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thekinslayed · 25 days

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Forget-Me-Not

summary | Aemond's devotion for his wife deepens as they navigate her recovery together

pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | fluff, hurt/comfort, memory loss, injury, ooc aemond

wordcount | 2k

note | something short and sweet because i was inspired by the little crumb we got today <3 (here's some info on the flowers mentioned!)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

song rec | My Jinji - Sunset Rollercoaster

(dividers by @saradika)

It was midday, and Aemond had been reading in their chambers after the council meeting when the door opened. She walked into the room and looked around, surprised as if unsure whether she was in the right place. She had been like this as of late, trying to grasp at her memories' first tingle of familiarity.

The prince’s lady wife had lost her memory when she fell off her horse during a riding accident. Her lord husband had been preoccupied with his duties on the King’s council, leaving her on her own most days. She took to the Kingswood with her Sworn Shield, relishing the feeling of the wind whipping at her face as they rode through the woods. Riding was something she had always loved to do as a girl, the memories of racing with her brothers through her homeland a sweet comfort to the foreign atmosphere in King’s Landing.

Perhaps she had gotten too excited, too greedy, when she urged her horse faster and faster until she disappeared from her knight’s midst.

He had found her on the grass, horse nowhere to be found. It was unsure how the lady had fallen, but she had taken a great hit to her head from the impact. She looked like a forest nymph surrounded by bright flowers and green grass, hair falling around her like a halo, only if it weren’t for the streaks of blood that dripped down her temples.

When she had awakened, the princess was greeted by the sight of silver hair and a lone purple eye that watched her with worry. Her eyes shifted to the sapphire lodged into his other socket, curious as to how it got there. He was familiar to her, but she could not tell how she came to know him, her own husband. Aemond’s chest panged with hurt when his lady wife looked at him with a hazy confusion, her quaint voice muttering, “Who are you?”

Since that day, Aemond and his sweet wife had been on the path of trying to regain, or rather rebuild, her memories.

“Hello,” She greeted him meekly. She was so shy to him now, much like she was before they were married. The princess had learned her husband loved her a great deal, and perhaps she shared a deep affection for him too, one that no amount of impact on her mind could erase.

But how do you love a person you scarcely remember?

“Hello, my sweet,” He said to her softly. Aemond rose from his seat to approach her, giving her an embrace as he kissed her forehead. She timidly nuzzled into his arms, breathing in his scent. Teakwood and smoke, a scent that triggered a glimmer of familiarity in her otherwise foggy brain. She had made an effort to know her husband once more, making a mental list of what she liked about him.

'I like it when he holds me like this,' she thought, adding it to her list.

“Is everything alright?” He asked her, pulling away to look at her. Aemond ignored the slight twinge in his heart when she still regarded him with distance at times. He couldn’t find it within him to be cross with her, not when he blamed himself for her accident.

“I am alright, I tried to go for a walk in the gardens, but I… I’m afraid I cannot recall the way. A kind knight helped me back… one of the twins? Oh gods, I cannot remember his name either.” Her brows furrowed while she tried her hardest to remember the knight’s name. She bit her lip in concentration yet to no avail.

“Ser Arryk?” Aemond hinted, to which she nodded in response.

“Right... Yes, Ser Arryk.” She trailed off, seemingly lost in thought. The dragon’s wife would often be like this as of late, a name or a scent would bring about hints of her past life, but as soon as she was able to grasp the memories in her hand, they would slip through her fingertips once more, lost in the blurry sea of her mind. With all her effort at trying to regain at least a single piece of memory, she found herself with headaches at the end of the day. It frustrated her to a great deal.

Aemond knew how hard she struggled, and how much her memory weighed on her. It pained him to see her like this, even more, when he could do so little to help her. He tucked a loose hair behind her ear before cupping her chin.

“Fret not, you will remember,” He reassured her, tone soft and warm.

“We will figure this out, you and I,” The prince promised her, the way he always did, with a determination in his voice and his heart. The idea that she might be lost forever terrified him, but she was still here, in his arms, and Aemond would have her any way he could.

“Thank you husband, for taking care of me,” She took this hand in hers, kissing the back of it in gratitude. At first, she had been wary of showing her affection, not quite remembering how. When she had seen how much Aemond cared for her and showered her with so much love, it didn’t take long for her to realize why her past self loved him greatly.

“Do you have time to walk in the gardens with me? I have been wanting for some fresh air,” She suggested shyly. She spoke so softly ever since the accident. When once she had been bubbly and exuberant, her wit had been replaced by a soft, yet curious wonder equal to that of a timid doe.

“Of course,” Aemond replied, letting her take his hand in hers. He kissed her cheek, soft and sweet, a gentleness to him that was only ever reserved for her. “We can go anywhere you want.”

His lady wife let him lead the way to the gardens. As they walked, she tried her best to remember the twists and turns that led her down the steps of Maegor’s Holdfast. She realized the wrong turn she had earlier, which led her to another wing of the Keep where Ser Arryk had found her.

“How pretty it is,” Aemond said as they entered the gardens. They welcomed the fresh air that breezed through the open space. The princess hummed in response as she felt a spark of familiarity in her chest of being in the gardens. What she did or who she was with, she could not recall, but that was alright. To see such things and be touched by the affinity of knowing was a good step forward.

They strolled through the gardens, the bright variety of flowers making her feel delighted to be surrounded by such beauty. She ran her fingertips on the ones that interested her, often stopping to smell some. Her eyes trained on a shrub filled with small, delicate blue flowers.

As she stopped, her husband stopped right along with her. When Aemond turned to look at what his wife held in her hands, the sight of a familiar flower took him by surprise. Her favorite ones.

“Those are beautiful,” he said, with an amused smile. The blue spray of flowers was the same one he had gifted her throughout their courtship, a symbol of true and enduring love.

His wife looked back at him with a familiar glint in her eyes. “They truly are, aren’t they?” She said, feeling the velvety surface of its petals against her fingertips. She hadn’t quite realized its significance to her and Aemond’s relationship, but she knew that she liked them.

“Do you know what they are called?” Her lord husband asked curiously. His good eye studied her face as she pondered, a glimmer of hope rose in his chest.

“Forget-me-not,” She answered.

Aemond hummed in response, grinning with delight. They continued to walk hand-in-hand through the gardens, his lady wife swinging their hands. In any other case, he would not have allowed this, the formal man he was, but he let her, seeing the pleasant mood she was in. Conversation flowed between them, comfortable and light. The princess could sense when her husband would mention topics that could trigger her memory, and she tried to indulge him as much as she could.

Aside from the couple that roamed the gardens, some lords and ladies of the court had also taken advantage of the pleasant weather. The sun shone brightly after days of cloudy gloom casting its shadow upon King’s Landing.

The princess felt the stares at her and her husband, more so at her. She had been subject to their gazes ever since the incident. Most would look at her with pity for her circumstances, some with wonder as to how her and Aemond’s marriage still held strong. She did not miss the malicious stares from the ladies her age, no doubt thinking that the prince would soon tire of having to nurse his fragile wife.

Poor Prince Aemond, how ever could he endure having such a blank and empty shell of a wife?

The princess’ free had clutched Aemond’s arm, ducking her head with insecurity as they passed a group of nobles.

“They all stare,” she said lowly. Aemond sighed, caressing the back of her hand on his elbow comfortingly.

“They do,” he said softly. He gave a sharp stare to the people they passed, leading his wife away. It was difficult to discount the looks they gave her, reminding him of his own experience when he had lost his eye. It angered him that they’d be so unkind to his wife, after all she’d been through. “We cannot worry about what they think of us, my love,” he comforted her.

She merely hummed in response, somewhat unconvinced. They continued their walk with her head ducked low, her bright spirit from earlier now dissipated.

Aemond led her to a secluded area, where they sat on a stone bench overlooking Blackwater Bay. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to plant a kiss on her forehead. “You must not let them bother you, dear wife,” he said against her skin. His wife let out a heavy sigh, leaning her head against his.

“Do you not think of me a burden?” She mumbled, fingertips toying with the ends of his starlit hair. The guilt she felt for having imposed such an inconvenience on her lord husband weighed on her heavily. He was a prince of the realm, and he had no time to play healer to his own wife.

“No, never,” He emphasized, looking down to meet her eye. A large, calloused hand cupped her jaw. His thumb caressed her cheek while she leaned into his touch.

“The circumstances given to us may not be the most favourable, yes, but I almost lost you, my love. I would have fought the Stranger with my own sword to have you returned to my side,” Aemond professed. Tears pricked at the corner of his wife’s eyes, her lips quivered from his overwhelming love. A single tear trailed down her cheek but was wiped away in haste by the prince’s thumb.

“What anyone else thinks or feels about you is not our concern. You are my concern,” he asserted, staring at her with adoration. The princess sniffled, before nodding to her husband, a whisper of thanks falling from her lips. Her eyes met his amethyst one, committing the sight of him lovingly in her memory.

Hesitantly, she reached a hand to cup his cheek, before leaning forward to plant a soft peck on his lips. She liked the feeling of his lips, she decided. Her lips planted another kiss on his once more, deep and passionate. They kissed until she was out of breath, having to place a hand on her chest, panting.

In the following days, the princess awakened to a vase filled with blue forget-me-nots on her bedside table. She spent her time by her husband’s side, and when he was away she would indulge in different pursuits that pleased her. Fragments of her past had started to return to her, while some would forever be lost. She did not mourn this loss, for she had found that the new ones she shared with Aemond were filled with the same fondness. Falling for her husband the second time around did not require great difficulty to achieve, not when he made it so easy for her to love him.

#bella writes ✍️#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #hotd x reader

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shybunnie20 · 2 months

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BFF!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

friends to lovers

★Locations ★My Masterlist

Summary: Eddie calls on you to help him plan his first date, and you wish that you were the one going on it with him.

Author's Note: This isn't quite as polished as I'd like it to be. But, I'm pushing through my last few weeks of college, so I'm working with the few brain cells I've got left lol. I still love how it turned out and the ending is worth all of the self-loathing, I promise.

No use of Y/N, est. friendship, ages aren’t specified but E & R are approx. in their early twenties & it’s an early 90s AU, Reader has never been asked on a date before. Mild angst with happy ending!

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: Reader dwells on poor self-worth & feels undesirable, acts of eating and multiple mentions of food, includes swearing.

Nestled in the quaint corner of Campbell Ave and 2nd Street, you’re engrossed in a call with a customer, jotting down an order for two bouquets consisting of pink-white lilies and snapdragons. Your eyes follow the effortless glide of your glitter gel pen across the paper, detailing their contact information.

Similarly to Goldilocks, you’ve found a place of employment where the pace is just right. You can handle whatever tasks Joan, the owner, asks of you. Sweeping the wood floors with a stiff-bristled broom, tending to the plants, and arranging flowers adorned with decorative ribbon and crisp paper are all within your grasp.

This place gets steady business, but the concept of a lunch or dinner rush is nonexistent. However, you do face a unique kind of rush occasionally. Now and then, a frantic lover bursts through the doors, bug-eyed, having realized they’ve forgotten a special anniversary or birthday at the very last minute.

As you recite the customer’s order and callback number into the phone’s receiver, their confirmational “uh huhs” cut through the buzz of the line. Suddenly, your attention is diverted by the sight of a van pulling into the parking spot out front, slightly askew. A small smile teases the corners of your mouth as you make a conscious effort to refocus on closing the conversation at hand.

The plastic shell of the phone clacks as you hang up, and you watch Eddie hop out of his van, and round the front of it with an unusual pep in his step—more than you’d see his best days.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Eddie’s voice carries across the room, accompanied by a genuine smile that lights up his face. He strides to the register counter you’re currently manning, wearing a vermillion polo shirt embellished with the neatly embroidered String and Strum shop logo on the breast. His hair is pushed back from his face with a black bandana, resembling a biker-like edge, tied firmly to ensure no stray curls disrupt his work as he repairs guitars and sells instruments for commission.

In seconds flat, he’s already scrunching his nose like a bunny, sensing a sneeze on the horizon. Being in a room packed with fresh plants is nothing short of hell, but he’s willing to endure it for the sake of seeing you. While he can handle flowers in small quantities, the confined space never fails to tickle his system like nobody’s business.

Vision blurring with mild irritation, Eddie blinks hard to disperse it. “Hey, how’s today going?”

You shrug, suppressing a giggle at the wiggle of his nose. “As good as it can, I guess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Eddie sets a grease-stained paper bag on the counter that separates you, along with a cup of soda. “Figured you could use a midday pick-me-up.”

“Must be my lucky day because I overslept and didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Well, that and I found a penny on the sidewalk.”

Eddie crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Don’t give luck all the credit. I have instinctual powers, y’know. My Munson senses were tingling and I knew you were in need.”

“My hero,” You exclaim, clasping your hands and swinging them to the side like a swooning princess.

Eddie chuckles with you, watching as you wipe your palms on your apron and eagerly dig into the bag, pulling out a foam to-go box. As you promptly open it and take a bite of your lunch, you can’t help but groan and throw your head back in satisfaction. Your eyes meet his thereafter, causing him to twist his mouth to the side and momentarily look away.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask, your words slightly muffled as you continue to chew.

Minnie, Joan’s cat, gracefully leaps onto the counter to greet Eddie. She perches herself beside the cash register, allowing him to scratch under her chin. “Nothin, consider it a favor,” He says with a wet sniffle, the tingling in his nose unrelenting.

The silence that falls is comfortable for you, but he’s seemingly lost in his thoughts as he continues to pet Minnie. Then, he looks at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Speaking of which, I just so happen to know a way that you can return the favor.”

Having taken a sip from your drink and another bite of your food, the inflection of Eddie’s voice causes you to slow your chewing. “And what might that be?”

“Come over later to find out.”

Your shoulders slump, eyes widened with mock defeat. “No! I can’t stand here and wonder all day. I'll die. The suspense will kill me.”

Eddie pouts mockingly, his sweet honey eyes betraying his faux-frown. “Then I'll be sure to have the prettiest floral arrangement for your funeral. Only the best for you.”

Your brows knit together in an authentic pouting. The irony of needing to meet an untimely demise to receive flowers from a guy isn’t lost on you.

He motions toward the untrimmed bundle of carnations on the workbench behind you. “Actually, if you’re not too busy,” Eddie smirks. “Could you string those up for me quick so they’re ready to go for your wake?”

“Ha-ha,” you leer, taking the next bite of your food rather aggressively. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I beg to differ since I surprised you with your favorite from Val’s and all,” Eddie retorts, biting the inside of his cheek.

You grumble, “Yeah, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Eddie checks his watch and huffs, “Alright, I’ve gotta get goin’,” he says, rapping his knuckles on the countertop and beginning to walk backward. “See you later tonight,” He points at you before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop.

The bulky keyring on Eddie’s jeans jingles loudly as he steps onto the sidewalk. Abruptly, he stops in his tracks. For a moment he’s frozen, and then he braces himself against the nearby lamppost. It hits him like a brick wall and he sneezes mightily.

Heads of nearby passersby turn in his direction, startled by the noise. As he straightens his posture, Eddie remains still, trying to find his center of gravity and regain his composure.

“You good?” You call out, your voice just barely reaching him through the propped-open doors. Taking a casual sip of your drink, you watch as Eddie steadies himself. Still clutching the street lamp with one hand, he manages to stick his other arm out and give a thumbs-up.

True to your word, you arrive at Eddie’s place straight after work. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow through the patio door onto the walls of the living room. The apartment is in its usual state of disarray, expectedly so, since it’s home to three guys who aren’t particularly concerned with tidiness.

Toeing off your shoes, you’re unphased by the subtle smell of dust in the air. What strikes you as odd is how quiet it is. Typically, at least one roommate is home, blasting the TV in the living room or music from their respective bedrooms. But the only sound permeating the silence is the erratic thumping and screech of the water pipes behind the paper-thin walls of the bathroom.

As you snoop around the kitchen, hoping to find a box of saltine crackers or really anything to stop the gurgling in your belly. Having come up empty-handed, you turn your attention to the resilient plant that you challenged Eddie to care for—Keanu Leaves, as he so proudly named it.

Finished with your fruitless search of the kitchen, you make your way into Eddie’s bedroom to settle comfortably into the chair that only you sit in; it’s your spot. While you get cozy, the beans rattle as they perfectly mold to your figure. You knock on the wall beside you, signaling your arrival to Eddie.

You resume the magazine left sitting open on the page you stopped on. You occupy yourself in the article about predicted spring fashion trends as you wait. After a minute or two, the pipes go quiet from the shower being turned off.

Eddie strolls into the room wearing nothing more than a clean pair of boxers. Droplets of water trickle down his toned and tatted chest. Harshly ruffling his curls with a bath towel, he smirks at you. “If it isn’t Little Miss Zombie, back from the dead.”

“Less than alive and in the flesh,” you reply, your annoyance at being made to wait all day still evident. You hold grudges better than anyone he knows, and Eddie is well aware that he’s not immune to being subject to it.

Your tummy rumbles loudly, the discomfort only emphasizing the sharpness of your tone. “When was the last time you got groceries? I didn’t see any preserved brains I could help myself to.”

“I’m definitely due for a restock,” Eddie says as he drapes his wet towel over the back of his desk chair. Then, he grabs the bottle of mousse from his dresser and dispenses a foamy dollop into his palm. “Funny you should ask, though. That’s sorta why you’re here.”

You flip the page of your magazine, not pulling your eyes from the glossy print. “You told me to come over to go grocery shopping?”

Eddie rubs his palms together to spread the product and then runs his fingers through his curls. “Not quite,” he starts, his tone cryptic. “I’ve been tasked with providing a meal, of sorts.”

Finally, you look up at him. Watching him scrunch his damp hair with the remainder of the product that’s making his palms go tacky, you wait for him to elaborate.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the other side of the room, rather than meeting your awaiting gaze. “I have a date.”

You stare blankly at the back of his head, as still as a statue while your blinking intensifies. Dumbfounded, you struggle to survive the bombshell he just dropped on you. It’s as if a nuclear explosion has shattered your eardrums, leaving his continued words to sound muffled through the high-pitched ringing.

A million and one questions swirl in your mind, only adding to the disorienting whirlwind of emotions. Since when is he dating? Why all of a sudden? As you try to piece everything together, you note that he hasn’t had any recent romantic interactions, at least none that you’re aware of.

You always thought he’d confide in you if he was seeing someone, but now you’re not so sure; especially since you’re only finding out about this now. Without a doubt, Eddie has never had trouble attracting attention. But he’s always seemed so content with the ways things are. So why now?

Eddie turns to face you, a splash of desperation in his eyes. “I feel like doing this is the best way to know if she likes me back.”

Your mouth has gone dry, and you try to sound more curious than interrogative, but it doesn’t quite come off that way. “Who is this mystery woman, anyway?” A couple of names come to mind, some of the most beautiful girls in town—none of whom you hold a candle to.

His side of the room falls quiet when he’s hit with your question. Eddie’s eyes drop to the carpet. While it might seem like he’s lost in thought, it’s actually a glaring sign of evasion. You can’t help but feel a little hurt by his reluctance to tell you who it is.

A small smile forms as he leans back against his dresser, as though he can’t keep himself upright during his current daydream. Folding his arms across his pecs and rubbing his jaw, eyes still downcast, Eddie begins to gush about her. “She’s just- god, she’s something else. The way she laughs, it’s like... the sun coming out after a storm.”

“Sounds like quite the catch,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone neutral. You watch closely as blush tints Eddie’s cheeks and his smile threatens to grow. Without saying another word, Eddie walks out and returns to the bathroom.

You’re quick to follow, hopping up from your chair. “Do I know her?”

“Technically, yeah,” Eddie answers. Standing in front of the foggy mirror, he wipes it with the back of his forearm. Then, he starts rummaging through the counter drawer for his pair of shears.

You stand just outside the open door, the lingering humidity from his scorching hot shower kissing your skin as it disperses into the hallway. Leaning back against the wall, you cross your arms like he did moments ago, albeit far more tensely. Technically? It must be one of your ex-friends, then. That would explain why he’s been keeping you in the dark.

It’s your duty to be supportive, but right now, you could hurl. The thick nausea swirling deep in your gut is a storm raging within, overpowering your ability to stay present.

While trimming his bangs over the basin, the shears glint in the hushed light of the wall sconce. Eddie steals a glance in your direction, but his eyes dart back to his reflection too quickly to catch the discomfort etched on your face. “So you’ll help me, right?”

As you watch yourself anxiously wiggling your toes inside your sock, you mumble, “I can't if you won’t tell me who it is.“

“Sure you can, you’re a girl. You know how this stuff works.”

You scoff, your brows shooting up as your head jerks back. You open your mouth to object, but he promptly cuts you off.

“Ah, ah! Slow your roll,” Eddie cautions, pointing the shears in your direction. “I’m not saying you’re all the same, but there’s gotta be some common ground of expectations, right?”

You don’t have the strength to argue, so you reluctantly allow for his generalization. “I guess so.”

“Like yeah, I could just study one of those lady magazines you’re always reading. But then I wouldn’t have a way of knowing what is and isn’t bullshit,” Eddie explains, his tone half-joking. “That’s why I’m going straight to the source, oh, wise one.”

Far too consumed with trying to narrow down who the chick could possibly be, you can’t be bothered to give him a huff of amusement through your nose. “Can I at least have a hint?”

“Nope,” The shears hit the countertop, their metallic resonance echoing against the porcelain. He pivots to face you, hands resting on his hips. “Alright, Sherlock. How about you quit trying to crack the case and help me pick out a tie.”

“A what now?” You squawk, eyes widening in disbelief.

Eddie chuckles softly and rinses the hair trimmings down the drain, then flicks off the bathroom light. “I have to dress for the occasion. This is a big deal for me,” he elaborates as he strides back into his room. “For her and me.”

Once again, you find yourself on his tail, trailing close behind back into his bedroom. You unfold your arms and instead, start to rub the inside of your wrist with your opposite thumb. “Yeah, I get that. Just seems a bit out of character for you.”

Rifling through his closet, Eddie pulls out a hanger with a navy button-up shirt and nonchalantly tosses it onto the end of his bed. “Maybe, but at least she’ll know I’m taking this seriously,” Eddie says while reaching for the high shelf to retrieve a tattered shoebox. Lifting the lid, he presents it to you. “Here’s what we’re working with.”

You step closer, your fingers deftly plucking out the rolled ties one by one, laying them flat beside the slightly wrinkled shirt. Side by side, your shoulders nearly brush. Meticulously comparing the patterns and colors, neither of you seems drawn to any particular one.

“Here, maybe it’s better to do it this way,” Eddie suggests, picking up and beginning to slip into the shirt. His thick fingers falter as he attempts to maneuver each small white button through its corresponding hole. Once halfway dressed—having tastefully paired his plaid boxers with a dress shirt—he smooths out the material from his chest to his belly.

Eddie reaches for the nearest tie and lays it against his shoulder. He faces you expectantly, anticipation evident in his gaze, awaiting your feedback.

Your eyes flit between the tie he’s holding, the array laid out on the bed, and the hopefulness in his round eyes. “These are easily the three ugliest ties I've ever seen. No offense.”

He blows a playful raspberry at your harsh criticism and shakes his head. “None taken, they’re not mine. But Wayne might be a little hurt when I call him next and tell him you said that.”

Shooting him a pointed look, your brows furrow in skepticism. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I just might,” Eddie teases with a smile before turning his attention back to the bed. He tosses the first tie aside and reaches for the mustard paisley one. “What about this one, does it compliment my eyes?” He bats his dark brown lashes.

You clutch your chin in contemplation, carefully assessing the combination of hues. However, the richness of his chocolate irises captures you. You wade in their depths. The hot flash that envelops your body is enough to break the trance he inadvertently put you under. With a disapproving shake of your head, you dismiss this tie as well. “Nope, next.”

Eddie looks at you for a moment longer, even though you’re not doing the same. A faint frown creases his features as he tosses the vetoed tie aside, forming a rejection pile.

You pick up the remaining tie and drape it over his shoulder, admiring the harmonious pairing of the navy in the tie with the shirt, accentuated by its white and black diagonal stripes. While you ponder, Eddie watches your face intently, holding his breath.

You nod, a trace of delighted approval in your expression. “We have a winner.”

“Hell yeah, blue on blue it is,” Eddie exclaims. He wraps the tie around the back of his neck but struggles to recall the proper technique for tying it. Attempting a few different nonsensical loopings, he groans, his determination waning. “Stupid son of a bitch, wouldya just-”

“Don’t hurt yourself. Let me do it," You offer. Not receiving protest, you step closer to him.

Eddie uses one hand to gather his product-enhanced curls into a makeshift ball, allowing you to access the collar of his shirt. He juts out his freshly shaved chin, granting you ample room to work. Standing this closely, you catch the clean scent of shaving cream lingering on his skin.

You begin to effortlessly tie the knot. Without pausing to consider what you’re about to say, the words spill from your lips, “Why’re you asking for my opinion on stuff like this, anyway? You should be doing what you think she’ll like, not me.”

“You always know best,” Eddie’s expression softens to something more vulnerable. “When you’re taking the next step in a relationship, you want everything to be as perfect as it can be, y’know?”

It’s common sense to him. No one understands him like you do, making you the perfect person for navigating this nerve-wracking experience. But for you, it’s perplexing. You’ve never been on a proper, formal date. The idea of one remains an unfulfilled pipe dream. Yet, here you are, agreeing to help Eddie plan his.

Your only frame of reference comes from romance movies and horror stories of dates gone wrong recounted by your girlfriends. Of all the things you could be in the world, you find yourself an unassuming tree. Sturdy and dependable, sure. You serve your purpose. But you don’t captivate onlookers with blooming petals like flowers do. Instead, you take pride in your intricately branched personality, valuing it as your true strength that often goes overlooked.

Even so, it feels as though your traits fail to enchant others regardless; nobody seems willing. You go unnoticed, and you’ve come to terms with that.

Beautiful wildflowers get plucked from the ground and carried away to be cherished. Meanwhile, you simply exist, rooted in no man’s land, devoid of admirers. You may stand tall, but you’re easily overshadowed by what other women have to offer.

Perhaps this is why you like working at the flower shop. It’s somewhat cathartic to witness the delicate petals fall from time to time. It brings you a strange sense of satisfaction to hack away at their stems. The best part, though? While it’s a little twisted, you know that those flowers that dazzle in their pristine state are destined to wilt. They’ll shrivel and brown.

Whilst among your shared group of friends in public, you’ve witnessed Eddie getting nudged by one of the guys to direct his attention to a smoke show walking by. You watched as they bit their knuckles and exaggeratedly gawked. You don’t compare, it’s not even apples to oranges. It’s like… apples to rocks. A delicious, shiny fruit compared to you, mere clunky chunks of earth.

If life were an album, you’re the track that everyone skips within seconds of hearing the intro. Except for those rare moments when someone half-listens by accident and they resonate with you—that’s how you and Eddie became friends. He’d stumbled upon his new favorite song, one worth revisiting. What he sees in you is what everyone else overlooks.

Eddie is the only man on the face of the earth who treats you like you’re worth being around. Only an oddball would prefer to spend time lounging beneath the shade of a crooked tree instead of homing a rose in a crystal vase. That’s one thing you love about your best friend; he doesn’t make you feel like you fade into the background.

All fairytale cliché bullshit included, you want to be sought out in a crowd. You want to light up the room for someone. Much to your dismay, that can happen platonically too, and it has in this case.

If Eddie only knew how much the little moments matter to you—the ones where he makes you feel prioritized and valued. You know you’re not anything close to special or remarkable, but he always made you second guess that thought.

Obviously, you hadn’t meant to fall for him. It was kind of like catching a cold; one day, there was a tickle in the back of your throat that you didn’t usually feel. Unsuspecting, the days went on, and that sensation only worsened. You started to panic a little but ultimately continued to deny your worst thoughts.

Before you knew it, you were bedridden, bitten by the love bug. You didn’t go down without a fight. You thought that you could be strong and deny it access to your heart, but it had already invaded. So, all you could do was wait it out.

You tried to distance yourself, hoping to recover and act like nothing ever changed inside of you. But Eddie didn’t let you get too far away.

It wasn’t love at first sight, rather, a creeping plague. There was no swooning and giggling, no struggling to keep your hands to yourself. The change was undetectable. You were a frog in boiling water, unaware of the gradually rising temperature until it was far too late.

It wasn’t until your chest started to ache every time you said goodbye at the end of spending time together that you realized you were in too deep. You genuinely debated going to the doctor to get the pang checked out, but luckily you didn’t. Otherwise, you’d have wasted a good chunk of money to find out that you’re a lovesick idiot.

Unfortunately, this is an illness you’ve been stuck with since, and you’ve at least learned how to distract yourself from it. But when you fail to do so, your imagination wanders. Naturally, you’ve wondered if pressing a mere kiss to his cheek would burn everything to the ground.

The forbidden territory beckons, tempting you to envision breaking those unspoken agreed-upon rules that forbid things like hand-holding and cuddling. The two of you uphold mutual respect, adhering to the expectations of friendship. Both of you reserve that level of touch for expressions of romantic affection. Actions such as those have no place in a true friendship.

That’s the most confusing part of this for you. How did you manage to catch such strong feelings for him when you’ve not crossed any lines? Sure, he’s a tactile person; maybe that has something to do with it. Eddie makes physical contact with those he trusts, but it’s not like he’s hanging off of you at any given moment. You receive the same treatment as the others in his inner circle: a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back, and a brief gripping of the forearm to get your attention.

You’re not supposed to want the touches to be more frequent, much less of a different nature. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and it’s been plainly drawn in the sand. You understand and accept that. But why, of all lines in the world, does it have to be this one that you want to cross so badly?

Most of your days aren’t all that miserable. But there are those days that are more difficult than the rest, though it’s not his fault. Last weekend, the two of you were at a mall, and some chick waved at him flirtily. He returned it immediately, though playfully enough that it was almost mocking. He was fucking around and had no intention of entertaining the idea of approaching her. Regardless, it was humbling for you, to say the least.

In that moment, the world reminded you that there’s a reason you walk at his side at a respectable distance, not tucked under his arm. If anything, it’s for the best. There’s a sense of liberation in admiring him without the burden of articulating your feelings. There’s no pressure to meet a girlfriend quota or live up to a higher standard. What Eddie expects of you now is what you’re capable of, and clearly, all that you’re good for. You’re good for filling the void, but apparently not so much anymore.

You’re not lustrous and aching to jump his bones, and you’re certainly not desperate enough to kiss him on a whim by not allowing yourself to overthink it. But perhaps you are just desperate enough that a man simply paying your emotions, interests, and existence of any mind can shackle you to him. That has to be what’s done you in; Eddie gives a shit about you.

In reality, there’s more to it than that. Eddie is selective about who and what he lets in. He doesn’t care for conformity and lack of individuality. The idea of blending in with the majority of society repulses him. You find the flawed aspects of the Munson doctrine fascinating and raw. He’s not perfect and Eddie doesn’t care what others think of him, to a degree.

Not unlike you, he’s complex. Eddie is anti-establishment but still prefers a bit of structure over chaos in his day-to-day life. He’s independent and cynical as hell, but he’s also appreciative of his support systems and isn’t ashamed to rely on them. He’s not much of a rule breaker nor is he rebellious, but he’ll happily stir up a little trouble in good fun if given the opportunity.

Eddie is a hypocrite in some ways and a walking contradiction in others. You love that he’s unapologetic about being that way. He owns it for the most part, and you admire that.

His presence overstays its welcome in your thoughts. You’ve often yearned for him to call you in the dead of night, admitting that he can’t sleep without the sound of your voice. Many times, you’ve fought the urge to do that. He owes you sleep, countless nights of it. It’s a debt that will never be repaid, an outstanding balance.

Despite the attempts at trying to talk yourself out of it, you still can’t bring yourself to stop loving him. Even as he’s actively pursuing someone else, you’re unable to shake this. You could be paralyzed from head to toe, and you’d still feel the love you have for him in your bones.

Once Eddie is officially with someone, he won’t have much time or energy left for you. The anticipation of being thrown aside for something new and far prettier has shattered your heart before any changes have occurred. Yet, any fragment of his presence surpasses total absence. The greed isn’t worth it, and you know you should be grateful for getting any piece of him at all.

The phrase fizzles on the tip of your tongue like a smoldering ember, threatening to sear through the muscle… I’m happy for you.

You should say it, but you can’t. Because if you did, that would be a blatant lie. It’s not even possessiveness that has you so bitter, it’s envy. You wish you were in her place.

“There,” you adjust the knot with a delicate tug, ensuring its tightness before letting the material slip through your fingers. Unable to meet his appreciative gaze, you offer a sad smile and take a half-step backward.

Your sigh, cleverly concealed as a deep breath, escapes as you settle back into your chair with a plop. “So, um,” you begin, picking at your cuticles absentmindedly. “Where are you taking her? Somewhere fancy?”

“Nah,” Eddie meticulously revamps his curls one final time in the mirror, wanting them to fall just right. Then, with great care, he tames his bangs to lay perfectly in place. “She’s gonna come over here. I thought it��d be more intimate. Besides, I can’t exactly swing a reservation right now. I’ve been tight on cash this week.”

Your fingers come to a halt, the stinging sensation apparent. Looking over at him, your eyes meet his in the reflection. “Ya big dummy, you shouldn’t have bought me lunch when that money could’ve gone toward buying her a nice dinner.”

“Don’t start with that shit,” Eddie warns as he digs through his dresser in search of pants to wear. “I’m happy to do that for you,” He adds, pulling a pair of dark jeans from the bottom drawer.

“It really did make my day, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Having donned his pants, he nears his desk where his black grommet belt lies on the floor. Eddie threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, the buckle jingling before he secures it in place. “I felt better knowing you were taken care of.”

It’s only now occurring to you what he’s implied, and you think how absurd it is for him to host a dinner when he’s culinarily challenged. “Wait, since when do you cook?”

“Oh, I don’t. But you do.”

“Hardly,” you scoff, downplaying your abilities. Placing your magazine back in your lap, you flip the page despite not having read it. Unexpectedly, you feel the urge to quell his enthusiasm, to set him up for failure by trying to poke holes in his plan. “I mean, food is one thing, but atmosphere is another. Aren’t the guys going to be here?”

Eddie moves the clutter on his desk around in a quest to find something. “I kicked them out for the night.”

Like a spear plunged into your chest, you swallow hard. Not only is he having a girl over for dinner, but he’s gone out of his way to guarantee privacy because he’s hoping to get lucky too. More than likely right there, on that very bed, feet away from you. The cramped twin-sized mattress, where they’ll inevitably be body to body.

He turns to you after locating what he was searching for, fastening the slightly fancier watch around his wrist; it only supersedes his casio due to it being analog, as opposed to digital. “I’ve been wanting to try that dish you keep raving about. You can teach me how to make it. Two birds, one stone.”

“It’s not difficult, you could handle the recipe,” You shrug away the opportunity to cook with him because the domesticity of it would more than likely kill you.

“I wanna do it together,” his voice softens, genuinely asking as nicely as he’s capable. “Please.”

“Sure, yeah,” you maintain your downcast gaze and slump back in the chair, wishing for a black hole to open and swallow you up. “What if she doesn’t like it, or what if you don’t?”

“If you like it then it has to be good.”

Eddie’s seemingly endless compliments cause no sense of flattery. Instead, you’re consumed with persisting nausea as you envision a stunning girl seated across from him while they share laughter and partake in unspeakable activities in this very room.

Abruptly, a wave of heat washes over you, causing the soles of your feet and your palms to grow clammy. The scent of newly sprayed Old Spice floods the room and you’re overwhelmed by it, struggling to draw a breath. “I’ll be right back,” You all but choke on your words, swiftly rising to your feet and hastily leaving. Eddie watches curiously as you do.

In the living room, you push the heavy sliding door aside, stepping out onto the balcony to catch your breath. You inhale as deep as physically possible, and the stirring evening breeze cools the hot tears gathered along your lash line. Cars pass by, and you distract yourself by watching a person leisurely walking their dog. You do everything in your power to divert your thoughts away from him and the impending date.

A few minutes later, Eddie emerges from his room and slides open the door to the balcony, poking his head out to check on you. “Y’ready to go?” The shift in your energy is immediately evident to him, though he can’t quite pinpoint what’s amiss. He figures you’ve had a long day and you’re tired from your shift. Maybe you’re a little hangry, too.

With your arms folded on the balcony rail, you continue to look out into the neighborhood. “Go where?”

“The store, duh. We’ve gotta get ingredients, do we not?” He says to the back of your head.

You nod meekly before turning to face him. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Eddie flashes a warm smile before sliding the door open wide enough for you to pass through. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand then, hot stuff. We’re losing daylight,” He says, striding toward the front door.

Arguably, you’re not losing daylight fast enough. You wish the sun would fall from the sky. That way, it would always be dark and you could hide in the shadows forever. You follow him inside and slide the closed with a subdued thud.

His car keys drag and jingle while he swipes them off of the counter. Once he reaches the entryway, Eddie drops the keys on the floor beside him as he kneels to put on his sneakers. A few seconds later, you’ve joined him to do the same. Eddie glances at you as he feels the evening breeze that slipped in finally reaching this side of the room. “It’s a little chilly out, wanna borrow a hoodie or something?”

Quickly tying your shoes to avoid prolonged eye contact, you get to your feet, hugging yourself as you do. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Eddie snorts and stands, his shoes now tied as well. “I’m getting you one,” He insists and heads to his room, gesturing for you to follow.

“I said I’ll be fine without one,” You opt not to follow, instead calling out to him to compensate for the distance and his half-open door.

“Shut up, I’m getting you one and you’re gonna wear it ‘cause I said so,” his tone drips with feigned amusement at your stubbornness. “Come in here.”

As you step into the room, Eddie offers you the hoodie, watching as you just stare at it. “Sweetheart, put it on. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t. Then, I’ll have no choice but to cancel my super hot date because I’ll be too busy defrosting my ice sculpture of a best friend with a blow drier. You want me to blow you all night? I know you-”

“Okay, okay! I’ll put the damn thing on,” you say, begrudgingly taking it from him. “Happy?”

“Try elated,” Eddie smiles from ear to ear and winks at you, content that you’re allowing him to do what he deems best for you, knowing you’re too stubborn to do so for yourself. He’s got your back, always. Even if it means enduring a bit of attitude in the process. Eddie likes that about you, he always has. With a final glance, he leaves the room, flicking off the light switch.

Left standing in the dark bedroom, you blindly navigate the article of clothing to locate the opening. However, as soon as you go to put it on, it occurs to you that this hoodie is not fresh out of the wash.

The distant floral scent left behind by dryer sheets mingles with his natural aroma, enveloping you as you pull the sweatshirt over your head. He grabbed whatever was at hand, inadvertently submerging you back into the very sensory experience you fled from. The spicy notes from his cologne turn you into a human lava lamp, effectively melting you on the inside.

The mingling of Old Spice, tobacco smoke, his unique essence, and a hint of spring meadow flood your mind. You consider the idea of keeping the hoodie. You could tell him that you forgot to return it, and he’ll forget about it. Eddie can afford to lose one hoodie, he’d survive.

“Let’s go!” He barks, impatience peaking as nerves gnaw at him with each passing minute bringing him closer to the dinner.

Exiting his bedroom, you find Eddie stationed at the front door, propping it open with his foot. Once within his view, you extend your arms and twist your expression to emphasize your annoyed compliance.

“One last thing,” Eddie withdraws his foot, causing the door to slam shut, its latch clanging twice against the wood from the force. He reaches out and pulls the hood up, adjusting it to cover most of your head. “There.”

You stick your tongue out at him, your grin eliciting one from him in return. “Alright, let’s-” He begins, but instead of turning, he fakes you out and grabs both drawstrings. Eddie tugs them, causing the hood to cinch tightly around your face.

“You’re an ass,” You whine.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie turns around to leave this time and holds the front door open for you. “You’re stuck with me.”

With a narrowed glare, you fix the hood and your hair on your way out of the apartment. Eddie is close behind, closing the door and locking it. You take the opportunity to collect yourself and adopt a supportive, cheerful demeanor.

These are gonna be the longest two hours of your life.

You can’t fucking believe it. You’re preparing a meal for another woman, and doing so willingly. You tried to guide him through the prep process, but he grew frustrated. Now, he’s on dish duty, conquering the mountain of dirty dishes piled up on the counter.

She may be getting a delicious and intimate dinner, but at least you get moments like these. But soon enough, she’ll have them too. If everything goes to plan, the memories of these moments will be all you have left of Eddie. As you lose yourself in the sound of his voice, the ramblings about a sale he made at work eventually circle back to the topic of his evening.

As he excitedly goes on, his voice carries a boyish enthusiasm. Unseen by you, Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet while standing at the sink. Ten minutes seem to fly by unnoticed as you both focus on your tasks.

After taking the food out of the oven, his demeanor flips like a switch. “Oh, it’s time for me to leave apparently,” you acknowledge, barely having the chance to take off the oven mitt all the way before he’s practically pushing you out of the apartment. “Be sure to heat it up at 375 degrees,” You suggest as you struggle to put on your shoes fast enough.

“Sure thing,” Eddie confirms, “I’ll let you know how it goes!”

“Looking forward to it,” You lie. Eddie waves you off before closing the front door. Left standing alone in the eerily quiet hallway, you feel foolish.

Finally arriving home, you crawl onto your bed. The weight of reality crashes down upon you, and you physically collapse under the weight of your emotions. The pain in your chest burns up the back of your throat as you sob. This was a harsh wake-up call, but it’s what you needed to finally confront yourself.

It’s better this way. Not having to reject you outright or politely turn you down, Eddie doesn’t have to hurt simply because you are. This is best because Eddie doesn’t have to feel guilty or pity you. Just as you’ve loved him in silence, you can grieve the loss of him in it too.

Ten minutes pass and just as you’re starting to drift asleep from exhaustion, your telephone rings. The ringing in the kitchen pulls you from your room. You drag your feet on the way there, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath before answering the phone.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie sounds panicked, “Can you come back over? I forgot the most important fucking thing and-”

You cut him off, “Relax, I’ll be there in twelve,” Abruptly ending the call without another word, you rub your sore eyes, blow your stuffy nose, and splash your face with warm water. The last thing he needs is for his night to be ruined because he notices how hard you’ve been crying. If your feelings get in the way of him having a good time with the girl he’s head over heels for, then you don’t deserve his friendship.

Entering the building and letting yourself back into his apartment, you’re caught off guard by how different the space looks. He worked his butt off to tidy the living room and make certain that everything is presentable. Besides being notably neater, you also notice the faint smell of air freshener.

The apartment is blanketed in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering flames of candles and the light from the table lamp in the living room. Hushed music emanates from the record player in his room. It’s a genre you wouldn’t have expected him to own, because of how slow and romantic it sounds. You wonder whether he bought it specifically for this occasion.

Upon hearing the front door creak open, Eddie halts his pacing in the living room. “Thank god, you’re here.”

You teeter on the heels of your feet, feeling out of place in the carefully arranged setting that isn’t meant for you. “I really shouldn’t be. It’s quarter to seven, she’ll show up any minute now.”

Eddie makes his way over to you, rounding the dinner table and draping his arm along the back of the dining chair farthest from where you stand. “No, no. Don’t worry about that, she’s already here.”

Your eyes flit towards the bathroom, expecting to see a sliver of light escaping from beneath the door, yet the hallway is pitch black. There’s no dolled-up gal standing in his room either. You look back at him with a furrowed brow, confusion etched on your face. “Where, exactly?”

He can’t think of a time he’s ever had to remind himself how to breathe correctly. Eddie holds his hand out to you, his anxiety mounting. With hesitation, you extend your hand and place it in his. He wraps his trembling fingers around yours.

Rarely have you been in this position, and in those instances, it was never an act with deeper meaning. It’s only ever happened in urgent moments, like darting across a bustling street to avoid being separated—a mere safety measure.

Eddie’s attention fixates on your hands, willing them to respond to his touch. Then he notices your puffy, reddened eyes. “What’s the matter?” He asks, instinctively squeezing your joined hands.

“It’s stupid,” You pull away from him, retracting your hand to wipe away the smeared mascara beneath your eyes.

Rather than forcibly turning you to face him, Eddie gracefully moves around to stand in front of you once more. “I bet it’s not,” he says softly, his compassionate expression tinged with concern. He reaches for both of your hands this time, praying you can’t feel his pounding pulse through the contact.

Eddie delicately lifts your hands and peppers velvety kisses across the tops of your knuckles. The warmth of your skin against his lips sends a shiver shooting through his core, goosebumps rising across his body.

You emit a wet giggle from the shock, uncertainty, and embarrassment bubbling within you. “What the hell are you doing?”

He chuckles a little too, his eyes sparkling as they reflect the dancing flames behind you. “What’s it look like? This is all for you,” Eddie presses one more featherlight kiss to your hands before lowering them, but he doesn’t let go, keeping them securely in his own. “It’s our first date.”

You’re the prettiest little package of unusual. From the moment he first heard your song, he couldn’t shake you. Eddie couldn’t get your tune out of his system, but it’s not like he wanted to. Never before had anyone shown him such unconditional care; no one had ever gone out of their way to get to know him like you did. You’re the safest thing he’s ever known, but you’re also the scariest, in the best ways possible.

The thought of confessing how you make him complete, unlike anything he’s ever experienced, is nothing short of terrifying. Yet, the fear of not seizing the opportunity to love you outweighs the fear of rejection. There’s no turning back now.

Your eyes wander to the table, taking in the details: the thoughtfully arranged mismatched plates and silverware, the glasses filled with expensive wine. At the end of the kitchen island sits a teddy bear beside a bouquet. In addition to the flower petals, there are red, white, and pink balloons scattered across the floor.

You turn away before he can see your face contort, biting your lip harshly to suppress the sob rising in your throat. It’s all useless, though. A broken cry escapes your lips.

Eddie’s stomach lurches and pressure builds behind his own eyes. The change he just caused is palpable, the damage has been done. He releases both of your hands and plants his on the sides of his head, stepping away. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m such a fucking idiot. I read this all wrong, I thought-”

“You’re not and you didn’t,” you choke out. “They’re happy tears now.”

His frantic expression mellows out, his arms drop to his sides, and the tension in his body gradually dissipates. “Happy tears?”

You respond with a soft hum and nod, a grin forming as you admire the table setting and gifts once more before looking back at Eddie.

“Oh,” he chirps, wearing a cheek-splitting smile as he brings his palms to your face. He wipes away your fallen tears with his thumbs. Eddie studies your expression intently. “I didn’t mean to make you cry sad ones.”

“It’s not your fault,” You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his fingers calmingly swiping along the apples of your cheeks.

“It is and I’m sorry,” Eddie inches closer, his toes now touching yours. “I wanted it to be a surprise ‘cause I thought spontaneity would make it more memorable.”

You look at him questioningly. “It’s not exactly spontaneous when you had me cook my own dinner.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got me there,” Eddie thought it was a foolproof plan. If you made the food, there was no chance that you’d hate it. “I went about this all wrong, huh? I should scrap the whole thing and start from scratch,” He becomes distracted, his train of thought shifting to how he’s going to clean this up and figure out a different approach.

“Don’t do that. Just ask me,” you grasp his forearm to regain his attention. “Ask me out and maybe I'll say yes.”

“Maybe?” Eddie scoffs airily, unsure if you’re teasing or genuinely undecided. He clears his throat and theatrically composes himself, gesturing with a downward motion of his hand in front of his face. “Okay, uh, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“No.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open.

“I’m fucking with you,” You smile devilishly and wrap your arms around his middle.

Finally, he can hug you the way he’s always wanted. Eddie brings you in close and tight, his arms encircling your head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply to indulge in every aspect of you he can.

“A little,” You laugh. You remain in each other’s embrace for a moment longer before easing apart, though still connected by your pairs of lassoed arms.

Eddie’s laughter melds with yours, the relief in his tone evident. “Now that the cat's outta the bag, I can finally tell you that I absolutely love when you’re a crybaby.”

You pull a comical expression, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes. “What, why?” You take in the scattering of freckles across his T-zone while he responds.

“Honest to god, it’s mesmerizing to watch you experience things so intensely. It’s fucking beautiful,” With nothing but adoration in his eyes, Eddie strokes your hair, relishing the way it feels against his skin. “Can I call you my crybaby?”

“No, you cannot!” You swat at his chest and attempt to push him away, but he laughs smugly and brings you back in close. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, surrendering to him entirely. Locked in each other’s gaze, time seems to crawl.

Eddie’s hands, having made their way down to caress your hips, settle on the small of your back. “How about just baby?” he nudges the tip of his nose against yours, his voice taking on an almost sultry tone. “You like the way that sounds?”

All you can do is nod dumbly, watching his eyes fall to your lips.

Eddie mumbles, “Me too,” His hands flex where they lay, tugging you slightly so that your bodies are flush and you have no choice but to lean against him. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Eddie licks his lips, his eyes finding yours again, the chocolate pools of his irises swirling.

You nod, slide your hands up his shoulders, and wrap them around his neck. The air was stolen from your lungs, rendering your voice a ghost. Eddie leans in and his lips hover over yours, your eyes fluttering closed in time with his. Then, you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your own.

For a few moments, you’re out of sync, a mere beat behind due to nerves. But after taking a brief breath, you find each other without trouble. When you slot your lip between his, it’s as though there’s a sunrise in his veins; a new dawn spreads through his body. You tug a fistful of curls at the nape of his neck, your lips clicking wetly with one another, chests heaving in unison.

When the two of you finally have to part to breathe, Eddie whispers, “Holy shit.”

“You can say that again,” You exhale, releasing the grip you have on his hair and soothingly scratching the area with your nails.

“I mean I could,” Eddie borderline purrs, tightening his arms around your waist. “But I’d much rather keep kissing you.”

“Hard to argue with that,” you smile against his lips and give him a quick peck, which he happily returns. Then, your mind begins to wander. “You got me flowers?”

He can’t discern if there’s a trace of disdain or disbelief in your tone. Eddie knows that you consider flowers cliché and overrated; after all, you deal with them all day. But just because you see them that way doesn’t mean he does.

Eddie pulls away slightly to get a good look at you, “Yeah, of course I got flowers for my flower. How could I not?”

Truthfully, he’s bummed about not being able to find a bouquet as exceptional as you. You’re unlike anything from this world, resembling something from his cherished sci-fi novels. You’re resilient, showing up any old rose or daisy. You unfurled your petals solely for Eddie and allowed him to see you bloom. Nothing on earth compares to you. So, a regular bouquet would have to do.

You comment with a slightly teasing tone, “I had no idea you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Too much?” Eddie bites his lower lip, afraid that you’re offended.

“No, not too much,” you remove your one hand from his hair and rest it on his chest, drawing mindless shapes while you avoid eye contact. “Far more than I deserve though,” You’re slightly taken aback when Eddie cups your face without hesitation, forcing you to look at him. Despite his assertiveness, his touch is tender.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie’s eyes carry an intensity you’ve never seen, brimming with affection and sincerity. “You deserve everything good that this world has to offer. I can’t give you that, but I can give you all of me. That much I can promise.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

tags:@nj01@tlclick73

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deliciousangelfestival · 26 days

Text

Mission Dad

Character: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Summary: Bucky is just your average dad in his daughter's eyes. But deep down, she yearns for a father with more influence and power, like her friend's dad. Little does she know, Bucky is anything but ordinary.

Words Count: 3,712

Warning: Slightly bullying scene.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The midday sun streamed into the principal's office through the windows, casting long shadows across the room. Despite the abundance of light, the atmosphere inside remained heavy and gloomy.

"I’m sorry; it’s my mistake as a parent." You bowed your head to the people in front of you: two couples who wore formal suits, along with their teenage daughter, and the principal, who kept wiping the sweat from his head.

Your daughter, Faith, who stood beside you, clenched her fist. Her expression was ugly as she looked at her mother, apologizing and bowing to someone who didn’t deserve it. “Mom, don't apologize. it’s not even my fault.”

You glanced at her and nodded, assuring her that you didn’t feel hurt or offended.

Sabrina, your daughter's classmate, smirked at you and Faith. With her mouth silent, she told Faith, “You can’t win.”

“Yes. It’s just a small matter.” Roy, Sabrina's father and also a senator, patted his daughter's head. “I think this matter doesn’t have to go public, right?” He turned to the principal.

“That’s right.”

With that, the problem was solved. But the scar still felt fresh on Faith’s heart.

As you drove the car back home, the silence hung heavy between you and Faith. Then, unexpectedly, her voice broke the quiet. “Why did you marry dad?” Faith crossed her arms beside you, her tone tinged with a mix of curiosity and frustration.

Your eyes widened in surprise, taken aback by her question. You hadn't anticipated such a query from your daughter.

“Why did dad let you go alone and allow you to be humiliated?” Faith wiped the tears from her eyes, her voice trembling with emotion. The memory of you apologizing on her behalf still fresh in her mind.

You felt a pang of heartache seeing your daughter in distress. Today's events had revealed a truth you hadn't known before. The reason for your confrontation with Sabrina's parents was rooted in the bullying Faith had endured.

Faith had gathered evidence – recordings and screenshots of text messages – hoping it would be enough to put an end to the torment. But the power and influence wielded by Sabrina's family proved formidable.

With the evidence at hand, Faith had the potential to tarnish Sabrina's family name and derail her father's career as a senator.

Your fists clenched at the thought of Sabrina's cruelty towards your daughter. You wanted to scream, to exact some form of justice for Faith's pain. The urge to confront Sabrina and her allies gnawed at you, a primal instinct to protect your child at any cost.

But you held it in, knowing that today you didn't have the power to fight back. Another reason was because your husband wasn't here. Bucky Barnes had been gone for months for his job, a job so complicated that contacting him was nearly impossible.

You caressed Faith’s hair gently. “I'll try calling your father again.”

Faith sighed, her frustration evident. “He better answer, or else I'll find a better dad.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite the circumstances. “Honey, don’t joke like that. Your father is the only one in my heart.”

She pretended to gag, a playful gesture that reminded you of the teasing banter you shared as a family. Whenever Bucky returned home from his job, you would become lovesick teenagers, unable to keep your hands off each other.

******

Back at home, you glanced around to ensure no one was near before your hand slid open a secret shelf, revealing an old flip phone hidden within.

You dialed a number and waited anxiously until a voice finally answered, "Hello?"

You breathed a sigh of relief. "Steve, can you find him?"

“Not yet,” came the disappointing reply.

You sighed again, feeling the weight of the day's events pressing down on you. "Alright, I’ll call you later."

Closing the phone, you rubbed your temples, the stress of the situation weighing heavily on your mind. Your daughter was right – you needed Bucky.

Just then, you heard heavy footsteps descending from the second floor. "Mom, I’m going out for a sec."

You glanced up in surprise, realizing Faith was already on the move. "Faith, we just arrived!" But it was too late – she had already slipped out the door.

******

Faith heard your voice, but she sprinted faster. She had caught the name "Uncle Steve" in your conversation, indicating that he might know where her dad was. They had been friends since childhood, and she trusted him.

Upon arriving at the coffee shop owned by Uncle Steve, she pushed open the glass door and was greeted with a warm "Welcome."

Steve was taken aback. "Faith?"

Approaching him, Faith cut to the chase. "Uncle, do you know where my dad is?"

Steve hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Eventually, he shook his head. "You know he has to travel all the time."

Faith rolled her eyes in frustration. "Yeah, cleaning up someone else's mess. He keeps saying that, but when there’s trouble at his own home, he's never there."

Sensing the tension, Steve tried to diffuse the situation. "Hold up, the topic is getting heavy. Let’s sit down." He gestured towards a nearby table, inviting Faith to sit and talk more calmly.

Steve offered Faith her favorite chocolate mint drink to cheer her up. Taking a sip, Faith felt a sense of calm wash over her. She grumbled and sighed, “I don’t understand why mother married my dad when she can’t depend on him.”

Steve widened his eyes in surprise. “Your dad would be heartbroken to hear that,” he said softly. Having a daughter could be both sweet and scary, he thought, realizing the impact of her words.

“But it’s true. I also found out that mother came from a well-known family. But she cut ties with them because she married dad,” Faith sighed, her gaze drifting to the café window. “I wish I had a powerful dad.”

Steve sighed sympathetically, picking up on Faith’s frustration, as well as your own from the last phone call. “What happened, Faith?”

As Faith recounted the events of the day, Steve listened intently, his expression growing increasingly enraged. “How dare they do that!” he exclaimed, slamming his fist onto the table, causing the café patrons to jump.

“There’s nothing I can do since her father is a senator,” Faith lamented.

After a moment of silence, Steve spoke firmly. “Faith, don’t worry. Your father will handle this.”

“But—” Faith began.

“It’s not my place to tell you. Believe in your father. He’s stronger and more powerful than you think.”

Faith couldn’t argue with her uncle’s words. “Fine,” she relented, grabbing her jacket. “I’ll go back.”

Steve wanted to offer her a ride home. “Let me drive you,” he suggested.

“No, it’s alright. I need some alone time. And it’s not far,” Faith declined.

Steve nodded understandingly. “Text me when you get home,” he urged.

“Okey dokey,” Faith replied before heading out of the café.

Back at home, you continued to wait anxiously for your daughter to return. Dinner time had long passed, and worry gnawed at your insides. You picked up the phone and dialed Steve. "Is Faith with you?" you asked urgently.

Steve's voice sounded grave on the other end. "She was, but she left around 4:50 p.m.," he replied.

Your heart sank. "Steve, she still hasn't come home," you exclaimed, panic rising in your chest.

Without hesitation, you jumped into your car and raced to Steve's café. He was waiting for you at the park nearby, his expression as pale as yours. You could see the worry etched on his face as you approached him, your breath coming in heavy gasps.

Coming closer, you noticed that Steve was holding Faith's smartwatch in his hand. The gravity of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks.

Faith had been kidnapped.

You panicked, struggling to catch your breath, and Steve steadied you with a reassuring hand on your back.

"I'll call for backup," Steve declared, his voice steady despite the urgency of the situation.

"I—" you began, but the sudden phone ring interrupted you both.

The familiar ringtone brought a wave of relief flooding over you. With trembling hands, you quickly accepted the call. "Bucky!"

"Honey, I'm sorry, I just got the chance to call you. I—" Bucky's voice sounded cheerful, relieved to hear his wife's voice again.

"Our daughter has been kidnapped!!!" you blurted out, the urgency in your tone cutting through the cheerful facade.

"Who dares lay a hand on our daughter?" Bucky's voice dripped with icy resolve, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

********

As Faith struggled to focus through her pounding headache, Sabrina's taunting voice cut through the dimly lit room.

"Look who finally decided to join us," Sabrina sneered, her eyes glinting with malice as she leaned in closer to Faith. "Did you have a nice nap, princess?"

Faith clenched her fists, her jaw set with determination despite her fear. "What do you want, Sabrina?" she managed to grit out, her voice trembling slightly.

Sabrina's laughter echoed off the grimy walls, sending shivers down Faith's spine. "Oh, just a little payback for ruining my life," she replied, her tone dripping with venom. "Thanks to you, my parents are furious with me. I'm grounded, all because of your little stunt."

Faith's heart sank as she realized the extent of Sabrina's anger. She knew she had caused trouble for Sabrina, but she never imagined it would lead to something like this.

Sabrina, sensing Faith's vulnerability, circled her like a predator closing in on its prey. "You think you're so smart, don't you?" she taunted, her voice laced with contempt. "Well, let's see how smart you really are when you're at my mercy."

Fear gnawed at Faith's insides as Sabrina's words sank in. She knew she was entirely at Sabrina's mercy, with no one to help her in this dark, desolate place. She braced herself for whatever torment Sabrina had in store, steeling herself for the trials ahead.

As Faith scanned the dimly lit room, her heart sank as she noticed an array of menacing tools laid out on the table. Were they planning to kill her? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her.

Sabrina's malicious grin widened as she picked up a baseball bat, swinging it menacingly a few times. The sound of the bat cutting through the air sent a chill down Faith's spine, and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

Closing her eyes tightly, Faith began to pray silently, her mind racing with desperate pleas for someone to come to her rescue.

With an evil smile stretching across her face, Sabrina walked menacingly closer to Faith, raising the baseball bat higher with each step. Faith could feel the weight of impending doom settling over her like a heavy blanket. She wished she had stayed home with you, safe and sound. She longed to see her father, to feel his reassuring presence beside her.

"Dad, help me," she whispered desperately, her voice barely audible amidst the tension of the moment.

"I'm here," a deep voice rumbled through the darkness, sending a surge of hope coursing through Faith's veins. Could it be? Was it truly her father?

"I'm sorry I'm late," the voice continued, each word like a beacon of light cutting through the darkness.

For a moment, Faith couldn't believe her ears. Was she in heaven? But then, a second time, the voice pierced through the silence, more tangible than ever. "Dad!!!" she exclaimed, her eyes snapping open.

Standing tall and imposing in front of her was Bucky, her father. He stood alone but radiated a sense of power and strength that dwarfed everyone else in the room. With a swift motion, he halted Sabrina's advancing bat, leaving her stunned and speechless.

Sabrina had always thought her father, Roy, was intimidating, but the aura of power emanating from Bucky now was on a whole other level. She could sense a palpable bloodlust emanating from him, a primal energy that seemed to course through his veins.

With a voice that trembled with fear, Sabrina managed to stammer out, "Who... who are you?"

Bucky's gaze bore into Sabrina with an intensity that made her shrink back instinctively. "I'm Faith's father," he declared, his voice low and commanding. "And now, I'm going to teach all of you a lesson."

*******

At the grand mansion, Roy lounged in his armchair, swirling his wine glass thoughtfully as he gazed into the crackling fireplace.

The sudden ringing of his phone shattered the tranquility of the moment. "Hello?" he answered, his voice laced with annoyance at the interruption.

"Dad!!!" Sabrina's panicked voice came through the line, causing Roy to furrow his brow in confusion.

"Why are you screaming like a crazy person?" he retorted, holding the phone slightly away from his ear.

"Someone tried to kill me!!!" Sabrina's voice trembled with fear, sending a chill down Roy's spine.

"Stop being dramatic," he scoffed dismissively, though a flicker of concern flashed in his eyes.

"She's right," a new voice interrupted, sending a shiver down Roy's spine.

"And who is this?" Roy demanded, his grip on the phone tightening.

"Your nightmare. And you're next," came the chilling response, causing Roy's blood to run cold.

"Tsk. Empty threat," Roy scoffed, though his voice wavered slightly with uncertainty.

"No, Dad. He's serious. Call all the bodyguards!!!" Sabrina's urgency cut through the air, leaving Roy no choice but to take her warning seriously.

Roy wasted no time in taking action. He swiftly dialed his secretary's number, his expression tense with determination as he issued his orders.

"Get ready for an intruder," he commanded tersely, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Call in all the bodyguards. I want the mansion secured from every angle. Do whatever it takes to protect us."

As he spoke, Roy's gaze remained fixed on the flickering flames of the fireplace, his mind racing with thoughts of the potential threat looming outside.

*******

As the night wore on, tension hung thick in the air of Roy's mansion. The threat from the mysterious voice had put everyone on edge, and they remained vigilant, acutely aware of any unusual sounds or movements.

"Good. Let that kid stay there for a while. She only brings trouble," Roy remarked, his voice tinged with bitterness as he spoke of Sabrina's misfortune.

"Who tried to hurt us?" Roy's question hung heavy in the room, unanswered and unsettling.

His wife, equally on edge, offered her own speculation. "Do you think it's the Barnes?"

Roy pondered for a moment, his brow furrowing with concern. "Impossible. I looked it up. Barnes is just a nobody."

But even as he spoke the words, doubt gnawed at him. Could he be wrong? Was there more to the Barnes family than he had initially assumed?

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the house turned eerily quiet. Too quiet.

Then, piercing through the silence, came the sound of screams echoing through the halls. "AARGH!"

"BANG! BANG! BANG!" The sharp cracks of gunfire reverberated through the air, sending shockwaves of fear through the inhabitants of the mansion.

"What the fuck is going on?" Roy demanded, his voice rising with a mixture of confusion and alarm.

"Are we going to be safe?" His wife's voice trembled with uncertainty, her eyes wide with fear.

"Don't worry, the bodyguards in this room with us are former special ops," Roy reassured, though the tension in his voice betrayed his own anxiety.

One of the bodyguards stepped forward, his posture firm and resolute. "It's alright, ma'am. We can handle this," he assured, his words instilling a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.

The door swung open, revealing just one figure standing in the doorway.

As the bodyguard moved to intercept him, Bucky strode forward confidently, his eyes fixed on Roy. "You have to stop before you get hurt," the bodyguard warned, his voice tinged with concern.

But Bucky paid no heed to the warning. With a swift motion, he grabbed the bodyguard's hand and effortlessly snapped it, causing him to curse in pain.

"Shit!" the bodyguard exclaimed, clutching his injured hand as Bucky swiftly took down the rest of the security detail with brutal efficiency.

The bodyguard, his eyes wide with shock, leaned in to whisper to his friend. "Do you think it's him? The lunatic?"

His friend's expression mirrored his own disbelief as he muttered back, "Shit. You're right."

Their hushed conversation carried a sense of unease as they watched Bucky's brutal efficiency in dispatching their colleagues, leaving them wondering if they were genuinely facing the infamous lunatic they had heard whispers about.

With blood streaked across his face, Bucky closed in on Roy, who tensed, assuming a defensive stance. "So you're strong, huh?" Roy challenged, his fists clenched as he prepared for a fight. "I was in the military too. Which special force are you from?"

"Black ops," Bucky replied curtly, his words sending a chill down Roy's spine.

Before Roy could react, Bucky unleashed a barrage of punches and kicks, each blow landing with deadly accuracy. Roy staggered backward under the onslaught, his face contorted with pain as he struggled to defend himself against Bucky's relentless assault.

Roy, already on the floor, bloodied and battered, pleaded desperately, "Wait. Wait!!! Are you Faith's father? The problem between our daughters is done. And this morning your wife also agreed to it. They're just kids."

Bucky laughed darkly, the sound chilling to the bone. "My wife gave you a last chance. But your daughter blew it," he spat out, his voice dripping with disdain.

The words "just kids" rang hollow in Bucky's ears as he thought of Faith, bruised and battered, her innocence shattered by the cruelty of others.

His heart ached at the memory, and he felt a surge of anger and helplessness wash over him.

Roy's eyes blazed with fury as he struggled to rise. "Who do you think you are? You're just a fucking nobody. I'm a senator. Even if you raze my house to the ground, tomorrow you'll be sleeping in jail. Along with your wife and kid," he declared, his voice trembling with rage and defiance.

"Oh, so you're that powerful, huh?" Bucky sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he looked down at Roy.

"I'm that powerful, you son of a bitch," Roy shot back defiantly, his voice strained with anger and frustration.

With a cold smirk, Bucky reached for his old flip phone, his fingers moving with calculated precision as he dialed a number. "Senator Roy? You know him? Yeah, that one. Could you erase him? Thanks," he said casually into the phone before ending the call.

Roy's eyes widened in horror as he realized the gravity of the situation. "You..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the words to convey his disbelief and fear.

But Bucky wasn't finished yet. With a swift motion, he snatched Roy's phone from his trembling hands and quickly scrolled through the contacts. Finding the name he was looking for, he dialed the number without hesitation.

"Call him. Tell him there's a lunatic who wants to kill you," Bucky commanded, his voice cold and unyielding as he handed the phone back to Roy.

Roy's hands shook as he brought the phone to his ear, his heart pounding with dread. "Hello?"

"Commissioner!! There's a lunatic trying to kill me, he's hurt my daughter," Roy screamed into the phone, desperation and fear lacing his words.

But to his horror, all he heard in response was a calm voice saying, "I'm sorry, you've got the wrong number."

"What?" Roy's voice cracked with disbelief, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at the phone in trembling hands.

"Who are you? You're just a guy from a cleaning company." Roy looked up at Bucky, dis, belief etched across his bloodied face.

"You messed with the wrong daughter," Bucky replied coolly, his voice dripping with a quiet menace.

Bucky Barnes, known by the nickname "Cleaning Service," earned his moniker through his unparalleled expertise in handling the toughest missions in black ops. With hundreds of missions under his belt, not a single one had ever failed. His reputation as a lunatic preceded him, but he wore the label with indifference on the field.

However, when it came to his family, especially his daughter Faith, Bucky preferred to shed his tough exterior and play the role of a regular dad. He didn't want to frighten her with tales of his dangerous exploits; instead, he chose to shield her from the harsh realities of his profession.

But now, as danger loomed closer to home, Bucky realized that pretending to be someone he wasn't no longer served him or his family. It was time to embrace his true self and unleash the full extent of his capabilities to protect those he loved.

Before Roy could react, Bucky delivered a devastating punch that sent him crashing to the ground, unconscious.

*******

As Bucky stepped out of the mansion, a cry of relief and joy erupted from both you and Faith.

"Bucky!" you exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace him.

"Dad!" Faith called out, her voice choked with emotion as she joined in the hug.

Steve watched the heartwarming family reunion scene unfold before him, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips, especially with the backdrop of the burning house behind them.

Bucky held his daughter close, his arms wrapping protectively around her. "I'm sorry. I let you and your mother get hurt," he murmured softly, his voice filled with remorse.

Faith shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. "No, Dad. You're not late. You're so cool," she reassured him, her words filled with love and admiration.

Bucky smiled, a rare warmth spreading across his features as he looked down at his daughter. "Thank you," he said softly before gazing at you. Leaning down, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "I'm back.I will never let anyone else underestimate us ever again," he whispered, his voice filled with determination and love.

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forbidden-sunlight · 3 months

Text

yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario: A Wendigo's Violent Love Part Two

Warning: aged-up!reader [in early to late twenties], violence, OOC, spoilers for the first season of the 2024 show, possessive and obsessive behavior, Alastor is in denial of his feelings, possible angst.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the back button on your phone or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

Reblog to support content creators! ❤️

Part One

Part Three

Salutations everyone, good to be back on the air~! :)

I understand it’s been a while since I wrote anything, but due to how busy I’ve gotten in real life, updates will be a bit slower until perhaps the summer. Nonetheless, I am committed to writing the best Hazbin Hotel fics for the community so that everyone can enjoy them to their heart’s content!

Special thanks to @witch-of-the-writing desk for collaborating with me on this chapter and helping me bring these fantastic characters to life on the page, and @vikkirosko for being an awesome beta reader alongside @illuminaresblog.

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going on in tonight's broadcast with Hell's one and only Radio Demon!

The reconstruction of the hotel included the kitchen being entirely remodeled.

Gone were the cabinet doors that hung from its creaky hinges, the marble floors that never shined bright no matter how many times Niffty scrubbed them, the mice’s squeaking and an ice box that couldn’t fit all of the foodstuff to feed several people. Dark matte cabinets held the dining ware and bowls, stacked up in neat little rows and protected by glass doors on either side of a large wrought iron stove top and the range hood. The cedar countertops glowed under the lights, stretching from the island in the middle of the room to the small dining room table stationed on the right side. Copper pots and pans were suspended in the air above the island, so whenever it was time to start cooking, Angel or Lucifer would have to pull out the ones needed and put them away after the meal. The icebox was now bigger, stainless steel with a bottom drawer to place frozen items in.

Overall, it was a massive improvement from the previous one with additional space and a little footstool for Niffty to make the midday meals. Alastor…he was usually in charge of the evening ones, though the others have recently started to contribute to making their own dishes. The successes of those evenings varied, though they all tasted delicious to you.

Niffty had all but pushed you into a chair at the dining table as soon as you entered the kitchen with Husk. You watched her tiny frame skitter across the marble floor, plating stacked sandwiches held together with toothpicks stabbed through the middle and potato salad and two other side dishes before it appeared in front of you. She must have prepared some tea for you as well, seeing an ivory teapot and a cup already filled to the brim, steam rising and emitting a fragrant aroma that tickled your nose.

You thanked her graciously for the meal, even though you were quite sure that you were not going to be able to finish it all before you had to leave for Alastor’s radio station. Twenty minutes was not what Charlie would qualify as a proper lunch break.

The tiny housekeeper repeated the same ritual with Husk though she directly handed his plate to him before she gave you an annoyed look that clearly said, finish your meal, all of it, and got distracted with the sight of a roach and began to chase it down with her needle. Husk merely shook his head and sat down next to you on the right side of the table. He picked at his food, clearly not in the mood to eat because his mind was on something else. However, you did not pry. Vaggie had spoken to you about respecting people’s privacy in your first week of arriving at the hotel; just because someone doesn’t seem happy, it didn’t mean you had a right to address it. Talking about it might help, and sometimes it doesn’t. If anything…just let the sleeping dogs lie.

You eyed the clock. Ten minutes left, and you were only halfway through the meal. You ate the sandwiches, and only had a spoonful of the potato salad. You were about to take another bite from a different side dish when Husk spoke up, his voice muffled by the food in his mouth.

“I saw what happened in the greenhouse.”

You blinked. Husk….he had seen the confrontation between you and Alastor? You carefully lowered the spoon down the plate, tapping against the porcelain. “There’s nothing to worry about, Husk.” You replied calmly, your attention entirely focused on the meal in front of you. “He will not harm me. He simply wants to talk about my performance on the job.”

“That’s bullshit.” Husk hissed. “We both know it ain’t just ‘cause he’s the facility manager of this place, or that you’re slackin’ off, it’s ‘cause he hates it when people question his authority!” He slammed a fist against the table, causing the silverware and glassware to wobble momentarily before righting themselves again. “[First Name], I saw. I know what he did, and you really have no idea who you’re gonna be alone with in what, five minutes?”

“Seven. And I know who Alastor is. He is a serial killer, a cannibal, and an overlord who broadcasts his carnage on the radio.” you said, raising the tea cup to your mouth as you took a languid sip, placing it back down the saucer a moment later with a clink. You looked at him. “He is also in a weakened physical state. He will not admit that he has not fully recovered from the war.”

“I swear to God, do not make me go to the princess and Vaggie about this, because I fucking will -”

“Telling them what he did will not change his tactics. He will simply find another way to intimidate me.” You cut off. “You know him better than anyone else, Husk. He is clever, manipulative, and will do anything to get what he wants.”

Husk shot a baffled look at you, eyebrows raised and yellow irises narrowed slightly. “You really don’t see how he looks at you, do you?”

You blinked. “As an enemy? Yes.” Hostility, anger, shock, humiliation. You had seen those expressions many times on that battlefield when you charged across No Man’s Land with the Major’s battalion, cutting through the enemy lines with anything in reach and at your disposal. A weapon of war, a loyal dog to the Major. You watched Husk’s face fall into disbelief, then aggravation before he slapped a paw across his face. You tilted your head to the side. What was wrong? Why was he upset? Is it something you had said? You watched the bartender stand up from the table, walk towards the lower cabinets, crouching down and pulling out a hidden bottle of whiskey. He uncorked it, and took a swing from it before turning back towards you, frowning.

“Ya might have been a soldier, ya might have things that would turn shit white and ya not be scared of Alastor…but you should be. He’s been gone for seven years, and no one knows why, but I can say with certainty that he’s much stronger than before. If you’re gonna talk to him, just….just don’t mention….he’s no different than I am, all right?” That was all he said before almost bolting towards the door, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

No different than what Husk is. You thought, picking up both of the half-eaten plates from the table, throwing the reminder in the trash, washing and rinsing them off under the tap before setting them down in the dish rack. What does that mean? Alastor does not drink nor does he gamble. Husk is under his commanding unit, a soldier. Your brow furrowed. Did Husk….knows something about Alastor that he doesn’t want others to know? How did Alastor rise to power so quickly and overthrow the overlords who had been dominant in Hell for centuries?

You would have to think about this possibility later, because when you looked at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall, you realized you were already late for your meeting with Alastor.

Shadows were handy little helpers to have, Alastor notes. Not only could they provide protection to the staff when he had other matters to attend to in the Pentagram but they were excellent spies. To be his ears and gather all of the delicious secrets he could uncover from enemies that were actually some semblance of a threat to his plans, or just because he was bored and liked to keep tabs on the latest bits of gossip. He loved to share this information with Rosie over tea-time when the subject of their discussions was not revolved around the ornery old bitch, Susan.

Although they have proven themselves to be useful time and time again, these little helpers were also sentient and created their own discord, much to the frustration of their creator. As much as you can say you’ve been keeping a distance from Alastor, he unfortunately can’t say the same. His shadows as of late have found themselves almost constantly attached to you. Through darkened hallways to under your leaves at the greenhouse, they were always at your side. Ready to step in and assist you in any way they can, even if he won’t lift a finger.

Regardless of how annoyed he has been with them recently, they had repeated word for word of your conversation with Husk. They know you are late but have said that you are walking towards him and not from way to him, whispering how you were turning right at the end of the corridor and about to come across the staircase leading up to the radio station. They adored you, much to his annoyance. It had already been difficult to even comprehend the idea that he had feelings for you, and his shadows, unfortunately, reflected the darker parts of him that he wished to be locked up for all eternity. The weaknesses that were a threat to his own goals.

He could not act like an altruist or a lovesick fool. He hungered for power. He craved freedom. Nothing should stop him from carrying out what he wants. If he wrangled the truth out of you, to know that you despised him and did not care about him in any capacity….he will be satisfied.

Will he though?

His train of thought was soon interrupted by a knock at the door. Putting on his best smile and straightening out his bowtie, Alastor walked across the room and opened it. He looked down, and saw you staring at him. Your appearance wasn’t as ruffled as he had suspected it to be from being late for an appointment, just a few [Hair Color] strands loose from the hairstyle you wear every day ... .but he supposed he can let it slide this time. He’d rather not hear Niffty complain to him about how you aren’t eating your meals.

“Well, well, there you are~! And here I was wondering if you had forgotten! Come, come, take a seat!” He said, gesturing to the couch sitting adjacent to the soundboard where he sat. He did not even want to look at you, not at this moment. He could feel the shadows purring in delight under his feet, no doubt staring at you with such adoration that it made him gag. He reigned them with a pulse of his power just before a slippery fellow tried to crawl towards the couch and perch over your shoulder.

He took a seat, and so did you after smoothing out the skirts of your dress. You looked at him straight in the eye, spine straight and gloved hands folded neatly in your lap.

“So, you are aware as to why you are here, yes~?”

“...I am.”

“And why is that?” He pressed.

“Because I questioned your authority. You tried to frighten me, and you had failed.” You replied. “In my defense, you were in no position to exert yourself when you are still possessing an injury that you will not speak about to the others. I have no intention of saying that to anyone here. I only ask that you do not harm Charlie or the others here in the hotel, or I will keep the promise I made to you less than an hour ago. You will be killed by my hand or I will die trying. People keep secrets because it is necessary for their survival, and the others around them. How can I be sure….that you will not raise your hand and strike us down as soon as your wings are unclipped?”

Alastor’s eyes widened slightly as a wave of high-pitched radio static left his teeth and bounced off the walls before he quickly recollected himself. Goodness, always the blunt one, weren’t you? Inhaling sharply through his nostrils, he made sure his grin stretched all the way to his ears, never showing you what is really going through his mind. Annoyance. Frustration. Adoration. Amusement.

“Well, those words are the very reason why you are here, my dear.” He stood up from his chair, slowly walking around the soundboard, running a finger across the polished wood. His eyes were fixed on yours and you did not look away. Good. Keep your focus on him and nothing else.

“By meddling in my affairs, even if it was unintentional on your part, is putting the rest of the hotel in danger. I cannot be compromised under any circumstances, lest I anger the one whom I have an agreement with.”

“The one who is responsible for your rise in power?” He blinked, stopping in his steps for a moment. Ah. You caught on without him having to spell out to you. Unless dear old Husk had said something to you? No. The shadows have told him that he merely mentioned the seven years that the Radio Demon was gone, nothing beyond what everyone else already knew.

He nodded, swiveling on his feet and because he felt like it, a jaunty little spin before he sat on the coffee table, right in front of you and crossing his legs with such elegance that it would make a French girl jealous.

“Indeed. And trust me when I say they are much more powerful than Charlie’s dear father. That is to say, not even Lucifer can protect you or anyone else from what is about to or could happen should I be compromised. And I know how much you care about the staff here, even sweet little Niffty. Which is why…I want to make a deal.” He held out his hand towards you. “Keep what has happened at the radio station and anything else beyond these four walls to yourself. Never share what you know, not even to Charlie. In exchange for your silence, I will not harm anyone here in the hotel unless we know for certain that they are a threat. Well?” He tilted his head to the side. “Do we have a deal?”

You stared at his hand, then raised your own to your lips, carefully tugging off the glove with your teeth until it fell into your lap. The adamantine skeletal fingers curled around his own, solidifying the deal between the two of you. Alastor felt a burst of power course through him, felt the stitches on his mouth and eyes tugging, the walls turning emerald and the shadows danced around them in celebration. Then the magic subsided, yet the warmth, the burning sensations from your prosthetics seeping through the leather gloves did not. A chirping of radio static left his mouth upon feeling his hand being squeezed to an almost painful degree. When he looked at you, he saw emotions swirling in your eyes that he had not seen from you yet.

Anger.

Disappointment.

Resentmentment.

These were emotions he had caused. Him, the one who was holding your hand tightly because he made a simple deal for yourr silence, and not her soul. So why does he feel conflicted? He had gotten what he wanted, to push you away from him, to banish these uninvited feelings from his chest. But this deal did not give him any satisfaction. It caused him…pain. The kind of pain that he cannot explain. It was not the pain he felt when he missed an opportunity to have an excellent dinner, and not even the pain that…that Adam had given him.

For whatever reason, he could not stop himself from bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss across the knuckles even when the angelic steel instantly burned his mouth upon contact. When he realized what he had done, he pulled away as if he had been struck again by his drunken father and promptly left his office, disappearing into the darkness and subsequently from the hotel altogether.

He did not like this. He did not like these feelings. He did not like how he never had the opportunity to ask him if you cared about him, loved him…yet why did your opinion matter? Why did he want to hear you say, out of your volition, that you love him too? To a man who is supposed to feel nothing at all?!

Times like this, there was only one person who could provide light on this precarious situation without daring to judge him. The Pentagram’s most delightful, daring, and dangerous overlord of Cannibal Town. Rosie. His oldest and dearest friend.

He supposed it had been long enough since the two of them had tea together, hasn’t it?

Alastor inhaled a shaky breath, allowing himself to materialize on the streets near the Jazz District and smiled brightly as if he wasn’t having an existential crisis, humming a merry tune under his breath that made nearby demons tremble in fear.

Taglist: @alastor-simp @the-cat-queen-peasants @pinkgoldweebgirl @rorusena @whenitgrowsbright @aria-tempest @aconfusedwonderland @victheauthor @luthefriendlywitch @lunaramune @candyladycry @22carolina08 @ladydoe8 @lanxianschoenheit @hellbornediamonddreams @imperfectbloodmoon @francisnyx @sillypumpkins @no1sillybilly @faux-ecrivain @bones4thecats @frompeach @frenchtoastmafia @oucx @navierkalani @solandis-does-stuff @anielly-2010 @tonightwrites @mentallyunstablenoodle @bladeismine @asianfrustration13 @kameyo-kumo @solesurvivorjen @realifezompire @blumin8 @chewbrry @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @zenix108 @ang3lofdivinity @yourdoorisunlocked @nunezs-stuff @ccruzmoon

#forbidden-sunlight #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #fem!reader #violet evergarden!reader #character!reader #vivziepop #yandere x reader #yandere #ns.fw #cw obsessive behavior #tw obsessive behavior #cw obsessive love #tw obsessive love #a wendigo’s violent love

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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melancholyhigh · 4 months

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sooo... i just read your "sunrise" fic and i'm obsessed. the plot was great and the way you narrated the feelings and the setting??? i'm in love. i live for your subby!leon. i don't know if you're taking requests right now but i would love to read more about him:)

MIDDAY.

ft. brother’s best friend!leon x afab!reader

synopsis. your mom thinks leon is a bad influence on your brother, but only if she knew how much of a good boy he is.

content. 0.6k words. smut. subby leon, handjob, begging, praise kink, thigh riding (?), edging, marking, sneaking around.

note. ty for the requests anon !! <33 it’s basically a 1.5 to sunrise. sorry for being so inactive :( tryna get through some requests <3 lmk if u guys would like a full sequel to sunrise tho!!

masterlist. reblogs & comments are appreciated :3

You couldn’t fathom how your mother could dislike Leon. He was one of your brother’s friends who didn’t actively try to be a nuisance to your neighbourhood, and it was shocking when they even became acquaintances – let alone best friends.

She says he’s a bad influence on your brother, but he’s the kindest boy ever met. You must be biased because you think he’s a very good boy. He’s especially good when he’s beneath you, his blue eyes brimmed with tears, begging you to let him come, but, oh, doesn’t your perfect boy have such nice manners?

“Please, please, please, ‘m so close,” he’s sobbing as you continue to move your hand up and down his throbbing cock. Your digits are stained with tacky precum, thumbing the sensitive head. He was so gorgeous, rosy cheeks stained with tears, and his lips all swollen and slick with spit.

You told him a few minutes ago to quiet down — you’ll get caught, but he continues to whine and plead. You're beginning to think he wants to be seen at your mercy, crying for you. His soft whimpers and quiet moans get you aroused, soaking through your shorts, and Leon can feel you on his thighs where you’ve made yourself comfortable. It drove him mad when you rut against him, trying to soothe the ache between your legs that he caused.

He wants nothing more than for you to strip down and sit on his face for him to lap at your cunt like a starved man. Instead, you are entranced with him, admiring the cute expressions he makes when you give his dick a firm squeeze. He’d say it’s humiliating if it didn’t feel so good to be under you, panting and sobbing.

Arching his back, Leon feels his impending orgasm creep up on him, only to dissipate rather than crash when you cease your movements on his erection entirely. Head digging further into your pillow, he whines loudly, only to be muffled by your lips moving against his. Despite the seemingly delicate way in which you touch his body, your lips are hungry against his, tasting him as you stifle his moans.

Your lips trail from his to the sensitive skin of his neck, sucking red marks that were too difficult to hide, but that was the point. Your brother had congratulated him for finally getting some when he saw the purplish bruises on his fair skin. He chuckled at the irony of him fucking his sibling, boyishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“P- please, fuck, angel. Can I come?” he pleads. Leaning back on his thighs, you let your nails scrape the flesh on his chest and stomach, allowing red scratches to rise in its paths. He feels you shift on his thighs, subtly grinding your needy cunt on him as he begs for your attention on his cock.

You had been denying his release for too long now, but you finally had time with him for yourself, so you wanted to abuse it to the best of your ability. When he peers up at you, gripping your hips so eagerly as moans slip past his parted lips, you want to give him to the moon and more.

“You’ve been so good f’me, Leon. So pretty ‘nd obedient. I think you deserved to come,” you whisper back to him, gripping his length once more and pumping him slowly. Your words are almost enough to make him come undone into an incoherent mess, and when you squeeze the tip of his cock, his soft tummy clenches as ropes of his thick cum spurt out his overtly sensitive dick onto his chest.

Peppering his face with kisses, you mumble soft praises as you take care of him.

“You’re such a good boy for me, baby. I love you s’much.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy x you #leon s. kennedy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil #leon kennedy resident evil #resident evil smut #reader insert #smut #re4 smut #re4 #✩‧₊˚ requests #✩‧₊˚ rambles

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onlyswan · 1 year

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summary: in which jungkook is too lazy to shower and you’re too weak to resist each other.

> est. relationship, fluff, v brief smut bc aftercare, some angst / wc: 4.7k

> warnings: subby!jk, implied edg♡ng and or♡l (and mention of f. receiving), brief h♡ndj♡b, c♡m eat♡ng, oc lowkey possessive oop, jungkook cries bc he is so full of love then i cried too </3 oc washes jk in the bathtub <3

> in which masterlist!

note: oc is stepping up what else can i say 🤷 and yea it’s jk at the ck event for the second part <3 this is… the sexiest time u’ll get from me i just felt the need to establish exactly how jk is smitten for oc. like i need u to understand!!!! before the next drabble bcoz 🥲 as alwaysss i love hearing your thoughts thru comments/reblog/asks !! <3

—

jungkook’s rhythmic knocking prompts you to blindly fumble for the handle with a slippery hand, sliding the glass door open to get rid of the barrier separating the two of you.

“what?” you mumble, eyes squeezed shut as you spread the shampoo in your hair.

your boyfriend gingerly wipes away the bubbles posing threat to your vision, allowing you to finally open your eyes and bask in his breathtaking beauty this fine morning. he stands by the door wearing only his black boxers, untamed hair and starry eyes softening the edges of your sharp temper. you will never not hate waking up early.

his voice is muffled by the pink toothbrush hanging from his lips as he beseeches you, deliberately using the charm of his pleading doe eyes.

“will you wash me, too…? i’m so tired, baby. i barely slept.”

“okay, babe.” you let out a sigh as you turn on the shower again. “but don’t get frisky. i can’t be late for work again.”

your approval makes his face light up as bright as a clear, sunny sky. why is he acting as if this is the very first time he will be standing underneath the shower with you? you fail to keep an endeared smile at bay.

“wait for me, okay?! i’ll just feed song and ppaeng real fast.”

he carefully closes the glass door, and then you hear it — his heavy feet stomping on the floor as he runs out of the bathroom as if he’s being chased by the hands of the clocks in the apartment.

“so annoying.” you snicker humorously, burying your face in your hands as you allow the water to wash away the thick foam from your hair.

—

“so annoying!” you exclaim as you turn off the shower for the final time, wholeheartedly meaning it this time around. you even took your time washing the conditioner off your hair and cleaning your body, but your patience has thinned and disintegrated into dust.

you reach for your towel, and in that moment, jungkook finally barges in the room.

“you’re finished?!”

your piercing glare meets his ingenuous doe eyes, and he winces guiltily.

“i got distracted with chores. sorry.” he bravely takes several steps closer, stealing a quick peck from your lips. “but i packed up your lunch so you’re ready to go.”

as of recent, your boyfriend has added cooking your lunch to his daily routine so you can spend your midday break at the park instead of a busy and stuffy restaurant. and although you’re dreading the exhausting day that awaits once you step foot outside the house, your heart melts when you think about the hour reserved for you to savor the food he cooked with love from his heart. it’s so easy to feel isolated in this world, but if you think about how the food that you eat requires effort and care to be made beyond fuel to live, doesn’t it make you feel a little lucky to be here?

“i guess i have some time to wash your hair.”

“i’ll take it!” he almost cuts you off, jumping at the offer before another precious millisecond is wasted.

you chuckle at his ardent display of eagerness. “will you fetch my robe then?”

—

jungkook comfortably settles in the far left of the drop-in bathtub where the showerhead is attached to the wall. meanwhile, you’re by his side facing him, sitting on the second step of the low white chair stool you both agreed to buy specifically for this type of situation.

with the heel of his palm, he wipes away the lone tear that trickles down his cheek as he lets go of another irrepressible yawn. he thought that the iced americano he was leisurely drinking in the kitchen already woke him up, yet here he is being lulled to sleep once more.

it was wrong of him to expect you to simply drizzle products on his hair and wash them off in a hurry. so wrong. you refuse to live your life halfheartedly, and that bleeds into your daily actions, he realizes.

you didn’t forget to comb his hair, untangling the knots painstakingly, before instructing him to sit under the shower. and once you were finished with generously applying the shampoo to cover his head, your artful fingers weave into his long hair to massage his scalp in small, circular movements. it’s not much, but you’re hoping that even with only five minutes of this small gesture, you can bring him some sort of comfort after having a bad night’s sleep.

“ah- this feels so nice. you’re healing me.” he sighs in relief, instinctively leaning into your affectionate touches.

you swoop in to plant a quick kiss on his lips before you take a peek at his phone. he has been diligently protecting it from the water, along with his hands.

“so, you’re buying a new polaroid camera?”

he nods, round eyes anchored in the screen as he reviews the product description displayed. “i couldn’t sleep so i started checking them out last night. i don’t really know what i’m looking for this time… i just want it to be black.”

“what made you think of it so suddenly?” you curiously inquire, ignoring the growing soreness in your arms as your fingers travel their way down to the lower half of his hair, consistent with the light pressure to release his tension.

“i want to do that thing.”

“what thing?”

“you know… tha-that thing, putting a photo of your favorite person on the back of your phone.” he stutters, lips curving into a sheepish smile. “you do it, too. sometimes.”

you snort, cracking up in laughter as you’re reminded of a running gag in your relationship. every time they have a new album release, he goes out of his way to ask for his photocards so he can jokingly present them to you as gifts since he’s your ‘favorite idol’. you do own quite a lot of phone cases, including a transparent that you use every and now then. the last one you put in the back of it was a random from his photofolio, the one in which he was doing a kissy face. how many people out there can say that their boyfriend was a vampire once?

“don’t laugh!” he whines grumpily. “you need to pose for them cutely, okay?”

“i’ll dress myself up prettier so you’ll look at me longer than the screen.”

a brand new camera always means having jungkook follow you around like a lost puppy, devoted to learning how to use it as an expert photographer and filmographer.

“but you better be sure not to burn my eyes with the flash again.”

it’s an honest mistake he’s done one too many times, even with his phone.

he scrunches his nose in shame, cackling. “it will never happen again. never. i really, really, really mean it this time.”

“sure, i should trust you.” you grimace, picking up the scalp brush on your lap before standing up to grab the shower head. “put your phone away now.”

swift to obey, he stands up to cross the distance between him and the highest floating shelf where you store the essential oils and small towels, leaving the device in between them for meantime. when he returns to his previous position, you begin rinsing his hair.

“wait- you hold this instead.” you hand him the shower, which he accepts unwittingly, moving it back and forth so he’s covering the entire area.

while he does that, you use his purple brush to be certain that the chemicals will be removed and washed away from his scalp, gentle fingers combing portions of his silky hair aside to reach every spot.

he cheesily smiles to himself under the stream of refreshingly cold water. as someone who goes out like a light when his hair is played with, jungkook is living his best life.

until he’s not.

“shit, shit, shit- i have to get dressed up.” you panic as your phone in the bedroom wildly blares the alarm sound that serves as your final warning. “oh well, i’m done anyway.”

abandoning the brush on the edge of the tub, you regain possession of the shower and run your fingers through his hair one last time for good measure, turning it off straight after.

“drive safe today. i love you. i love you. i love you.” you cage his wet face in your hands to kiss him repeatedly, tasting the coffee on his lips.

jungkook is left alone in the bathroom as you get yourself ready for work.

he side-eyes the bottle of conditioner with disgust. “guess it’s just you and me now.”

—

“i really need to shower but i don’t want to… aish, i wish i had someone to help me.” jungkook sighs dramatically as he rubs his stinging eyes. he expectantly looks over at your figure lying on the sofa, stroking your bare shins propped up by his thighs.

but you pretend that you don’t hear a single word he says, too engrossed in the anime ‘cells at work’ playing on the television to spare your boyfriend a glance. a sad frown appears on his face. he’s yearning for you after long hours of being apart.

he drops down to rest his weary body over yours, hugging your hips and face nuzzling the side of your chest. this impels you to wrap an arm around him, his half ponytail caught between your middle and ring fingers, but your hand remains idle on the back of his head.

he pitifully sobs as he whines, squeezing you tightly. “why am i like this? i don’t want to do anything… i’m too lazy… it’s seriously getting annoying now. what do i doooo?”

his speech is slightly slurred because his cheek is squished against your side. you can feel his warm breath fanning your skin, and your tickled laughter mixes in with the laughter brought by a funny scene. a minute later, the outro rolls in, which is your cue to wiggle out of his snuggling.

with his elbow anchored in the couch, jungkook watches you with disappointment swimming in his eyes as you pause the next episode and begin walking away.

“where are you going?”

you stop on your tracks, turning a little to the side to innocently flutter your lashes. “taking a shower so i can go to bed.”

your answer lights the fuse inside of jungkook, to put it lightly. still dressed in the all-black outfit he wore to an event today, minus the button-up and the stompers, he staggers on his feet. he hastily pulls out the hem of his t-shirt from being neatly tucked into his pants before bringing it over his head. he throws it aside without care, and there he stands with a sparkling silver chain dangling over his bare chest, looking like a walking daydream.

your droopy eyes widen as you’re taken aback by the rather alluring view. it seems that neither of you is making this game easy. “excuse me, mister? what are you doing?”

“well, what does it look like?” he shoots you a smirk, bangs falling over his eyes when he looks down to unbuckle his belt with practiced ease.

and you think that if you just play your cards right, he might wear them around your wrists next. oh no- no, no, no. the only restraint you should be thinking of right now is self-restraint, damn it.

“no, you’re not.”

“yes, i am.”

“no-”

“yes.”

your heart violently races when he begins wrapping the belt around his large palm, raising an eyebrow at you. but still, you stand your ground with a sweet, sarcastic smile.

“you’re not a baby. you’re 27 years old. i’m pretty sure you can shower on your own by now.”

and with that, you sprint to the bathroom before your hot boyfriend can strip off his pants, because you know it would be impossible to resist his charms then.

jungkook collapses on the couch, eyes turning into little crescent moons as uncontrollable giggles rack his body. at last, it dawns on him why you’ve been acting a certain way.

he may or may not have unintentionally snapped at his mother over the phone last night, rudely spitting out the two sentences you just used against him. despite witnessing him call and apologize not long after, you still have your own playful way of scolding him, it seems.

“what a brat.” he snorts as he chucks the belt on the table, having a feeling he will have another use for it later.

he sets his hair free from the ponytail and wears the hair tie around his wrist, running his fingers through the locks to tame the unruly mess. he shakes his head as another airy laugh is invoked from him by sheer amusement, tongue poking the inside of his cheek before he huffs.

“____ is really setting me straight like this…? ah, i’m angry!”

since he’s already half-naked anyway, he decides to remove his accessories, too. he starts with the silver bracelet around each of his wrists, tilting his head to the side as he reads the subtitle of the frozen frame on the television screen.

In the human body, there are roughly 37.2 trillion cells…

“i think i met the right person.” he nods to himself.

—

the air around him is sweltering and he doesn’t know how to breathe anymore.

“ohh fuck, fuck! i’m so— i’m so close, if you d-don’t stop-” jungkook cries out in desperation, losing any semblance of control he has over his body as he writhes on the mattress. “please, please… it feels too good, please. i’ve been behaving.”

“hm, go on, my love. want to taste you.”

your merciless hand pumps his length and your sinful lips scatter sloppy kisses along the tense muscles of his thighs. lewd, unrestrained moans escape his cerise lips as sparks of electricity burn beneath his eyelids, hips frantically rutting forward to chase his high. driven by lust in his dazed state, he holds himself up by his elbows to watch you reward his tip with languid licks of your tongue, sultry eyes staring back at him, and his head tips back into the pillows as he completely falls apart.

he lies absolutely boneless in the aftermath, mind and body floating in the abyss as he attempts to get back in touch with reality and recall his godforsaken name. his white-knuckled fist’s grip loosens, allowing his slender fingers to slip away from your hair when you remove yourself from between his legs. he covers his eyes with his tattooed arm as his chest heaves, catching his breath.

but then he is pulled out from the darkness by the sound of your giggles, bubbly and achingly familiar, coaxing his damp eyelashes to part from his flushed cheeks. with a blurry vision, he watches you scoop up some of the come that landed all over his chiseled abdomen. you push your middle and ring fingers past your lips, evidently debauched and delighted as you hum. your glasses hang loosely over your nosebridge, and he’s clueless how it managed to be clean while staying on your face.

all over again, the filthy scene pricks his skin with desire and coils the heat in his stomach… it looks reminiscent of your first kiss. but after being edged for what felt like an eternity, he’s afraid of what would become of him if he feels another ounce of pleasure.

“baby, you’re so fucking mean.” he croaks out, voice low and hoarse from choked sobs and begs. it cracks, sounding as though he doesn’t even have a voice left.

you’re more straightforward when you crave to be touched, whimpering a simple ‘i need you’ or ‘please take care of me’ with a pleading face as you play with his fingers. however, on the rare occasion that you get into a very… particular mood… you sigh and say ‘i’m bored’ before looking at him with faux innocence in your blown-out pupils… and because you’re just too damn enticing to resist, he ends up in this position — completely exposed while you’re cozily dressed in a t-shirt over your slip-on night dress, the one he was wearing before.

consequently, it has been making his life difficult. he instantly becomes turned on when you utter the commonly used words, even when there’s obviously no other meaning behind them. like when you’re in public. especially when you’re in public. he can foresee this moment flashing in his mind when he finds himself in the same predicament again. at this point, all he can say is heavens help him, he is so fucked. the angel they sent is well-versed in driving him wild.

“i love you.” he follows up, and your smile grows when you meet his hazy eyes.

“i love you more.” you reply in a sing-song voice, also raspy after having him down your throat. you bend down to plant a featherlight kiss on his pelvis, but he wants it somewhere else.

with his remaining shred of strength, he tugs at your arm to pull you in for a hungry kiss, his hand cupping your nape and his thumb rubbing your cheek. your tongue ghosts over the metal ring piercing his bottom lip, and he shakily breathes out a quiet moan.

you’re the first one to break away, pampering his lips with chaste pecks as you mumble, “my boyfriend is so pretty. mine. mine. mine. love you better than anyone could.”

jungkook’s heart does somersaults, the butterflies inside of him multiplying by the thousands with your every declaration.

you pout as you lovingly brush away the locks of hair sticking to his honey skin, glistening with sweat. “oh? are these sweat or tears? you cried again this time?”

with watering eyes, he can’t help but to dumbly stare at your glossy and swollen lips as you coo.

“but you took it so, so well. you were so perfect, baby boy. thank you.”

“don’t act so innocent.” he mutters, tattooed arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, longing for your weight on top of his. “you know what you did.”

you chuckle as you drag the blanket over his body, concerned he might freeze from the blasted airconditioner now that the ecstasy is ebbing away. “but it felt good, right? did i do anything you didn’t like?”

he gets a sinking feeling when you look at him, asking for confirmation as if you didn’t reduce him into this incoherent puddle of beyond satiated appetite. holy shit, he’s the luckiest man on earth.

“mhm-mhm. more than good… always. you’re too good to be true.”

he sighs in contentment when you offer your arm as his pillow, embracing him tightly. his eyelids flutter shut as he feels the soreness of his muscles taking reign. oddly enough, he doesn’t mind the pain at all. he revels in it, almost. gradually, his heartbeat returns at its normal rate.

he doesn’t flinch when he feels a metal straw nudging his lips, instead he sips heartily to soothe his throat. you have pink hearts for irises as you adore his face, falling in love with your lover all over again.

“i love you. you’re so cute.” you giggle, tucking his hair behind his ears as you hold the water tumbler for him. “you’re so red- especially your ears- it’s so cute.”

this makes him smile sheepishly, bunny teeth biting the straw. he pops it out of his mouth to bury his face in the crook of your neck, laughing breathily.

“well if you point it out, i’ll turn redder!”

“is that so bad? then you’ll be cuter.” you squeeze his cheeks together to tilt his head towards you. “come on. how do you feel…? maybe a bit better? let’s get cleaned up so you can rest.”

he frowns. “i want to taste you, too.”

want to get his payback, more like.

“later, my lov-”

he doesn’t waste time in ducking down, hooking a finger around the waistband of your underwear while he sucks a bruise on your inner thigh.

“jungkook!” you giggle, dragging him off you by his hair. “no! stop! i just wanted to play and make you feel good.”

he refuses to relent, stubborn in his defiance, chasing and chasing until his puckered lips touch your soft skin again, peppering sweet kisses. pulling his hair only spurs him on, it looks like, so you end up using both hands to guide his face inches from yours.

“your busy bee needs to go back to work.” you give his pout an apologetic kiss, knowing full well that you’ll be in bed for much, much longer if you indulge him.

you still need to finish the due project you abandoned in your laptop because you would rather do this. or him? for a lack of better term.

“you can do it however long you want if you wait.”

he beams upon hearing your saccharine promise, eagerly nodding in agreement. and with a naughty smile, he pushes his luck. “then will you wash me now?”

and when you take more than three seconds to answer, he rushes to defend himself with- “i deserve it this time!”

—

jungkook is still and silent as he sits across you in the bathtub, extremely drowsy after you gave him another one of your soothing scalp massages when you washed his hair. the scented candle melting over the sink mixes with the drops of lavender oil you added into the water, and not far from it is his phone playing mellow music.

however, that changes when he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“you’re too gentle. are you sure i’m being cleaned?”

an irritated expression is drawn on your face as you grab his wrist, forcefully making him hold the soapy wash cloth you just started using. “then you do it yourself so i can focus on me instead.”

“i’m kidding, i’m kidding!” he winces when you make a move to stand up. he reflexively seizes your arm to stop you, lisp discernible as he grumbles. “babe, i can’t do it. i have no energy left and it’s your fault!”

you roll your eyes, reclaiming the cloth from his hand. you add a little more pressure to address his concern as you move on to lathering his tattooed arm, a coat of small bubbles decorating the diverse colors of ink covering his skin. you make a game out of neatly smoothing down his body hair.

“you know you have sensitive skin but you’re too rough when you do it. what’s the point of using a mild body wash?”

his brain fails to process your scolding, still weak and fuzzy like cotton, overcome by fragmented thoughts. the beckoning sound of your voice. the intoxicating scent of your newest perfume, strawberry clinging to your skin until now. your cleverness paired with seduction equals his blissful doom. your tenderness while you were making him cry. after making him cry. even when he’s not crying at all.

“____,”

your eyes flicker up to him in confusion. why is that you feel a little more real when he says your name?

“what?” you squeak out.

“you’re so beautiful.” he thinks out loud, ‘lovestruck’ written all over his softened features. “i wish there’s a better word for it. ehh, uhh, there probably is but…”

his forehead creases as he exerts mental power to flip through his dictionary, eyeballs pointing in different directions as if he will read the word somewhere on the walls.

“but i can’t think of one right now… my brain isn’t working.”

the compliment told dreamily makes your fragile heart beat louder inside your ribcage. concealing a flattered smile, you shake your head in disbelief.

“you think changing the topic like this will work?”

the water sloshes around as you inch closer, running the cloth over his shoulders and across his collarbones.

“i mean it.” he replies firmly, hands sneaking in to caress the sides of your waist, fingertips grazing your skin to trace amorphous drawings. “i didn’t always get the chance to look at you… like take my time and, really look at you. i hate that.”

you reach for the tallest bottle on the corner of the bathtub. as you spritz more body wash on the cloth, you give him a fleeting glance. “you’re doing it right now. that’s what matters.”

“i am.” he nods timidly.

his vision is fixated where your gentle scrubbing travels down to his chest. he sharply inhales, and exhales, choosing to pour every ounce of his attention on you. his tattooed hand slides up your body, gliding across your skin until he reaches your face. and as if he’s doubtful that you’re truly tangible and not a figment of his imagination, the back of his fingers tentatively brushes your cheek.

it rises under his touch as you sneakily steal glances of him getting lost in a trance. with droplets of water dripping from his wet hair, he blinks sleepily. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the lump in his throat, suppressing the new wave of salty tears threatening to leak from his eyes.

he doesn’t want to roam the roads of the past too much but — years after he broke your heart, has he become a man worthy of soaking in a bathtub with you? it’s an honor. it’s a joy. everything is clear. you’re not here to fill in a gap but to consume space. his body is permanently stained by the colors of your soul. he is loved.

considering that he still looks gorgeously wrecked from earlier, you only take it as a sign that he’s still not entirely present in this sphere. you want to give him more water, but neither of you feels the need to speak. wave to earth’s ‘evening glow’ is more than enough to fill the evening’s restful silence.

as he painfully yearns to do so, he takes his time, and you spread the body wash on the curves of his waist slower than you normally would.

his calloused thumb traces your jaw, and your breath hitches when he pauses at your bottom lip. he applies just enough pressure to memorize the softness of the flesh under his touch, slightly separating it from your upper lip. he fails to take notice of his own lips unconsciously mirroring yours. and he swears on his life, all the clocks in the world have stopped ticking to let him live in this moment forever.

on the other hand, you also fail to shut out your own impulses. your lips pucker to kiss the pad of his thumb with a smooching sound. he breaks out into a toothy grin, the long dimples running down his lower cheeks popping out.

he delicately holds your face steady in one hand, pointer finger digging in one cheek and his thumb on the other, before he draws in to grant you a proper kiss. his nose bumps against yours when it breaks.

“need to sit on your lap so i can reach your back.”

“i’m all yours.” he whispers while he guides you into position, softly squeezing at your hips.

with you straddling him, he can embrace you as he likes, his chest pressed against yours. he happily tucks his chin over the shoulder of your unbusy arm, and he’s on top of the world. he hums and sings along to johnny stimson’s ‘honeymoon’, harmoniously swaying in the limited space as you knead his back. he is undoubtedly, thoroughly drunk. the 80- to 90-proof bottles of whiskey gathered in the kitchen cabinet got nothing on you.

he sniffles quietly, using his wrist to pat his tear-stained eyes and cheeks dry. he plants a small kiss on the soft flesh under your ear before succumbing to the heaviness weighing on his eyelids.

jungkook’s adorable snoring contests with his phone’s high-quality speakers. almost, almost too identical to the sound of the candle wick burning.

“oh, for fuck’s sake.” you curse under your breath, splashing water on the expanse of your boyfriend’s back to wash away the bubbles.

“…it’s 9pm. did i seriously tire him out that much?”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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i23kazu · 1 year

Text

GENSHIN MEN & THEM BEING YOUR ROOMMATES .

characters. xiao kaeya diluc childe itto alhaitham kaveh x reader genre. romantic fluff, can be seen as platonic too, suggestiveness in itto's part an. ueueue... ueueue... ueueue | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

xiao

disappears during the day, comes back at night. your first text to your friend (when you arrived at the apartment) was "this guys like a midday batman kinnie lol" but he also somehow leaves everything spotless?? xiao barely spends time at home but in the five minutes that he actually does, all the dishes are washed and everything packed up... you're starting to think that he's a mary poppins kinnie instead

kaeya

he's a mess.. also kind of a slut at home in the sense that he unbuttons his pants the minute he steps through the door but his shirt is always long so. so. yeah. tbh he's not a very messy roommate, he just ends up leaving too many glass bottles behind that you have to clean up #notaslay #pickupyourowntrash #savetheearth

diluc

very nice roommate, adelinde comes over to clean the apartment once a week and when she does you literally go puppy eyed because she brings her cooking for the both of you. the fridge is always stocked with mama adelinde's food and the floors are always shining with her hard work. diluc does some of the dishes though i guess that counts

childe

good roommate. with his numerous siblings, he knows how to get stains and stuff off surfaces so hes the handy manny and bob the builder in the apartment. need something fixed up? he's got you. lightbulb has to be changed? he's reaching for the toolbox. your clock broke? can he fix it? yes he can

itto

worst. roommate. ever. every day you come home to find out that either he's a) passed out on the couch b) broken something at home c) had a secret arataki gang meeting and now the place is trashed d) didn't do his work etc etc the list goes on. you're considering kicking him out at this point but his badonkahonkas are so nice to look at ykwim

alhaitham

uhhhhh takes care of finances and taxes and all that boring adult stuff you have to do but alhaitham graciously does for you. makes you a cute little keyring that matches his and kaveh's and he doesn't hide yours!! or take yours!! 10/10 roommate, laugh at kaveh's misery together #youwillwalkalone jk you love kaveh to bits

kaveh

being roommates with him and alhaitham is genuinely so entertaining bc its a free reality tv show. "kaveh what is this behaviour" "im sorry i kicked it by mistake" <- he did not. but you and kaveh also play pranks on alhaitham to i guess that makes up for it?? idk kaveh does the dishes makes the food hashtag malewife i think

taglist: @tiredsleep @loptido @raincxtter @chichikoi @ladyadii @soulsanta @sheiiy @genshinparty @eowinthetraveler @moonbyunniee @lemonswriting @legitnoi @lemontum @manager-of-the-pudding-bank @niiheng @starz222 @ilyuu @cherry-colored-petals @mondaymelon @tartaglia-apologist @soleillunne @softcosmixs @ineshapanda @babypetuniaa (send ask to be added to taglist)

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bxwitched · 8 months

Text

To Be With You

Warnings: Mature, 18+ only. Fluff, workplace flirting, verbal sparring, angst, vulnerability, self-doubt, anxiety, swearing, pining, old school romance, sexual tension if you squint.

Character Pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x Reader

Word Count: 4.7K

Summary: Hangman takes a shine to the Admiral's new aide.

A/N: This is my first attempt at fluff in a while so please be gentle, I also know absolutely nothing about the US Navy and how it operates. As always, comments, reblogs and likes are all appreciated! You can find my masterlist here.

You haven't been at North Island for long, having transferred when your previous admiral retired but you've come to love the sea views and the sandy beaches. Waking up to the soft crash of the waves and the fresh ocean breeze is certainly a welcome change from the hot, dry suburbs of Lemoore.

You've found that Admiral Simpson is an intelligent, respectful man, firm but fair and most importantly, he treats you well. Like all military men he's disciplined, but he's also in high demand and with such a hectic schedule and high level of responsibility he can often become stressed and lose track of things.

That's where you come in. You manage his ever-growing email inbox, file all of his reports, arrange all of his meetings and supply him with a steady flow of strong, dark coffee to keep him functioning. You've established a routine with him and with that, his days run smoothly.

Your mornings are methodical; you shower, dress, have breakfast and then make the drive over to base. You shrug off your jacket as you reach the office and flip the switch on the coffee machine as you pass it, before settling down at your desk to make a start on your emails.

Beau enters ten minutes later and mumbles out a good morning as he passes, ambling towards the door of his office. He looks tired, you think as you pour him his usual black coffee.

"Good morning, Sir." You follow him as he moves into his office and hand him the steaming mug. He thanks you as he accepts it gratefully, taking a long sip and making a sound of relief as he sinks into his chair and swallows the rich liquid.

"Ok. What's the damage today?"

It's just after midday when a knock sounds on the door and breaks the silence, startling you. You frown as you glance at the clock on the far wall, Beau is scheduled in and out of meetings for the whole day and he hadn't mentioned expecting any visitors to you this morning. You straighten in your chair, slipping your phone away into your desk drawer before calling out.

The door opens promptly and in strolls a man you haven't met before. He's handsome; all perfectly styled blonde hair and sunkissed skin and you find yourself shifting in your seat nervously as he saunters towards you with an air of confidence and a dazzling smile.

"Afternoon, miss."

"Good afternoon-"

"Lieutenant Jake Seresin." He leans in closer to your desk, holding out a hand for you to shake and you oblige, offering him your name in return before taking his larger hand in yours and giving it a light squeeze. The name does sound familiar but you can't quite place it.

"It's nice to meet you, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?" His eyes narrow then and his lips quirk up at the corners, putting the dimples in is cheeks on full display. You don't miss the way that he eyes you, his pretty greens flickering down to your left hand before locking with yours once more.

"Pleasures all mine. I have some mission reports for the Admiral." It's then that you notice the collection of the manilla folders tucked against his side and you take them from him carefully, setting them down in a neat pile on the corner of your desk.

"And-" He drawls, his Southern accent as smooth as honey. "Maybe I wanted to see for myself if the rumours were true."

You falter, your brows lifting in confusion. His expression is teasing and his lips are curved into a grin, exposing his pearly whites. Anxiety swirls in the depths of your stomach and you eye him wearily, feeling defensive.

"What rumours?" He leans down even closer, into your space and you catch a whiff of his cologne; a heady mix of cedar and amber that makes you feel dizzy.

"About how gorgeous the Admiral's new aide is. Have to say sweetheart, they don't do you justice."

He winks at you and you scoff, heat filling your cheeks as you look away in embarrassment. You've never been good with men and now that this very attractive man is in front of you, flirting with you, you feel completely out of your depth. You clear your throat awkwardly, opting to try and remain professional rather than make an idiot of yourself.

"Careful Lieutenant, you could be written up for that." His grin only widens and your eyes narrow suspiciously. That horrible voice of doubt in the back of your head is screaming that this man couldn't possibly be attracted to little old you, that he must just be messing with you for the rise.

"Please, call me Hangman."

"Hangman?" You frown and he lets out a laugh at your bemused expression, it's deep and warm and you fidget in your seat as your stomach knots at the sound.

"My callsign, I'm a pilot." His finally straightens up and his chest practically puffs with pride, his mossy eyes gleaming down at you.

It's then that the light bulb flickers in your head, you've heard the moniker several times, whispered amongst the administrative staff, accompanied by knowing smiles and girlish giggles. You've also heard it from the support crews on one of your recent trips to the hangers along with some pretty choice vocabulary.

You think back on the meeting you had attended with Admirals Simpson and Bates a few weeks ago with Captain Mitchell, discussing his newly formed-now permanent Dagger Squad and it's members. Including the one stood before you now.

"I've heard plenty of rumours about you too, Lieutenant." You don't miss the way that his cheek flexes when you ignore his request and instead address him by rank. You feel a rush of satisfaction at having put a dent in his ego but it doesn't last and his smile turns impish as he calls your bluff with a raised brow.

"Do tell." His self-assurance starts to grate on you and you shrug absently as you lean back in your chair, your eyes falling to the multitude of ribbons pinned to the left of his chest.

"They say that you're good." He makes no effort to hide his delight as he stoops down and places his palms flat on your desk, invading your space once more. He surveys you with mischievous eyes, they fall to your lips and you fidget in your seat as heat begins to creep up your neck.

"I am good darlin'. I'm very good." You inhale sharply and his grin widens further, thinking that he's won this verbal sparring match of yours. You fold your arms across your chest defiantly, levelling him with your best glare as you recall some of his notorious exploits.

"They also say that you're an arrogant narccisist with no care for anyone but himself."

His pleased expression drops in an instant, his confidence slipping before you. He opens his mouth to retort but abruptly stops when the door to your office opens and his attention is taken away from you.

You exhale as the heavy air around you dissipates and silently thank whichever higher power has sent Sarah from finance early with her weekly budget report.

"Thank you for the reports, Lieutenant."

Sarah looks on, curious at the situation she's walked in on and Hangman nods to himself, his expression unreadable before he snaps right back into that infuriatingly cocksure demeanour. He throws you a wink as he backs away from your desk and makes his way to the door, ignoring the appreciative look that Sarah gives him as he passes her and leaves.

You're three quarters of the way finished with one of your reports when there's a rap at the door and you groan under your breath, knowing that you're not going to be finished with your task as quickly as you had planned.

"Come in."

You frown as Lieutenant Seresin slips into the office, wearing a broad smile whilst carrying a stack of paperwork in one hand and a takeaway cup in the other. You nod curtly as he approaches and he tilts his politely in return.

It's been a few days since he visited your office last and whether you like to admit it or not, a part of you was terrified that you had gone too far and successfully managed to scare off one of the single most attractive men you've ever met. You clear your throat awkwardly.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"I have some more reports for the Admiral." You nod in understanding and take the bundle of papers from his outstretched hand, careful not to brush his fingers with your own.

You turn your back on him as you move to the filing cabinet in the corner, sorting through the top drawer until you find the correct section and deposit the files. You return to your desk then, the comfortable barrier that separates you both.

"Thank you Lieutenant. Will that be all?" He tilts his head and flashes you a coy smile as he extends the takeaway coffee out to you. You eye it warily, confused by the unexpected gesture and he watches, studying your reaction.

"Call it an apology." Your eyes narrow as you accept it hesitantly, your eyes flickering between his face and the white cardboard cup as you cradle the warmth of it between your palms. You choose to remain quiet, giving him room to expand on his words.

"The other day? I was out of line and I wanted to apologise. I meant no offence." You study him carefully, looking for any sign of ulterior motive but he seems genuine and the longer that you stare at him, the more his warm smile makes your insides twist.

"Well, thank you Hangman. I appreciate that." His green eyes light up as you finally concede and address him by the moniker, his lips pulling up into a broad smile.

"Of course." You raise the drink to your lips, taking a long sip in an effort to hide your smile. Your eyes widen as the liquid warmth hits your tongue; it's from your favourite cafe and it's a million times better than any of the standard issue you have on base, but what shocks you is that it's your exact order.

"How did you?-" You throw him a questioning look but he already knows what you're going to ask him. His expression is roguish and his lower lip catches between his teeth as he grins at you, before he turns towards the door and walks out.

Can you believe that he's interested in her?

I don't get it either!

Who?

You hear your name once, then twice, before you step into the room and the chorus of chatter dies. You stop in your tracks, feeling as if you're intruding and the collective of women all turn to look at you; some of them have the decency to look guilty at having been caught while one or two simply walk away, unbothered.

You feel mortified and you grit your jaw as you carry on to your office, ignoring the feeling of eyes boring into your back as you go.

Brenda from HR catches you as you pass by and you soften slightly when the older woman flashes you a kind smile. It's almost reassuring, but then she says 'Don't worry sweetie, they're just jealous.' and your confusion deepens.

Your brows furrow as you turn away and wrap your hand around the brass knob. The gears of your mind turning as you close the door behind you with a click.

You still as soon as your eyes land on the beautiful bouquet and you can't stop the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. It's not the first unexpected gift that you've discovered on your desk in the last week but it's by far the most extravagant.

At first it was little just things, more cups of your favourite takeaway coffee, then a pastry or two from that charming new bakery in town. Then as a few weeks passed it became a box of fine chocolates, followed by the bottle of wine that definitely cost more than ten dollars and now, a gorgeous mix of flowers and foliage all tied up in pretty ribbon.

You feel conflicted as your eyes scan over the accompanying card, on the front of it is your name, on the back, the gentle cursive that spells out his callsign. It's the kind of romantic gesture that you read about in your crappy romance novels, the type of affection that you've always wished for, and yet at the same time it all feels too good to be true.

You think about the tales you've heard; details of the drunken escapades and the one night stands, the lengthy trail of bitter women and broken hearts that he's left in his wake. The thought of becoming just another notch in the aviator's bedpost makes your stomach churn and amongst it all, the same question remains.

Why me?

Your heart wrenches as you wonder whether he may have been put up to it, whether it's some kind of bet. These men were competitive at the best of times, but he wouldn't go to all this trouble to win some twenty dollar wager, would he?

That negative voice niggles at the back of your mind then. He would if it meant getting underneath your clothes.

You startle as the door opens behind you and Beau ambles in, uttering his usual greeting as he passes. He stops when he notices the flowers, a stark pop of colour amongst all of the beige.

"It's not your birthday, is it?" His expression seems slightly panicked as his eyes flicker back and forth between you and the bouquet. You smile softly and shaking your head.

"No Sir."

"Anniversary?" His frown deepens then.

Unlike some of your previous employers, Beau didn't like to pry into his staff's private lives more than was absolutely necessary. He didn't ask you about your relationship status or what your vacation plans were, only that you were ok and you strongly appreciated that.

"No Sir." Beau's expression hardens then.

"Did someone die?" Your eyes widen and you stumble over your words in your haste to cover

"Oh! No, no! They are uh- from a friend, Sir."

"A friend?"

He eyes you suspiciously but he doesn't press the subject any further as you shift on your feet and wring your hands, uncomfortable at having to provide an explanation.

"You are to report to me if you have any concerns. Is that understood?" His voice bleeds authority as he looks at you sternly. If you were unfamiliar with the man you might've been scared but you've come to know his ways and you feel a sense of gratitude as you process the hidden meaning in his words.

Are you ok?

"Yes Sir, understood." He nods once, acknowledging your confirmation.

"Good. The last thing I need right now is another HR nightmare." He disappears through to his office, he mutters away to himself and you just about manage to suppress a snort as you catch him grumble 'horny bastards' before the door clicks shut.

It's later in the afternoon and Beau has been summoned to a high priority meeting at short notice, one that you don't have the clearance to attend.

You've finished all of your reports, filed away your paperwork and refreshed your emails three times. The boredom creeps up on you as the clock ticks obnoxiously in the background, marking each passing second, taunting you.

It's then that you find your eyes drifting back to the pretty blooms, perched atop the mahogany in an old vase you'd managed to dig out of a cabinet.

Whilst you appreciate the Lieutenant's interest in you, the awkward encounter with your superior is enough for you to realise that you need to talk have a talk about the propriety of it all.

You've worked hard to get where you are and you don't want this man's attentions, honest or not, to give anyone the opportunity to question your professionalism.

You haven't seen him around, but you know that he's going to be flying today, you'd seen his name on the approved roster. You take a deep breath as you shrug on your jacket, knowing that you just need to grab the bull by the horns and get it over with, no matter how uncomfortable.

You take the long way around base; around the administrative buildings, then the barracks, past the mess until the hangers finally come into your view.

You can hear the rush of linemen on the tarmac, the heavy thud of of their boots and their shouts as they prepare for the landing of the four F-18's you can see on the horizon. A part of you wonders how otherworldly it must feel to be up there in the skies whilst the other, more rational part is absolutely terrified by the thought.

By the time you reach the tarmac they've already landed and the pilots have exited their aircraft; the group stands off to the side, making conversation amongst themselves as the linemen carry out their post-flight checks.

You notice a shorter brunette, the only woman in the group, she looks mildly irritated as she converses with a tall head of blonde hair and you feel a pang of empathy as she rolls her eyes at him. You can tell it's him from a mile off, even with his back to you.

As if on cue, she catches your stare and a curious look laces her features, she mutters something and points a nod in your direction, urging him to turn around.

Hangman's green irises lock with yours and his lips curve up in a pleased grin. He watches as you take him in; all sun kissed and sweaty from a hard day's flying, wrapped up in that obscenely well-fitting flight suit with the sleeves turned up to expose his strong forearms.

He makes his way over with confident strides, ignoring the questioning looks from the unnamed female pilot, as well as the three males who have taken notice of his departure and are watching the scene with interest.

You shift on your feet, feeling uncomfortable under their scrutiny of their stares.

"And to what do I owe this nice surprise?" His tone is warm, teasing, as he sidles up to you and your stomach knots as he looks at you fondly. You shrug, trying to play it cool as you lean back against the hanger door.

"The Admirals' been called away and I'm at a loose end, I uh-I wanted to talk to you." His mossy eyes narrow then, something unknown dancing in his irises.

"Is that right?" He plants a hand against the hanger door, close to your head and leans into your space. Whilst you're thankful that he's somewhat shielded you from the prying eyes of him team, you falter under the weight of his heavy gaze.

"Why don't you come on and take a closer look?" He jerks his head in suggestion and your mouth falls open slightly, although you see the F-18's from a distance all the time you've never had the opportunity to get up close and personal with one.

"You're not serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"But- won't we get into trouble?" On instinct, you glance around nervously and he chuckles. You can't help but appreciate the deep timbre of it as it rumbles in his chest.

"The engines' not on and the wheels aren't gonna leave the ground, we'll be fine. Besides-" He leans in closer, looking conspiratorial as he whispers close to your ear. "What Cyclone doesn't know can't hurt him."

He gestures an arm out in the direction of the flight line and you quickly oblige as your excitement gets the better of you, falling into step with him.

"Hey Hangman! Who's your friend?" Jake ignores the moustached man's taunt as you pass the group, his focus solely on you as he asks you about your morning. You catch the moment the brunette aviator jabs her elbow into his ribs and he groans out a complaint, rubbing at his side.

She offers you an apologetic smile and you return it before you refocus and realise that Hangman has come to a stop.

His face beams as he presents his aircraft to you proudly, like it's his firstborn child. You hesitate as you reach out to touch it, feeling the smooth metal underneath your palm, running it along the panel until you get to the part with his name on it.

"Is it weird that I think it's pretty?" He laughs, moving in closer to you.

"She's very pretty, but not nearly as pretty as you." The way that he's looking at you makes feel warm all over, heat creeping up the column of your neck as you let out a nervous laugh and look away.

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Actually, no." You sigh, turning to face him head on.

"Listen, Hangman-"

"Jake." He insists.

"Jake-" You stumble as he interrupts you, moving in closer.

"Did you like them? The flowers?" You notice that his expression is serious now, almost apprehensive. You bite your lip as a smile threatens to split your face and everything you had planned to say goes out of the window.

"I did, very much. Thank you." He smiles broadly then, putting the dimples in his cheeks on full display. Your gut twists as you speak your next words. "But why?"

His brow furrows deeply and he looks at you like you've just told him that the sky is green. You elaborate for him.

"Why all of the wine and chocolates and flowers when we've barely spoken to each other? I don't understand?" His face is perplexed as he stares at you with those mossy eyes.

"Because, I think you're beautiful and I'd really like to take you out."

You frown, feeling taken off guard by his answer.

"Look, Jake. I know about your reputation and I'm not going to get involved with someone who's just going to break my heart and move on."

He breathes out a sigh, scratching a hand through his short hair nervously.

"I'm not gonna deny the past happened because it did, but believe me when I tell you I'm different now. I'm older and wiser and when I look at you? You make me want things I never thought I'd want. After I messed up with you the first time, I knew that I needed to do things right, the old fashioned way."

You open your mouth to speak but he doesn't give you any time to interject as he rambles.

"You're beautiful and kind and smart, you don't fawn over me just because I'm a pilot and you sure as hell don't put up with any of my shit. You're different and I like that, a lot."

"But you don't know me, Jake. I don't know anything about you."

"I'll tell you anything you wanna know, sweetheart."

You shake your head as he takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, even through his flight suit.

"Look, I know that you work hard and you're damn good at what you do. I know how you like your coffee, that you like to sit on your porch in the evenings and watch the ocean and that at the weekends you spend time tending to your garden and taking long walks on the beach. Maybe I don't know what your favourite meal is yet, or colour or song, but I'd love to find out. If you'll let me."

You're left dumbstruck by his admission, devoid of all thought except one.

"You know where I live?" He blinks slowly then and exhales a laugh.

"Sweetheart, we live on the same street. I noticed you as soon as you moved in and I see you all the time." Your mouth falls open a little, your expression one of confusion as you try to figure out how you've never noticed him before, especially as handsome as he is.

Jake just grins, completely enamoured with you.

"And my coffee order?" He gives a shrug, his face coy as he admires the flush that's bloomed across your cheeks.

"I may have had to charm it out of a barista named Jenna." You dip your head as you laugh in an effort to hide your face, your heart hammering wildly in your chest.

He stoops slightly, his pretty green eyes searching your face until you concede and finally look at him once more.

"So will you let me in, sweetheart? Let me get to know you?"

That little voice in the back of your mind rears it's head and screams no! That it's a horrible, terrible idea. But what if it's not?

You swallow, summoning all of your courage as you nod slowly. Jake's face lights up, his expression is almost euphoric and you can't help but match it, your lips splitting into a grin.

You feel hot all over, your chest tight as your heart threatens to burst out. The level of emotion that you feel is both frightening and exhilarating but as you gaze into those his bright eyes of his, looking at you with so much adoration, you know that it's right.

"Alright. We can start with dinner."

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