rips out the glass. Blood sprays from the wound in an arc, a fury so deep and animalistic roiling in his guttural tone as he ...

... Laughs.

Something dangerous glitters within his irises as he turns to face you. What catches you most off-guard, though, is that he's actually handsome underneath the mask—he's younger than you thought, with long lashes and full lips. A tiny scar marks the corner of his mouth, and it stretches slightly as he bares his teeth in a wide, manic grin.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" He drops the glass shard and stands, and you're screaming at your body to move, but you can't. You just watch as he slowly reaches out to collect his mask and knife, refusing to take his eyes off of you even once. It's like it's just his gaze keeping you pinned. "The gift that keeps on giving?"

A loud buzzer sounds from somewhere in the distance. You flick your gaze away for just a moment to check which direction it came from, and by the time you look back, he's already secured the mask back in place.

"I'll tell you what," he begins, tilting his head at you curiously. "Let's make a bet. If you can last until your friends get alll the gens done, I'll let you go."

You swallow thickly. "And if I can't?"

Silence. You don't need to see his face to know that he's smiling. "You wanna find out?"

Strangely enough, a part of you almost does.

He lunges then, but you’re already on the move, adrenaline as well as an odd cocktail blend of terror and exhilaration pushing your body past its limits in a last-ditch effort at escaping this trial with your life.

You probably won’t, but you’re definitely gonna give him a run for his money—you figure that you've earned at least that much.

[queenofthekings]

Babe, wake up, new prompt coming!

I found this cute image on Pinterest and it had me thinking: what if reader spends a whole afternoon crafting these little messages and then she sneakily hides them around Eddie's stuff. Every time he finds one, goes to reader and gives her a kiss, then stores it in a tin box 🩷💋

𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼

Summary: You make love letters for Eddie.

Author's note: Mea I'm so sorry it took me forever to write this request! I hope you enjoy it! Also thank you to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple, @ryan-waddell11 and @orchidmunson for their endless encouragement <3

CW: None, just a whole lotta fluff and Eddie being a dork.

Word count: 1.2k

Any hate will not be tolerated, constructive criticism is welcomed.

Being at Eddie’s apartment alone while he was away working wasn’t an uncommon thing for either of you, he had given you a key to his apartment for a reason, after all. Although you two hadn’t made the full step of moving in together yet, you still spent a lot of time at his apartment whenever you could fit it into your schedule.

You were sat at Eddie’s kitchen table with every kind of stationary imaginable scattered all around you; every shade of pink and white paper, felt tip pens, glitter and endless amounts of glue.

Since Eddie’s phone had broken several days beforehand and he was far too busy with work and couldn’t fit it within budget for the month to get it fixed, you decided to make love notes for him to read every day. You made notes for every occasion; if he felt sad, if he did something amazing, he missed you or even just needed to be told he was loved.

Although your arts and crafts skills weren’t perfect and you ended up with far too much glitter and glue all over your fingers, you were still proud of the notes you were able to make. You knew your art teacher from primary school would be proud of what you’d made, even if when you had lessons with her she hated your guts.

You had almost finished the final note and put them in a jar by the time Eddie walked inside, you felt him gently scratch the top of your head before wrapping his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Well this is a nice surprise to come home to.”

You felt the warm burn inside your stomach as you squeezed his arm, happy to be back where you felt like you belonged. “I missed you, of course I’d be here.”

It had only been a couple of days since you last saw each other, but it always felt like an eternity. Being with Eddie was the only place you truly felt safe, it was like coming home every time he brought you into his arms.

Before you and Eddie had gotten together; you’d never believed in that kind of stuff, that home could be a person instead of a place and you thought the people who said that stuff were talking nonsense. But now you understood them, and you just had to wait to find your person.

Eddie glanced over at the mess on the kitchen table, not daring to touch anything with his dirty fingers from working on cars all day. “Whatcha doing here, princess?”

You leaned into him, rubbing his arm with your hand. “It’s a surprise.”

He placed a hand over his eyes once you revealed it was a surprise. “I’m not looking, I swear!” he moved away from you, keeping his hand over his eyes, causing you to laugh. “I’m gonna go have a shower, you wanna order a pizza?”

“Sure,” you answered through your continued laughter as Eddie felt around his apartment to get to the bathroom, hitting his feet and legs on various pieces of furniture along the way. Your boyfriend was an absolute dork, but you loved it far too much, although you knew he acted like that just to make you laugh and he couldn’t ever get enough of that laugh.

You waited until he was safely in the shower to finish the last note and put it into the jar before promptly hiding it in your backpack, being sure Eddie would never find it accidently, not that he’d ever go through your belongings, but you were still cautious. After washing your hands thoroughly, you cleared the kitchen table of your project and grabbed your laptop to order pizza.

Sure, phoning Dominos to place your order was easier but Eddie’s pizza orders were always special to put it simply. That man couldn’t settle for a simple margarita pizza to save his life, nay, he had to have some weird combination that changed in a frequent basis. His current favourite pizza? Tandoori chicken and burger sauce with stuffed crust. As odd as it sounded, you did have a slice and it was pretty good, so you couldn’t exactly hate him for that.

You’d just finished placing the order when Eddie came out donned in just a towel, another towel in his hair trying to dry it before lowering it to cover his face completely. “Is it safe to come out?”

You let out another laugh, nodding your head. “Yes, you muppet, it’s safe. Pizza’s been ordered and it should be here in a bit.”

Taking the towel away from his face, he smirked at you and began to slowly walk across his apartment towards you, deliberately allowing his towel to slip down his body. Watching him with a smirk matching his, you shook your head. “Don’t even think about it, mister, we got pizza coming and I don’t wanna get interrupted by the doorbell again.”

He pouted and pulled up the towel, sulking his way into the bedroom. He came back a few minutes later in his usual jeans and dark red hoodie, one you’d frequently steal from him to wear when the weather got a bit cold.

You closed your laptop lid as he wrapped his arms around you again, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head once you rested your back against his chest. The pair of you stayed in content silence until the loud knock on the door to signal your pizzas had arrived. You began to get up, but Eddie placed his hands on your shoulders to keep you seated, “I’ll get them baby,” he murmured into your hair before answering the door.

Eddie had fallen asleep after devouring his pizza and watching a season and a half of Derry Girls while cuddling with you on the couch, his head nestled into the crook of your neck, feeling his breath on your skin with his arms wrapped tightly around your middle, keeping you close to him.

You slowly got out of his grasp, being careful not to wake him up, although Eddie was quite a deep sleeper and not a lot of things woke him up. As quietly as possible, you moved around his apartment, tidying up the pizza boxes before turning off the TV and putting a blanket over Eddie.

Getting the jar out of your backpack, you began to place the notes around Eddie’s apartment; on every table, in some books, in the wardrobe, on the fridge and in every single pocket you could think of. Once you’d finished, you gently shook Eddie awake just enough to get him in bed and properly asleep before you followed him soon after, cuddling into him as you easily fell asleep.

In the morning, you were woken up by an endless amount of kisses all over your face, lips, neck, chest, and hands. At first, you were too sleepy and groggy to fully realise what was happening but as you slowly started to wake up, you moved Eddie’s kisses up to your lips and kissed him back. “What’s all the kisses for?” you whispered against his lips.

Eddie gave you a couple more kisses before answering your question. “I found some of your notes, and I thought since my girl was being so loving with her notes; I thought I would be loving back and wake her up with as many kisses as I can give her before work.”

[loserlvrss]

꒰ 𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 ꒱ 김동현

summary : you and your boyfriend were truly opposites, but the saying has always been that they attract, hasn’t it?

genre : fluff, leehan x afab!reader, college!au, slice of life tws : language, zombies (yeah..), pet names, mentions of not eating (could be linked to a eating disorder but also idrk) author notes : cringe couple alert (that should be me) word count : 1.4k

your hands were covered in clay, grey-brown coating your skin. you could feel the uncomfortable, but familiar feeling of it drying on your wrists, and you were glad you wore something you were okay with getting messy; because today you had done so many pieces, you were covered in muck.

you had just finished a vase, the bottom a thick sphere, tapering off as it furthered to the top. you spread the wire, after picking it up from beside you, and ran it along the stone. you picked it up carefully, grabbing the damp sponge to smooth out any finger prints.

pottery was your hobby, and you were glad you majored in art. you loved doing pieces on the wheel, and you loved sculpting unconventional things. it never felt like homework to do, and you often found yourself forgetting all about time and spending hours in the schools basement; dusty and dirty, haired tied back, back and shoulders sore, and sweats caked over.

that being said, you also often forgot to have meals as collateral to your happiness, spend time with your friends, and do things that people would deem normal. you hated the saying that you weren’t like other girls but truthfully you’d rather be in this dimly lit room than a club, like the people your age were.

but there was also one person who refused to let you starve to death in this poorly decorated room. and truthfully, he hated the flashing lights just as much, if not more than you did.

“y/n,” you looked up, a smile plastering to your features at the sight of your boyfriend who had been doing work on his computer waiting for you to finish for the last however long. “you’re done?” you nodded, moving the piece to the side, preparing to take it over by your others waiting to get glazed and fired. “it’s pretty.”

“i was thinking about painting little fishes on it and putting it inside our apartment after it gets graded, what do you think?”

“only if you eat first.” he stated, making you laugh in response. “going to die in this ugly place one day, y/n. i swear i’m going to find your body, and that wheel’s still going to be spinning.”

you walked over to the sink, opting to listen as you felt your stomach growl at the thought of eating something for, maybe, the second time today.

“my girlfriend would be a zombie, oh my god, an artsy zombie. wait, what does that even mean?”

you tried your best to scrape the clay from under your nails, however you both were used to finding it in weird places—laughing about it like it was an inside joke.

“actually, i think you might be hot like that. imagine all the rotting skin—you’d never have to do skincare ever again because it’d be falling off all the time—messy hair, but i think you’d hate this being your forever ghost outfit.”

you made a grossed-out face at his obvious jokes; however if he had said this to, or around, anyone else, it would’ve seemed genuine due to his monotone nature and straight face.

“you’re so strange, donghyun. if zombies were your type, i could’ve done my makeup differently.” you pinched his cheek with wet fingers. “but i love you anyways… even if you wouldn’t make a hot zombie.”

“what?” he exclaimed. “no way you think this!”

you were taken aback. “i didn’t know you were so serious about us being zombies… we could be a silly-little zombie couple if you want.” you giggled.

he scoffed. “how romantic, y/n. truly,”

“shut up.” you stuck your tongue out at him. “what’d you bring today?”

he took out a glass container; because he refused the plastic ones, saying something about the consumption of microplastics and fish long before you two had even entertained the idea of being in a relationship, to which you replied, save the turtles, and thrusted your fist in the air.

“leftovers from last night.” he stated, uncovering the pizza you two had shared over a couple episodes of game of thrones. you were late to the hype, but you liked the show nonetheless. he had fallen asleep on top of you after your hand had made its way into his shaggy hair, half an episode in, small snores echoing against the drama.

you two woke up on the couch in the morning.

“do you want me to heat yours up?” you questioned, motioning to the microwave that was probably older than either of you. “you know i’d rather have it cold as leftovers… but if you want me t—”

he took a bite, focusing back on his laptop. “don’t worry about it, love.”

you, too, took a bite. “what are you even working on?” you asked curiously, looking over his shoulder.

his face was inches from yours when he turned. “can you chew any louder in my ear?” you scoffed, pushing his head lightly to the side, and mocking an obnoxiously loud chew at him. it was probably the least sexy thing you could do. he laughed. “it’s my research final. twelve pages in. i’m writing about aquaculture and its impacts on the environment—did you know that they’re actually bigger than agriculture? not that either are greatly sustainable.”

you admired how different you two were, but you loved listening to him go on and on (and on) about the ocean and fish, even if you had no idea what anything truly meant. he really did suit being a marine biology major in your eyes. his enthusiasm was your enthusiasm.

you did love his little fishtank though. and despite him denying it, you knew he loved that you named them all.

“my final is much better than yours,” you laughed, watching his eyebrows furrow behind his glasses. “all i have to do is make a couple pots—which we’re gonna use for our herb garden after! our green onions and garlic are getting so big!” you cooed. “i was thinking about using their old pots for our basil and rosemary plants, do you think that they would work?”

he took his last bite, using both hands to type now. “i think that would be fine, love.”

“and we can use our new vase as our table centerpiece? your mom’s going to come over for dinner soon, i think she’d like it—maybe i’ll make her one.”

he knew that once you put your mind to it, there was no stopping you. “i’ll get you some pretty flowers for both of them.” he was just glad that you had eaten something before the idea popped into your head.

you pondered. “what’s her favorite color, baby? do you think i should make her a couple mugs or a vase? or a cutesy little plate collection? or a pot? fuck it, i’ll just do them all, she has a gar—”

“y/n,” he cut your ramble off. “you’ve already made her a cutesy plate collection for christmas, and a mug for mother’s day, and a couple pots last semester.”

you pouted. “but those plates are deco—”

“make her the vase, love. her favorite color is purple.” he smiled sweetly. “i’ll help you paint it after you’re done turning it. we can give it to her as a slightly-early birthday present when she comes over, yeah?”

“we’ll get her calla lilly’s, right?” you pleaded.

his hand rested against your cheek, taking a break from the keyboard. “yes, and you can tell me all about the meaning while we stand in line.”

you grabbed his wrist. “great… now c’mon!” he eyed you as you pulled him up with you. “you made me watch that fish documentary with you the other day, so i’m going to show you how to make this vase now.”

“baby, i have three pages left,” he tried to compromise, but you blocked it out. “i’ll just help you paint it.”

“no,” you whined, which he found more adorable than annoying. “she’d love it so much more if you helped me spin it, don’t you think?”

he knew that there was no use arguing with you—after all if this whole art-thing didn’t work out, law had always been your alternative.

“fine,” he gave in, sitting down on the stool as you happily skipped over to grab him an apron and collect an adamant amount of clay. “but if i find clay inside my keyboard after this, you’re in for it.”

“terrified. so scared. i’m shaking in my boots, donghyun.” you shuddered playfully. “i guess you’ll actually get what you want if that happens—a zombie girlfriend—luckily for you, though, this zombie girlfriend of yours has a toothpick and a lot of love for her living boyfriend.”

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[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ Earth 42! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷  Forbidden love, mutual pining, eventual angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷  Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ Chapters are a bit rushed, sorry bout that 😭 hope u enjoy tho

Chapter 1: Behind the chain

Warning ೃ⁀➷ Profane language, underaged smoking, mention of death, horrible Spanish. Also, I don’t live in America so idrk how people talk there, so please bear with me.

FIC MASTERLIST

Next Chapter

“Hello? Yeah, I’m at practice.”

As your feet hit the ground, the chain link fence shutters from the release of your weight— a sigh escaping your lips as you pull your phone up closer to your ear. The sound of your aunt's nags echo from your phone, bellowing across the abandoned subway and overpowering even the sound of your boots hitting the damp ground. It was shrill, her voice. Like a fork being dragged down a piece of fine china. Activating the flashlight of your phone, you swiftly slip your head out of your hood, the new spot now staring back at you like an empty canvas— devoid of life and color. It’s tragic.

As you trudge down the narrow space, your senses begin to process the stench of the horror movie-like scenery. You could heard the pipes’ leaking going along with your aunt’s ongoing lecture about something you couldn’t recall— somehow distracting you from your search.

But what certainly made you uneasy was the chill.

You hated the cold. You hated the way it’d ice your feet, dry your skin, restrict your clothes, and clog your nose. Though ironically, autumn was the season you found most enjoyable. Most of the nostalgia you bore came from the sight of those scarlet leaves— the smell of pumpkin spice, your mother’s old scarves, and the earthly rich tones of orange and red. It’d been so long, though, since your last happy memory in the season.

Nowadays, the nights are just longer, and the days shorter.

Soon enough, you stop before a tall, white wall, making you gasp as though you’d just won the lottery. Only then you started bidding your farewells to your aunt, who was beyond exasperated with your hurried adieu. Shoving the gadget down your pocket, your backpack falls right off your shoulder with a small thump, eyes still glued onto the blank space.

You make your way towards one of the seats, settling down your stuff while slipping your vape out the crevices of your sleeve and taking a slow puff— the taste of peppermint flourishing through your lips and covering up the stench of whatever was rotting in the railways.

"You're early." A familiar, sarcastic growl emits from the shadows. You turn around as the light from your phone blinds him, making him wince.

“I missed you.” You playfully answered.

The familiar gleam of hazel blinks and stares right back at you, the same stoic stare narrowing from your comment.

“Sure you did.” He huffs.

In the back of your mind, the same phrase bellows.

Well, well, well. If it ain’t Miles Morales.

It was one night, two months ago, when the two of you first met. You were an utter mess, and so was he— and it just so happened that beneath all that rain, the two of you found each other at the right time, at the right place. Supposedly.

The two of you bonded in loneliness and art. It was almost poetic, especially knowing that the two of you were anything but good for each other.

But you believed that that’s what’s great about life— the reckless things, and betting whatever you have on the line, for a taste of something thrilling. Miles knew how to pull on your strings, and the idea of being understood was still new to you. Still, whenever you do find yourself in the comfort of Miles Morales, you can’t help but ask yourself:

Who will we be to each other?

How will we change each other’s lives after this?

You couldn’t quite tell if it was your gut warning you, or your anxiety just being a little shit, but you knew the time to hear the answers was drawing near. You had no idea whether the possibility mortified you or not.

One thing for certain though, was that you knew you wanted him, and you were willing to take the risk to see him over and over again.

Miles took a step closer, his height towering over you like a tree. With a single finger, he maneuvers your flashlight away from his face with a light push.

"Get that shit away from my face."

“Awe, but I wanna see that pretty face of yours.”

“Stop.”

Cat and mouse was your usual dynamic. Though you couldn’t quite pinpoint who the cat was.

He clicks his tongue, moving away from you to head over somewhere else. A few seconds later, the power suddenly lights up and brings the subway back to life. Miles stood by the power switch, staring right at you as if to examine your reaction.

You straightened your lips and raised your brows.

"Well, you should've done that sooner."

He lazily shrugged his shoulders, approaching you once more yet with more meticulous steps. "Wanted to scare ya." He cooly confessed, earning nothing but another chuckle.

"If you wanted to scare me, don’t look so pretty."

Said pretty boy furrowed his brows, making you grin wider.

"Ay, díos. You're..." For a short moment, he thinks of how to complete the sentence.

You hum. "I'm what?"

".. so fucking unbearable."

"Awe, I missed you too." You smiled in a sickly sweet way while placing a hand over your heart. That certain sort of thrill began thumping inside you again, an unfamiliar excitement that got you staring right at him mindlessly with that stupid look on your pretty face. As Miles replied with silence, you shrugged and pulled the mod up your tinted lips— blowing the smoke away from his face. Only then, you gestured it towards him.

"Want a hit?"

"Nah." He dryly replies. "That's your first step to a rehab, y'know."

A low laugh exits your lips, taking another hit while slowly walking around. "With how fucked up I am, I'm bound to end up in either jail, a rehab, or a mental institution— so," You snap your fingers. "I'm just gonna enter all three of them."

Miles looks at you, horrified.

"M’just kidding. Don't you think I look hot while doing it, though?"

He peels the horrified stare away from you, instead choosing to kneel before your backpack, unzipping the damn thing as though it were his.

"What'chu got?" He asks, a certain twang in his voice that lightened you up. You head over in less than a second, grinning stupidly like a little kid in search of favor. You pull the plastic bag out of your backpack, waving it over his face.

"Only the best for you." You wink. "I just kindly borrowed these from my school's art club."

Receiving the bag from your grasps, Miles pulls out the newly bought spray paints. He furrows his brows at the sight of the bold fifteens printed on the bottom of each bottle, a tag left as if to brag. "Kindly borrowed, huh?" He skims over the bottle, evidently impressed. "Fifteen dollars per bottle? That’s a whole heist right there.”

“I literally just snatched it off the cabinet.”

“You must go to some rich kid’s school or sum. You even look the part.”

He gestures over your well-kept appearance. Your clean boots, pressed jeans, freshly done nails, and fragrant hoodie.

And yet you continued to look at him like he was the crazy one.

"... Miles, it’s called neatness. A basic trait." You stand up, stretching your arms above your head, the ache in your bones subtly easing. "If I did have the money, my art would be in an exhibition, not in an abandoned subway."

He pursed his lips, somewhat convinced. "Touché."

As he unpacks the paints, you stay beside him, watching as he goes through the colors and lines them up in order. You shove your hands down the pockets of your hoodie, humming.

"So what'll you be drawing tonight?"

"I ain’t really sure yet… The Subway logo, maybe." He shrugs, an exhausted groan rolling off his tongue as he stands up. "… I ain't got shit. I'm drained."

"Then why'd you come here?"

"Felt bad for ya."

You smirk. "So you did miss me."

He takes a step back, turning his head the other way. "I sure do find your delusional ass amusing." He mumbled, trying to hide the anxiety gnawing at his throat. You hardly notice it, as you were too busy staring at the empty wall, but Miles was uneasy. Uneasy in a way that he was desperate to hide it.

"At least I’ve got an ass." You airily snap back, silence following like an awkward stench. "Did you bring your sketchbook with you, by the way?"

He then proceeds to go through his jacket, eyes widening from the realization. "Ah, shit. I did... Not."

"Awe." You blandly answered, pulling out your own from the pocket of your bag. It was small, convenient, almost like a notepad. "Well, I've got mine here." You toss it over, which he successfully catches. "They're not exactly as good as yours, but you can skim through the pages to find some inspiration."

The pages spin from the flip of his fingers. Tens of concept art, a few unfinished sketches, and some dabbling in watercolor appeared before him in a flash. As he goes through the pages, you take the moment to have a momentary smoke, straying not so far away just so he wouldn't inhale any of it. The nicotine eased you as it normally did, though now that you were looking at this pretty boy before you, you couldn't help but ponder about quitting. Just for him. Just for the sake of him.

Though the feeling the nicotine often brought you was addicting, his presence hit you harder than any other drug, affecting your system in a way that made your stomach whirl. He was like your favorite cup of coffee— the strongest coffee to ever linger in your presence. Strong enough to appear on a drug test.

It was damning.

Dangerous even.

As the page flips again, Miles freezes at the sight. You take the gadget away from your lips, approaching him immediately as he huffs.

"... Huh."

Bursting in neons of magenta and violet was the sketch you made of a certain vigilante.

"Oh, don’t mind that." You mumble. "That's just some random sketch."

He brings the paper closer to his sights, marveling at your talent. The markers and the ink, mirroring the image of a cat on the run. His pretty lips part, mouth hanging agape as he asks. "You know this guy?"

A hero of the streets, some sort of final pillar carrying the weight of New York's safety on his broad shoulders.

"Well, I've seen him— Prowler, from the news. I thought he looked pretty cool."

Prowler, a name all too familiar to you. How could you not know he was? A man hiding behind an iron mask, a digital purple hologram over the metals, making his silhouette mirror a panther’s. The man was all your father recently growled about, the memory of the heavy morning still engraved into your mind. You can almost sketch it out— The stench of his tobacco, the shrill of his angered voice, and the image of your poor housekeeper silently brushing some broken shards into the dustpan. You remember sitting by the dining table, solemnly choking on your breakfast as you forcibly shoved it down your throat.

Eyes downcast and hands shaking.

"You think he's cool?" Miles' voice tears you apart from the memory. He sounded almost elated, like a child in search of praise.

"Yeah, I'd always wanted to be a vigilante, fuck—" The vape rolls off your tongue unconsciously. "Like, my life is so damn boring, but at the same time, I've got too many responsibilities to handle so I can't do the things I like. But hey, that's life, I guess."

"If you've got too many responsibilities, then what the hell are you doing here? It's like midnight r'now, damn."

"I kinda told my aunt I had practice for band."

"You're in a band?"

"…. No." You deadpan. "That's the reason why I'm here, man."

He snapped the sketchbook shut, sighing as he plucked out the red and purple spray paints from the line. "God, you'd be one hell of a headache if I ever had a kid like you."

"Woah, slow down, sweetie, you're already talking about kids and you haven't even taken me out to dinner yet." You tease, teeth nibbling onto your lower lip as you watch him crumble. He straightens his lips, forcefully holding back a smile.

"… Shut that mouth for me, would ya?" He shot back. "Just shut up."

"Oo, make me."

He pops the lid off the red paint, the sound of a nickel ball being shaken up in a metal can soon following. Without even an ounce of hesitation, he curtly sprays the paint over your sleeve, earning a gasp from you. You quickly snatch the neon pink can and start spraying back, the chemical smell wafting over your nostrils as the sound of your giggles echoed down the halls. A minute later and the both of you began drawing your new piece while being drenched in paint.

"Hey, pretty boy.”

Miles instinctively turns to look at you, as though he prided himself in the nickname.

"I need to do the top part, can you boost me?" You ask, voice muffled from the towel pulled over your nose.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, but he agreed without making a sound.

He kneels, tapping on his thigh, gesturing you to take your step. Taking off your shoes, you cautiously climb over, feeling his hands brush against your calves, almost as if he was readying his stance to catch you just in case you fall. Initially, the pose seemed to be serving you well, but when your ankles started shivering, your hand latched onto his head, gripping gently in panic. Miles, who was, of course, caught off guard, began shaking. You finally took a step down.

"Fuck." You whispered. "Can you do it?"

"Hol' on."

"I think you just need to like, tiptoe a bit and—"

"Be patient."

And you did just that.

He stretches out his toes in an attempt to reach for the top, but he fails miserably. Miles then turned to you, bearing the pout of a frustrated child.

"... Ya already know what to do, right?"

"Mm, yeah."

An irrational thought crosses his mind, and it battles against his rationality like a civil war within the confines of his head. A second later, his lone finger signals you to come closer. You do so, and he looks up at the unfinished crown.

"I'm gonna carry you, a'ight?"

"What?" You blurt out. "Y-You don't have to—"

"Just balance yourself." He skips past your rant. "And you better do it well."

Before you could even intervene, he's down and offering you his shoulder. Hesitantly, you position yourself. Looking over at you, Miles skims over your face in search of approval. When your hand shakily makes its way over his other arm, Miles cautiously wraps his palm over the side of your knee, hoisting you up like a trophy he’d just won.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Y-yeah. Just— yeah." You stumble over your words, raising your hand over to start painting.

You could feel it tingling in your bones. Skin deep, rotting within the confines of your flesh, insecurity at its highest peak. And it shut you up. Miraculously, as Miles would say it. Your weight, your body, your own figure frightened you. It would be a lie for Miles to claim that he hasn’t noticed. But he stood tall, hardly showing an ounce of any struggle— which comforted somehow.

He was pretty strong, stronger than you first thought.

As you painted, Miles stood there in silence. Trying his best to focus on his breathing.

But the softness of your palm atop his shoulder, and the growing warmth of his own over your waist. Miles desperately tried to ignore growing warmth burning his cheeks. He resisted the urge to dig into the softness of your waist, and yet it remained like a taunt— allowing only his nails to grip over your shirt, the thin barrier over your skin. It seemed almost vulgar, how his hand was beneath your hoodie, gripping as though you were his favorite plush. How his wrist was pressed against the curve of your hip. Then and there, within the span of five minutes, the silhouette of your body was forever engraved into his senses, his mind, and his touch.

But no one spoke of it.

"... You done?" He groaned.

"In a bit, hol' on."

You thought he'd start complaining about your weight, but he didn't.

You were somewhat relieved, but at the same time, it flustered you.

And when the little scene ended, you and Miles stood there, backs pressed against the wall as you stared at your new masterpiece. You looked over the chemical stains on your sleeves, glancing at him. "This jacket's pretty expensive, y'know. It cost me like fifteen grand."

His face twisted in disgust. "You'd buy a jacket like that? In this economy?”

"It's a capitalist world we live in."

"No shit."

The two of you share a small laugh, evidently exhausted from the whole art process. It wasn't all that much, but it was based on one of your many doodles during class. The cursive that spelled out Stay Out was painted in an intimidating shade of red, its borders tainted in white and black— a crown of thorns resting above the text. It seemed like a warning, an open threat. Crafted by frustration, but upon its finish, you were eased.

"Next time, we should do something that says 'Eat the rich' or 'Vive la revolución.'" Miles suddenly suggested, jazzing his fingers comedically. You click your tongue. "We might get shot, man.”

“With all that smoking you do, you’ll wither away before the bullet even manages to get you.”

You raised your brows. “Okay, and?”

Miles scoffs at your ridiculous reply, but for a moment he thinks about it— some sort of plan in his mind. Sooner or later, he soon gently raises his palm without a word. You stare at his hand confusingly, “What?” you then asked of him. The boy then gestured over his lips with his fingers shaped like a v, imitating the act of smoking. “Lemme try, at least once.”

“… You’re kidding.”

“I’m being for real, ma, just let me try it once.”

You think about rejecting his request, but the curiosity had you fishing out your e-cigarette in less than a second.

“Okay, but if you die, I’m not paying for your damn ambulance bill.”

“Just uber me to the damn hospital.”

Miles then looks at it, glaring holes into the pen-shaped gadget as though he were waiting for it to speak. After considerably taking his time, he plucks it out your palm and starts a slow sip, the collision of the nicotine and the flavor flooding his tongue as the smoke enters his system. When the heat creeps in, however, he bursts out into a coughing fit.

You snatch the gadget away from his grasp as he groans.

“Careful.”

"What the fUCK—, ain't that s'pposed to calm you down?—" He slams his hand against the center of chest in an attempt to ease his lungs.

"… Did you fucking swallow the smoke or what?" You sigh while taking a sip, the smoke smoothly exiting your lips.

"... You know what? You are definitely gonna die early."

"Oh, darling, don't threaten me with a good time."

“Pu—” He coughs a few more times. “Puta, I almost died there.”

You take your palm and began rubbing small circles behind his back. “You shouldn’t do the shit I do, even if I look hot doing it.”

“Ain’t nobody told you that.”

“… Why’d you wanna smoke anyway?”

“I just wanted to know why you keep doing that.” He groans, staring at the pen in your fingers. “I mean— it’s unhealthy as fuck, hardly tastes good, and it’ll kill you the ugliest way possible. So why do it?”

You lower the pen as though your long-lost conscience re-entered your body.. “… I don’t know really.” You mumbled half-heartedly. “I think it’s what calms me down the most…? I don’t know.”

“… You don’t have, like, normal hobbies?”

“The fuck— of course, I do.” You swiftly shot back. “I just don’t have the time to do them.”

“Then what do you do at home?”

You blink.

“What— What do I do at home?” You repeat, thinking of it to yourself. “That’s a good question, what do I do at home?… I do chores, I study a lot. I-I take care the house.” Take care of the house? Yeah, shit I ain’t Mirabel Madrigal. As your mind short circuits, from a mile away, you could already guess his reply.

“I do that too, dumbass.”

You click your tongue. “.. It’s complicated. The time I usually have for myself is when I’m outside, that’s why I lied that I took up band for extra credit.”

You smoothed out the details of your life, picking out a few small details that were definitely not all that important.

"Is that why you're here?"

"Yeah.”

The boy curved his lips into a slight frown.

“I mean,” You shift closer, sighing as you palm the back your neck. “Sometimes, places like these are better than my own home."

"Places like an abandoned subway?"

“You make it sound like I’m homeless.”

“That’s what it sounds to me.”

"... It’s just.." You run your fingers through your hair, eyes glued onto the ceiling above. "I feel more at home in an abandoned subway more than my own house.”

Miles hummed. "… I'd always thought home would be more of a person," He tilts his head. "Rather than a place."

The silence was deafening, but this time, nothing was urging you to fix it— because there was nothing in need of fixing. You were comfortable, weirdly enough, as you never really found comfort in utter silence.

“It’d be nice to be.. Someone’s home.” You couldn’t help but utter those cheesy words. “I think I’d make a great home.”

Miles fiddled with the hem of his hoodie, holding back the words that echoed in his mind.

Yeah, you’re doing great.

Instead, what slips out of his mouth was: “How the fuck are you gon’ be a home? You’re a whole haunted house.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You roll your eyes. “If I’m a haunted house, you’re a rental where all the drive-by shootings happen.”

“Okay, what the fuck.”

“When you go low, I go LOWER.”

In the end, the two of you simply bursted into laughter, sinking down to the floor to take a seat. Another hour passed and so did a hundred topics. They flew by like the autumn leaves, leaving the both of you unconsciously huddling close for warmth beneath the large scarf you brought. Two birds of one feather, one nest. Easy conversations, light laughs, and genuine interest.

Even when the conversation grew darker, the two of you infinitely felt cosy enough to confide in one another. Especially when Miles spoke about his father.

You listened well, yet there was this ball stuck in your throat that you couldn’t quite swallow. A heaviness in your heart, a stiff feeling in your throat. However, your ears were welcoming. His tone was grieving, but his words resonated with acceptance.

"He used to drive me every morning to school... We'd fight over the pettiest things, and god, I hated it, but looking back, it was better then." He buried half his head into his arms. "I'd rather have him annoying me than have him not annoying me at all."

The words hit you like a truck, leaving you defenseless. In a moment, your walls crumble as these words crawl out your mouth. "... Sometimes, when we're with someone, you can't help but wish they'd leave you alone, but when they're gone, only then you'll realize how much you can't live without them."

Though your words were meant for Miles, you knew damn well that they were also for you.

"... There's some truth to that, I guess."

"Does that mean that you'd miss me when I'm gone?" You tease.

Your gentle gazes collide, and eventually, you see that Miles had softened entirely.

"... Maybe."

“.. Maybe?” You repeat his reply. “.. Should I annoy you more then?”

“You’re annoying enough as you are.” He huffs, pulling his knees to his chest. “I hate you so much.”

“Sure you do.”

You lean against his shoulder. “Hate me all you want. I’ll pretend to believe you.”

A light chuckle emits from his lips, but as it fades, he turns his head, burying his nose in the scent of your hair. You were fragrant, and it was addicting. Slowly, he shuts his eyes and basks in your scent.

Then he called out your name softly.

You hum, looking up at him— the inches between you closing in, cold breaths like white smoke intertwining. His cold fingers dance atop your own.

“What?” You whisper.

His lids were heavy, gaze switching between the pool of your eyes and the plush of your lips.

Then and there, you knew.

But something screamed at you in the back of your mind.

We can’t.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

And you pulled away before your lips could even meet.

"Shit." You cuss, clumsily pulling the phone out of your pockets. Your hands frantically scramble to answer the call, the look of Miles' defeated stare stinging the corner of your eye. "Hello?" You began, hearing the chauffeur's voice ask back. "Ma'am, where are you?"

Your fingers press the side of your phone, lowering the volume.

“We're currently clearing up the room right now. Can you please wait about thirty more minutes? Thanks."

As the call ends, you frantically head off to start cleaning up. Trying to evade whatever had just happened— at least, you try to. It invaded your mind and heart, left you breathless and unsteady.

You and Miles began picking up the bottles, shoving it inside the plastic. You then flung the strap of your backpack onto your shoulder, holding the plastic out to him. "You can have it."

Confusion was scribbled all over his face.

"Didn't you steal that from your school's art club?”

You look up, thinking about it for a moment before shrugging. "It’s their problem, not ours." You grin.

Miles shakes his head in feigned disapproval. "Tsk tsk tsk, eres una chica tan mala."

"Don't start, the only Spanish I know's from Dora."

"Que?"

"Queso."

You shove the plastic into his arms. "No hablo Español, lo siento." Was all you managed to form out of the past few weeks you started learning Spanish. You threw a hand in the air, waving him a fast farewell while pivoting your heel to leave.

“Can’t I walk you home?” A suggestion, and not a demand for the first time, Miles insists “It’s dark as fuck outside, and you might get.. Y’know.”

For a moment, you pause to laugh.

“Are you worried about me?”

He nods. “I am.”

“I— wait, what?”

He took a step further. “I am worried about you. It’s ten o’clock. I think I should take you home.”

Miles looked at you in a way you’ve never seen before. It was unfamiliar, or maybe you just weren’t good at paying attention, yet now that it was materializing before you— It overwhelmed you.

It was breaking you open.

You bite your lower lip, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“… I-I don’t know, I don’t think my dad would like that very much.”

“And I’m sure your dad wouldn’t like the idea of his lil’ girl getting hurt.”

There he goes again, towering over you, his cocky eyes never once leaving your face. Lil’ girl my ass, you can’t help but think. I’m tall, asshole. You just so happened to be taller.

“I’ll walk you home.” He reiterates. Now it’s an announcement, not a proposal. “You can tell me to leave when we’re near. I just need to make sure you’re okay.”

“… Miles,” The way his name rolls off your tongue had him weak, and you couldn’t even tell. “.. Okay, fine— But, only up until the Gristedes down the block. Until then, you go home, alright?”

Your voice was too soft, too mellow. It made his breath hitch, made his neck tense in this already cold weather.

“Aight.”

[goddess-aelin]

Lovestruck

Day 2 of Rowaelin month- spies/heist AU

A follow up to Lovesick- highly recommend reading that one before this one. Otherwise you'll probably be lost

Masterlist

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: stealing, small injury

“Aelin?” Rowan’s heart completely dropped to his stomach. Why was the woman he had seen just hours ago sitting on his fire escape, clad in black and laying next to a broken statue like she was on some sort of fucking art heist?

“Ro..I…Agh.” Aelin clutched her head, squeezing her eyes shut as if she was in pain. “Fuck.”

Rowan could only stare. 

“I swear this isn’t what it looks like.” Aelin’s turquoise eyes met his own. She shifted her hand behind her to sit up more sturdily but a hiss of pain escaped her lips instead.

  And at that moment, Rowan really couldn’t have cared whether she was in the middle of stealing the fucking Declaration of Independence, he couldn’t bear to see her in pain. “Fuck, Aelin. Come here.” He pushed his window up just far enough that he could reach out and pull her toward him. He picked her up with a gentleness that surprised even him given the circumstances, watching for any injuries or flinches of pain. Setting her down on the couch, he started to make his way to the kitchen but thought better of it and held his hand out to Aelin, instead. “Give me your glove.” 

“What?” 

He made a motion with his hand. “Give me your glove. Quickly.” Hesitantly, she did as she was asked, handing her black leather glove over to Rowan. Even though it was at least three sizes too small, Rowan shoved as much of his hand into the glove as he could and went once again to the window. Leaning out, he gently picked up the pieces of the broken statue, making sure that he got every little piece before closing the window.

As he turned back to Aelin, he could tell she was gobsmacked. 

“Why are you helping me?”

Rowan just sighed but didn’t answer her question. “How about we start with me wrapping that wrist and then you can tell me what you were doing on my fire escape at two in the morning with a suspiciously familiar statue.” 

While she didn’t necessarily look happy, Aelin nodded. “Deal.”

“Can you walk?” At his question, Aelin nodded, and got up to follow him to the kitchen.

She sat at one of the high-top stools at his kitchen island and he could feel her piercing gaze on his back as he rifled through the cabinets to find a wrap for her wrist. Returning to her once he found it, he grabbed her hand, inspecting for any cuts or scrapes. Finding none, he started pushing at her skin in different areas. She hissed as his fingers met the already-forming bruise.

“Luckily, I think it’s just a sprain. I’ll wrap it but if it feels any different tomorrow, you should go get an x-ray.” 

Aelin snorted. “This isn’t my first rodeo.” 

Rowan raised his eyebrows at that. But still he said nothing, trying and failing to gather his thoughts around this strange, beautiful, and mysterious woman. Gently, he began wrapping her wrist with the bandages.

“So you just keep a wrist wrap in your kitchen?”

“I’m a doctor, remember? I have medical supplies all over my apartment.” Aelin let out a huff of breath at that. “Are you going to tell me why I found you out there, looking as if you were falling from the heavens?”

Aelin sighed, gathering her thoughts. “I swear to you, it was not what you think. I wasn’t stealing the statue from the art gallery above.” Rowan met her gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe I was stealing the statue but I swear I had a good reason.” 

Aelin took a deep breath to steal herself. “I come from a long line of Terrasen royalty. Of course, we don’t have a monarchy anymore so I’m just a normal citizen, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about my family’s history. My great-great grandfather had a collection of artifacts that dated all the way back to King Brannon’s line. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.” Rowan nodded in affirmation. “Well that broken statue was one of the last known pieces from that time period. My great-great grandfather passed it down to my great grandfather, he to my grandfather, and then it should’ve passed onto my father. But this guy, Arobynn Hamel, took it instead”

“The Arobynn Hamel that owns the art gallery upstairs?”

Aelin nodded. “If we come from a long line of Terrasen royalty, then he comes from a long line of people who tried to steal the throne from us. So I guess he felt like he was entitled to this particular statue and when my grandfather died. Imagine our surprise when the will was read and our family heirloom was suddenly passed down to a guy no one could stand.”

"Sounds fishy.” 

“It was. There was no way that my grandfather would have given it to him. None. I grew up being a part of my grandfather’s life and I still remember his disdain for the man. Without my dad here to stop me anymore, I guess I just wanted to have a piece of our family history back.”

“So why did you feel like you needed to do this in the dead of night instead of fighting for it via legal routes?”

Aelin’s rueful smile slowly grew into a smirk. “Where would the fun be in that?”

Rowan couldn’t hold back his huff of laughter. This woman. She was going to be the death of him. Aelin’s face suddenly got serious. “Are you mad?”

Rowan furrowed his brows. “Mad? No.” He sighed. “Concerned? Yes, of course.”

Aelin swallowed loudly. “Are you going to turn me in?” 

Rowan really tried to make a good show of contemplating. But his strength when it came to this woman was nonexistent. He caved much sooner than he would’ve liked and feared he gave away much of his emotion in the process. “Of course not. If I turned you in, I wouldn’t get to go on another date with you and we can’t have that, can we?”

Aelin beamed. Slowly, as if he were a skittish deer, Aelin leaned in and rested her forehead against his. “Thank you, Rowan.” 

Tilting his head so that he could place a gentle kiss upon her lips, Rowan whispered “You’re welcome.”

The oven beeping broke them out of their little bubble that wholly encompassed them. It was at that moment that he could tell that Aelin finally smelled the melting chocolate and sugary goodness. 

Slowly, like a cat, her eyes met his, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Are those for me?”

Rowan shrugged, nonchalant. “Maybe.” 

Aelin softly swatted at him. “You’re a dork. But…” Her gaze was piercing as she pursed her lips, debating on her next statement. “But you’re my dork.”

Rowan could feel something in his chest alight at her statement. He was her dork. Given that he just found her on his fire escape after she stole a priceless heirloom, warning bells probably should have been going off in Rowan’s head. But all he could think was, “And you’re a thief. But…” He pecked her nose. “You’re my thief.”

A/N: Happy Day 2 of Rowaelin Month! I have some stuff planned though none of it written but I'm glad to have even gotten this piece out!

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Deal Breaker

Trans!Santiago Garcia X GN!Reader • Rating: PG  Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info •

A/N: Written for @romanarose's Oscar Issac/Pedro Pascal Fan Art and Fiction Pride Event 2024! (Super late, but this is for the 'coming out' theme, thank you for letting me post it so late💚) This is super self-indulgent and just like *dreamy sigh* what would be the nicest reaction someone would have to someone else telling them they're trans.

Summary: Santi has something to tell you.

Warnings: overuse of italics, swearing, Santi being anxious, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 1014

Santi paced back and forth outside of your house, practically wearing a groove into the pavement. (And trying not to walk into the lamp post again.) 

He’d been there for over ten minutes, trying his best to work up enough nerve to knock on your door. 

You’d been on one date, a chill one. Just a drink and cake at a little coffee shop he’d recommended. (Or, more correctly, Will had recommended and Santi had taken credit for.) You’d both ended up staying there talking for almost four hours. 

You've been messaging everyday, joking, sending voice notes, videos and pictures. Everything was going great. He liked you. A lot. 

And now he was going to fuck it all up. 

“Hi, just wanted to let you know…” He muttered under his breath, repeating what he was going to say, what he needed to say. “I just thought you should know… you know… before this gets any further, not that things have to get further, I mean… I want to say I like you and I’m… I’m…” 

“Santi?” 

He jumps, visibly jumps, his eyes wide like a rabbit startled by headlights. 

You find it quite endearing the way he looks at you, a bright panic. You’d just been grabbing some last minute bits and pieces and your local corner shop for the meal you were making together tonight. 

“Trans!” Santi says a little too loud. 

“What?” 

“Erm…”

“Trains?” 

“No.” 

“What did you say?”

He pauses, biting his bottom lip. Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck. “Trans.” He says very softly, closing his eyes for a second. This was not how it was meant to go. “I’m… I wanted to tell you before… I really like you and… you should know… I’m, I’m trans. I’m a trans man.” 

He looks up at you, ready to see disgust. Rejection. 

Instead you smile warmly and nod. “Okay, thank you for telling me.” You point to your front door, “you wanna go inside?” 

He pauses, staring at you for a long moment as his brain tries to and two and two together but keeps getting minus seven. “I… erm… inside?” 

“For the food, the meal date? We were gonna cook together?” You say politely, mistaking his confusion.

“You, you still want to… go out with me?” He doesn’t mean for the words to come out so softly, so small. 

It’s your turn to pause and truly absorb what he said. Your eyes widening as realisation dawns. “Oh, of course! Santi, fuck, sorry,” you put you hand on his arm and squeeze reassuringly. “It’s not a problem for me that you're trans, no problem at all. Doesn’t affect anything. I really like you too.” 

He gives you a brilliant smile, all of his nervous energy outpouring as relief washes over. 

He nods and walks with you as you both move towards the door, taking your shopping bag for you as you fish out your keys. 

“Do you, erm,” he pauses for a second to take off his shoes as you do the same, “do you have any… questions?” 

You turn away just to shut the door before you look back at him. “Questions?” 

“Yeah… about the trans stuff.” He shakes his head, trying to sound more assertive. Fuck, being shot at was always easier than this. “I mean, me being trans.” 

“Do you usually get questions?” 

He nods. 

You pause, thinking it over for a second. “Do you want me to ask questions?” You say sincerely. 

He smiles and rubs the back of his head. “You know, no one's ever asked that before.” 

You smile back.

“Erm, yeah, yeah,” he nods, “questions would be good actually. Normal.” 

You laugh good naturedly, “kay,” you make your way to the kitchen, pointing out the different rooms as you go. 

“Your house is really nice.” 

“Thank you.” 

“And thank you for, well, being so… for being normal about how I blurted it out outside, usually I’m a bit more together.” He says, a touch of bashfulness in his tone. 

“Are people usually not normal? Wait, that’s a numb as fuck question.”

Santi laughs as you pull a face. “A lot of people are very normal about it,” he smiles, “but I don’t tell a lot of people.” 

You nod as you start to unpack your bag, Santi jumps in to help. “So, when did you transition?” 

“Well,” he takes a deep breath. “I know it’s a cliche but I kind of always knew, you know?” 

“Not cliche, just a common experience.” You smile and nudge your shoulder into his. 

He grins. “Started ‘dressing like a boy’ when I was 15, but it wasn’t until I was 18 and out of the house that I changed my name and stuff.” 

You nod. 

“Been on T for a long time now. Managed to get top surgery when I was 24.” He pauses, “sorry, I’m word vomiting all over the place here and-”

“Hey,” you smile warmly, taking his hands, there’s a slight tremor to them. You rub your fingers over his skin reassuringly. “It’s good, great. Not oversharing, thank you for wanting to share with me.” 

He returned the expression a little shyly, “thanks, I just…” He screws up his eyes and sighs, “need to overshare one more thing.” 

“Go ahead.” You give his hands a soft squeeze.

“I’m, I haven’t had bottom surgery.” He swallows, keeping his eyes closed, “I don’t know if that’s a deal breaker for you, I understand if it is.” 

You lean forward and kiss his cheek. “Not a problem.” 

He opens his eyes quickly, looking at you like you painted every pink sunset cloud in the sky, before he presses a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. “Thank you.” He mutters, stroking your cheek and kissing you again. 

He slowly steps closer, pressing flush against you and snaking his right hand to rest on your hip, giving him all the leverage he needs to gently press you back against the counter top and slip his tongue into your mouth. 

It is a long time before the half unpacked groceries are remembered. 

Thank you for reading!

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[small-sinclair]

Flower Kisses

@sup-im-blue…some more Johnny fluff to satisfy you.

You where in the kitchen pealing potatoes when he came into the room. You heard Johnny’s boots click on the wood coming behind you. Before you knew it, he wrapped an arm around you and kisses your neck gently. In the other hand, he held up a small thing of flowers.

“For you, bunny,” he says sweetly, kissing your cheek. “Figured ya might like ‘em in our room.” You felt his smile press against your skin as he kisses you again. “Like them?”

You turned to face him, placing your hands on his shoulders. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours and looked into your eyes. Whenever you two are alone, he allowed his guard to drop and let himself be, well, human for a while. Before you, he was sharper than a knife and hard around the edges. Now, he melts like wax by your touch and wants nothing more than to fill that emptiness inside him.

“You always know how to make me smile,” you said, playing with the little curls. “I like them, thank you.” Leaning up, you placed a kiss on his scar. “Such a sweet little guy.”

“‘M not a lil’ guy,” he scoffs, but he has a smile on his face. He pressed a sweet kiss against your forehead, earning a giggle from you. “But I guess ‘ll be your lil’ guy.”

He brushes your hair away and held your cheek. He admires you like an untouched marble block. “My, my, lil’ bunny… you sure look lovely today.”

You rolled your eyes. “You say that everyday, Johnny.”

“And I mean it everyday.” He placed his hand on your cheek. “You’ll always look beautiful.”

You rested against his hand and closed your eyes. He holds you a bit closer as he littered your face with little kisses and praises. When his lips kisses yours, quick and fast, he came back for another, kissing you passionately. “I love you,” he whispers, kissing you again. “‘M the luckiest man alive.”

You picked up a flower held it close to the side of his face. “Sunflowers look good on you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “I guess that’s why I didn’t see you in the fields when you caught me.”

He shrugs. “Well, you were easy to catch, y/n.” He placed his hands on your hips and came closer to you. He wasn’t firm when his thumbs made circles on your skin. He looked at you as if he was admiring a piece of art. “Best catch ever, actually.”

You placed the flower on the counter and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Am I, Johnny Sawyer?” There was a bit of dried blood in his hair and shirt, but it didn’t mind you. It used to, but not anymore.

He kisses your lips gently then your forehead. “Never lie to ya, darling.”

As much as you wanted to be in his arms longer, the front door opened and Cook shouted, “Johnny! Get out here! Got another round!”

Johnny clinched his jaw and he was about to snap back, but her hand on his chest calmed him. He take your hand and kisses the knuckles. “Be back soon, y/n. Get to the safe room, okay? Don’t want ya hurt.”

You nod and stood on your toes to kiss him then caressed his cheek. “Be careful, Johnny. I mean it.”

“I will—“

“Johnny! Ass out here, now!” Sissy shouted from the door. “Com’on!”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m comin’!” He snapped over his shoulder. “I swear, I gotta do everythin’ ‘round here.” He kisses you one last time. “Be home soon. Get ta’hiding.” He steps away from you and started towards the door.

You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself as you turned and brought down a vase for the flowers.

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

Stars Align: Part 1

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Bradley was your best friend throughout high school, and you were madly in love with him. Bradley had no idea how you felt, and had eyes for someone else, much to your dismay.

You move away after high school, and gradually lose touch with your best friend, however years later you happen to bump into the new and improved Bradley Bradshaw, and can hardly believe it's the same man. He can also hardly believe that the beautiful, grown up woman in front of him is the same dorky best friend he had all those years ago. Will things ever become more than they were in that past, as you rekindle your friendship and make up for lost time? And can you both overcome certain dark truths that come to light?

Warnings: Slow burn, Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Violence, Mentions of Abuse, Angry Bradley, Alcohol misuse, Swearing, Awkward Adolescence.

_____________________________

This entire series is 18+ ONLY

_____________________________

Past:

You walked down the unfamiliar corridor, past blue and red lockers as you desperately searched for the correct classroom. It was your first year at a new school, and although you’d done this so many times before, you hated being new, and the unknown terrified you.

You were already late, having struggled to find your home room, and panic was creeping up your chest like hot acid threatening to burn through your sternum.

You took in a shaky breath as you reached the end of the corridor, still having not found the correct room, and you turned around to recheck the ones you’d passed.

As you turned, you bumped into someone and stumbled back slightly. Once you'd steadied yourself, you looked up.

“Sorry…” the tall boy mumbled. A smattering of small scars adorned his chubby face, the makings of facial hair beginning to show themselves on his chin and upper lip, well into the beginning of puberty. He looked at least a year or two older than you, and he was so tall you had to crank your neck to look at him. “Are you new?”

You nodded awkwardly, too shy to utter a word. You were already nervous, but boys made you even more so.

“Ok, what room are you looking for? I can take you!” He offered, a cute smile now spread across his face.

You smiled, holding up the piece of paper that showed your schedule, “Thank you, it’s Mrs Carters room, I’ve looked everywhere but I can’t find it.” You blushed.

“Ah, yeah so Mrs Carters isn’t actually in the main building, she’s over at the Art Block.” He explained, beginning to walk to the exit, you followed.

“The… the art block?” You queried.

“Yeah, she teaches art, but she’ll be your home room teacher this year. My home room teacher is Mr Dent, he’s the head of the Maths department, I hate him, blegh.” The boy mumbled as he walked. “I’m Bradley, by the way.” He stuck out a hand to you.

“I’m Y/N.” You offered, and gave his hand a little shake.

“Aw, you’re so gentle. Like a little bird. I think I’ll call you that.” He chuckled.

“L-little bird?”

“Yeah, lil bird.”

You grinned and nodded, as you crossed the small lawn between the main building and the Art Block. The Art Block was beautifully decorated, a variety of flowers and insects painted onto the brick, a colourful contrast to the pale grey building behind you.

“Hope you like art, and crazy people. Mrs Carter’s nuts.” He laughed, stopping at the door.

You nodded, “Thanks for saving me.” You joked.

“Any time lil bird. If you need anyone to sit with at lunch, I usually sit by that tree over there.” He pointed. “My friends spend breaks with their girlfriends, and they get all gross so I’ve taken to eating alone.”

You chuckled and nodded, as Bradley walked back to the main building. You watched as he left, and then took a deep breath as you pushed open the big doors to the Art Block building. Your nerves were now considerably less frazzled, and the rest of the day didn’t seem to be as scary a thought as you’d imagined it would be.

————————————

Present:

“That’s the last box, can we go get a drink now pleeeeassee?” Gabby begged you as she plonked down on your new sofa.

You chuckled, wafting your t-shirt to allow some cool air to touch your sweaty skin. The climb from the street below to your apartment on the 5th floor, multiple times with heavy boxes, proved to be all the exercise you’d need for the year.

“Yeah we can go get a drink now. Can I at least shower first?” You panted, closing the front door.

“Sure, I’m gonna take a nap in that case.” Gabby laughed, laying down and closing her eyes, as her breathing returned to normal. Gabby loved fitness, and was in much better shape right now having done similar exertions every day, but you were a panting mess as you climbed into the shower and washed the sweat off of your skin.

Once you’d finished, you wrapped a towel around your body and walked back into the lounge to fish around a box for something to wear.

Gabby was snoring now, her arm draped over her eyes to block out the light from the many lamps you’d plugged in.

“Gabby.” You whispered loudly. “Gabs, wake up, I need your help.” You whispered louder.

Gabby snored away, so you sighed and walked over to her. “Pssstt!” You hissed in her ear, nothing.

You sat down on her and that did the trick, she woke up with a “ooph!” And gave you a dirty look.

“Whaaaaat? I was having such a good dream about that guy at the coffee shop.”

“Ew, not on my sofa please. I need you to help me decide on what to wear, you can borrow something too.”

Gabby got up and helped you rifle through your boxes.

“Ohhh, you always look hot in this.” She took out a dark green satin cowl neck dress and threw it at you, and you held it out to look at.

“Where exactly are we going drinking? I was thinking a nice little bar somewhere, but this dress screams filthy club.” You grimaced.

“Okay fine, what about… yeah this is super cute, kinda classy too.” She held out a lacey little black dress, it was still small enough to leave little to the imagination, but was classier than the green dress.

“Okay, that’s better I suppose.” You nodded and she threw you the dress.

“I’ll take the satin.” She winked, taking the green dress and changing in your living room.

You slipped into the black lace and brushed your hair out into neat waves. You quickly put on some makeup and heels, and you were both out the door.

The street was now packed, a Saturday night in the city meant party time, and that’s certainly what Gabby had in mind as she dragged you to the bustling heart of the city.

————————————

Past:

The first few days passed in a blur, and you were thankful for Bradley being there. He grounded you when your mind was going a mile a minute, and helped you find all of your classes. He ate lunch with you every day under the big oak tree, and you learned about his life bit by bit each time.

You knew his dad had died, and his moms name was Carole. You knew he was an only child and that meant he could be lonely some times, so you began to meet up with him after school most days to do homework together. Bradley would come over to your house often, where you introduced him to your younger brother and sister.

Bradley also connected with your dad, possibly due to not having had a father figure in his life since his God Father wasn’t around much.

Your dad taught Bradley to drive, and helped him fix up an old car once he’d gotten his licence. Once Bradley could drive, he picked you up all the time to just drive around, and you now had a personal chauffeur to drive you to school and back each day. You two became joined at the hip, inseparable outside of your classes.

As the years passed, Bradley was even allowed to sleep over, once your parents had realised there were no ulterior motives. You would play pranks on one another, and on your siblings. You would tell one another everything, but you found that there were some things you'd rather he didn't tell you.

"I think I'm in love, lil bird. She's so hot! Ever since she came back from summer break, it's like she went to model camp or something." Bradley raved.

"Gross, I don't wanna know that." You flushed red, whether out of awkwardness or jealousy you weren't sure. Bradley had developed a crush on Michelle Jennings around the same time you'd developed a crush on Bradley, and the fact that she was so much prettier than you did little for your confidence, so you kept quiet about your feelings.

Bradley had asked Michelle to prom, and as he'd begun to develop some muscles, and his facial hair had filled out, he was beginning to look less dorky, and more like a young man, so she said yes. Bradley was elated.

“I told you, Brad, I don’t wanna go.” You mumbled, shoving your prom dress into the bottom of your wardrobe and skulking over to where Bradley stood by your bedroom window.

“C’mon. Please! What if things get awkward between me and Michelle? I won’t have anyone to run to.” He pouted.

“No, Bradley. No one’s asked me to go and I’m all… ugly and stuff.” You groaned, looking at your skin in the mirror. You had reached that awkward stage where pimples were flaring up every day and your hair was unruly. You hadn’t exactly blossomed like some of the popular girls had. The ones who’s parents could afford expensive dermatology appointments and the newest straighteners. You simply had to make do with cheap spot treatments and a thousand hair clips.

“You’re not ugly, don’t be stupid. No one looks good when they look THAT close in the mirror.” Bradley chuckled, walking over to you. “And who cares if you don’t have a date? I can have two dates, there aren’t any rules against it.”

You shot him a glare, “Yeah, I’m sure Michelle will be happy about that. You’ll spend the entire evening making out with the girl of your dreams and I’ll be awkward third wheel.” You rolled your eyes.

“Birdy, please.” He gave you soft eyes and his tone was genuinely pleading.

You sighed as you looked at him, and then at your wardrobe. “Okay, fine. Can you pick me up?”

Bradley grinned, and rushed over to envelope you in a bear hug. “You know I will, I’ll see you at 7.”

—————————————

Present:

Your skin had cleared up and your hair tamed slightly over time, you had finally come into your own as a woman and you looked damn fine. You were almost unrecognisable apart from your smile and your eyes, and so you’d made it your life’s mission not to let anyone in your new life see pictures of you in high school. You were a different person entirely, more confident, more fun, and much smarter.

You had met Gabby after you moved away, and she had taken on the role of best friend. A role you so desperately needed filling without the tall boy in your life anymore. You and Gabby both went on to study at the same university, and then you took jobs at the same school, Gabby as coach for the junior girls soccer team, and you as a Biology teacher.

You fell into a happy rhythm, and started dating one of the other teachers in the biology department, Jacob, and before long your daily thoughts of Bradley turned to weekly thoughts, and eventually you barely thought of him at all, occasionally dreaming of the best friend you’d once had and loved so dearly.

You moved in with Jacob and life continued, however things began to turn sour, and you called quits on the relationship.

Gabby had found a new job at a prep school in New York, and a few months later when a vacancy for a Natural Sciences Educator opened up, she begged you to take it. The pay was so much better, and best of all you'd be with Gabby again.

You weren't thrilled to live in such a large city, much preferring a quiet little town and more relaxed lifestyle, but you missed your best friend, and the town was becoming more and more hostile after things with Jacob had gotten out of control.

You applied and got the job due to your stellar recommendations and flawless interview. You moved not long after and there you were, with Gabby, about to have your first taste of city life.

"I feel underdressed now." You sighed, everyone was dressed to the nines, and Gabby had unwittingly dragged you to a nightclub rather than bar.

"Don't be silly, you look incredible in that dress, men are gonna be drooling over you." She smacked your butt playfully and you glared at her. "C'mon, I know the bouncer."

Gabby took your hand and waltzed over to the front of the long line.

Gabby was incredibly stunning, long blond hair and an athletic body that could make anyone do a double take, so when she walked up to the bouncer and purred a 'Hey Ronnie, is there any chance we can skip that long old line tonight, I'm so thirsty.', it was no surprise that Ronnie grinned and let you both right in.

"That... was incredible. Can I take you with me next time I go to the bank?" You chuckled.

"You know I'll do anything for you." She winked.

You made your way to the bar and Gabby squeezed through, flagging down a bar tender. She was in her element, but you felt as out of place as a polar bear in a desert. You looked around the packed night club at the patrons, all wearing Prada and Gucci, hair styled so perfectly that it didn't move when they danced, expensive perfumes choking you as they wafted past. You felt like an imposter in your cheap dress, regardless of how beautiful you looked.

Gabby handed you a glass of wine and you thanked her. She craned her neck in search of an empty table. As she found one she summoned you to follow her through the crowds.

You stayed as close as you could but inevitably got separated as a group of women danced in your path. You politely moved around them, just as a tree of a man stepped in your way and you bumped into one another. You bounced off of his hard body and lost your balance, flailing backwards as your heels wobbled beneath you.

Just as you had accepted your fate, a strong pair of arms shot out and caught you, pulling you back up before your body had the chance to make contact with the hard, sticky floor below.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry." He said loudly over the booming music. You would recognise that voice anywhere, but as you looked up, the voice did not belong to the face you were so used to it being attached to.

You gulped, and as his eyes made contact with yours, he recognised you suddenly.

"Little Bird?" He breathed in disbelief.

"Hey, Bradley."

__________________________________

-- Part 2 Here --

[oh-saints]

okay but .... something cute and domestic with ruben where you're cooking or he's cooking anf you're listening to music (whenever I think of this I think of him listening to this portuguese song called princesa (beija-me outra vez) by boss ac and idk I just think it fits him so well) and just holding each other and making out in the kitchen ... him singing the song to you 😫

anon, just so you know, you got me into the song so much since the first time i saw this on my askbox (which has been a while) that i got carried away

princess

rúben dias x you

word count: 1.3k

tw: mention of sex and suggestive words 👀

notes: happy birthday to our favourite centre-back! gotta celebrate it with a homebody ruben because domestic ruben always sends me... 😫😫 but as usual, i always write at dawn so this is not yet beta-read.

the amazing song's here!

your alarm vibrated your phone against the wooden bedside table and you had never dragged your body up faster than that moment.

for the purpose you were planning today, you had to wake up earlier than your boyfriend. which, ironically had never happened before during your entire 1-year stint with him so far. that was because the giant piece of delicious boyfriend beside you was a morning person and a man of routine—wake up at 7, wash up, wake you up, drink some energy drinks of his own recipe as he waits you to finish dressing up.

funny how you were the one with ordinary 9-5 job yet he always woke up before you and always managed—and so far, without avail—to drive you to work before heading out to his.

so to appreciate all the effortless effort he exerted of being a flawless boyfriend the past year, you intended to celebrate the most important day of his life with something you’d never done before. not with him, and not you’re your exes too, because rúben was worth something else than a mundane, expected gift.

you sneaked out of rúben’s humongous bed, tiptoeing your way out of the room because the centre-back was apparently sensitive to sound as well. multitasking lady as you are, you managed to pick up your boyfriend’s large black shirt he shed carelessly last night from the floor and wore them as you passed by the living room because there’s no way I’m doing this in a Herve Leger dress.

as soon as you reached the kitchen, you ransacked the place, searching for the ingredients you’d scattered all over the place beforehand so rúben wouldn’t get suspicious about the plan you were pulling today. you could swear his ability to read the game reached off the pitch too sometimes and it drove you crazy most of the time.

it might be simple, your plan. it was only putting together his favourite cake, with recipes you got from his mother as well as approval from the club’s nutritionist, but you knew it’d mean the world to rúben because he’d been deprived of the earthly pleasure since he committed himself to the athlete life.

you went on to colonise rúben’s kitchen with your work of art, fully immersed with task at hand and humming along the right lyrics to whatever song was playing.

“minha vida,” shivers ran down your back because he used the combination of his bed voice with the nickname he pulled out only when he was being seriously romantic. “what are you doing?”

damn it, he’s not supposed to wake up in another 30 minutes! you groaned inside but outside, you gave him a sheepish smile, embarrassed to get caught red on action. with flours and eggs and whiskers everywhere, you couldn’t escape him anymore.

“I’m cooking?”

“I see that,” oh fuck, not that sly smirk on his sleepy face. you could feel your resolve dissolving slowly but surely because who could resist this sexy motherfucker in the morning? “why are you cooking then?”

you tried to collect yourself altogether while rúben eliminated the distance between you and him in three strides. “for your birthday, of course.”

in rúben’s standard (his words last night), you both had commemorated the sacred day (your words last night) with an early birthday dinner that followed up with an explosive love-making. so passionate you both could barely contain your desires towards one another right after you both stepped out of the elevator. so passionate it lasted till the wee hours.

which was a record because in between yours and rúben’s hectic schedule, it was nearly impossible to have both of your saturdays and sundays off in the same weekend.

but rúben could see you through the thick veil you were trying to wear, and his smirk only grew at your futile attempt to compose yourself before he pulled your chin closer to his gently, despite his rough hands due to countless harsh contacts with the grass. the sensation left you further breathless, and the sensation of you breathless under his touch was what fueled him to cut off the breaths altogether by clasping his lips to yours without mercy.

you gave in without a fight, of course. you gave him away yourself a long while ago, anyway.

it was always satisfying to hear the click that went off whenever your lips got separated, mostly on rúben's account, but it was more gratifying for rúben to see your cheeks red and lips swollen only for him. “go on then,”

he turned you around, back to face the messy kitchen island, while he settled himself on your back. your senses grew hypersensitive with the way his hands rested lightly on your waist and the way he stood ghostingly behind you. so close, that you could feel him breathing down on you, yet so far with how featherly his touches were, so unlike his usual manner of protective hold.

“don’t stop on my account, gatinha,” and you had to hold back an audible gasp at his timbre rumbling against your spine. “if you stop, I’m going to punish you for making an unfinished mess in my kitchen.”

rúben had the audacity to let out a deep chuckle when you squirmed against his hold, as he murmured the word punish directly at the shell of your ear, as if he didn’t know any better of the effects he had upon you. “I’m serious, meu anjo. don’t test me.”

you had to bite back your response of I’m squirming because I know you’re serious. besides, you weren’t one to back down from a challenge—rúben knew that by now. it was one of the reasons he dated you in the first place, your competitiveness reminded him there was still another layer of clouds above the sky.

so you poured every last ounce of your concentration to working on rúben’s cake to the point you didn’t notice he was already moving away from you, towards the conjoined living room to change your playlist of liked songs into his dedicated playlist for you.

it was only when you’d inserted the baking pan into the oven that you realised rúben was singing—half rapping too because we stan a multitasking king—the song he serenaded you with the night he asked you to be his girlfriend, as he slid his feet against the floor with a bit of dancing groove towards you.

enfeitiçaste-me no dia em que te conheci, fico fulo da vida quando eles olham p'ra ti

you bewitched me the day that I met you, I get mad when they look at you

you laughed at his “stage act” as you washed your hands, a bit faster than your usual thorough routine because in all honesty, you couldn’t help yourself for wanting to join him. the song was long forgotten and your goofy boyfriend was reminding you all the reasons why you fell in love with him, and why you were doing all these surprises in the first place.

“princesa,”

rúben stretched his arms towards you as soon as he saw you were done drying your hands, and before long he’d had you spun around towards him. he caught you at the right moment, engulfing you in a tight back hug despite his twisted arms on your front. but the awkward position was the last thing in his mind when he had you reaching up to kiss him one more whenever the lyrics said beija-me outra vez (kiss me again one more time) before laughing and smiling in his arms as he swayed you left and right gently.

so bright and blinding and happy like it was your birthday instead of his—and he didn’t mind if it felt like that because you’d brought him more mirth in his life in the past year than his long list of exes had ever done.

he didn’t mind because you’d given him more than enough of reasons to live to love you.

“princesa,” rúben drew his hands down the line of your body, feeling every inch and curve hidden beneath his linen shirt. he thought his teenage dream of having his lover wearing white was insane but in reality, wearing black and nothing else but skin underneath his palms was a whole new different game. “you feel so good,”

and it, indeed, felt so damn good as his hands traced the outline of your outer thighs that you didn't feel ashamed for letting out the most disgusting mewl in between broken gasps.

but the oven got to turn off in that moment.

you broke off from your trance as the ting! sound rang off your ears like a siren blaring but rúben held you prisoner under the ministrations of his hands, you remained puny in his arms as his hands travelled closer to the most pulsating, aching part of yourself right now.

“i want you in my birthday suit, princesa,” rúben growled in your ear as he gently bit off the soft bone, the beast not taking a no for an answer. “now.”

[katuschka]

Scene One – Lampshade

Jake Kiszka x f!Reader (1st person narrative)

2.541 words

On my bedside table, I have a beautiful art deco lamp. When my lover leaves, he ties a scarf he wore for days on top. And when he’s gone I let my window open just a bit, the gentle breeze sets the scarf on motion, just like the waves in the tempestuous ocean.  Once or twice, I swear, I could smell him in my dreams.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings: longing, alcohol consumption, penetrative sex, phone sex and masturbation, sex toys, phantasmagorical dream visions

Taglist

It’s been almost three weeks since I last saw him. I’m trying to convince myself that it’s not that bad, but the truth is that I always start missing him the moment he leaves. It’s a bittersweet feeling. I’m a grown, independent woman, engaging in my daily routines...or breaking them, just to stay sane. 

But, it feels as if a part of my soul got attached to him. It travels with him wherever he goes and I feel it tugging at my insides every now and then. At first I thought it was just a side effect of the early stages of falling in love. I believed that it would get easier with time, but it never did. If anything, it only got worse. 

It’s bearable during the day. My mind’s too preoccupied with my job, thank god. It’s not really much different from when he’s here. I still have my work to do and he’s busy too, until we finally meet at home to share a glass of wine or two. And then we fuck.

That’s why early evenings are the worst when he’s away. The house is just too big, too quiet, and my mind too restless. No sound of the strings being plucked greets me when I get home, no smell of savory dishes waiting for me in the oven or on the stove. I’m too lazy to do it myself, so I just order in, only to be reproached by him later that I’m not taking proper care of myself. My lover does all these things. My body’s spoiled with constant hugs and my cheeks peppered with warm kisses. So, on days like these, this is what his lady misses. 

He knows that, so he tries to call anytime he can. It’s easier in between shows. He makes sure to call me around eight, even when it’s already 3 am where he’s at. Him being a night owl, this has never been a problem. Sometimes it’s just a quick hello to make sure I’m ok. Other times we talk for hours. 

I didn’t expect anything like that today. He might call late or not at all. Probably not at all because today’s show was too important. He wanted me there, but I couldn’t go this time. I had an important project to finish and came home pleasantly exhausted. In a perfect world, we would celebrate our respective achievements together, but this world is not perfect, so I have to content myself with the fact that he is. 

Well, not really, but I wouldn’t change a thing about him. 

So, I just poured myself a glass of wine, climbed in bed early and tried to read, only to find myself checking the Instagram updates constantly. I don’t do it very often, because I’m not really keen on seeing hundreds of women swooning over him, but someone might be streaming the show, and I just couldn’t miss it. 

Before he left, he fastened his scarf on my lampshade. That little piece of fabric is basically marinated in his scent – his strong, yet religiously comforting cologne mixed with the warm smell of him. I made sure to leave both the bedroom door and the window open, to create a slight draft. After three weeks, the scent had already faded a bit, but I still could get whiffs of him while falling asleep. Just like today. The livestream I found ended mid-show, but I wasn’t really paying attention anymore. I could feel my eyelids getting heavy long before the concert ended and without even bothering to turn off the light, I fell asleep with my phone still in my hand. 

Except I couldn’t sleep. The thunderstorm in the distance and the billowing wind kept me awake. The sky was clear when I went to bed, so I couldn’t understand where the clouds came from. It didn’t matter anyway. 

He was here. In my bed, sleeping. The intoxicating scent of clove and incense mixed with his musk wrapped around me like a second comfort blanket. The bedside lamp illuminated his disheveled hair and the clothes he had carelessly thrown over the armchair next to the bed. He was naked and all of the sudden, so was I.

It was our bedroom…and it wasn’t. The southern wall was gone, exposing us to the elements outside. Our garden turned to a stony shore, with the waves of a rough sea crashing upon it. Somewhere in the distance, I could see the storm raging.

I was feeling snug under the blanket, the warmth he elicited sheltering me from everything else around. I reached out to touch him. His skin was warm and dry and I snuggled closer to him from behind, inhaling the comforting aroma of his relaxed, sleeping body. 

He never slept much. Sometimes I wondered how he could function after yet another sleepless night, and the dark circles under his eyes often worried me. But when he did fall asleep, he looked like a baby boy, his full lips slightly parted and his brows turned upwards. A man of paradoxes. He would fuck my brains out just moments after he spoon-fed me pistachio ice-cream. My doe-eyed barbarian. A romantic adventure, but a reptile too. Always offering something new. Just like the sky outside, with the full moon now illuminating the stormy sky. Where did it come from? It was hanging there in mid-air in front of the clouds, so big, so close it seemed that I could reach it with my fingers if I just stepped outside of the room. 

But I didn’t want to. Instead, I slowly swirled around him like a serpent. I could feel him stir, his body responding to mine. It was a silent dialogue. He turned to me and pushed my chin upwards to nuzzle the soft skin behind my left earlobe. I could hear him murmur a prayer, the words of which I didn’t recognize, but I understood it anyway. I could feel his hand travel slowly down my belly, pulling my thighs apart, his palm sliding gently to my pussy and his middle finger slipping in between my folds. It’s been too long… My body reacted immediately. I arched my back and gasped for air as his moistened fingertip glided over my clit in slow circles. He kissed my shoulder and I could feel his parted lips stretch in a smile before he nibbled lightly on my skin covered with goosebumps.

He spread my thighs even more, like the petals of a blooming flower. I felt the weight of his body on mine as he shifted, obscuring my view, silencing the wind, his porcelain face dimming all the celestial lights behind him. He was coming home. 

I cried out when he entered me, grabbing pillows on both sides of my head. He, too, yelped like a puppy, laying his head on my bosom just for a while, to gain his composure. I felt every exhale of his quickened breath on my skin, and enveloped his body with my limbs in a false promise to never let go. 

He started moving inside me and I felt absolutely lightheaded, as if we were floating in an empty void. It got darker with each deep, long thrust until time and space around us disappeared and the only thing that tethered me to reality was the rhythm of his beating heart and the alluring sounds of his raspy moans. We moved together languidly, drunk in love, and the waves of pleasure running through my body intensified with each passing second. My fingernails dug into his skin…so deep until he suddenly stiffened and screamed in pain right next to left ear…

…nooo…at first I couldn’t tell where I was or who I was until the sound of my phone ringing on the pillow next to my head slowly brought me back to reality. I couldn’t believe it. What? Why? I looked at the screen and saw the name of the only person whom I could forgive for calling me right fucking now!

“Jake? Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I breathed out. 

A moment of silence before the man on the other side responded. I must have sounded pre-t-t-y irritated. “Babe? Did I wake you up?” 

Of course you did. What day is it? Oh yeah, it was slowly coming back to me. Madison Square Garden… “What time is it?” I breathed out.

“Almost one am here, your midnight. We just arrived at the hotel a moment ago, I haven’t even had a shower yet, I just had to hear…”

“Urgh,” I interrupted him with a groan, not in a reaction to what he said. My still not fully awakened body was just fighting with my mind as I tried to sit. I was still slightly disoriented and my coochie weeped. “I, uhm, I’m sorry baby. I just had a very intense erotic dream…the first one in years. And you just happened to interrupt it at the worst possible moment.”

“Oh, daamn!” he chuckled. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Not funny Jake. No one else but you could ever make me this wet. The sheets below me are literally soaked through.” I heard him inhale sharply on the other side. It took him a few more seconds to respond. “You’re wet?” It sounded a bit like a stifled groan, followed by him clearing his throat. Poor Jake, he was so taken aback by my response that Oliver had to take over. “Thaths probably because I was absolu-te-ly on fire tonight, my love! Telepathy must be one of my many superior powers. Now I need to clean the mess…”

“What do you mean?”

“Phone sex, obviously.” 

I laughed. Nah, I’m not a fan. I love his voice, don’t get me wrong, but it couldn’t possibly make up for all the stuff that my subconsciousness flooded my brain with just a moment ago. Also, I’ve always found the idea of phone sex strangely disconcerting. We could do the most obscene stuff face to face without even batting an eye, but to be describing to him how I’m touching myself? No, thank you. I’d be embarrassed. Don’t know why. That’s just how it is, And that’s what I told him.  

“Oh come on, let’s try it.” Jake was back. “Besides, it’s a mutual obligation now. I’m already hard.” 

I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. “Ok Jake,” I crooned monotonously, “what are you wearing?” 

“Oh GOD!” he moaned theatrically. “You sound so sexy when you’re bored. Mmmmm.”

I laughed again, in earnest. “Sorry,” I chuckled. “Ok, let’s try it. But I’m not going to describe what I’m doing. You tell me what to do.”

“Deal.”

I heard his sheets rustle as he shifted on his bed, which meant he already had me on speaker, so I did the same. I adjusted the pillows, stripped off my babydoll and tried to find a comfortable position. “Ok Jake, I’m ready.”

“Good girl. Now, close your eyes and cup your breasts. Let your thumbs draw slow circles around your nipples. No pressure.” His voice suddenly sounded huskier than before. 

“Are you jerking off?” And then I heard it. The unmistakable sound of his fist sliding rhythmically up and down his cock. Of course he was. 

“You can’t blame me sweetheart,” he breathed out. “I got here, still full of adrenaline from the show, only to hear you tell me that I was fucking you in your dreams. I couldn’t wait any longer.” 

The sound of his heavy breath made my pelvic muscles contract and my heartbeat quicken. I licked my fingertips and let my hand slide between my legs, trying to ease the ache. “Talk to me Jake. Forget the nipples. Guide my fingers.”

“Who’s impatient now?” He let out an involuntary moan, swallowed harshly and continued: “Squeeze your clit between two fingers, scissor-like. Now rub from side to side and gently pull.”

I knew what he meant. His technique was completely different from mine and effective in its own way. I never tried to recreate it before. I did now, and it all suddenly came back to me. The dream, his touch, his dick, stretching me, fucking me, our loins dancing together to the rhythm of our heartbeats…

“Not enough,” I whined. “I need more, Jake.”

“Ok, time for Mini Me.”

That was yet another thing my lover did for me. We found a company that makes custom dildos using castings of real customers. Now, a cold piece of silicone can never compete with the real jake, but it was the next best thing whenever I needed to release the tension after a long day. I loved the shape of it. It was mine. I opened the drawer and reached for the toy. “Now what?”

“Ride me,” he groaned. 

“How am I supp…”

“Let’s pretend we fell off the bed.”

“What?”

“Off the bed! Now!” he commanded. I climbed off the bed and attached the dildo to the wooden floor. “Mini Me’s ready. What now?”

“Now sit.”

I did as I was told. I got on my knees, placed the tip between my folds and slowly slid all the way down. Our roles reversed for a brief moment as I was now guiding him through. I heard him spit into his palm and groan with relief. It was his time to take the reins again. “Move,” he rasped. “Grab your hips and pretend it’s me. Set the pace, but tell me.”

I started moving my hips in a slow, sensual rhythm, while whispering up and down and up and down to him. I was now close to my bedside table, the fragrant scarf only a few feet from me. I closed my eyes. The illusion was almost perfect. 

“That’s my girl,” he moaned. “Do you want to go faster?”

“No, this is fine.”

“Ok, continue baby. Let me hear you.”

We continued like that for several minutes, eyes closed, listening to each other. I could hear that he was close as his low moans turned to high-pitched whimpers. My thighs started shaking and I had to catch hold of the bedside table to ease the tension in my legs. I opened my eyes and that’s when I saw it. The multi coloured lampshade. As I was moving, so were the colorful lights before my eyes. It was like being there, under the stage lights, as I was listening to my man. The most beautiful song. It overwhelmed my senses and I came, screaming. From the haze of my own high, I heard him finish shortly afterwards. 

I wanted to hear every detail of his show, and he wanted to know about my project, but we were both already too exhausted, so he promised to call me again in the morning. I knew he would, because that’s what my lover does. 

@its-interesting-van-kleep @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @klarxtr @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @fleet-of-fiction @lvnterninthenight @myownparadise96 @GVFstuddedmajesty @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise

[bullet-prooflove]

Crime Wave: David Hale x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @hatersaremymotivators bennykk kelpies-shed

Companion piece to Graffiti

David Hale wants to court you.

It surprises you because up until now the men in your life have been interested in one thing and one only and that’s fucking you.

When he calls you that night, you fully expect it to be a booty call. It’s past ten pm and you’re curled up in your arm chair, listening to the sounds of the 70s, 80s,and 90s over the radio as you sketch out a scene from the café on Main Steet earlier today. It’s nothing special, just a flower that you saw in a glass of water but you haven’t been able to get it out of your head so you’re committing it to paper. That’s usually how your art comes to you, you see something in the wild that sticks in your brain and you can’t let it go, not until you’ve drawn it.

Usually it’s people. You have entire sketchbooks dedicated to folks you don’t know the names of because you’re fascinated by their posture and facial expressions. It’s the reason you decided to draw David this morning.

When you met it had seemed like he carried the weight of the world up on his shoulders but in that moment, asleep in your bed, he’d seemed relaxed, free. You’d wanted to capture that. You didn’t intend to give the picture away and the phone number had been a last minute addition, hastily scrawled as he was heading out the door.

The truth is you never expected him to call.

“Don’t tell me it took you this long to find my number.” You tease after he greets you.

He laughs and that sound, you don’t realise how much you’ve missed it during the twelve hours you’ve been apart.

“It’s been a busy night.” He tells you as he sits at his desk, reviewing the arrest reports. “It’s been hard to find a moment between throwing the regulars in the drunk tank and arresting delinquents for drawing dicks on other people’s property. It seems you’ve started a trend, one that’s going viral.”

“You’re kidding right?” You say, tapping your pencil on the surface of your sketchpad and you can envision him shaking his head with that amused expression of his as he surveys the evidence.

“I wish I was.” He tells you and you hear the chair creak as he leans back in it. “Cars, mailboxes, shop windows. You’ve inspired a crime wave.”

“Honestly David, I’m so fucking embarrassed.” You say as you press your fingertips to your lips. “Let me make it up to you.”

“This is dinner and a movie at least.” He tells you with a humorous lilt to his voice. “I can give you a tour of your handiwork afterwards, we can rate them, biggest to smallest, most anatomically accurate…”

You can’t help but laugh and on the opposite end of the line David feels something blossoming in his chest.

“I actually took some pictures for evidentiary purposes if you’d like a preview.” He tells you as he scrolls through his phone. “I thought I’d ask as I’m against sending unsolicited dick pics to women I’ve just met.”

“That implies you’ve sent some to women you do know in the past.” You tease and you swear you can feel the blush creeping across his cheeks as he clears his throat.

“I can neither confirm or deny…”

“Some would consider it a form of art.” You say as you survey the images he’s just sent you. There’s some real creativity going on in these pictures, you’ve never seen such a variation of cocks. You wonder if you should be putting together some sort of art installation.

“Like your life modelling?” He prompts and you tune back into the conversation.

“Does that bother you?” You ask him. “That other people see me naked on a regular basis?”

It’s been a source of contention with most of your previous partners. They don’t understand that life modelling isn’t about sex, it’s about the art form, about providing a subject for students to learn from, to develop. It’s not a job for just anybody, you have to be comfortable with yourself, sociable enough to put the artists at ease especially in the beginning stages of their journey.

“No.” He says and you can tell he means it. “You have a beautiful body.”

It’s your turn to blush.

“Do you want to come over tonight?” You ask him and he hesitates.

“Yes.” He says finally. “But I think we should wait for that dinner and a movie.”

You read between the lines.

I want to fuck you, but I want to date you too.

“Tomorrow night.” You say as you scroll through your phone searching for the movie listings. “I’m free tomorrow night.”

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

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[yowyowyaoi]

Itachi’s Daily Texts from the Akatsuki

From Konan

Nobody eats until you come out and eat with us 😤

Thank you! You’re the only one who even noticed 💙

You need to do a better job of hiding that kitten lol  it pushed open your door and walked down the hallway again

Of course! You know where I keep it you don’t even have to ask 😊

I know I’ve spoken to Nagato about them he’ll handle it

You have GOT to come try this new massage chair I got it’s heaven 😌

From Deidara

Come on I was just kidding!!

Please call him off if he bites off my hand again Sasori said he won’t replace it 😔

Sharingan is not art it’s dirty cheating 

The counter is covered with plates of eggs, did you do that weird sleepwalking thing again?!

Me and Hidan and maybe Tobi. Come on take the stick out of your ass and just come with us!

I’ll paint them if you braid my hair first.

Why do you always blame me?? Hidan probably took it!

Omfg I SWEAR I meant that for Sasori!! 😳 Please please don’t show Kisame he’ll kill me 😫

From Zetsu

He’s just so emotional is that an Uchiha trait?

I can literally smell your exhaustion you need to go and rest

Yeah very cute. Be a shame if someone ate it 👀

He was doing fine. Got a lot taller. Looks a lot like you in the face.

No I’m glad you made him leave that dude freaked even ME out 😵‍💫

From “Tobi” aka Obito

Can I borrow your face cream? This mask makes my skin itch like crazy!

God stop it man are you TRYING to speed up going blind?!

Would he take your last name or would you take his? 🤔

No. Never. They think I’m a dumbass, remember?

Little more time in the sun would probably help 🤷🏻‍♂️

“Crushes” are for little kids. And anyway he hates me 😔

I thought about that yeah. Reminded me of your mom’s. She always made the best ones.

I’m not sure of anything kid. But we’re in it too far to back out.

Idk you just looked super pale

Ask Sasori to make you more, they’re helping a little 

Idc what Zetsu says. I can do a lotta shit but cannibalism isn’t one of them 🤢

You think I didn’t see you sneak in that pie? Either share or I’m telling Kisame.

From Nagato

Come and join Konan and I for tea. We’ve got a new blend we think you’ll like.

Permission granted. Just be back within three days, I’ll be sending you two on a mission then.

Thank you for the tips. My eyes feel much better now.

Take your time reading it. When you finish I’d love to discuss some of the themes with you.

I know you dislike meat but perhaps a bit more protein might help improve your stamina.

I don’t mind but do not let Kakuzu see it.

From Hidan

Movies with me and blondie?

Yeah but he’s half-animal right? Still counts, pervert.

PLEASE make the splinters in the ass joke PLEASE I AM BEGGING YOU😭😭😭

If I didn’t take a piece you would have ate the whole fucking thing yourself and your stomach would burst. You’re welcome 😊

No that was definitely Deidara’s gay ass

Mask boy’s looking for you

Oh right like Kisame wouldn’t beat my ass for that 🙄 Nice try asshole

God damn it’s 3am when the FUCK do you sleep?!

We’re not “plotting” anything just come with ffs 🤦‍♂️

It was an accident and I didn’t even look that long don’t tell her she’ll slice me up with that sharp-ass paper 😖

From Kakuzu

You always being on time with your rent is most appreciated.

To be honest I don’t really know. But at this point I’m too far into my feelings for him so this is my life now. 

Getting enough sleep is important. Nagato agrees that a new mattress would be in your best interests. No arguments.

I’ve ripped off his leg and made it clear it won’t be returned until he returns your property to you.

I’ll consult with Sasori and get back to you.

Konan is insisting everyone text you to come down to eat. It’s my turn. Be advised that continued delay will result in one or more of us coming and retrieving you by force.

From Sasori

Please inform me right away if you notice any adverse side effects. I may need to change the medication or adjust the dosage.

Oh, thank you for reminding me. I wouldn’t want a repeat of last year. What sort of gift do you think I should give him?

You’re more than welcome to anytime. You know I don’t sleep.

Finding the correct body is the most difficult part. All that follows is merely routine.

He can be very sensitive. I’m still learning to decipher and appropriately react to his emotions.

May I borrow that book when you’ve finished it?

Heh. That’s actually very funny.

Try not to overdo it. Your chakra levels still haven’t recovered from the last time.

You may want to hurry back. Zetsu has been circling outside your door like an animal and trying to sniff under it. That lock may not hold.

From Kisame

You remembered your meds today right?

Did you eat?

Yeah? I bet I could work out that tension 😏

Cake is not acceptable for every meal, Itachi.

I got a new blanket, very soft. Come test it out with me 💙

I’ll talk to him about it don’t worry.

For God’s sake just TAKE A NAP!

Have fun but watch your back, I don’t trust those two.

Pretty warm out tonight. Midnight swim later? 😏

You left your necklace on my dresser

Leave it there. You’ve already got one illicit pet you don’t need a second.

I’m cooking, you’re eating. No objections.

My hands are craving being in your hair 😔

I did not eat him. Zetsu is a liar.

You got any more pics like that? Please? 👀

I 💙 you too

[zoeysdamn]

Bloodied petals - Xavier Thorpe x reader | Part.8

Summary: Xavier’s arrest turns your world upside down, especially when there’s nothing you can do about it. Your health is detetiorating quickly, but how much can your body take before giving up? The Nightshades assemble, and as an unofficial member, so do you. 

Warnings: angst, mention of blood, swearing, crippling bad writting for action scenes and rushed plot

A/N: Okay this is almost the last chapter, I’ve also made an epilogue aahhhh Also, I apologize for how the end of the chapter is rushed -hide-

[Masterlist] [Part.1] [Part.2] [Part.3] [Part.4] [Part.5] [Part.6] [Part.7]

Pushing away the crowd of students massed on the outlines of the yellow ribbons you stumbled on the last police cars leaving the scene. Some curious students had gathered around the art shed as soon as the rumor of the sheriff arresting one of them had spread, but you couldn’t care less. Between your ragged breath coaxed with petals and eyes filled with tears, you almost didn’t notice them anyway. The plaguing weight in your rib cage made it so hard to breathe the only air that was in your lungs came out as weak wheezes. 

“Principal Weems!” you called out the tall woman who was standing stiff as ever, “You can’t let them take him away!” 

Despite your pathetic cries, Weems didn’t bulge. Not even for your face full of tears and blood dripping from your nose and down your chin. Instead she looked down at you with cold eyes, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Please,” you begged her, “do something!” 

Her tongue clicked sharply with contained annoyance, “I have no powers here Miss L/N,” she argued flatly. 

“You know he’s innocent! He- he can’t do the things he’s accused of, please you have to believe me–”

“Quiet now Miss L/N,” she hissed quietly, eyeing around her to the two remaining officers retrieving the last pieces of “evidence” and watching the rest of the students carefully. “I’ve convinced them that you don’t have anything to do with it, don’t make things worse.”

Eyes wide, you whipped your head to the two officers who eyed you and Weems carefully. And not far away from them behind the yellow ribbon, the dark figure of Wednesday Addams witnessed the whole exchange as well. If your eyes weren’t so full of tears, they would have thrown daggers at her. 

“Don’t make a scene,” whispered Weems angrily – but you recognized some worry in her eyes. “It’ll only aggravate things for Xavier.” 

“He’s not the monster,” you whimpered, “you know he’s not.” 

“I have no proof of that,” snapped the principal. “My hands are tied here, and if that’s what it takes for the police to stop the investigations on Nevermore, then it’s a price I’m willing to pay.” 

You jerked away from her in horror, like her words had burned you. 

“What?” you mumbled in disbelief, “You’re…you’re ready to let Xavier be charged for crimes he didn't commit…to save your reputation?”

Weems pursed her lips, irritation starting to show on her traits, “There’s a whole school I’m trying to protect here, Miss L/N. Unfortunately for Mr Thorpe, Sheriff Galpin had enough evidence for his mind to remain unchanged about his guilt.”

Words of protest started to form on your tongue but you refrained yourself. Despite everything you could say, you knew she was right; principal Weems was only doing her job. The fatality of the situation made your chest erupt with a new coughing fit and your knees buckled under you. If it wasn’t for Principal Weems’ sharp reflexes, making her grab your forearm you would have crumbled on the ground. Enid and Ajax quickly came to your help, pulling you up and sliding your arms around their shoulders. Without them, you probably wouldn't be able to even stand on your own. Between raw coughs and spurted bloodied petals, you barely noticed your two friends leading you away from Principal Weems and the scene; their sole worry was to bring you to the infirmary now. As the three of you came across Wednesday, you threw a cold glare at her. 

“You have…no idea of what you had done,” you spat at her with a trembling voice. 

She only stared at you, unimpressed. “I have resolved a murder case, that’s what I did.”

The snort you tried to make only came out as a gurgling sound and more flowers being spat. “You did nothing but sentence two innocents and you fucking know it.” 

Not caring how she would react, you turned your eyes away and tried to walk slowly, helped by Enid and Ajax. The flowers in your chest felt heavier than ever and surely won’t let you rest tonight. Yet, you let them guide you to the infirmary without a word. Where else could you go anyway? 

The night was agonizingly long. Your mind was tormented by thoughts of Xavier, imprisoned yet innocent, trying to fight against his own demons and for his life; but also of visions of the flowers growing up in your lungs, crawling their way up to your throat and skinning it raw on their way. And when your mind found a second of peace, your own body didn’t let you rest either, shaking under the violence of the cough and fighting feebly against the disease. The taste of blood and copper didn’t feel so different now, as if filled your lungs as naturally as air. It was like the piercing sensation caused by the flowers through your chest had never left. When morning came, your whole bed was filled with white flowers coated in blood, surrounding you like a beautiful and dreadful halo. All of your limbs ached and your mouth was dry with  the previous night of coughing and flower-spitting; your entire body felt like dying, yet you managed to get up and drag yourself to Weems’ office. You had a remaining unused favor and you made sure to use it wisely. 

A little less than two hours later, the door of the detention area sprung open despite the loud protests of the police agents. Entering the room in a hurry you stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of Xavier, chained up from head to toes and looking like a cornered animal. Tears filled your eyes; they even chained his neck, god what did they think he was? The sudden opening of the door had made him lift his head up and his eyes lit up slightly when he saw you. Xavier whispered your name in a breath and you threw yourself in front of the bars of his cell. 

“Hey!” shouted one of the guards from the other room, “Miss step away you can’t stand this close–”

“Oh for fuck’s sake drop it,” you heard Principal Weems unceremoniously groan before shutting the door loudly.

Despite his hands being restrained, you grabbed Xavier’s wrists through the bars with shaking hands. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you cried as soon as you touched him, “I should have been here, I should have said something.”

“You couldn’t have done anything,” whispered Xavier in a soothing tone, “none of this is your fault.”

Sniffling loudly, you could only nod even if it wasn’t out of conviction. “How are you holding up?” you mumbled weakly. This question was stupid but you couldn’t help it. 

“I’ve been better,” he admitted in a small voice. “What about you?”

Shaking your head, you only confirmed what he had feared – and saw. Between two visions of the monster, Xavier had been plagued with flashes of you, coughing blood and flowers on the infirmary bed, halfway through delirium and unconsciousness. He knew you weren’t doing fine. 

“I’m gonna take you out of this,” you promised, lips trembling and tears ready to fall. “Wednesday will realize that she was wrong and- and Weems will help you I’m sure.” 

But Xavier shook his head in defeat, “They’re transferring me in two days, there’s no time.”

“What?” you whisper-shouted in disbelief, “they can’t do that, that’s fucking illegal you haven’t been judged or–” 

“It doesn't matter to them, I’m an outcast and they think I’m the monster,” said Xavier in defeat, putting his forehead against the bars. He couldn’t reach you but you pressed yours too, the closest you could. “I…there’s no way they’re letting me stay here with you.” 

Tears that were already gathering in your eyes rolled down your cheeks, bitter at the knowledge he was right. Yet, none of you seemed to address the question that taunted you. 

“What does it mean…for us?” you asked in a whimper. Will we have enough time for me to heal? you thought internally. Or will you be sentenced to watching me die, too? 

Xavier exhaled deeply, looking beaten down like you had never seen him before. “I don’t know,” he admitted in a faint breath. 

If his visions had been obstructing his feelings, now came the guilt; even though he knew he was innocent of the murders he was accused of. And deep down, he knew that you didn’t have as much time as the both of you had wanted. 

Brushing his nose against your through the bars, Xavier let out a broken sigh. 

“Listen sweetheart,” he whispered feverishly, “there’s something I need you to do.”

Nodding, you tried to stop the treacherous tears, “Anything.” At his lack of immediate response you looked up at Xavier worriedly. When you saw his eyes full of tears, you somehow knew he was going to ask something terrible. 

“Xav?” you asked quietly.

Xavier swallowed thickly, like he feared the words itself. “I want you…I want you to have the surgical operation to remove the flowers.”

The choked gasp you let out was both because of the flowers and of the surprise. “H-how…?”

“I had one phone call,” explained Xavier, trying to keep his voice as steady as he could despite the emotion gripping at his throat, “I called your aunt, I…I wanted to make things right for you and- she told me about it.”

Now tears were streaming down your face without any restraint; how could you stop them anyway? “Why didn’t you call your father?” you asked in a small voice. 

Through his own tears, Xavier tried to smile weakly, “He couldn’t do anything for you,” he whispered, “but your aunt can.”

The more he spoke, the more you shook your  head in refusal, “No, no, no you can’t ask me to do this,” you cried, gripping the bars tightly. “I don’t want to forget you!” 

This time, Xavier really did smile; his cheeks were full of tears and his expression was broken but his smile was true. “I know, sweetheart. But you’ll live, and that’s all that matters to me.” 

Another broken sob rocked your body and if it wasn’t for Xavier’s sole presence, you would have crumbled down on the spot. You didn’t want to forget Xavier, not ever. He was the only reason you had made it through the years, your rock and your love. How could you continue to live without Xavier, with all the memories of him gone? 

“They will never let me out of prison Y/N…I can’t stand the thought of losing you, not like this,” pleaded Xavier. 

“You can’t ask me to do that,” you repeated in a broken voice, heavy with tears, “I can’t…I can’t do this Xav!” 

Some footsteps came closer to the door of the room. “You need to,” pressed Xavier, “Your health isn’t improving and- and the visions didn’t stop, I’m not sure that you have much time left and I can’t live with the thought of you dying.” 

The doors shot open to sheriff Galpin and several other officers barging into the room, roaring at you to step aside from the bars. But you didn’t hear them, all that mattered was Xavier. 

“I can’t do this Xav,” you whimpered as one of the officers grabbed your arms. 

“I love you Y/N,” choked Xavier in broken voice, “I always will!” 

The officers tugged you away forcefully as tears ran freely down your face, “Xavier, I can’t do this!” you shouted, not caring of the snares of the policemen, “I can’t renounce on you! Xavier!!” 

The last thing you saw before the large door closed in a deafening sound, was the utter broken look on Xavier’s face, chained up and caged as he looked at you for the last time in his life. Sick, crying and calling out his name in despair; and he couldn't do anything to chase away your fears and soothe your worries, only hope that you would listen to prayers and save yourself. He loved you more than anything, but if that wasn’t enough to save you then he was willing to disappear from your life in the blink of an eye if destiny asked him to in order to spare you. 

All the way back from the police station was kind of blurry to you. You didn’t remember exactly the officers basically throwing you out of the police station, nor the car ride to Nevermore or Weems and Enid guiding you to the infirmary once again. When your mind finally emerged from this cloud of dizziness you were laying down once again, coughing and choking. You felt dead inside, and not only because of the disease. Xavier had asked you to remove the flowers while fully knowing what it would do to you, to save you. There was no way you would do this, you wanted to keep faith in him. But still…still a tiny, ridiculous part of you pondered this option. You didn’t want to abandon Xavier, but the doubt was here. If your mind was starting to crumble, your body would not hold up very long. Between the flowers, the potions you took, and now that…your own body was starting to let go. Nothing could make you sleep, even eating was beginning to be painful. In a matter of a few days since the whole urbex thing at the Gates’ mansion, your body had started to decay at an alarming rate. Stuck in the infirmary bed, you knew you were starting to give up. 

When Wednesday entered the infirmary the next day, you were already the shadow of the girl you used to be. Laying still with an haggard look, you didn’t acknowledge your former roommate standing next to your bed; you didn’t have the strength or the will to do so. 

After a solid minute of awkward silence, Wednesday finally spoke up, “I’ve come to bid my goodbyes.” 

Barely glancing at her you still noticed that she was in her regular clothes and not in the Nevermore uniform anymore. Maybe she was being expelled after all, you had heard something along those lines from Enid. 

At your silence she continued, “I’m being expelled from Nevermore due to some of my actions,” she explained flatly. “Unfortunately I won’t be able to pursue my investigation further. I came to apologize for that.” 

Once again, you didn’t answer her. 

“I know that Xavier isn’t the monster,” said the Addams carefully, “should I have more time I could have proven that.”

A faint scoff came out from your throat as a rasp, “What will it change? I don’t have the time you speak of, thanks to you.” 

Instead of the witty come-back you expected from her, Wednesday didn’t argue. Maybe she had realized what she had done by falsely accusing Xavier; she had doomed you both. 

“You had no proof that Xavier was the monster,” you mumbled weakly, “but you had been too prideful to listen to me just once and now look at where we are.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, surprising the both of you. “I doubt I have anything to do with the decline of your health, but I’m sorry this is the way you’ll pass away.”

At first, a part of you wanted to spat at her that somehow she did have something to do with it; but then, you thought that you were being unfair to falsely accuse her. Maybe you and Xavier had never been meant to be together after all. All annoying she was, Wednesday Addams was just a girl. In the end, maybe time just never had a good timing for Xavier and you. 

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly. 

Wednesday nodded in gratitude and grabbed her bag that had been laying at her feet during your whole exchange. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye Wednesday.” 

And with that, she left the infirmary and you coughed again. It would be over soon. 

Later that night, you were trying to get some sleep when a sharp pain woke you up. It wasn’t like the crushing sensation within your chest because of the disease, more like a pull so strong it echoed in your skull and deep into your bones. Jolting awake at the unknown sensation you gasped loudly, drenched in a cold sweat. A strange nausea rose in you and you clutched your head tightly. What was this strange feeling? It felt like magic, but more…corrupted. Something was wrong, really wrong. Despite your weak state, you pulled yourself up in a sitting position and put on your jeans and shoes the best you could. Throwing a jacket over your t-shirt you staggered clumsily out of the infirmary, trying to follow this strange pull by leaning on the walls for support. It was the middle of the night, yet there seemed to be some kind of mayhem going on. It was confirmed when you came across a bunch of students hurrying to the school’s entrance when you reached one of the main corridors. Scratch that, it wasn’t just a bunch of students, it was the whole wing of the school that was rushing outside in a panicked haste. Confused by such crowd movement you spotted a pair of familiar blue eyes in all this mess. 

“Bianca!” you called her out the best you could, making the siren whip her head in your direction, “What’s going on??”

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be here,” she urged as she quickly came by your side, noticing how you slumped against the wall. “We all need to evacuate the school.” 

“Why?” you frowned, still not getting where this was coming from. 

She glanced around and lowered her voice to make sure no one, especially the younger students, heard her. “This may sound crazy but Joseph Crackstone has been brought back from the dead and he’s heading here. I know,” she added to your widening eyes, “this is nuts but we need to get everyone out and quickly!”

You could only stare at her in disbelief, “But…how? I mean, how are we going to make everyone leave so fast?”

Bianca put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, more to keep you grounded than in compassion; there was no time for this. “The sirens and I are taking care of getting everyone out with our siren song,” she explained quickly, “you, you’re not doing anything, not in your current state.”

“No!” you protested, “I can help, I–”

“Ajax!” Bianca ignored you and called out to the gorgon passing by, leading younger students, “help Y/N to get out of here.” 

He nodded and put one of your arms around his shoulders to help you walk to safety. “Bianca,” you called the siren as Ajax led the two of you away, “I can help!” 

She could only offer you a sorry look before returning to her duties managing the evacuation. As you almost reached the main hall you coughed again harshly. 

“Where’s Enid?” you rasped to Ajax. 

“She’s in the forest, trying to help Wednesday or something,” he said quietly. 

“Alone?!” you exclaimed, “and wait, Wednesday’s back?”

“Thing is with her,” Ajax reassured you. “C’mon, we’re almost outside of the school.” 

A light bump on the back of your head made you jolt and you winced. Then another. Looking down you noticed small gravel rolling at your feet and you looked around to find the culprit. A pale appendice waved at you from one of the low walls bordering the school grounds. 

“Thing!” you gasped, “what are you doing here?”

Ajax let out a quiet swear as the hand creeped at your feet, “Where’s Enid?!” he asked. 

Things started signing as fast as he could, under your careful gaze and Ajax’s flabbergasted one. 

“Enid’s still out there?” you repeated his signs, “in the woods?”

Things nodded and Ajax choked on his own air, “What??”

“What about Wednesday, where is she?” you urged the hand, who resumed his signing. “She escaped?”

Thing nodded and you whipped your head in Ajax’s direction. 

“Go find Enid,” you urged him, wincing at the sharp pain erupting on your side. The wound the monster had given you at the Gates’ house was still fresh and the previous adrenaline had tuned it down until now. “The monster’s still out there, she’ll need help.”

Ajax nodded and started to rush out but then stopped dead in his tracks and turned back, “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured through gritted teeth, “go find Enid, go!!” 

The gorgon wasted no time dashing to the woods. In the meantime you stayed in the main hall, guiding the students passing by to the safe zone Yoko and other vampires were managing in the outside yard. Some students were terrified, but most of them seemed to be under the siren song’s influence and were fortunately much calmer. 

Then, the strange pull started again. Whipping your head in every direction until you found its source, you tried to focus on it as your steps led you back inside the school. At first, you had thought it might have been the intensity of the siren song used by the scaled students all at once. But you knew their energy, you had witnessed Bianca using it once before she had to wear her amulet. This strange and dark aura wasn’t anything like a siren one. 

The dreadful pull led you to the quad and you stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of two figures you definitely didn’t expect. Wednesday Addams, a sword in hand, standing tall despite her petite frame; and a few feet away from her in his signature pilgrim outfit, a very undead Joseph Carckstone. The two of them seemed to be in the middle of a verbal jousting when a group of frightened students hurried next to you under the arches. 

“Go to the outside yard and find the other,” you urged them in a whisper, “go, go.” 

They nodded and ran quietly to the nearest exit, but not as discreetly as they would have thought. Crackstone’s head whipped in their direction, stomped his stick on the ground and with a sinister laugh summoned a raging fire ring launched in their direction. One of them let out a scream of terror at the flames raining down on their group. In the blink of an eye you throw yourself in front of them and shout an incantation to summon a shielding spell. The flames crashed against it, making you grit your teeth as the force of the deflagration pushed against your magic, weakened by the disease. You could almost feel the warmth of the fire against your cheeks. As quick as the spell had been cast, it disappeared suddenly in a cloud of smoke. 

“Go!” you barked at the students, who wasted no time running away. 

A sinister mix of a laugh and a sneer resonated in the quad, “A witch,” scoffed Crackstone, “spawn of the demon.”

The dark look you shot at him held the burden of centuries of oppression his kind has led to your ancestors and sisters witches. “Last I checked I’m not from your family,” you sneered at him as you stepped in the quad. 

Crackstone laughed dryly, “I should have destroyed all of you harpies a long time ago.” 

“Yes,” you growled as you drew deep into your magic, “you should have, asshole.” 

Before anyone could add something you flicked your wrists with a mumbled spell and all of a sudden, Joseph Crackstone froze in place. Sweat erupted from your temple and all of your muscles tensed under the pressure of the spell. This kind of magic wasn’t unknown to you, freezing people in place was difficult but not impossible usually. But in your weakened state, it was a true hardship. Crackstone struggled under your magic, fighting to break himself free. 

“Wednesday!” you shouted at her, trying to stay concentrated, “It’s whenever you want!” 

The goth girl nodded sharply, and grabbed her sword. You felt yourself getting weaker by any second and prayed that Wednesday would be quick enough. But as she was about to launch herself and attack Crackstone, a familiar figure stepped into the quad, emerging from the side corridors. Brandishing a cocked bow aimed at Crackstone, Xavier appeared out of nowhere just behind Wednesday. His sudden appearance stole all air from your lungs, like a punch in the gut. How? How did he escape the police?

The whisper of his name escaped your lips before you could stop yourself, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. Xavier glanced briefly at you, but it was enough to reassure you. He was here and that was all that mattered. 

But this split of second was enough for Joseph Crackstone to sneak past the fragile barriers of your magic. In an instant, the dead walking man crushed your spell like it was nothing and pushed away your hold effortlessly. The sudden breaking of your spell made your knees buckle from underneath you and you fell on the ground, barely catching yourself in time with your hands. Then, everything went very quickly. Xavier released the arrow with an accurate precision; the arrow froze in the air, inches from Crackstone’s heart; and turned around right back at Xavier. 

You casted the spell before you could hear yourself scream. The spell froze Crackstone once again, for a brief moment, but didn’t stop the arrow. And just as it sped right at Xavier’s head, Wednesday threw herself in front of him and the arrow pierced her shoulder. 

Turning in your direction, Crackstone groaned and broke from the spell once more. “You’re weak,” he spat, “I should have killed you earlier.” 

With a whip of his scepter, an unknown force brutally threw you against the span wall before you could even think of reacting. Your body crashed against it, and you yelped as your wounded side hit the stones. A cracking sound echoed through your skull before you slumped on the ground like a broken doll. 

From what seemed to be very far away, Xavier screamed your name. The ringing in your ears toned down everything around you, eyes blurry from both the shock and the tears. A cough erupted from your mouth but in your laying position, you couldn’t get the flowers out of your system. Blood started to fill your lungs as petals coated in it, choking you. Everything from your chest, throat and back of your head hurt. The world spinned around you, it was beginning to be hard to stay conscious. Everything felt so far away, not the rough surface of the stone floor under your palms, the smell of burning fire in through your nostrils nor the panicked screams seemed able to reach you. The only thing you could feel was the plaguing weight inside of your chest, crushing your lungs under its unforgiving pressure. 

You coughed, mouth filled with blood and stained petals. At every cough, it felt like your throat and chest were lit on fire and tears escaped the corner of your eyes.

In the distance, you could vaguely perceive green lightning and clashes of steel. You tried to stir your memories. Ah yes, Wednesday, Joseph Crackstone, the fight must be still going on. Did Xavier make it? It felt like it had been hours already, while in truth it had been merely seconds. No matter how hard you tried to focus, you couldn’t care less about all of this because your whole body just hurt so much. 

Suddenly someone shouted, closer to you this time. God, when would this excruciating feeling of your heart and lungs be squeezed to death ever stop? 

“Y/N!!” 

A sharp gasp – or the closest thing your obstructed lungs could do – escaped you as you recognized that voice. Xavier. Xavier was here. He dropped on his knees beside you, grasping your hand while checking for more injuries you could have with the other. Croaking weakly, you tried to say something, at least to say you were still alive. Nothing but gurgled sounds came out of you; words were stuck with the blood and flowers crawling out of your throat.

Xavier called you and spoke to you; but his words barely even reach your ears. He tried to call on you, to ask you where you were hurt, to beg you to hold up a little longer. None of this reached you. 

Too entrapped in his own panic, Xavier didn’t hear someone else rushing and dropping by his side. It was only at Bianca’s gasp he realized she had appeared. 

“Shit,” she swore under her breath, “she’s choking up!” 

Xavier stuttered, struggling to form words correctly, “Her lungs- her lungs are filled with flowers, she’s dying!” 

If Bianca was surprised by his words she didn’t show it the slightest. Thinking quickly, she ripped your jacket open and brushed away the petals you had thrown up to clear the area of your chest. Then she placed both of her hands on your plexus and started to press on it repeatedly, at a steady rhythm. Helplessly watching the siren perform CPR, Xavier cradled your head as he continued to desperately call you, hoping you would answer him or at least hear him. Anything to keep you conscious. But when his fingers brushed the back of your head and came back bloody, he gasped under his breath. 

“Shit, she’s bleeding at the head too!” 

Bianca swore loudly. “Keep talking to her, we can’t let her pass out!”

Despite the raging battle cries coming from the quad, Bianca continued restlessly to press against your chest, trying to force some of those flowers out to get you some air. But the more seconds passed by, the more you felt yourself slip away. 

At Bianca’s instructions, Xavier ducked and pressed his lips against yours to push some air into your lungs. He looked up at the siren and shook his head so she resumed her pushes. They called you. Both of them tried tirelessly to make you breathe, no matter how long it would take. 

“C’mon Y/N!!” shouted Xavier, his eyes full of tears, “Hold on sweetheart, you can’t leave me now!”

With a trembling hand he cradled your cheek, leaving a bloody imprint on it. His move pulled your mind from the borders of consciousness for a brief moment. Even on the verge of death, you could recognize those hazel hair and brown eyes anywhere; nothing could make you forget him. The pathetic attempt at calling out Xavier’s name only came out as a weak wheeze, as more blood dripped from your mouth. 

“I’m here sweetheart,” soothed Xavier the best he could, “keep your strengths, shhh.” 

You wanted to answer him, to tell him that you loved him. Between the ragging pain in your chest and throat, the burning sensation on your left side and the dizziness due to the hit at the back of your head, your body reached its limits. The screams of Xavier and the pushes on your plexus started to fade away. The last hold you had on reality crumbled slowly as your eyelids felt heavier than before. Xavier screamed your name again. 

As the crushing feeling in your chest grew even heavier, at a point where your own body couldn’t take it anymore, you felt yourself slip away. And then your vision went black. 

Some flashes of scenes faintly nudged at the back of your mind. Or were they memories? 

“She’s not breathing anymore!!” 

Maybe it was a dream? Or a drunken bribe of reality? 

“What can we do?!”

“Move over!” 

This wasn’t something you remembered exactly; yet your mind was certain it had happened. 

A sound, faint but firm. Enchanting yet leaving no place to protest, not even for your own body. 

“Breathe.”

Like something pulled out from the water, your mind emerged gradually, gasping for air. And you breathed. 

Eyes fluttering open, you let the surroundings sink into you. The glass windows, the small beds with white sheets, the unmistakable scent of antiseptics. Despite your mind being still fuzzy from your unconsciousness, you recognized the place as the school infirmary. You remembered having been here quite a lot those last few days. The more your mind became less clouded, the more you became aware of all the areas where you body hurted. Your left hip and the top part of your tight stinged, but were a minor worry compared to the ringing at the back of your head. 

And your chest felt, for what felt like the longest time ever, light and free. Glancing on the bedside, you noticed a large basin filled with flowers, petals and roots. All bloodied; and all out of your lungs. 

 “Y/N” 

 The call of your name made you lift your head; you knew that voice. A few feet away from you, a man was standing. Hazel hair, brown eyes glistening with relieved tears; you knew him. 

 “Xavier,” you breathed out the name that had appeared in your mind. 

 He smiled broadly at you and crossed the room to sit on the bed next to you. When he took your hand with his, you didn’t flinch away because it felt so right. He looked at you intensely, at every detail of your face like he was looking at you for the first time. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke softly.

 “How are you feeling?” 

You took a moment to think before answering him, “Good. Better than before I…it feels like my lungs are almost empty now.”

He nodded with a tight smile, like he was trying to hold back some tears. “It’s because they are,” he said, nodding to the flower-filled basin. “There’s no more flowers growing in there.” 

 The memories of what had happened gradually came back to you. The chest pains, the blood, the petals coughed; the words of your aunt, the potions you drank, Enid’s worries, Wednesday fighting against Joseph Crackstone. Xavier must have noticed it because he brushed his hand over your cheek. 

 “Hey it’s okay,” he said softly, “it’s over. Crackstone is gone, the monster has been arrested, everyone’s okay.”

“The flowers,” you breathed feebly, “how…how did they go away?”

 Xavier licked his lips and pondered how to explain things to you. 

 “How much do you remember?” he asked, and you searched in your mind for the last thing you remembered. 

“Crackstone was in the quad and I tried to fight him,” you began slowly, trying to picture the scene in your head, “there was Wednesday too, and…and maybe someone else? Bianca maybe?”

You missed the faint sob escaping Xavier’s lips and carried on. “I was thrown against the wall, I hit my head I think…then it’s a bit fuzzy, but- but I think you were there? Or maybe someone else I don’t know but…everything was hurting so much…”

He squeezed your hand in support, sensing that everything was still sensitive for you. So he picked up where you had left the conversation, “Bianca had tried to perform CPR on you but it wasn’t enough. You…you stopped breathing at some point,” he said in a trembling voice still heavy with emotion. “So we…we tried something and she used her siren song on you and ordered you, I mean, more like your body, to breathe.”

Flashes of distant memories echoed in your mind; yes, that you could vaguely remember. So, the power of a siren could be stronger than physical limits, uh. 

“As soon as things calmed down, we brought you to the infirmary and a guy came in, saying your aunt sent him.”

You frowned at his words, “Who?”

He shrugged, “I don’t really know, but he knew of your…condition. Said that your aunt had called in a favor he owed her and asked him to come to Nevermore the fastest he could after your phone call.”

“And?”

“He’s a doctor,” explained Xavier, “a surgeon.” 

You sucked in a breath, knowing what it meant. But after what Xavier had told you…they had no choice. “He removed them, didn’t he?” you asked in a whisper. 

Xavier nodded slowly, “All of them. You flatlined twice before or during the operation, Y/N we…we had no choice I’m so sorry.”

Tilting your head in confusion you asked, “Why?” 

 The hand on yours froze immediately, and he looked up at you with his soft doe eyes. Tears he had tried to hold back were so close to fall now. 

 “You don’t remember?”

His broken voice slightly caught you off-guard. But instead of saying ‘about what?’ you started to understand. Why he was here; why his touch was feeling so familiar and comforting, and why he looked so broken. So you shook your head apologetically. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed out. 

Swallowing thickly, Xavier tried to smile through the heartbreak; he failed. “I just…I thought that…you said my name so…”

“You thought that I hadn’t forgotten about you,” you completed for him. He nodded and despite the newfound weightlessness in your chest, you felt your heart break at the sight. Why was he the one you had lost all of your memories about? 

“Maybe- maybe I haven’t forgotten everything,” you tried to reassure him softly, “I remembered your name and...and I feel like I know you.”

“Really?” he asked with a tint of hope in his voice and you couldn’t help but stare at him. The memories were nowhere to be found, but his face…his face brought you so much comfort and warmth inside…he couldn’t be no one to you. 

“I remember that I loved you,” you whispered, eyes locked in his. 

 Xavier let out a ragged breath in disbelief, a smile stretching his lips in surprise. 

 “You do?” he asked in astonishment, to which you only nodded with a soft smile. 

“I...I don’t know how much I can remember, but I know that…I want to remember you, Xavier. I know that I have been happy with you…have I?”

Bringing your hands to his lips, Xavier pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles. Tears of joy rolled down his cheeks, landing on your hands, “You were,” he confirmed with a wide smile, voice still wavering from emotion, “and you made me so happy too, sweetheart.” 

 You let out a light laugh, tears pricking the corner of your eyes too. He was right; even if your memories were lacking, you felt what he said. You had been happy with him. Without really realizing it, your faces slowly leaned to the other’s. And with the utmost tenderness, Xavier cupped your cheek and kissed you softly on the lips. Instead of feeling nervous or surprised, the kiss felt natural to you and you responded to it gladly. The softness of his lips felt familiar, was familiar, so did the soaring in your heart. When you parted slowly you opened your eyes, meeting his kind ones once again. 

 “Sorry I really wanted to do this,” he whispered with a faint grin. 

Slightly frowning at the impression of déjà-vu, you let out a small smile too, “Hey, I think I’ve said that before you.” 

His grin widened and he pressed another kiss on your forehead this time, “You did, sweetheart. You did.” 

 The two of you spend the rest of the evening talking about what had happened: Miss Thornhill’s true identity, Tyler turning out to be the hyde, Principal Weems’ unfortunate passing, Enid, Wednesday, Ajax, Bianca and the other students being safe. None of you pushed the subject of your operation nor its consequences any further thought. You were alive and honestly that was all that mattered. 

At some point, Xavier had to leave your side and after dropping one last kiss on your forehead and promising he would be back soon, he left the infirmary. 

 In the corridor when he knew he was out of ear’s reach he allowed himself to let out the cough he was holding up for the past few hours. A cough turned into another, until he felt his throat clear. As he looked down on the bloodied petals on his palm, Xavier didn’t feel fear or despair. 

Your amnesia had made the tables turn, and now he was the one harboring one-sided feelings; but he was not afraid. Maybe your mind had forgotten him, but he knew your heart hadn’t. Just like you had waited for him, Xavier would wait for you.

[Epilogue] 

A/N: did I shamelessly re-used some part of the intro? Well, yes, for  ✨plot reasons ✨ Also, did I rushed the ending? AHAH Y E S and I’m so ashamed of that lmao  I’ll stop rambling now and start editing the epilogue which yes, I’m posting tonight because I’ve tortured you way too long ♥ 

Thanks everyone for your incredible support, I hope you enjoyed this part ♥

Hope you’re all doing okay, take care of you ♥

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