#river x reader

viktor vektor—

a man who loves with his entire heart

he gets soooo excited when he talks about boxing

def accidentally falls asleep during movies

cares more about you than he does himself

is so so obedient

the second you ask for something he immediately says yes ma’am/sir

is 100% a fan of cute nicknames

the type to question why you would ever like an old man like him, especially when the two of you are intimate

is far stronger than you would’ve expected from an “old man”

noisy asf when it comes down to it

could care less about his own pleasure, he focuses everything on making you feel good

would let you ride his face for hours

switches between being a service top to a power bottom depending on the day

river ward—

leaves you a sweet/heartfelt message every morning for you to wake up too

his love language is soooo physical touch

but also buys you flowers every few weeks to replace the old ones

would hug/cuddle with you 24/7 if he could

you fell first, he fell harder

wants to have a giant family one day

loves cooking for you

is stressed constantly from work but the moment he’s with you it all melts away

100% has a breeding kink

constantly praises you for taking him so well

also a very, very talkative man

he talks you through every second of it

a soft dom

goro takemura—

hopeless romantic

wants to live a life of freedom but knows he will always be chained to his corpo master

doesn’t stop him from trying to live his life to the fullest and it’s all because of you

will never admit it but he loves getting gifts from you

keeps every gift you’ve ever given him

dislikes PDA as he has a very traditional outlook on life

would 100% save himself for marriage

is vanilla as vanilla can get

wouldn’t say no to trying new things inside of the bedroom, as long as they’re not too extreme, but almost always defaults right back to mr. vanilla

“i read a book on it once”

johnny silverhand—

quality time is his love language

wants to teach you how to play guitar but explains the cords like “so you do this with this finger and flip it over here and yeah for this you do that”

finally has you in his grasp and he’s never letting go

loves teasing you every chance he gets

would never say it out loud but you are his soulmate

gets a matching “johnny x v” tattoo

knows kerry is the better songwriter between the two of them so he asked him once to write some lyrics for a song for you

def sang it to you on your bday or anniversary

oh he so wanted to fuck you the second he returned to his body

a top without a doubt

loves watching you ride his thigh when you’re really needy

shotguns smoke into your mouth when you make out

— ZOEY

When Zoey realizes that her feelings have run deeper than some flighty crush, it utterly consumes her—it is something simmering just under skin and makes her ripe. She blurts it out, it has been burrowing and festering within her chest for so long she practically shouts it at you. An immense relief overtakes her before growing flustered, avoiding your eyes as she chews on the inside of her cheek. She’s not sure that the feeling goes away, just melds with her so that this elation ebbs and flows.

She thinks that if she commits you to memory, she will have you on a level that supersedes the physical. The width of your nose bridge, every crooked tooth, that signature scent that seeps from you like sweat pearling against your skin. But it’s useless, she thinks she’s got you’ve all figured out until a new birthmark appears or your skin shines differently when the dim light catches it. She frets over it, the possibility that forgetting even a silver of these things will mean that she will not have you as hers fully. Something washes over her one late afternoon, you are coated in the pink haze of a sunset and turn to smile at her. It was silly from the start, she can never forget your face.

Tells you of things that remind you of her even if she’s not sure how the connection was formed. There is children’s laughter that runs along the street, seeping through the cracks of the house’s foundation. An ice cream truck that belts out the most annoying jingle for five minutes straight as people line up for soft serve. A storm that comes in suddenly and small balls of hail patter against the window pane. She wants to let you know that all the joy in the world has been divulged to her by your doing.

She loves learning how to love you, it delves deep into her and emotions bloom a heavy haze against her misty frame. You fight, you laugh, you kiss her and grasp at where you think the curve of her jaw is. At times, your hand scrapes past the thin boundary and tickles her. Sometimes she convinces herself that she is not cautious enough, that she is letting someone become so entangled with her, that one day it may all shift and turn sour. She tells you of these fears and you hold them close to your chest, taking them as your own. Everything feels a bit lighter and she falls a little more in love.

It’s a Tuesday. It’s a Tuesday and it’s raining outside so you’ve cracked a window open a bit. It makes the attic hot and sticky and smell like warm asphalt mixed with mildew. Still, it’s a Tuesday and it’s raining and you have decided to spend the afternoon with her. There’s a glass of juice cradled within your hands, golden in color and smells like wind blowing through an orchard. She couldn’t put the rim to her bottom lip but you raised it to her nose, let her inhale and sigh. You take a sip like she has been infused with the liquid by that simple action.

You’ve been doing this for the past few days. Bringing her new things so that she doesn’t just remember the small things but actually experiences them. On a Sunday, it rained and she stared out the foggy glass to observe how the rain splattered against the pavement in thick droplets. She felt your eyes trace over the outline of her before taking a seat beside her. Now, you opened the latch and lifted it from the sill to hear the drumming of a humid storm and the rush of a stream that deposits onto a street drain. A few weeks ago, she said she missed the crunch of a gala apple trapped between her teeth and she saw you come home with a jug of juice that was nearly two liters only days before.

“Does it smell as good as you remember?” There’s a trace of liquid covering the corners of your mouth. Tongue peeking out and wiping away the excess, the tender muscle being taken by your teeth afterwards.

No, not at all. She is missing about three sensations from the experience altogether, it is a muted replacement but she lets the sentiment flicker at the edge of her spirit. She pauses, “It’s definitely a smell.”

Your nose wrinkles, peering at the glass and bringing it up. Taking a quick sniff before looking up in thought, “Huh, that’s definitely feedback. Should I get a different brand?”

“No!” She cries and your face flattens out in surprise. Some part of her can’t help but compare you to a past you were never aligned with. Zoey worries she will upset you if she cannot meet expectations you have not expressed, that no matter how many times you assuage her—she is always searching for some piece of him within you. She never finds it. “It’s not what I meant, just something I need to get familiar with.”

You nod, a movement bordering imperceptible, and place the glass on the sill. A free hand reaches past the gap of the window, palm up and letting beads of rain coalesce within the center. You don’t seem to mind that your hand is soaked as it retracts, “Whatever you need.”

She watches as you offer your hand to her, slick with rain water and fingers limp. You are not expecting her to hold your hand, instead offering the feeling of how the water clings to your skin. Her hazy hand grazes past your skin and you shiver.

— STEPFORD

It’s surprisingly casual when you get together with him, as if you two had been like this from the beginning. There’s no fanfare or grand declaration, it is just the two of you orbiting around each other and deciding that you don’t need to make a spectacle over what this needs to be called. He takes your hand once as the sun sinks low and lightly squeezes it, you think it all started somewhere around there.

Really takes to calling you corny nicknames like babe or beautiful. Doesn’t matter if you keel over and pretend to gag at them, he takes your reaction in stride. Making sure to sneak one worse than the last just to see your face contort as the conversation continues. He decides his current favorite within his awful rotation is “snookums”.

Not that I think he wouldn’t love a compliment directed towards his appearance but he absolutely beams when it’s about something non-superficial. You notice his effort in trying to understand things you’re interested in, his passionate disposition in everything, his innate desire to make everything a game he can play. You appreciate him, let him know that he is yours and that love is not a competition. Despite that, he still thinks he’s won.

Makes you promise to show up to any sort of event he’s participating in, even if it’s not inherently competitive. Open mic at the Breaker Box, game nights around the house, working out with the others in the gym. If there isn’t a first place trophy, they better start making one by the time he shows. He always manages to find you in any room and you feel like if he could, he would be saying that everything is dedicated to you. You’re glad he doesn’t because sometimes he flops horribly.

Takes evenings to be his downtime so when he’s not tanning for an absurd amount of time, he centers his attention on you. Learning your nightly routine, creating a shape in your bed, entangling himself within duvets and limbs. Sometimes he even wears your clothes, yearning to be enveloped by things that contain some essence of you.

Thick cloth wraps around his bare skin, moonlight glimmers against him and all he can feel is a weighted warmth that blankets him. His eyes drift open slightly, narrowed lids focusing their attention on you. Your head pressed into his chest, shoulders hunched, curled into yourself but his arms drape themselves over your body. This desire is different, melts the feeling into a pool where he is floating with only his head above the water. Treads everyday and has to remember to breathe when he has caught himself within tender displays.

“Your feet are cold,” the words are muffled, trapped within the gap where your head meets the pillow. He feels the frigid flesh against his skin, and keeps it there.

You huff instead of laugh. The sudden amused exhale fanning across a worn t-shirt he’s borrowed from you. It’s from a band you like but his frame fills the fabric better than yours does. “Is that why they’re being held hostage by your thighs?”

“Thought you really liked my gorgeous toned thighs?”

“Lots of adjectives,” He knows you’ve seen him thumbing through a thesaurus. Picking out five dollar words that he could string together to bring attention to his good looks. In the moment, you chose to compliment him on improving his vocabulary. “but yeah, I like ‘em.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head , inhaling and a smile wriggles itself upon his visage. “Is there anything else my sweet darling babe wants to say about my awesome bod?”

You sigh, “Goodnight,”

The night settles on your bodies, another memory woven into your dreams.

— CABRIZZIO

When he decides that he wants something more serious with you, Cabrizzio has some ideal outline for how everything will go. He will walk up to you, snake his arm around the small of your back, kiss you deeply while dipping you, and whisper his adoration. Instead, he finds it happens on a morning where you look a little messy and bleary eyed. Hugs you from behind and sways, breathes a small confession within the crook of your neck. Everything has been leading to this exact moment, he knows this as you turn and kiss him.

Enjoys always having some part of him touching you. His shoulder glued to your own, his pinky linked with yours, tips of shoes bumping together. He finds it romantic, a magnetic pull that will always ground him back to you. Doesn’t even think kissing you is his favorite thing anymore, just nudges you with his knee and watches as you acknowledge him with a nudge in kind.

Loves sitting with you in the kitchen on slow mornings. The sunlight filters in through an open window and bathes the both of you in a glowing daze. Steam rises in long wisps from espresso that Kopi made, the mist swirling around your features. He grabs your hand and presses a kiss to each knuckle, some sickly saccharine phrase leaving his lips after each one.

Movie nights where he refuses to watch anything other than romance movies but will make an exception if it’s in Italian. You don’t have the heart to mention that he’s not actually from Italy and was only crafted there and shipped to your home. More so focusing on how you slot so well into his body, an arm slung around you and your legs layered on top of his own. The subtitles blur together but he picks up the slack, murmuring translations within the shell of your ear.

The espresso sits daintily in a small dish that was purchased with Daisuke’s consultation. He remembers you agonizing over it, insisting that this small piece was integral to your mornings togethers. How it would set the mood for all mornings to come where you would sit and idly stroll through different topics while taking sips from the small rim of the cup. He thinks you’re wrong but keeps it tucked within his chest, letting it stay within the corners of his smile as he gazes at you.

He believes that you are the thing that all mornings gravitate around. Your presence tethered to every object, every movement, every thought. You could’ve chosen the most gaudy furniture and the wrong mug but he’s assured that this moment would’ve been the same in any other place. He knows that he would’ve been sitting across from you, blanketed within the late morning and store-bought baked goods you swear taste better than the real thing.

“You’re staring. What’s up?” There’s flakes of pastry that you wipe with the back of your hand. The butter leaves a trail that glistens underneath the canary colored light.

“The steam caressing your beauty,” He answers concisely. If you would let him—he would speak about the bend of your knee as you perch a foot on a secondhand chair, your lashes clinging together as they keep traces of sleep, your fingers leaving indents within soggy bread. Cabrizzio restrains himself and decides there will be mornings to come where you are just as beautiful as you are now. “I’m almost jealous, cara mia, I would think I’m not doing enough to take care of you.”

Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth, “Dropping the ball, man. Not even sure I’m being loved any more or whatever.”

It’s not serious, he knows this. You love to tease but he adores buying into it, being hooked on bait that is glinting within the waves. He fixes himself to stare at how your chest expands, rising and falling a little quicker than before. He hooks your fingers underneath his palm and kisses the back of your hand. “Tu sei il centro di tutti i miei desideri.” He parts his lips, teeths at the skin but his lips skim as he speaks. “Ho visioni di ogni mattina come questa in cui mi guardi e mi ritieni degno di amore.

Your lips purse but he can see how you strain, letting the giddy feeling bubble over your skin. He can feel it too.

— RIVER

It hits River all of a sudden, not some crazy collapse but something that just unravels in her chest all at once. She’s not sure how she should say it, what perfect combination of words that will evoke the same feeling from you. She asks for advice from those she thinks know romance like they know freckles on their skin or the way hair tickles their neck. It’s useless and there’s a moment where she’s tear ridden and hiccupping before you and admits between your concern. I like you and I don’t know what to do with it. You wrap your arms around her waist and embrace her, telling her that you’ll figure it out together.

Nervous to introduce you to her interests, she’s become used to downplaying their importance to her as protection against the possible opinions of others. She’s a surprisingly crafty and artistic person—watercolor painting, small ice sculptures she can conjure within her palm, studying pages of a flower arrangement book that Lyric exhibits to her. These are fragments of her, ones she pretends that don’t matter until your curiosity grows with every question she answers. She stammers and flushes under the attention but you wait and ask her another.

Loves being around you, not even in a possessive way but just likes knowing you’re near. You could be doing anything else and she will sit nearby, admiring you, and even appreciates it in the reverse. She used to think that being watched would be a detriment to her work, the burn of someone’s stare flaring over her skin, but became accustomed to the thought that you view her in the same vein she does you.

She to be jealous of how you came into your own, feeling a little more comfortable inch by inch after you had received the glasses. Moving through the home like you’ve known your place within it since birth. She covets that sort of composure, would’ve envied it at any other point in time, but you always look back at her. Nodding your head, beckoning her forward, letting the anxiety eat her alive. She finds it’s not so bad learning her place beside you.

River’s skin skims over your arm as she holds your hand, directs the brush to skim over the canvas to let cerulean bleed behind it. You wanted her to teach you how to paint and had settled on something cliche—a wave breaking against the sand. She didn’t mind it, her eyes focused on how your body buzzed with excitement over the idea and let something solitary become full of things that stop your bodies from becoming one. Dust, air, her skin plush against your warm flesh, it’s all she can think about at this moment and it makes her dizzy.

She knows you can hold the brush on your own but you insisted. She knows that you could’ve sketched the simple spirals and jagged edges but you requested to see what she thought it would look like. She knows that you would’ve hummed anyway but can’t resist indulging in how the sound sticks to her skin, ripples within her body. She can only think about how she is collecting these things, that all of them will create her greatest work as of yet. This simple painting and how everything she feels is bottled between the gap where her fingers swathe yours.

You suddenly pull your hand back from the canvas, “We went over the line,”

“Huh?” She tenses, her hand removing itself from your own. Her chest twists and wrings her ribs so tight that she finds she is unable to breathe. River stutters, “Thought you wanted this?”

Your brow furrows at her words. Pointing at where the brush was mere moments ago, “No, I mean we accidentally painted into the rocks.”

“Oh.”

There’s a small bit of deep blue that crosses the edge of a rock she sketched out. It’s something like a blot, one that must be smaller than the tip of her finger. She would’ve obsessed over it even when it was finished and stored in some dusty corner, coated with cobwebs and damp with damage. It would’ve sat in the back of her mind and weighed heavy until she pulled out a new canvas to replicate it from memory. It would never be the same and she would carry that. She looks to you and it suddenly feels like she’s unafraid of plunging into the deep end.

She wraps a hand around your shoulder and nods, “We can paint over it,”

Except, from the dim light of a car’s headlamp turning down the road, you saw a slightly clearer image of him. 

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Just let me in.”

“Cartwright, there’s a hospital-”

He looked around hurriedly and practically hissed at you to shut up. “Shhhh. I know. Just- please.”

It took you a moment and a half to consider letting him in. But considering he didn’t want a hospital to deal with the blood on his face, you agreed. 

“There’s a key in the safety box.” You told him. “Let yourself in.”

He walked back towards the box, but then walked back. “What’s the code?”

“My birthday.”

“And that is?”

With both hands on the window ledge, you leaned out. “It was last week, River.”

“Oh. Right.” 

Rolling your eyes as he thought back to last week, you shut your window and locked it again, hearing your front door finally open and watching as it closed behind River. 

Switching a lamp on in your landing hallway, you got a clearer picture of River as he slowly ascended the stairs. The blood wasn’t just on his face, it covered most of his clothes, too. 

“Relax. It’s not mine. Well,” he looked down at himself and back at you. “Not all of it.”

“Did you kill someone?”

“What? No.”

You took in all the blood. “You’re covered, Cartwright.”

Then a small smile graced his face. “‘Should see the other guy.”

For a moment you stared at him before rolling your eyes and heading towards the bathroom. “In here.”

River took his chance to examine your place as he watched you walk away. “Not gonna lie, I was half expecting you to curse me out.”

“Don’t worry. I am. It’s just too early in the morning for it.” You leaned over the sink and closed the window, stopping the cold air from surrounding the room making you colder than you wanted. “Now why the fuck are you here? Other than the bloody face. And I’m guessing Lamb followed me home, so that’s why you know where I live.”

Turning around, you got a better look at River in the light of the bathroom. He had a couple more scapes and cuts than you’d counted when you first looked at him on your landing. Most of the blood seemed to be dry and his clothes weren’t cut. 

“The Dogs.”

With your hands on your hips, your head dropped down. “That’s why the fuck you’re here. Of course it is. Okay. Sit down.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Cartwright.” 

He just nodded and sat down on the lid of the toilet seat as you found a fresh face cloth plus the first aid kit you kept under the sink. Then you moved back down the hallway and turned off the lamps before turning the bathroom light off. 

“There’s enough light from the window for me to see what I’m doing.” You told him as you heard him go to speak. With a street lamp being closer and brighter to your bathroom window than your front door, it shone directly across River. 

Finally, running the tap to fill the sink with warm water, you dunked the face cloth into it before turning the tap off. 

“Do I want to know why you got into a fist fight with The Dogs? Move your legs.” Knocking your knee with his, River opened up his legs and you stepped into them, your fingers under his chin forcing his head up to look at you. 

“No, probably – zzzz – not.” River hissed as you pressed the cloth back to some of the grazes on his face. “Anyway, how do you know it was a fist fight?”

“Other than your face being covered in blood?” You felt him nod under your fingers. “Your knuckles.”

He looked down at his hands. Scaped, bruised and bleeding. You forced him to look at you again as you wiped away the dry blood. 

“And why did you come to me? You pass three of the others just to get here.”

River stalled. “I don’t know where they live.”

“And you just so happened to remember my address?” 

“Yes.”

“But not my birthday?” River didn’t know what to say. “Relax. I know we’re not friends. I’m not hurt.”

That made him feel a little better…kind of. 

“I am confused, though.”

“Why?”

You stopped dabbing at the blood, dunking the cloth back into the water and wringing it out. “Why not go to the hospital?”

“I was a little busy running.”

“Sooo, run to the hospital.” 

River wasn’t amused. “Little late for that, now.”

“You’re lucky I know what I’m doing.”

He tilted his head a little. “Do you?”

You looked in his eyes for a moment before going back to his wounds. “Better than the others would.”

You caught the soft smirk on his face. “Right.”

For the next five minutes, you both remained silent. You’d washed most of the blood away, but you couldn’t help mentioning his beard. 

“I thought you learnt how to shave when you were a kid.”

He seemed a little offended. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m not trying to say anything. I’m saying you need a shave.”

“Thanks.”

You stood back and cleaned most of the blood out of the face cloth before watching the bloody water wash down the drain. “I can do it for you.”

Looking over your shoulder, River was running a hand through his beard in the dim reflection of the mirror. 

River looked at you, his hand dropping from his face. “Yeah, I don't think I like the idea of you having a razor that close to my throat.”

With all the muscles in your face relaxing, River could already read the look on your face. Even if you were still in the dark. Your face was telling him to get over himself. 

“Stay there.”

“Do you even have razors?” Looking around your bathroom, he couldn’t see any other than the one on the plate below the shower head. 

You appeared back in the doorway of the bathroom. “I do.” You paused for a moment as you looked at his body. “Take your shirt off.”

“You’re shaving my face.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re wearing a collar, Cartwright.” You walked away and down the hall to another room. “I don’t want to spill anything else on it. Besides, I can shove it on a quick cycle. Blood shouldn’t be too hard to get out since it’s so early.”

As he listened to you talk, he rolled his eyes, reluctantly doing as you ordered. “How do you know how to get blood out of clothes?”

You appeared back in the doorway. “Seriously?”

Then he remembered you were a woman. “Right.”

Fully removing his shirt, he threw it to you. “Be right back.”

And you were. From downstairs, he could hear the washing machine starting to fill with water as you climbed back up the stairs and came into the bathroom. “Found it.”

River watched as you waved a small shaving wrap in the air before you unravelled it and told him to keep hold of it. 

“Why do you even have one of these?” 

“Look at me.” Taking a fresh face cloth, you began to carefully wash his face before eventually you wiped away the face wash and placed the hot cloth against the bottom half of his face. 

“You still haven’t answered my question.” River told you, his voice slightly muffled by the cloth. 

You sighed. “Ex-boyfriend’s Christmas present. Broke up with him before I could give it to him.”

Dropping the cloth back into the sink, you lifted the package from River’s hands before opening it up and giving it back to him to lay across his legs. 

You began lathering up the shaving cream before you carefully brushed it in and around his beard. “What did he do? I thought breaking up before Christmas was illegal.”

“Statistically speaking, most people break up a few weeks before Christmas. Mainly because they don’t want to have to buy Christmas presents.”

“But you already bought one.” He pointed out. “So what did he do?”

“If you must know, I found out he was fucking our downstairs neighbour for three months, so.” Your voice trailed off as you placed the shaving brush down and picked up the straight razor. 

“Are you gonna Sweeney-Todd-me if I keep asking you questions?”

“Maybe,” you deadpanned. 

“Keep my mouth shut. Got it.”

And he did. Despite that, however, he did keep his eyes on you. Despite the darkness of the bathroom, the light that lit up his face was bleeding onto yours. His legs opened a little wider once more for you to step into them. For a few moments, when his mind would wander, River could feel his hands twitch to reach out for you. But then he’d force himself back into reality. 

You took extra care with the razor as you tidied his beard up. Your finger delicate against his skin, you turned his head a little each way as you moved around his face before tilting his head up fully. 

“When did you learn to shave a beard?” River asked you once you’d shaken the shaving foam and hair off the razor for the final time before grabbing the previous cloth to wipe his face. 

“A friend from college. His family ran a barber shop. Spent a couple afternoons there working when they were understaffed.”

River’s eyes widened for a moment. “Wow. Wasn’t expecting that answer.”

You laughed a little. “What? Did you expect me to say my boyfriend or something?”

He shrugged. You laughed again and stepped back into his legs. “Yeah, well, there’s a lot you still don’t know about me, Cartwright.”

He looked back up at you without you having to tell him. “Do you want me to know? Or would that make us too close to being friends?”

You leaned forward a little. “We’ll never be friends, Cartwright.”

You cursed at yourself in your head as you realised your eyes had momentarily shifted from his eyes to his lips. But by the looks of it, River was doing the same thing. 

You were thankful for the lack of light in the bathroom, or else he might have been able to see the heat on your cheeks more clearly. A small chuckle escaped your chest as you threw the face cloth at his bare chest. 

“Take a shower, Cartwright. You’re still covered in blood.”

Watching you leave, River lowered his head and let out a breath as he ran a hand through his head. That was close. Too close. 

As he took a shower, washing off the extra blood, you moved his shirt into the dryer before looking through some old boxes in your spare room for men’s clothes. However, as you approached your bathroom door to knock, you’d failed to notice the lack of sound from your shower. 

With your finger raised to knock on the door, the door opened in front of you and you were met with a freshly showered, waist wrapped in a towel, River Cartwright. And for a moment, your brain faltered. 

“Uhh. Um.” You physically shook your head and forced your gaze onto him. “I left you some clothes in the spare room.” 

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“Feel free to stay the night. I’m gonna…I’m gonna get some sleep while it’s still dark outside. And, River? Me offering you to stay the night still doesn’t make us friends.”

River nodded, watching you walk towards your bedroom. However, although he didn’t miss the look on your face when he opened the bathroom door, he did miss you looking back from your bedroom as he walked towards the spare one. 

When you closed your bedroom door, you cursed at yourself again for checking him out as he walked away; hair dripping droplets of water down his toned back, a towel wrapped firmly around his hips. 

It took you a little longer than you liked in order to get back to sleep since part of you was still listening out for him to open your front door, but since it never came, you eventually fell asleep. 

When you woke up in the morning, you were still groggy from the broken sleep. Eventually pulling yourself out of bed, you opened your door and found the spare bedroom door open slightly.

He must already be awake. 

Going downstairs and towards your kitchen, you were surprised to find him sitting at the kitchen table, his leg stretched out, still dressed in the pajamas you’d set out on the bed, a coffee in his hand. 

“Oh. Hey.”

“Morning.”

You were thankful your back was to him when he first spoke. His voice was deeper and gruffer than usual. Maybe he hadn’t been awake long. 

“How’d you sleep?”

He sucked his teeth. “If I told you that, that might make us friends.”

“Fair enough.”

Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you grabbed the carton of milk from the fridge. “How’s your face?”

“Healing.” River told you.

Pulling out a chair, you eventually sat across from him and took in his face. There was some bruising, but that would heal soon enough. So would the smaller cuts and grazes. 

“How are your hands?”

You looked at them as he wrapped them around his mug. They looked worse than his face. Healing, but rough. 

“Swelling is going down.”

“Do they hurt?” 

He nodded, curling his hand into a tight fist before relaxing it. “No, well, a little.”

River watched as you stood from your spot at the table and opened up one of the kitchen drawers and sat back down. “Give me your hand.”

He went to do so but then pulled it back. “What are you gonna do?”

You flipped the tube up in your hand. “It’s just a healing cream.”

“Oh, right.”

You watched him carefully as he gave you his hand. “Why? What did you think I was going to do?”

“I tried to open a flashbox once and got burnt.”

“That was clever.”

He hissed a little before giving a small groan. “Yes. Thank you. Anyway, when I showed Sid, she slapped me. Well, my hand. The one I’d burnt.”

“Good. I’m glad. You deserved it.”

River tried to pull his hand away, but you kept a firm grip on it as you gently dabbed the cream across his knuckles. “Ow, hey. It was for a good cause.”

“What good cause? Figuring out the rest of Pi?”

River stopped pulling away and looked at you. “How do you-”

“You’re not my friend. You don’t get that privilege.”

“Then what privilege do you get to check me out?” You caught River’s smug smile as your gaze flashed to his. “You can deny it all you want, but I saw how you were looking.”

You could feel your entire body. It felt like it was on fire. And not in a good way. “It was three in the morning. Everyone knows human defences are weakest at that time.”

“Weak in muscle or weak at the knees?”

You pressed into one of the cuts on his hand. “Fuck- Ow, ow, ow. Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

Letting go, River shook his hand to try and relieve some of the pain before you pulled his other hand across the table and dabbed the cream across the cuts one by one. 

“In all seriousness, thank you.” You looked back at him, your cheeks cooling. “You could have told me to fuck off, and you didn’t. So…thanks.”

Eddie

dating eddie & volt - headcanons

Volt

dating eddie & volt - headcanons

Johnny

Dunk

Daisuke

Dirk / Clarence

Dorian

dorian accidentally making you cry - headcanons

Freddy

yandere freddy yeti - headcanons

Barry

if only you knew - oneshot

Amir

dating amir - headcanons

amir with a s/o who has anger issues - headcanons

Cabrizzio

cabrizzio proposing to you - headcanons

Luke

Tony

Bodhi

Cam

Hector

yandere hector - headcanons

hector nsfw - headcanons

Mac

Shelley

talking about your hyperfixation with mac - headcanons

mac surprising you for your birthday - headcanons

Bobby

Betty

Dasha

cuddling with dasha - headcanons

dasha with a s/o with anger issues - headcanons

River

Beau

Harper

Beverly

Miranda

Maggie

maggie with a s/o who used to be in an abusive relationship - headcanons

Lucinda Lavish