#but about ten years ago yeah i’d say so

[jackklinemybeloved]

if u were to make a character for neverafter what fairy tale would u base it off of????

Oooo this is such a good question. I’m not super familiar with the original source material of a lot of fairy tales and I wasn’t super into the genre as a kid, so I don’t know a ton of characters that I would be really drawn to.

The first thing I thought of when I read this question was the velveteen rabbit? Which I know isn’t a fairy tale, but it was the first children’s story I read as a kid and remember going “oh this is pretty messed up and horrifying and sad.” And I think there’s horror potential in the kind of body horror of being an inanimate object that was worn down and nearly burned alive, and then coming alive. And while it has horror potential, that story and that character have a lot of heart, and I think that would make for an interesting character dynamic. Plus fucked up little guys with hearts of gold are one of my go tos when picking my fav d20 characters

Either that or Robin Hood because eat the rich.

[strawbeerossi]

Baby Fever

Pairing: Wife!Reader x Husband!Spencer

Description: After seeing Henry and Spencer interact after the little boy wears an adorable Halloween costume, you know what you want from your husband more than anything else

Content/Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy and wanting to be pregnant, kissing, unprotective sex, penetrative sex, creampie, some cute banter.

Word Count: 2K

Kinktober Day Ten: Breeding

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

It was currently Halloween, the team getting back from the case just a few short hours ago. You and Spencer had plans to go get something for dinner and then make your way home for a night filled with spooky movies and a bowl filled with candy that neither of you needed. Everyone was currently wrapping up what little bit that needed to be done when JJ was coming back into the bullpen, a wide smile on her face. “Attention everybody. As I’m sure most of you were aware, Henry was a little nervous about going trick or treating this year.” She’d clasped her hands together with a smile as the team was looking between each other in curiosity. “But he’s decided to go anyway.” She’d finished, David smiling. “Great. What changed his mind?”

“The BAU did. I told him that he should go out on Halloween and try to figure out which monsters are real and which ones are not.” She mused. “So he wants to be a profiler.” Derek smiled, hands in his pockets while JJ put her hand up. “Ah. He wants to be his favorite profiler.” She corrected while everyone was glancing at the open door of the bullpen when Penelope was bringing in a mini Spencer.

Henry’s costume idea was precious, you had to admit it. The whole idea of him being a profiler would be fun for him, however being a little Spencer?! You never thought you needed to see it this badly until you did. “Woah! Yeah! Oh wow, You look great, Henry!” Spencer was shooting up from his spot with a wide smile from excitement, the way his eyes had a little sparkle in them was enough to make you start to wonder.

Sure, you’d talked about children with your husband before, the both of you wanting a sweet little family in a sweet little suburb. However you never really put too much thought into it before now. Seeing Spencer excitedly kneel down to clip his nametag to Henry’s shirt and watching him get teary eyed in his admiration for his god son, this was all you needed to know that you were for sure ready for the next step.

After seeing the little boy off, the team was wrapping up their activities before everyone was making their way out of the building, leaving you and Spencer to go pick up something for dinner then you two decided on going home. Upon making it, you were in the kitchen of your shared apartment while putting the takeout meals on plates, Spencer trying to find some sort of Halloween movie to put on for your little tradition of festivities to begin. 

“Hey, Spencer.” You break the silence while carrying the plates to place them on the coffee table perched in front of the couch with other numerous treats. “I was thinking.. We wanted to wait a couple years for kids and.. We have been married for three years, child free.” You brought it up the only way you know how. “I guess what I’m saying is, I think we should start trying! I mean, you and Henry were so sweet today and it really got me thinking about more. What we don’t have yet.” 

Spencer had turned his attention towards you, a soft smile on his face as he let you initiate conversation. However as soon as you were mentioning kids, it was like his eyes lit up, body shooting up straighter. “You really wanna start trying? I’ve been wanting to since the day we got married but I know we agreed to wait.” He laughed a bit while offering a wide smile. “I’d love to have a baby with you, honey. More than anything else.”

His excitement filled you with relief, a smile matching his as you were letting your arms wrap around his shoulders. “Let's do it then! I mean, we are both financially stable and we are secure together. Let's bring a little Reid into the world.” You gushed. You were both cut off by the sound of Spencer’s stomach rumbling though, making the both of you giggle. “Maybe after dinner.” He teased, pressing a few soft kisses against your lips. 

You didn’t think you’ve ever gone through dinner so quickly in your life, the both of you doing good to clean up your dishes before Spencer was already attacking you in his embrace in  the kitchen, the both of you sharing kisses while standing in place. “Bed please.” You murmured while smiling as he obliged, grabbing your hand with a smile as he quickly led you off to your shared bedroom. 

There was without a missed beat, Spencer was easily lifting you in his arms before pressing his lips against yours, one that radiated pure love and care, his hands resting under your thighs as you were carried to the king size bed. Once on your back, you were bringing your hands to cup his cheeks while you were both lying in bed, tangled in one another’s embrace. “I love you so much.” His words were like sweet honey. 

“I love you so much.” The both of you parted briefly, Spencer moving to rest his hands on your hips, fingertips slipping slowly up your blouse as he was gently pushing it up your frame. His lips were pressing the sweetest of kisses against your warm skin, the both of you working together as you tugged the garment over your head.

His onslaught of pressing kisses against your skin trailing to your chest, his hands reaching behind you to remove your bra with the utmost care. His tongue was licking over your hardened nipple, a soft breath falling from your lips as you let your hands tangle in his hair. 

Spencer liked to take his time with you, hardly ever having days where he needed to get it over and done with. He preferred to savor the moment, to enjoy the intimacy that came with the act. As his lips were wrapping around the nub, he was taking his time to suck and flick his tongue, satisfied with the noises leaving your lips. After moving to switch breasts, his free hand was sliding down your stomach. You could feel all the heat rush between your legs as you knew exactly what was coming next. His hand had slipped past your pants and the waistband of your panties, hand cupping your wet pussy as he slowly lifted his head from your chest. “My pretty girl.” He whispered, your hands gently pulling him down to connect your lips while his hand was cupping your clothed cunt, feeling the heat of your arousal. 

He loved having this effect on you, the way that he could satisfy you and get you revved up by the smallest of touches. His eidetic memory worked out really well in that case, he memorized every curve and dip of your body, every touch that made you crave him more. 

His fingertip was teasing your slit, spreading around the slick before finding your clit. You knew that he wanted to take his time and play the long game but if you were honest, you were so desperate. 

“Please, Spencer..” You breathed while watching as he offered a soft smile. “You really wanna skip the foreplay?” He’d asked. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t bummed, wanting nothing more than to taste you, to drink up every ounce of sweetness that you had to offer him. 

“As much as I love when you take your time and cherish me, I just need you now.” If you were honest, you were just excited for the aspect to feel that familiar closeness. Spencer didn’t argue in the slightest, hand gently moving from your panties before he was sitting up slightly to tug your pants and underwear down in one swift movement, a smile on his face as he was stripping you bare for him. No matter how many times he’s seen you, it was like he’d never seen you before. His cheeks were red as he brought his hands to gently rub your hips. 

After a few moments of his eyes taking in the beauty in front of him, he was moving to stand so he could get himself undressed, getting himself naked while clumsily nearly falling on the bed when it came to his pants and boxers. It was silly, like you two were teenagers who finally had an opening to fool around without someone there to stop you both. 

His hands were gently taking a hold of your hips, tugging you down to the edge of the bed as he offered a smile. You both had been safe enough before, always having some sort of contraception at the ready. After your body had a bad reaction to the birth control you were on, he’d offered to wear condoms, not wanting to opt for a vasectomy due to his want for children. They could be reversed but he didn’t want to get one just to reverse it later.

“Ready?”

“Let’s make a baby.” 

Those words sent blood straight to Spencer’s cock. The idea of you being pregnant with your shared child, a symbol of your love and affection for each other, was a lot to take in. It was like his animalistic urges had started to break through the cracks. Licking the palm of his hand, the male was pumping his throbbing shaft to prepare himself before positioning himself at your leaking hole. 

Leaning down to press his lips to yours, it wasn’t long until his cock was disappearing inside of your soaked cunt, the both of you moaning against one another’s lips. Your hands came up to hold tight to his shoulders, pulling from the kiss slowly as you let your head fall back against the bed below you. 

Spencer’s hips rocked slowly at first, relishing in your little gasps and whines from the painfully slow pace. “You look so beautiful, always take me so well.” He breathed, hands rubbing your hips, just wanting to touch you more than he already was. The idea of your stomach swollen with his baby was just too much to bear, making his hips snap a little rougher against yours, which managed to catch you by surprise but you gripped his upper arms with a loud moan, head tilting back as the tip of his cock was hitting the spongey button deep inside of you. 

“You’re gonna look so sexy with my child inside of you. Gonna show the whole world that you are mine, that you are devoted to me.” The words were enough to elicit a moan besides his thrusts. As you could feel the familiar knot tightening in your stomach, you were gently tugging your husband down to have your chests pressed flush against one anothers. Now you weren’t usually the type to dirty talk but judging by how Spencer seemed to be turned on so much more when it comes to thinking of you being pregnant. 

“Fuck, fill me with your cum.” You panted, the words making his cock twitch inside of you as he was letting out an animalistic groan. “Want me to fill you up? Gonna get my pretty girl pregnant.” His tone was huskier now, a sign he was definitely just as close as you were.

Your pussy was convulsing around his thick cock, your head falling back as your mouth was agape. “I’m gonna cum.” You blubbered out, a whine leaving your lips as you could feel his thumb making contact with your throbbing, desperate clit. “Cum for me, baby. Want you to make a mess.” He breathed, giving a few more thrusts before both of you had managed to hit your peaks, the ropes of cum decorating your inner walls while Spencer’s body was collapsing on top of you. It wasn’t enough to crush you, one arm holding him up. 

“I’m just gonna.. Stay here for a minute..” He panted while you laughed breathlessly, your fingers gently threading through his hair as you closed your eyes.

“You know, it’s actually very rare to become pregnant from the first time having sex.” He began as he was pushing himself up slightly, his hair stuck to his sticky forehead. “I know.. You know, I feel like you’re gonna have to fuck me again.” You breathed, giggling at his reaction.

“We should’ve tried for a baby sooner.”

[arieslost]

home to you | op81

oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: oscar does what he should’ve done a long time ago.

word count: 2,978

warnings: healing sunburn right at the beginning, a touch of angst

masterlist — join my tag list here!

this is a PART TWO! read part one here :)

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

Your sunburn is peeling.

Oscar’s been watching you absentmindedly pick at it for the last ten minutes as you recount your day to him. He’s paying attention to what you’re saying, of course, but now he’s worried that you might accidentally hurt yourself.

“Stop doing that,” he says when you pause to catch your breath, reaching for his phone as if he could put his hand through and stop you himself.

“What?” You frown, and then look at your shoulder. “Oh, right. It’s weirdly satisfying though.”

“This is why you can’t go to the beach by yourself.” Oscar sighs. “You never put on enough sunscreen.”

“I know,” you reply quietly.

As much as both of you have tried, neither of you can help the awkward undertones that seep into every silence you share now. Oscar knows you love him, and you know that he doesn’t feel the same way.

You think he doesn’t feel the same way.

When he saw that look on your face that morning in the kitchen, it reminded him of the way he stared at you on prom night. Oscar didn’t get asked to the senior prom, but you did, and you had turned the offer down. Oscar asked you why, and you told him that you only wanted to go with him, otherwise you weren’t going. You’d dragged him back and forth from your table to the dance floor all night long, and it all would’ve faded into the mush of fleeting high school memories if your favorite song hadn’t come on. Oscar remembers every detail of how your eyes lit up, how you cried, “I love this song!” even though he knew you did, and how you’d grabbed his hands and started dancing with a refreshed energy. He felt like time had stopped and his world revolved around you, and it felt right.

So yeah, he knew the moment you gave him that look that not only did he still love you, but you finally, finally felt the same way. And, for the second time, he’d epically fucked it up.

He often wishes that he could go back and confess to you like he wanted to that night. You’d stayed over because you were too tired to drive home. You were both single. It was the perfect time. But now it’s four years later and he’s sitting in the hotel bathroom on the other side of the world, his girlfriend asleep in the hotel bed, and you on the other end of his phone screen picking at your sunburn that he could’ve prevented had he spent more time with you on vacation.

“You doing okay, Osc?” You ask, pulling on a hoodie of his that you stole from him before he left for his very first F1 race. “Aside from the races, I mean. I know you’re doing great with those.”

“Yeah, I’m alright.” The words come out with practiced ease. “I’d rather hear about how you’re doing though.” I miss you like you wouldn’t believe.

“I think I’ve told you everything like five times now,” you giggle. “I could tell you about the guy that came up to me in the grocery store this afternoon and took a painstakingly long time to ask for my number, but that’s not a long story.”

Oscar’s heart stops. “What?” He replies, teeth gritted, before he clears his throat and lightens his tone. “I mean, what?”

“Yeah, it was kind of strange. He started the conversation by asking me how you were doing, obviously, because you’re so cool and famous-” Oscar flips you off when you roll your eyes, and you laugh. “Anyway, I guess that was his icebreaker, because then he just abruptly segued into grilling me right there in the cereal aisle about my life and how he ‘couldn’t believe he’d never seen me before.’” You recount dramatically. “I’m telling you, Osc, it was nonstop cheesy line after cheesy line. I felt so bad for him I let him have my number.”

“So, he used me as an in and then harassed you until you gave him your number?”

You nod slowly. “Pretty much.”

“You better not actually be considering going out with this guy.” Oscar scoffs.

“Oh, no, I’m not!” You rush to clarify, and he can see a faint blush rising on your cheeks. “I mean, it’s not like I’m waiting for anyone-anything. He was just weird. I only gave him my number so he’d leave me alone… I blocked him when he texted me.”

“You’re horrible,” he starts laughing now, relieved that this guy never even stood a chance. “I love it.”

“You’re supposed to be encouraging me to get out there and find a boyfriend, loser. Brush up on the best friend manual.” You complain, pulling the hood over your head and hiding your face from him so he can’t see how much it hurts to think about finding someone that isn’t him.

He doesn’t notice anyway; he’s distracted by the sound of the covers moving and his girlfriend yawning.

You hear it too, and glance up at the camera. “You have to go?”

His heart breaks at how sad you look. “Yeah, sounds like she’s actually waking up this time. Sorry, honey.”

You shrug, and he knows you’re trying to appear unbothered. “It’s okay. We got, what, an hour and a half? That’s a whole extra 45 minutes or so.”

“You’re allowed to tell me how you really feel, y’know.”

“Damn it, Oscar. You just see right through me. I don’t know why I even bother.” You sigh, covering your face with your hands.

“I don’t know why, either,” he attempts to joke. “Look, I-”

“Oscar? Where are you?” His girlfriend calls, and you stiffen up at the sound of her voice.

“Be there in a minute!” He responds, turning his attention back to you. “I’ll call you again as soon as possible, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Bye, honey.”

“Bye, Osc.”

You hang up first.

“I love you,” he whispers to his blank phone screen, and gets up to start his day.

You say it back to your own blank screen and go to sleep.

Oscar comes to the steadfast conclusion that he wants you and only you at his side at his home race, and not as a friend.

Breaking up with his girlfriend still looms over him. He lies awake for way too long at night trying to figure out the nicest way to do it, but his thoughts always end up taking a detour to you and how he wishes it was you sleeping next to him instead.

Despite the struggle going on in his mind, he goes through the motions of PDA with her for all the cameras and other drivers in the paddock to see. Lando is the only one who realizes what his issue is.

“Mate, you have to figure this out.” The older driver said out of the blue as they were lounging in McLaren hospitality after qualifying.

“Huh?” Oscar frowned at him, tearing his eyes away from his texts with you. “I know I fucked up that quali, but it’s not like I can’t improve.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, you muppet.” Lando rolled his eyes, and said your name like it’s obvious. “You just have to break up with the girl you’re with now so you can have the girl you really want.”

“You say that like it’s so simple.” Oscar mumbled, looking at the text from you that had just come in.

Just focus on the race, Osc. Quali’s behind you, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll be cheering you on, what could possibly go wrong??

“It is, if you think about it. Besides, you’ve been acting so weird lately she might already think something’s up.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.” Oscar groaned, sinking lower into his chair.

“Always here for you, mate.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I don’t care.”

That enlightening conversation gets Oscar to finally work up the courage to tell his girlfriend those dreaded words following the race– “We need to talk.”

He waits until they’re in the hotel room after dinner to say it so there’s no audience, primarily because he knows that she’s prone to throwing fits when things don’t go her way. The memory of her losing her mind when he took you to breakfast during vacation comes screaming back to him at the speed of light.

She doesn’t say anything at first; instead, she takes her time removing her shoes and taking the pins out of her hair. Oscar can’t stand the silence, so he starts speaking again.

“It’s about-”

“I think I know what this is about.” She interrupts him.

“You do?”

“I’d have to be stupid not to know, Oscar. You’ve been off for the past few days, it’s only with me, and every time I wake up you’re hiding in the bathroom on the phone.” She holds up a hand when he opens his mouth. “I know it’s her, and I’ve known since that vacation. You don’t have to tell me.”

“You’re… you’re not gonna yell?” He can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“It won’t get me anywhere, will it?”

“It never did.”

She smiles matter-of-factly. “I guess I have to work on that.”

She packs her things without argument. Oscar offers to buy her a plane ticket somewhere, but she waves him off and thanks him anyway before walking out the door.

The Australian Grand Prix is in two weeks. Oscar doesn’t think before he calls you.

“I’m coming home. I need to see you.”

Your heart has been in your throat ever since Oscar called you this morning. He was so hasty that he didn’t even tell you when he was coming, so every little movement you see outside your window has you running to see if it’s him or not.

He doesn’t show up until almost 9:30 at night. You can hear the engine of his car as he flies through your neighborhood with practiced ease and nearly drifts into your driveway. Your stomach is jumping with nerves and excitement; you didn’t think you’d see him for another two weeks, and despite the awkwardness that your feelings have brought to your friendship, you want nothing more than to hug your best friend.

He starts impatiently knocking on the door as you nearly trip down the stairwell in your rush to let him in.

“Hold on!” You shout, fingers shaking as you unlock the door and wrench it open. “Are you trying to break my door?”

“Jokes later, let me hold you,” he says, reaching for you and meeting you in the middle of the doorway as he pulls you into his chest for a tight embrace.

You melt into him immediately, your arms wrapped around his neck and your nose pressed to the warm skin that peeks out of his hoodie. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you mumble, squeezing him.

He shivers, kissing the top of your head. “I’m here, baby.”

I’m sorry, baby. You think about that so much that it shouldn’t hurt anymore. It sobers your mood a little.

“Why, though?” You ask, pulling away a little to look at him. “Don’t you have things to be doing?”

“I may have forced them to clear my schedule by coming home without telling anyone.”

“Oscar!” You exclaim. “Why? You could get in trouble!”

“Can we talk inside?”

“Yeah, of course. C’mon.” You take his hand and lead him into your house.

He takes off his shoes, leaves his suitcase in the hall, and goes to your living room on autopilot, where he flops down on the couch and lets out a long breath. You sit next to him, knees bumping together as you look at him with a reasonable amount of concern. “You’re acting weird. What’s wrong with you?”

“I broke up with her.” He says, rolling his head to the side so he’s looking at you. “So, nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Bullshit, Osc, it seemed to me like you really liked her.”

“You didn’t, though.”

“Who cares what I think?” Your brain fully computes his words. “Wait- actually, no. I’m not even going to act surprised by the fact that you knew that.” You sigh.

“I care what you think. I care about you. A lot.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I don’t think you do.” He sits up straighter now, turning his whole body to face you. “Like, in a romantic way.”

You blink at him a couple times. “No you don’t.”

“I don’t?” He repeats incredulously.

“You can’t. You don’t.” You say. “You’re lying.”

“I’m lying?” He says through a laugh. “You’ve known me your whole life. When have I ever lied to you?”

You press your lips together. The only time he’s ever lied to you is when he planned your surprise parties. “I’m gonna need you to do a really good job explaining yourself, otherwise I’m kicking you out. You can’t do this to me, Oscar, you know how I feel-”

“Yes, I do, and I’d love to explain if you’d stop spiraling for a second.” He interrupts, taking your hands to ground you.

You’re once again having the dilemma of wanting to push him away and pull him closer simultaneously. The pressure of his hands holding yours succeeds in calming you, so you allow it.

“The whole reason I knew how you felt in the first place is because of the way you looked at me in the kitchen. You didn’t notice, but I looked at you the exact same way at the prom.” He says, gauging your reaction by how your face contorts slightly as you try to remember the prom at all, aside from the fleeting memory of forcing him to slow dance with you. “That feeling like time stops? Like-”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” you recall, looking down as he runs his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Right.” He nods. “Look, the bottom line here is that I screwed up by not telling you then, and if I had, we would’ve been dating for years at this point and this conversation wouldn’t even be happening.”

You feel like you look like a fish out of water with how your jaw is opening and closing, searching for something to say in response. “Osc-”

“If this makes you change your mind, I get it.” He continues. “But the whole reason I came here is to tell you that I love you. I’m in love with you and I have been since we were 18.”

You go to muster up something to say in response when he says one more thing. “Oh, and I’m tired of only being able to see you through the phone. That’s the other reason.”

You can’t help it– that, paired with his polite cat smile, his flushed cheeks, and his confession has you dissolving into giggles. That quickly morphs into laughter that sends you leaning so far forward your head is practically in Oscar’s lap, but he doesn’t seem to mind because he’s laughing too.

“I hate you so much,” you gasp out, pushing yourself back up so you can look at him when you tell him the complete and total truth. “I’ve been in love with you since we were 14.”

“Shit, that means I have eight years to make up for, not four.”

“Sucks to suck.” You say, easily falling back into your age-old banter.

“You sound like Lando,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “And I was gonna ask if I could kiss you.”

“Ah, shoot. I ruined it.”

“Hmm, no. I’m gonna ask you anyway.” He shifts closer to you, brushing your hair out of your face with both hands. “Can I kiss you? Please?”

You start nodding before he even finishes asking, maybe too enthusiastically, but it’s Oscar. He knows you. He wants you. You don’t need to be embarrassed.

The press of his lips against yours is soft, gentle. You always thought that if you ever kissed Oscar it might be too weird, but the only thing you feel now is right.

It feels right to thread your fingers into his hair. It feels right to let him tug you closer, closer, closer, until you have no choice but to straddle him so you can be as close as he wants you. It feels right when his hands slip under your shirt and lightly run over the skin of your back, when his tongue meets yours, when you give his hair an experimental tug and he moans into your mouth.

The only thing wrong about it is that you have no choice but to break the kiss in order to breathe, but even then you don’t move far from each other, breaths mixing in the minimal space between you both.

“We could have been doing that for a long time,” Oscar sighs, throwing his head back against the couch.

“We have all the time in the world now that we stopped being idiots and confessed.” You point out.

“D’you think you can come to the race in a couple weeks? We can take it slow with this, no one needs to know… I just want you to be there.” He asks.

“Of course, Osc, are you kidding?” You run your hands over his shoulders and down to where his hands rest on your hips. “Though, if you win, I can’t promise no PDA or anything.”

“I’d expect nothing less from my girlfriend.” You can feel him tense up a little, like he’s expecting you to react negatively, but he relaxes immediately when your smile lights up your whole face and you kiss him again.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

“I love you,” you whisper back.

No one else needs to hear it just yet. You only need to tell each other.

note: i sincerely hope this made up for any tears i may have caused with the angst in the first part. this is the first time i’ve ever been inspired to write a part 2, and i think it’s because i desperately needed it to end happily. thank you so much for all the love on falling for you; i never expected it to get as much attention as it did!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika !

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[koolades-world]

Demons and Humans not understanding each other

Inspired by several other posts I read about this same thing <3 honestly even if the brothers insisted it was safe, I would consult Satan, Lucifer or Barbatos

this is mostly mammon freaking out

Humans think the deadliest things are like, adorable, like Cerberus. Mammon especially does not understand why Mc wants to run towards the very dangerous, very mad three headed dog. A few times he has had to throw Mc over his shoulder to keep them from staying behind

“MC CERBERUS BEING THE BEST BOY DOES NOT JUSTIFY HIS ACTIONS HE WANTS TO KILL US”

“But he’s so cute! He just needs a snuggle buddy”

Humans can also be very stubborn if they’re too hot or cold but refuse to admit it. It’s fine with Lucifer does it because he’s one of the most powerful and therefore resilient demons in Hell, but not so much when Mc does it. Beel and Mammon love playing in the Devildom snow, but given that it’s the Devildom, it’s definitely a lot colder than it is in the human realm. Even after ten layers, Mc is still freezing but refuses to admit it.

“Mc, are ya shivering? I thought ya would be too warm under all that”

“I’m sweating with this one jacket”

“I’ll live! Let’s go back to the snowman”

“no I don’t think you will”

On the same note, sometimes demons forget humans can’t withstand crazy temperatures. Asmo will invite Mc to a popular bathhouse, sauna or hot springs, forgetting that the temperature would literally boil Mc alive

“Hey Asmo this is the place you wanted to go, right?”

“Yes! Isn’t is cute?”

“Everything except the part where I boil alive”

“what!”

Some foods can kill humans just by being near them so imagine how the brother would feel when they learned this, it’s giving that lunatic pudding incident with Diavolo from that one card

“Mc! You’ll love this. Open wide!”

“Asmo I feel funny”

“DO NOT FEED MC THE TAKEOUT LUCIFER SAID ITS DEADLY FOR HUMANS IN LARGE AMOUNTS”

“FUCK NOT AGAIN”

In retrospect, humans probably sleep a lot compared to demons. Some demons probably don’t sleep at all, except Sloth demons. Setting aside about eight to nine hours of the day just to sit idly might not make sense to them until they learn they will shut down without it

“How are you feeling about the exam we just took? Exam week is finally over.”

“Mc? Mc, Satan is talking to you. Why are you on the floor”

“MY HUMAN IS DEAD”

“No, I think they’re just asleep idiot”

“oh. wait, THEYRE ASLEEP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE HALL lucifer is gonna kill me”

I’d say both demons and humans are social creatures, but humans will go insane without social interaction. Yeah a demon would probably be upset if they didn’t talk to someone for thousands of years but I don’t think a human could last more than ten without losing grip on reality. Humans tend to copy each other, which is probably bizarre to demons. Humans don’t even understand yawning so demons definitely won’t

Going back to the food thing, demons can probably go ages without eating, besides Gluttony demons. Humans need to eat so frequently compared to them

“So you’re tellin’ me that if Mc doesn’t eat for a whole week, their insides start to eat themselves?!”

“Yes. But, Mc ate a few hours ago.”

(Mammon was already gone when Satan turned back around)

Demons probably also play game that would definitely kill humans. My brother and I used to play crazy games when we were little (our favorite game didn’t have a name but we would put Barbies in the toy train tracks and see what would happen when different Thomas and friends character would hit her. The train tracks would glow in the dark! I did not let him put my favorite doll in the train track and he had to listen since I was the older one, she was not a barbie and had bendy feet? that’s not for now) but we never seriously got at each other throats. I cannot imagine what games demons and demon children must play. Satan was born fully grown but imagine if he was born little and the brothers had to play his favorite games with him. I feel like they would find the Barbie game I played a little weird too. Like, they would probably tell me that I should’ve done it in real life since that would be better experience or something batshit like that

“Aww, Satan, do you remember all the times we played “Five minute eye stab” with Lucifer? You were so cute. Sometimes I think Luci let you win.”

“Do not talk to me Asmodeus.”

“I’m sorry, you played what?”

“One time we gave him an actual knife by accident and since he was good, he ended up stabbing Lucifer’s eye.”

“You’ll be next if you don’t shut up and let me read”

“HE WHAT”

“Oh he’s fine now, clearly. Only took him a few hundred years to regain normal eye functions”

“Can we not talk about this anymore?”

Babe it is a miracle Mc is still alive

[estrellami-1]

Ten Minutes

Didn’t love this when I first wrote it. Left it in my drafts for a LONG freakin’ time. Found it again and no longer care, so here yall go; have fun! Probably not a part 2 to this one.

Steve takes a breath, then another, as he waits for the line to connect. He grits his teeth, feeling eyes on him. He does his best to ignore them.

“Munson residence, if you’re calling about the murders I’ve been absolved of, try going to hell instead.”

“I need you to pick me up.”

A pause. “Stevie?”

Steve takes another breath. Tries to unclench his jaw. “Please.”

“Yeah, of course, I’ll be right there- what-”

“My parents are in town.”

Another pause. “I’ll be there in ten. Try not to kill them.”

Steve laughs humorlessly. “Just hurry.”

“Ten minutes,” Eddie says, and hangs up.

Steve sighs, places the phone in its socket, and turns back to face his parents.

His mother is narrowing her eyes at him. “Who was that?”

“A friend,” he says lightly.

“Who, that Hagan boy?” His father scoffs.

“No. Not Tommy. I haven’t spoken to him in years.”

“Oh, Steve,” his mother tuts. “Always so dramatic. We’ve not even been gone a year-”

Steve laughs. It sounds hollow. “Try four years,” he informs her. “And three concussions. Did you hear about the mall two years ago? Or the boy who went missing four years ago?” He shakes his head when his mother looks at him blankly. “That’s what I thought.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” his father snaps. “And don’t you dare speak to your mother in that tone again, Steven. You’re still a child and I won’t hesitate to reprimand you as such.”

“I’m twenty,” Steve says evenly. “I’ll be twenty-one in five months.” He crosses his arms. “The last time you saw me, I was a freshman in high school. I’ve graduated. I found jobs. Lost some friends and made some better ones.”

“And what of that girl you were dancing around?” His mother asks. “Karen’s daughter?”

“We’re friends,” he says shortly, then moves through the kitchen, to the stairs. “Excuse me.”

“No,” his father says. “You’re not excused. Where do you think you’re going?”

Steve turns, one hand on the bannister, to look at the man who had terrified him the last time he’d seen him. It’s funny what interdimensional threats will do. “To pack a bag. I’m not going to stay here while you are.”

“And if I were to say we’re staying for good?”

Steve laughs. “Dad, you’ve said that before. Multiple times, actually. Those words mean nothing to me anymore.”

“And where are you planning on staying?” His mother asks. “Honestly, Steven, I thought we raised you to make better decisions than this.”

“Oh, I see. So it was raising me when I woke up at nine years old to discover you’d left and I’d have to find my own way to school. Then a week later when I had to ride my bike to the store to buy groceries. At eleven, when I looked the school counselor in the eye and said you’d be back soon. I had to go to my own parent-teacher conferences. At fifteen, trying to figure out high school classes. At seventeen when I got my first concussion. At eighteen when I signed my first legally-binding NDA. You hadn’t abandoned me. You were raising me.” He sighs, shakes his head. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

He makes his way up to his room and packs as much as he can. Clothes. Vinyls. The box of cash under the loose floorboard. Then into the bathroom. Toothbrush, deodorant, even his shampoo. Doubles back into his room to grab a bracelet off his nightstand; one El made him.

He looks around, grabs the nail bat, and makes his way downstairs. His mother gasps when she sees him. “What on earth is that?”

He looks at the bat. Adjusts his grip, twirls it around. “An NDA.”

The doorbell rings. Steve grabs his bags and moves towards it. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never walk back in.”

“Fine by me,” Steve says. He grabs his keys, tosses the house key at his father, and pockets the rest.

He opens the door and grins at Eddie, who’s looking at him worriedly. “Hey, Eds. Ready to go?”

Eddie blinks. “Um. Sure? Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Steve shrugs. “I’m getting kicked out. If you don’t want to take me I’ll just go bug Robin. It’ll only be for a little while, though, just until I find a better job and an apartment or something.”

“Like hell Wayne’s gonna miss this chance,” Eddie grins. “You know you’re his favorite.”

Steve smiles back, tosses his things into the back of Eddie’s van. “I hoped you were gonna say that.”

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @muricel @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

[theminecraftbee]

Xisuma checks over his scripts three more times. Both Joe and Jevin have claimed they’d be online until the moment the server kicked them, and he wants to make sure his scripts for doing that are sound, and won’t do anything strange. His hands are shaking as he does. Everything is neat and tidy. Everything is neat and tidy.

Hypno comes up behind him, glancing over Xisuma’s shoulder. He whistles. “Man, you’re really baby-proofing server close, huh?”

“Oh, Hypno! I thought you were packing,” Xisuma says.

“Nah. I’d moved most of my stuff over to Iskall’s sever for the break like, a few weeks ago. Only had enough stuff here for playing Decked Out.”

“Really? That’s good,” Xisuma says.

“Anyway, what about you? You can be packing too, this whole shutdown process is automated. We’ve literally done this seven times before. Sort of eight, if you count the whole moon thing, but like, you know.”

“Yeah, but…”

He trails off. He’s not sure why he’s still standing here. The shutdown scripts have, truthfully, been ready for months. Everyone’s been packing for at least a month (at least, everyone who hasn’t procrastinated away the time). They’d gone around cleaning up the server just the other day; it’s been left neat and tidy. Everything is as it ought to be, at the end of a season.

“…you know what? Yeah man, I get it,” Hypno says. “I’d want to stay a little longer, too.”

“Just a little longer,” echoes Xisuma.

“If you’re anxious, I can check the safety script again, make sure you aren’t causing another apocalypse for everyone staying until it closes.”

Xisuma laughs. “Gosh, am I that obvious?”

Hypno flings an arm around Xisuma’s shoulder. “Nah. I’ve just known you long enough. You’d think the helmet would make you more mysterious, but…”

“I’m cool,” Xisuma says.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Hypno says.

“I might take you up on that,” Xisuma says. “I think—I think I want to do one more fly-around, you know? Say goodbye to some things. Even after all these years, it never stops being… I’ve had so much time to do it. You’d think after not getting a warning last time, I’d know to do it. It’d feel easier. But…”

Hypno squeezes Xisuma’s shoulder once before removing his arm. “I’ll check your script for you. Go on. Go look over your kingdom, oh glorious leader.”

“I really am not that,” Xisuma says. “Don’t call me that. I’m not in charge. You know I’m not in charge.”

Hypno chuckles and opens an admin log. Xisuma takes a deep breath and looks down over the spawn village. The wind blows past him. It’s an ordinary day. Everything is fine. Everything is neat and tidy. It feels like it’s been a long time since he’s been there, and yet…

“Here’s to season ten,” Xisuma says, and something unknots in his chest for the last time.

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part eight; final)

(part one)(part two)(part three)(part four)(part five)(part six)(part seven) (ao3 link)

It was an “if” if Eddie would actually be discharged today, but now, after some more poking and prodding, he's finally on his way home with prescriptions for pain meds and physical therapy. 

Wayne helps him up the three creaky, beautifully familiar stairs into the trailer, and Eddie collapses onto the old, beautifully familiar couch the second he gets inside. The weary groan he lets out is only slightly over-dramatized. “I feel like an 80 year old man,” he complains, entire body sore and aching to the bone already. “Now I know how you feel.”

“Oi, I ain't that old,” Wayne protests. When Eddie snorts derisively, Wayne rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Alright, fine, so we both got creaky knees now. You, at least, will be young and spry again in no time, though,” his uncle tells him. “Just get some rest, old man.” 

Eddie heaves a great big sigh, takes another breath to steel himself, and then does just the opposite of that. 

“What did I just say?” Wayne mutters as Eddie moves to stand again. 

“I said I’d call Steve,” Eddie says. Steve had to go to work, but he'd told Eddie that morning to call him if he ended up making it home today. “I’ll dip out of work and come hang out, help you settle in, if you want,” Steve had said. 

Wayne offers, “I can call him for you.” 

“No, no, I got it,” Eddie insists, words broken by a grunt as he hauls himself back to his feet. “I can make it to the phone, Wayne, I'm not a complete invalid.”

“Alright.” Wayne raises his hands in defeat and backs off. He’s never been one to hover. “You just shout if you need me.” 

Eddie limps - slowly, painfully, with difficulty - to the phone on the wall by the tiny dining table they never use, the surface littered instead with unopened mail and haphazard papers scribbled with notes and reminders and important phone numbers. He leans heavily against the table as he paws through the piles trying to find a note of Steve's number. Eddie finds it buried deep, probably long since memorized by now before his memory got erased, but there it is: a notepad paper with Steve's name scrawled on it and two phone numbers written underneath, home and work. 

“Bingo.” Eddie grabs the paper, takes the phone off the hook, and dials the work number. 

The phone rings a couple times, and then: “Family Video. How can I help you?” 

“Hey, Stevie.” Eddie smiles at the sound of his voice, as if he hadn't literally just heard it only a few hours ago. 

“Eddie!” Steve's bored customer service voice brightens. “Are you home? How are you feeling?” 

“Yeah, I’m home. I’m alright. I mean, I’m bone-fucking-tired and feel about a million years old, but it's really really good to be back,” Eddie says honestly. He adds, “I’m under strict orders to rest, though - gonna be bored out of my mind, so I could use the company if you were serious about ditching work for me.” 

“Of course I was serious,” replies Steve. “It's a slow day today anyways.” 

Eddie grins. “Get your sweet ass over here then.” 

A smile is evident in Steve's voice too. “I'll be there in ten.” 

Eddie hangs up, tries his best to wipe this stupid lovesick grin off his face. He stumbles his way down the hall to his room next, flicking on some music from the cassette player on his dresser and looking around. His room is just as beautifully familiar as the rest of the trailer, not much changed from the way he last remembers it. The same music and D&D shit clutter his surfaces, the same posters clutter his walls. His bed is unmade, clothes litter the floor, same as always.

The only differences: his beloved electric guitar no longer hangs on the wall by the mirror (he was told, devastatingly, that she hadn't survived her trip to the Upside Down), and there are photographs he doesn't recognize taped up around the corners of that mirror. Eddie staggers over to get a closer look, only to first be momentarily jumpscared by his own reflection. His face is pale, eyes sunken, and his hair frizzes out in a greasy, tangled mess around his head, unwashed and unbrushed for who knows how long. Gross, but whatever. He manages to ignore his sickly appearance and inspects the pictures he had apparently deemed important enough to stick to the edges of his mirror. 

There are photos of Eddie smiling with Hellfire and his band and the kids, in large groups and small groups, with old friends he remembers and newer ones he doesn't quite. But what catches his attention the most is a photobooth strip of him and Steve. The first picture shows the two of them grinning, arms slung around each other’s shoulders; the second, a silly face photo, Eddie sticking out his tongue and Steve crossing his eyes; the third, Eddie giving Steve devil horns while Steve laughs; and the fourth- 

Eddie plucks the strip off the mirror, stumbles, so taken aback he trips over his own lame feet until he plops down heavily onto his bed, and he stares. He stares at the last image in the row, which depicts - clear as day and undeniably real, immortalized in ink on photo paper - Steve kissing Eddie, tender hand on his cheek, both of them smiling against each other’s lips.

He stares and he stares and he stares. And the longer he stares the more he can almost feel it, taste it, see the events of that photo strip playing out in his mind’s eye like a waking dream. Like a memory. 

~ 

Steve pulls up to the trailer, the one with the metal music blaring from somewhere inside that announces to the whole park that Eddie Munson is back home. He smiles at the sound, gets out of his car and bounds toward it. 

It's Wayne who lets him in when Steve knocks on the door. “He's in his room,” the older man tells him as he steps aside to let Steve in. “Make sure he's stayin’ off his feet, will you? ‘Cause lord knows he won't listen to me.” 

“Yeah, I got it,” Steve says, and his tone and his smile say I got him. Wayne nods. 

Steve makes his way down the hall to Eddie’s room. He raps his knuckles against the door first, but he doubts that can even be heard over the music so he pushes it open without waiting for a response. “Hey, Ed-” Steve starts, only to falter when he sees Eddie sitting statue-still on the edge of his bed, eyes boring holes into a photo strip of the two of them together. “Oh.” 

Eddie blinks, expression unreadable as he looks up and over at Steve. “Why didn't you tell me?” 

“I-” Steve doesn't know what to say, what he should say. His veins buzz with a nauseating mix of hope and anxiety and it's making him feel a bit sick. He takes a deep breath, turns down the music so he can think. “I wanted to. I just- I thought it would freak you out. You didn't know me. I didn't want to force anything on you.” 

“So…we were together,” Eddie says slowly. “For how long?” 

“Since July.” Steve’s desperately searching Eddie’s face for something, anything, to clue him in to what Eddie’s thinking or feeling right now. “Are- are you freaked out? Because you look a little freaked out.” 

“I’m not freaked out,” Eddie says, and it's almost convincing. “I'm just…processing.” 

“Oh-kay…” Steve breathes out, leaning cautiously against the doorframe, still hovering by the exit just in case Eddie decides he doesn't want him there anymore once he's finished processing.

“I’ve, uh-” Eddie looks back down at the photo strip he holds in his hands and takes a breath. “I’ve been remembering some things, you know, little things - in dreams - about us. But I- I thought I just had a crush or something, because I thought if all of that was real, if we had really been that happy - that…in love - then you would've said something. You would've told me.” 

When Eddie's eyes meet his again, Steve realizes he'd misread his expression before. Eddie's not freaked, he's upset, hurt, not because of what he's learned but because it was kept from him. Of all the worst-case scenarios Steve's spiraling mind had come up with over the past couple weeks, he had not considered this one. So preoccupied with his own angst over being forgotten and fear of being unwanted, Steve hadn't thought to consider that him hiding the true nature of their past might make Eddie feel unwanted too. That's the last thing Steve wants; the ache of that trumps any other ache he feels. 

“Eddie, I’m sorry. I just- you didn't know me, and I panicked; I didn't think, or-or I thought too much, but I should've just told you.” Steve pushes off from the doorway and goes to sit beside Eddie, because he can't stand Eddie looking at him with those big doe eyes and not being close to him. He leaves a bit of space, barely holds himself back from taking hold of Eddie's hand. “Because it was real, all the things you've been remembering. It was real- it is real, and I’m so sorry I didn't tell you.” 

Eddie is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. His gaze flicks him up and down and across his face, and then Eddie grabs him, hands dropping the photo strip to instead clutch at Steve's cheek and jaw as he pulls him in and kisses him. As their lips slide together, familiar, the both of them sigh into the kiss. Steve feels a bursting in his heart, so similar to the way it felt the very first time they’d done this: the giddiness of reciprocation, the intuition that this is right. 

When Eddie pulls back after a few long moments, something is changed, something returned. Steve watches Eddie’s eyes flutter open; and when they do, for the first time since he'd woken up in that hospital bed, Eddie sees him, knows him, loves him. 

“How could I ever have forgotten that?” Eddie says, almost whispered, running his thumb across Steve's cheekbone. “How could I ever have forgotten you?” 

Steve could cry. Tears made of relief and joy blur his vision, because Eddie is looking at him with all the tenderness he'd been missing these past weeks, the painful emptiness of before now filled. It's all back. His Eddie is back. Steve pitches forward and hugs him bodily. Eddie returns the embrace; Steve sinks into his arms and it feels like coming home. 

He closes his misty eyes, buries his face in the crook of Eddie's neck and the tangles of his hair, and he breathes him in, clinging onto him like Eddie might just disappear if Steve ever let go. Eddie holds him just as close, one arm wrapped firm around Steve's waist while his other hand cradles the back of Steve's head and strokes his hair. Steve soaks in every touch, feels every place where they are pressed against each other, so warm and safe and loving after so long without it. He is whole again in the arms of the man he loves.  

“I missed you,” Steve mutters, lips brushing against the skin of Eddie's neck as he speaks, muffled. 

“I know, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs, “my Stevie, I’m so sorry.” 

“S’okay. It wasn't your fault,” Steve mumbles, and he thinks maybe they both need to stop apologizing for this. 

Eddie must think the same, because he says, “And it wasn't yours either,” like he knows every twisted, guilty thought that's been haunting Steve lately and he absolves him of them. He tugs gently at Steve’s hair to get him to lift his head and look him in the eyes. “You know that, right?” 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says quietly. Eddie reaches up to brush from his cheek a tear Steve didn't even know had fallen, and as he wipes it away he wipes away everything - all blame, all fear, all pain. Eddie had forgotten him, and it sucked, but now he remembers again, and none of that matters anymore. Steve hangs onto Eddie's wrist. “Just-” His voice rasps with emotion, making it rougher. “Don't you ever forget about me again.” 

It's not a promise that can be made with any certainty - anything can happen at any time, just as unexpectedly as it had this time - but Steve doesn't need certainty, he just needs to hear the words, and Eddie gives that to him. “I won't, darling,” he vows, with gentle reassurance. “Never again.”

“Good,” Steve sighs, turning his head into Eddie's hand to press a kiss to the palm. 

The last of his heavier emotions drain out of him then and now he can feel the joy of Eddie's return in its whole entirety. As he rolls his face out of Eddie's hand and settles his eyes on the beautiful boy in front of him, a grin begins to spread across Steve's face; Eddie's smile grows in tandem with his, like he's smiling just because Steve is. Steve says, giddy in full now, “You're back.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, lovely and bright, ducking to bump his forehead against Steve's. “I'm back.” 

Steve lets go of Eddie's wrist to tangle a hand in his hair, and he tilts his head up to kiss him again, just because he can, because he's making up for lost time. They draw each other in close once more, lips and bodies moving against each other, easy and natural. Steve could stay right here like this forever, never wants to stop holding him or stop kissing him. 

But a thought - a question - tickles at the base of Steve's skull, and when he does pull back he asks, hopeless romantic that he is, “Just in case - I mean, just so I know - what was it that brought your memory back? Was it like a…true love’s kiss breaking the spell sort of thing?” 

Eddie laughs, gives Steve another quick peck like he always does when Steve says something endearing. “Not quite, Prince Charming,” he responds with a grin so fond Steve thinks his heart might burst. “It was more like…the things I had remembered were just dreams to me, shallow and unreal, but kissing you was like an anchor, a reminder that allowed those dreams to sink in as proper memories and become real.” 

“So…basically it was true love’s kiss,” Steve says cheekily, just to hear Eddie’s laugh again, just to receive another affectionate press of Eddie's lips against his. 

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie concedes, smilingly, never one not to indulge whimsy, “we can call it that.” But then he amends, with a little less levity, “It wasn't exactly a magic cure-all, though. It didn't bring everything back, there are still gaps in my memory.” He looks at Steve with eyes like pools of melted chocolate, soft and endless. “But I remember that I love you; I remember that much.” 

And Steve tells him, “That's enough," and he pulls him in for another true love's kiss.

THE END. taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (continued in replies)

[catiuskaa]

audio creak file.mp3 [1:07]

PAIRING! pervy?Chan x roomate!reader

SUMMARY: Chan struggles to make music, and you, his friend and roommate, try to help him when you can. Say, Chan also struggles to keep his cool whenever you’re near… what will you do to help him feel better?

WC: 3.2k

CW: convenient minsung because I say so, angsty(?) (reader is just kinda dense and Minho screams the truth to her), smut: mentions of soft dom!chan, mentions of panty stealing, Chan’s a pervy simp (he’s just soooo down bad), and I just really got carried away writing on my notes thinking about when Channie smiles hearing the creaks in heyday...

A/N: basically, if being inocent was a crime, i’d be imprisioned for tax evasion, lmao. kinda perv!chan thoughts to soothe the iching that the mosquito bites give. have fun!

[☆☆★☆☆]

He let out a frustrated groan, fingers digging into his curly locks in a sign of desperation. He had listened to every single audio sample Changbin had found. Twice. But no, nothing screamed “This is it” to his perfectionist self. And it was getting him fucking desperate.

He wasn’t wearing headphones because of the company he had been with not too long ago since Changbin and Han tried to help him —keyword: try—, and also knowing that you wouldn’t be home for a while meant that there was no one he could disturb, the sounds coming from his laptop not nearly loud enough to reach to the neighbours. He scrolled down the same folders again, wondering when you would be home in the back of his mind.

You and Chan had been roommates for a bunch of years now. You two had met at Han’s birthday party thanks to Minho, as he introduced you, one of the first people he had ever danced with and even won competitions with to the leader of the Korean boyband.

You clicked almost instantly, sharing anecdotes from each side of the industry. He, a famous idol, and you, a backup dancer for many groups in different companies.

It was unknown to both of you that Han and his cat-like soulmate had tried to matchmake you that day, as you just stayed like close friends. Minho laughed at Jisung as they both returned from your shared apartment the day you moved in, like two years after. Now that you’d split the rent, considering neither of you spent that much time home to pay a large amount, you paired up.

“At least they like each other, silly,” he mentioned, his tone of voice sounding soft, a smug smile on his face. He was so winning the bet.

“Nooo!” Han whined, much like a toddler would when toys were taken away. “Those two are meant to be, Hyung. They are literally each other’s type!”

“Well, I don’t think they’ve noticed,” he chuckled, thinking about what he would buy with the ten bucks Han would owe him. And Minho would’ve been right.

But then, the sex dreams started.

“Chan, I’m back!”

He blushed, quickly shoving those thoughts into a bottomless pit in his mind.

“How you doin’?” You grinned, your head popping inside his room, leaving your bag on your own, next to his, before coming back and leaning on the door frame.

Your wet hair made the top of your summer dress fabric somewhat sheer, his eyes trailing your figure before clearing his throat.

“I’m stuck,” he admitted, dimples on display as he smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve been looking for a sample I thought existed, but maybe I just made it up in my head.”

“That does sound like shit,” you mentioned, leaning down just enough to rest your forearms on the back of his chair. He felt tiny droplets falling from your hair onto his shoulders and back, making goosebumps trail all over his body.

“But how… how was the… the swimming pool?” He quivered, trying to hide the flustered quiver in his voice. And failing, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

“It was good! It felt sooo nice.” You stretched, whining as you extended your arms, making a mess in Chan’s head, who struggled to hide it. “I’ll go get changed, and then I can help you. Sounds ok?”

“Yeah.” He leaned into your touch when you ruffled his hair, leaving his room.

He sighed as he rested on the back of the chair, arms thrown over his eyes, and swallowed dry. He felt like such a perv, his insides churning and turning whenever you were near, making him feel like a horny teenager.

It all started one night when he woke up in a sweat, hard-on nearly hurting underneath his boxers. Pictures of you still reeling in his mind, legs wide open for him, eyes pleading, begging for release.

Then, two nights after, dreaming about your body pressed on top of him as you straddled him, clenching on him, fighting for dominance in a sloppy kiss.

Later that week, you in that cute summer dress you bought with him, letting him fuck you and manhandle you in his car, the apartment too far, and your bodies too horny that the drive home felt impossible.

Seeing you every day with those thoughts in mind was difficult, sometimes having to escape your sight so you wouldn’t see him getting hard just by you doing the slightest things that weirdly turned him on.

“The one you dream about is back,” you teased, now wearing an oversized shirt and a towel over your shoulders. He gulped as he looked at you, not only for what you had said unknowingly but also because of your shirt, long enough to cover your thighs, giving the illusion that you were almost naked. In his room. Sitting crisscrossed. On his bed.

He felt blood on his cheeks and some running down, headed south. He giggled halfheartedly, the sentence ‘don’t get hard’ echoing in his head.

After playing the samples again, tricking himself into thinking he might have skipped one just so he would keep searching, he started getting frustrated again. But nuh-uh. Nothing.

“Ok, this is trash,” you blurted out.

With a smile on your face, before he could even ask you what was wrong, you grabbed his chair from behind, pushing him far from the computer, saving the files and then closed it with a slap.

“Break time, Mr Producer. We both need a coffee.” He snickered, shaking his head sideways as you both went to the kitchen.

“Can’t say no to that, can I?”

You laughed. “No. Too late, anyways.”

He started getting the milk from the fridge, pouring it on the mugs you handed him, and settling them in the microwave, a small smile on his features accenting his dimples.

“Audio sample related, can’t you just make your own?” You asked Chan, not entirely curious, question directed to find a solution for his issue rather than learning that piece of info.

“I mean, yeah, sure, but it’s simpler this way,” he shrugged, eyes confused about where to look, not daring to stare at you for too long. “If not, I just have to keep recording random stuff, hoping to find something that sounds like what I want.”

“Isn’t that easier? Not like it’s something you can brag about, but there’s a ton of creaking shit in this place,” you pointed out thoughtfully. “Like… that!”

In the blink of an eye, you crossed your way until you were directly in front of Chan, and you turned around, leaning on the counter before you as you opened and closed the cabinet's door on the wall.

“See? It creaks,” you said from above your shoulder.

But just when you stood back on your feet, you realised how close you were to each other. And it hadn’t helped that when you leaned towards the cabinet, your shirt had followed along with your body, letting Chan see your lack of pyjama pants, instead being welcomed by some cute cotton panties. Ones he knew well because, uhm… he uh… may have used them for a wrong purpose.

Yeah, fuck, he had come on those.

You hadn’t realised how little space had been between him and the counter and attributed that to your head, not knowing that Chan had unconsciously moved towards you, like metal to a magnet. You wiggled on your place, your personal space suddenly far away from you, caged in Chan’s presence. He stopped your tiny motion by gripping your waist, letting out a gasp, blushing. He turned you around so you wouldn’t feel his hardening cock on your upper thighs.

When you both locked eyes on the contrary, the tense atmosphere shot up, turning even thicker when he rested his arms on the counter, at your sides, thumbs casually stroking short lines on your waist.

No words were said as you got lost in his brown eyes, deep chocolate-coloured orbs, not needing any kind of golden or honey stripes on them as they drew you in, gorgeous eyes so raven that it was hard to distinguish where the iris was. Then, your eyes trailed off at his mouth, your breath hitched, rose-coloured plush lips so enticing. He licked them, and you swore you heard him swallow dry.

You pressed your body on him, getting closer and closer, and suddenly, he let out a small whimper. The sound made you shiver, heat pooling in your lower belly. He blushed furiously, not daring to move from his place. You could feel it, feel him.

The sound of your phone chiming in your room made you both aware of the situation —and position— you were in. You got shy, quickly letting him have his personal space back, both of you missing the other’s warmth on your skin as you blurted out something that sounded like “gotta go walk my fish” as you run to your room, slamming the door close, frowning as soon as you were alone.

“Fuck.” Both of you said at the same time, having the same thoughts.

“I fucked up.” Chan stared at the hot mugs on the counter, both waiting for someone who had run away.

[☆☆★☆☆]

“He’s just scared, girl,” Han said through the phone after letting you ramble and blurt about what had happened barely twenty minutes ago. “I promise, if you make him feel safe, like he won’t lose you, he’ll melt on your hands.”

"...I don't think so," you mumbled, picking on your nails.

"You called me because he got hard," he sighed, not bringing his statement to a conclusion just because it was so painfully obvious. "I know you're the only one who thinks otherwise."

You were about to reply with a snarky comment about how he should just 'stick simping about Minho' when you started to hear said man speaking to Jisung, and then with all the calm in the world, ignored him when he went straight to the phone.

"...Minho?"

"Leave my boyfriend alone and go fetch yours," he replied as you heard Han groan in the back. It was almost as if you could feel him deadpanning from the other side of the phone.

You frowned even if you had a smile on your features, not taking the comment completely seriously. "Ok, rude. What a meanie."

"Jokes aside." You heard him breathe in from the other side of the phone. Oh boy. "The interminable teasing and bickering between you and Chan were amusing at first, but it's getting very stale and surprise, fucker, you live together!" He paused, clicking his tongue. "So, why don't you two cut the bullshit and admit your sexual and non-sexual feelings for each other?"

"My what?!"

"This is getting old really quick, goddamnit." You could feel him getting worked up, not just because of his tone but because he kept ignoring Han, whose comments echoed at the back of the phone call.

But Minho was serious. He was not gonna get cockblocked for ten bucks. Not tonight.

"You're getting kinda off-base, buddy!"

"Oh, it's almost one o'clock, fucking spare me!" He grumbled, getting slightly angrier. "Yeah, I get it. It's Chan. He can be a dick sometimes because of his severe self-esteem issues and how he doesn't know how to communicate his feelings all that well. But I kinda think he reminds you about that other guy you dated in our dance team, who was an absolute son of a bitch, and we can agree that you deserve to be with someone who's not that complicated or whatever, but still, you can't get Chan out of your head, can you? Don't answer. We know it." He interrupted you, unable to speak as you were just getting bombarded with facts you didn't want to deal with.

"But you? I've known you for years, yet you're still being a dumbass. You're behaving like a baby who'd rather act tough than show her true feelings 'cause last time, you got hurt! Owie," he cooed, tone still angrily mocking. "And now you're just dancing around the other in this pathetic act you're tryna put up to hide your pent-up feelings, SO, AGAIN, for my sake, either deal with it and stop bitching my man about it, or get over with it already!"

"Minho, I-!" You turned silent as you heard a beeping sound coming from your phone.

He hung up.

You stared at the screen, eyes almost out of place, as you muted the device, letting it vibrate with the unread texts Jisung sent, apologising in every way he knew.

"A baby?" You muttered, the word almost sickening in your mouth. "I am not a baby!"

You laid back down on your bed, rolling on your sides, Minho's words echoing in your mind as you cursed under your breath. Almost unconsciously, you stood up, left your room and approached Chan's as if wanting to enter just to get his confirmation regarding his allegedly existing feelings for you.

He startled you when he closed his door, meeting you in the hallway, his eyes glued to yours as soon as he saw you.

"Oh. Hey." You mentioned awkwardly.

"Hey," he said, tensed-up shoulders visible due to the lack of sleeves on his shirt. "I just... uh..."

"I... wanted to say that, uh..."

"I am sorry if I... uh..."

"It's ok... I uh... don't... I mean... I know that you can't really uh... control... it?"

You could almost hear Minho's laugh in your mind.

"Right," he sighed. You smiled reassuringly, and he did the same in an uneasy stance.

"Right. I mean, for all I know, it could happen for whatever reason."

"I uh, kinda, I guess."

"But never mind. I uh... 'm glad we feel the same way."

You both smiled sheepishly and headed to your respective rooms.

Chan sighed, hurriedly getting back to bed, wishing to get weird ideas out of his mind, not bothering to check his computer again. He rolled in bed, hand anxiously travelling through his hair so frequently that it was starting to get greasy.

He frowned, passing his hands through his face, the scene in the kitchen crossing his mind again, his already weak excuse for not being so clearly attracted to you crumbling when he remembered the eagerness he thought he had seen in your eyes.

He stood up again and went to open the door just to go check, because what if he hadn't just made it up in his mind?

But then, he met you right in front of his room.

Before you could escape or come up with anything, he approached you and pecked your lips, feeling his heart skip ten beats when you pushed him away.

His eyes locked into yours, a sight of contentment leaving his lips as you grabbed his shirt and pulled him back in, smiling in the kiss. It heated very quickly, a sloppy kiss with all tongues and teeth, both fighting for dominance. You went to get the edge of his shirt, but instead, he gave you a light smack on your thighs, and you jumped, legs crossing around his waist, arms around his neck as he guided both of you into his room, closing the door with a kick.

The two of you breathed heavily, the air thick with anticipation and lust. He pinned you up against the closed door and kissed hard, feeling the heat rising as your bodies tightened against one another. Your tongues met, mingling in an intense way that drove you wild. You let out soft sounds of pleasure, suddenly changing sides, pulling him away just enough so you could have access to his neck, your teeth trailing from his jaw, trying to find a sensitive spot.

He whined, barely moving away, trying to calm himself down, the sudden blow of emotions too intense for him. He then panted, and you quickly went back to that spot you had found, nibbling on it. "What are we- fuck- what are we doing?"

You set a finger on his lips, your face going back to his. "Shhh. Let's just... enjoy it," you whispered, leaving a small chaste kiss at the corner of his lips, tempting him. You then flinched, moving away "Unless you don't want..."

He let out a groan, deep and enticing, hungrily going back to your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back, your lips pressing firmly against his.

"No... I want you."

"And I want you too, Chris." You admitted, doe eyes trailing down to his lips, licking your own. "Now."

[☆☆★☆☆]

Your schedule had gotten filled up to the brim, chances of meeting Chan reserved for the ungodly hours of the night, which were used to get some well deserved sleep. Rehearsing over and over left your body exhausted, your mind clouded in the remaining work you had left, only the most sinful parts of it replaying the encounter that had happened barely three nights ago.

It was obvious that he was awake, the light in his room shining from underneath the door, knowning that he’d probably be working on his samples.

And he had tried, looking for one of the files he had recorded that delicious night. But something felt wrong. He frowned, looking at how long the audio was.

He played it before using it, at first just hearing random noises he was recording. Then he heard himself groaning, the sound of the bed sheets moving with his body, and then, after some loud steps, the door creaked open.

And those voices were you and him, that was no doubt. He blushed, the sound of the door slamming close getting his mind back to three nights ago.

“Ah, fuck, Chan!” You moaned through his headphones.

The bed creaked under both of you in rythmic beats, matching each thrust, your moans decorating the purple-lit room.

As both an idol and a producer, Chan had listened to many voices and samples for a long time, ears used to the constant stimulation, but the sound of your needy whines as he slowed down in hopes of not coming too soon made the task even more difficult.

“Don’t- ugh, fuck-,” he whined, hearing the heavy breathing through the recording. “Let me hear you, baby, please.”

Chan tried to pause the recording, a flustered mess, but instead accidentally unplugged his headphones, the sound of creaks and moans filling his room once again.

He paused it, mortified. Where you home? Fuck, he didn’t want you to think he was recording you in secret.

He turned around slowly when the door creaked open.

“What's going on here?” You walked in with an oversized top on, the cut of the sleeves made so that your body could be seen through the sides of the tank top.

“I-i uh…”

“Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“Chan? Are you listening?” Changbin questioned, frowning.

“Uh?”

He remembered that he wasn’t inside his room, like the night before, your thighs straddling his, but in the studio, showing his friends the audio he had put together. He couldn’t help but smile and get lost in his thoughts when certain creaks came out.

“We like it,” Han repeated. “We can get to writting lyrics soon enough.”

Chan’s phone chimed next to him, his eyes trailing it with no thoughts to it.

Let’s have fun again tonight.

He bit his lip, turning his phone off.

“I’ll call it Heyday,” he mentioned to his friends, renaming the new audio file.

He’d keep the other one a secret.

[☆☆★☆☆]

[hard hours]

~Kats, who came up with this idea on the beach and has had it stuck in her head since day one.

[writingsfromhome]

Impossibly Real

A/N: cute little story about being in a rough dating world and having a nice neighbour friend.

Part 2

———————————————————

I memorize the face on my phone whilst standing in the middle of my building lobby. I study it as if I hadn’t been staring at his pictures since we both swiped right a couple weeks ago.

“Hot date?” A voice calls out. I look up to the source—one of my neighbours with takeaway in one hand and a case of beer in the other. The smell of his dinner makes my stomach rumble—I’d skipped dinner myself for this 8pm date.

“A very hot date,” I respond. Harry was one of the first people I’d interacted with when I moved to this complex a year and a half ago. He’d helped me move my boxed mattress in and I thanked him with a lukewarm beer. Ever since, we’d pick up on conversation every time we saw each other.

Most of those times were when we’d both be rushing out to work in the morning. Sometimes he’d walk to the tube with me, both of us going in opposite directions. Other times his girlfriend would pick him up.

“Let’s see,” he switches his beer to the other hand and holds his hand out.

I pretend to open the app and look for my date’s profile as if it hadn’t been open for the last three hours. He makes a sound of approval when I pass it over.

“Right?” I grin as he scans the profile.

I wasn’t always lucky in love. When Harry first met me I was fresh out of a 3 year relationship, and the only things to follow were bad dates and lonely nights.

“Likes pizza?” Harry says like he’d just caught sight of the guy’s private pictures.

“Yeah? So what?” I feel my defences go up. “Who doesn’t?”

“Yeah but that’s so…basic.” He hands the phone back. “That’s like saying ‘Drinks tea’ or ‘breathes air’.”

“No it’s not!” I wanted this to be a good one so badly, I wouldn’t hear any of Harry’s slander. “It’s relatable, and shows he’s down to earth.”

Harry groans. “Remind me what you do for work?”

I squint at him, unsure where he was going with his. “Analyst.”

“Ah,” he switches his beer back to his other hand and it snaps me out of the moment. I always lost track of time talking to Harry and this couldn’t be one of those times. I had somewhere to be!

“Ah what?” I glance at the door.

“As an analyst you’re used to reading into things-“

“Piss off!” I shut him down. “I’m leaving now.”

“I’m joking!” Harry calls out. “I’m sure he’s a great guy.”

I don’t respond to him as I walk away but he calls out my name.

“You look great, it’ll be a good date.”

“Fingers crossed,” I echo. “Enjoy your night.”

I find a taxi quickly and sit on my hands the whole way there so I don’t pick at my nails. There was no such thing as out of my league, I remind myself. He was just going to be a guy. A good looking guy.

***

“I’m getting a bit tipsy,” Dave admits. It was half past 9 and we’d had 5 drinks total, one of those being a nervous shot when he hadn’t showed up in the first ten minutes.

“We should get something to eat!” I suggest.

He grimaces. “It’s a bit overpriced in here.”

Oh. He was cheap.

That was rude. I snap out of my darkening thoughts. I couldn’t help it: not only was Dave late, he looked 5 years older than his pictures, which wasn’t a bad thing, but he was also 5 inches shorter than his profile stated.

It was awkward when he came in and I got up to hug him. I’d worn my 3 inch heels expecting to still come to his chest but we’d met at eye level instead. I didn’t want to make it awkward so I had sat down quickly. I regretted wearing these heels. They were chaffing against my feet even whilst sitting.

And the whole evening had been stiff conversation, like rubbing sandpaper against itself. It had ended in a dull evening. He was cute. That was all he had going for him.

“There’s a really good pizza place around here!” I say casually, like I hadn’t Googled the vicinity for an hour after we’d made plans. “I heard it was rated top 10 in the city.

His grimace comes back, it made him more unattractive the more he did it.

“I can go for some chips. There’s probably one down the road, you alright for a walk?”

“Great!” Maybe some fresh air and a change of scenery could spice the night up.

He pays the bill—maybe he wasn’t so cheap, I think. That is until we get to the chips shop and he hangs back for me to order for us. And pay.

I can already imagine retelling this date to my girl friends. They were all engaged or married so my dating stories were always amusing content for our hangouts.

Crossing from 20 to 30 made the stories more tragic than amusing, but I lived to laugh and that’s what I usually did after getting over bad dates like this one.

“It’s a nice night,” Dave says when we get our chips. He douses his in ketchup like a toddler would. Gah!

“It is…”

“Let’s take these outside.”

I’d rather not, with my heels digging into the backs of my feet and the blisters chafing against the fake leather. But I agree.

“So what’s with the pink?” He asks randomly.

“What?” I say over a mouthful of chip. I didn’t care how disgusting I was at this point. He’d done the bill-for-a-bill thing without asking and I’d lost any hope I had for the evening. I may as well be gross.

“The pink, you’ve got it at the bottoms of your hair and your earrings, your lips and your skirt and your heels-“

“I like pink.”

“That’s obvious,” he says dryly. “Is there a story behind it or something? Usually only schoolgirls wear their favourite colour that much.”

And usually only younger boys have fries with they ketchup rather ketchup with their fries, I want to say. But I keep my mouth shut.

“I think it’s overrated that getting older means getting all serious and boring. Pink’s my favourite colour and the world can know it. Be brighter for knowing it too.”

I keep my tone light yet Dave seems to takes my personal philosophy as a direct attack.

“But it’s a bit juvenile isn’t it? You don’t have to be boring just because you’re an adult but no one’s going to take you much seriously all dressed in pink. It’s a bit childish.”

“Not childish enough for you to want to go on a date with me,” I say. My pink hair was on display in my profile as well as many pink outfits throughout my linked Instagram. I know he’d seen it.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, not like that.” He backtracks. His face turns my favourite colour, even in the dark.

“When grown men are obsessed with Star Wars or Lord of the Rings or whatever, nobody bats an eye. They show up with fictional characters on their shirt and tattooed on their arms and it’s all dandy. But you think the world’s going to take me less seriously because I wear a lot of pink?”

“Okay I think there’s been a misunderstanding here.” Dave backs down like I knew he would. I’d known too many boys like him, who charged up when they thought they had an ounce of intellect over me. Reciprocate with even an ounce of assertive energy and they back down like a well-trained dog.

This night was tragic. My hopes up for nothing. And my feet were blistered for no damn reason.

“I think we’ve understood each other just fine.” I wipe my hands on a napkin and toss the rest of my chips away, ignoring the look Dave gives me. “It was a night, I’m going to head home now.”

“Look I-“

“Goodnight.” I walk away. I had no idea what direction but as long as I can end the night with the hope-zapper Dave.

***

On the lift up to my flat I look at myself in the mirror. Dead eyes, flushed and puffy face from the alcohol, and my hair was voluminous from the windy night air. I couldn’t wait to get to my flat and take my stupid heels off. They were so painful they’d now actually gone numb.

My phone rings as I get to my door. Dave. The nerve of that guy!

I put it on silent and fish out my keys but my phone buzzes a second time and I drop them.

“Fuck!” I say just as the door behind me opens.

“Woah!” Harry steps back into his flat after nearly tripping over my crouched figure.

“Ugh sorry,” I stand back up, keys looped around my finger.

“You’re back early.” Harry slowly eyes me from top to bottom. It makes my stomach feel like a washing machine on high. “Nice night with pizza guy?”

“Pizza guy was just like the others.”

I lean against my door and ignore my phone that’s now gone off for the third time in my purse.

“Fair enough. He did say he likes pizza.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” I whine. “I just wasted £30 on shite company.”

“Can I offer you a beer or have you had too many?”

I look down at my watch. It was half past 10, and I had work tomorrow but life was short and I was miserable so I follow Harry in.

“I’ll just toss this later.”

It’s only then I realize Harry had a trash bag in his hands and he was in his boxers and a robe. He rests the bag near his door and motions to the fridge as he walks down his hall. “Grab me one too?”

I’d been in Harry’s flat a few time, once when I baked too many sugar cookies for Christmas and he invited me in to eat with him. Another time when he was having a birthday party. I had thought it was cute his friends had done that for him old school. The last time was when my wifi stopped working one weekend and I had to ask him to use his. That was a nice day, both of us were going through busy season and had worked side by side on our laptops until Harry announced we were losers and should stop working to get dinner and watch a movie. That was one of my favourite days living in this complex so far.

I’m still standing in his kitchen when he comes out with sweatpants.

“Why are you still standing there?”

I look down at my shoes and so does he.

“Don’t you want to take those off?” Harry lifts one brow, confused.

“I’m scared.” I say. I didn’t know what I’d find. I felt like I was standing in a pool of blood.

“Why?” Harry was lucky he didn’t know the fear of taking off awful shoes after a long day of breaking them in. Men were lucky that way.

I shift my heel away from the back of the shoe and pain shoots up. It sounds sticky. I whimper. “Can you get me a chair?”

“What did you wear?” Harry’s staring at them with a mixture of fear and confusion. He carries one of his dining chairs to me. “Those are like, torture heels.”

“Tonight was torture.” I sit down and cross my foot over my knee. I take a deep breath. Harry hovers above me not able to look away. “Here goes nothing.”

I pry the shoe away and nearly cry.

“Oh my god!” Harry shouts. “Yo-you’re bleeding! What the f-“

“Oh my god,” I was dripping onto his floor. “Can I get-“

“Tissue!” Harry’s already throwing me his roll but I knock it away.

“I need help. Getting. To the bathroom.”

“Right right.” Harry kicks my shoe away and leans down so I can wrap my arm around his shoulder. I feel like an injured football player but so much more pathetic as I limp to his bathroom.

He sets me down on his toilet seat and blasts the tub with water.

“Sorry,” I limp to the edge of his bathtub and swing myself so that my feet dangle in. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your night.”

“I’m glad you did,” Harry’s voice still carries a hint of shock. “What is wrong with you? That’s diabolical you wearing shoes like that! What’s wrong with trainers? Or sandals? Don’t girls like strap sandals?”

“It just comes with being a woman okay?” I couldn’t answer all his questions. “I still need to take off the other one.”

I was more scared for my right foot than my left.

“Just…deal with that.”

Harry’s tub is filling with water and it stings everywhere it touches my foot. But especially my heel and all of my toes. I switch the knob to cold.

“Okay,” I take a deep breath. “The other fucking shoe.”

I can feel Harry peering over my shoulder. This one feels glued on and I squeal as I comes off. My foot looked like a bruised and crusted mess.

“Holy sh-“ Harry whispers. I dunk it fast in the running water and nearly topple backwards but Harry catches me with his knee and then stays there so I have somewhere to lean. It was nice.

“Bloody hell,” I swear as my feet sting and paint the water pink. “Genuinely so sorry about this.”

“Don’t be.” Harry shakes his head. “But please toss those shoes in the bin and never wear something like that again.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s not. It’s very possible.”

“I love heels! I just need to break these in.”

“They’re breaking you love.”

I feel him stiffen behind me which makes me suddenly self-conscious. I didn’t really read into his words, love was just a term of affection used around my friends. But apparently it wasn’t something Harry used lightly.

“They are. These ones are going in the bin, DNA and all.” I try to continue casually. This was so weird. Weirder than it needed to be given Harry and I were mates at most; I’d met his girlfriend, I didn’t think of him anything more than a neighbourhood friend. We certainly hadn’t hung out outside our flats before.

“Maybe burn them to be sure,” Harry finally responds. His voice is a bit rougher than before. “Don’t want to get accidentally framed with the free DNA.”

“I’m pretty sure I’d be too obvious a murderer to commit anything stealthily. They’d identify the pink-haired giant walking away.”

“You’re not a giant. You’re not even 6 feet.”

“I’m nearly 5’9 which is tall enough for a woman.”

“I don’t think so.” Harry brushes my hair behind my shoulder and a shiver runs up my spine. Maybe I should turn the icy water off. “Plus I like the pink. Makes you more interesting to look at.”

“So I’m not interesting to look at regularly?” I tease. I look up at him and the back of my head hits his thigh.

I see his adam’s apple bob and I suddenly feel vulnerable sitting here like this. I lean forward so my feet are steadied against the tub which is agonizing for my bloody feet but at least I wasn’t leaning against him.

“I said more interesting.”

The room grows quiet and I try not to read into it. Harry thought I was interesting to look at. Okay.

I turn the tap off and the silence in the room becomes unbearable.

“Have you got any plasters?” I turn inch by inch so I don’t slip on the lip of the tub or need more help from Harry. The energy in here was weird and him touching me was going to make it weirder.

“Yeah,” he’s eager to leave only to come back laughing. “They’re actually here. I…”

He opens a drawer and pulls a box out along with a tiny vial.

I take it from him, some sort of ointment oil. Why not.

“Motherf-“ I bite my lip as the ointment stings my cuts. “Why wouldn’t you warn me!”

Harry laughs again and it eases the tension a little. “I thought you knew it would burn!”

“I don’t treat cuts often jeez!”

“Sorry! That friend—you met him at my party, black curly hair, the one who does custom stuff?”

“Oh yeah I remember.”

“I helped him out one summer. I had to hand cut all these signs using one of those exacto blades? Cut my hands up so many times I had to buy something for them after one of them got infected.”

I wrinkle my nose at the idea of an infected cut and douse my other foot in the oil, swearing as I take the pain.

“I have a roll and cotton if you want to bandage your foot?” Harry suggests. “I don’t know if regular plasters cut it.”

“That’s so dramatic,” I usually stuck a couple plasters on and got on with it. But this was also the worst I’d ever had with breaking shoes in.

“Let me-“

“No!” I push Harry’s shoulder away as he leans down with the roll of bandage he’d procured. “Harry do not touch my foot!”

“I’ve dressed grosser,” he holds my heel gently and I try to yank it away again without falling into the tub but it’s impossible. I settle for pushing him away.

“Harry please! I’ve intruded enough stop touching my disgusting foot!”

“I’ve seen you wash it. It’s not disgusting, just bloody. Now stop squirming about!”

“Why are you…” I trail away because he wasn’t listening. He dabs my foot with a cotton pad and then begins the process of bandaging my heel and then my toe. I try not to squirm at how embarrassing this was.

Harry’s gentle and attentive as he moves on to the other foot which should make me feel okay but only adds to the humiliation. We were so not close enough to do this—I don’t even know if I’d do the same for him.

Another part of me knows I would. Despite knowing him in passing, plus a few solid occasions, I could tell Harry was one of the good guys. He was always chivalrous around the building, friendly in any interaction I’d seen with him, loved enough to be thrown a surprise birthday party, and caring enough to always ask about how I was doing. And to do this.

When he glances up I don’t expect it. Our gazes clash and the weird energy from before creeps in again.

“Sorted,” he lets my foot down gently.

“Harry I owe you like…a massive dinner, and drinks are on me forever forward.”

“That’s not necessary,” he chuckles as he puts his little first aid kit back. “Just don’t wear heels like that again please. It’s not worth it.”

“They’re so pretty though,” I sigh. They’re now discarded on the tiled floor, the insides bloody.

“Let’s get you that beer,” he holds a hand out.

“I can’t. I’ve kept you late and you probably-“

“One beer.”

“I don’t want to intrude-“

“Just one,” his tone is gentle but he’s not taking no for an answer.

“Fine!” I admit defeat. He helps me up and together I limp to his couch.

We sit in silence for a bit while we drink. I don’t know what he’s thinking about, but the events of the evening play in my head.

“He actually insulted me.” I blurt. Before he can ask questions I explain. “Firstly he was late, then he was droning on and on about shit I don’t even remember anymore. Then he was cheap about food, but because he paid for drinks he got me to pay for chips. Then he said I wear too much pink and nobody would take me seriously as an adult. That it was childish.”

“Really?” Harry leans forward from his end of the couch. “He said all that?”

“Yeah! I said men are allowed to wear their Star Wars shirts and Lord of the Rings bullshite. And when a woman wears more than one article of pink she’s childish?”

“What a prick.”

“I know!”

“You’re too good for someone like that.”

“Thank you,” I sit back, seen and validated.

“The pink makes you cool, stand out in a crowd. He’s just blind to look at you and think that. Or he’s just intimidated.”

“Oh yeah he lied about his height! So I stood there in those stupid pink heels taller than him.”

“That must have got him,” Harry grins. “I actually love that story.”

His words warm me.

“You’re so nice Harry,” I tell him. “Honestly you’re like a gem of a guy.”

“I’m not that nice-“

“Don’t tell me you’re a bad boy or something because you’re a solid good guy. Rare. Never change.”

“Hmph,” he clears his throat.

“Your girlfriend’s lucky. A lot of us have to put up with trolls before we find a good guy like you.”

Harry stays silent. Maybe I’d said too much. Maybe I should stop drinking.

“We broke up. Wasn’t good enough for her.”

Shite. Blistered, bloody, bandaged foot directly in mouth..

“I-I’m sorry. To hear that! Oh my god yeah I guess I haven’t seen her in a while-“

“Yeah been a few months now. I’m mostly over it.”

“How long were you two dating again?”

“Almost 3,” Harry twists his mouth to the side. I’d never seen him look bitter before. “I accepted it, the end of us. Until I hear from a friend she jumped right into another relationship. So…that must have been behind the scenes near the end of our relationship.”

Bitter indeed. “That’s a shitty way to find out too.”

“I wish she was just honest. Y’know like, I met someone else whatever. At least that way I took the hit at once and then got over it. Instead after a month of moving on I just got punched all over again.”

“That’s a dick move.” I agree. “I’ve seen you so many times the last few months why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs, “I didn’t want to bring down the mood. Felt too loaded for a conversation on the lift.”

“You could have saved it for a walking-to-the-tube conversation?”

“Then just part ways after dropping that on you?”

“Isn’t that perfect?” I tease and he covers his face. I change the subject. “My 3.5 year relationship ended when he said he didn’t see me as marriage material.”

“I thought it was a mutual breakup?” Harry asks. I’m surprised he remembers what I told him when I first moved in.

“I lied. I didn’t want you to see me as your pathetically lonely neighbour.”

He laughs at that. At least I’d gotten a smile back on his face. “I thought it was a bit suspicious but I didn’t push it. Every time I saw you when you first moved in it always looked like you cried.”

“Oh my god!” I cover my face. “Don’t tell me that! That’s so embarrassing!”

It was true. I cried for three weeks straight after the breakup but I also thought I was sly enough to get around unnoticed.

“It’s not a big deal! I used to worry about you.”

“That’s another thing that’ll keep me up at night now—but see that’s sweet! You barely knew me and you worried. Like! You were raised right.”

“Sure,” he smiles my way with a laugh in his eyes. He was enjoying making me squirm but it’s this smile, one I’d never seen before directed at me, that made me squirm the most.

“Okay now stop being sweet and kick me out.” I gingerly stand and suck up the fresh pain that comes back.

“You can stay as long a-“

“Harry.” I look at him seriously. “I know we both work demanding jobs, and that’s what we have to do tomorrow morning. It’s past midnight and I should go.”

He sighs and gets up to help me hobble to his door.

“Good thing I live next door—oh my shoes. They’re in your-“

“I’ll get them to you later.” He promises.

“You just want to try them on in private.” I tease as he opens his door. He waits while I fish through my purse again for my keys. I remember then the missed calls from Dave—that feels so long ago.

“I like my feet whole.” He chuckles. “Plus I’m tall enough.”

“Some girls think 6 feet is short.”

“How do you know I’m 6 feet?”

I turn my key and let my door swing open.

“I’m good at telling heights.”

“What’s your secret?”

“Well,” I turn back to him and put my hand on my head. “I get my height and then just measure against the person. I gauge the inches which if I’m close enough-“ Harry moved closer to me so there’s only a few inches between us. “Uhm. If I’m close enough it’s easy to count up or down.”

“So you count up-“

“Three or so inches.” I look up, determined to meet his eye. It was just Harry. I didn’t need to feel weird around my neighbour Harry.

But I can’t look away. I never noticed the depth of his eyes; they’re mesmerizing and I can’t look away.

“It’s a neat party trick.” He says so low, but we’re so close it’s loud as hell to my ears. Or maybe that’s the blood rushing through my head.

“Don’t really go to enough parties to turn it into a trick.” My voice comes out squeaky and I clear my throat. “Mostly useful to compare a dating profile to the real thing.”

“Hm,” he hums. His fingers toy with the pinks of my hair before draping it behind my shoulder.

“I should go.” I say for the millionth time.

He looks at me again and I forget why I should go. His gaze drops to my lips and I feel hot—hotter than the pain on my bloody feet.

“You’re the real thing.”

It’s unconscious, the way I arch up to him. It’s natural, the way he meets me halfway. It’s unforgettable, the way his soft lips feel on mine.

Until I lean my weight on my toes and I’m reminded of my broken feet, this evening, and who I was kissing.

I couldn’t be kissing my neighbour! I saw him nearly every damn day!

“Har-“ I push gently at his chest and he’s quick to move back.

“Sorry I-that-“

“No I’m sorry that was me-“

“We should…”

“Yeah.” I grasp behind my back until my hand touches my doorframe. “Um…thanks for everything. Tonight.”

“Yeah.” Harry’s flushed and somehow more attractive than I’ve ever noticed. He also has a smidge of pink lipstick at the corner of his mouth but I file that away for later. “Goodnight.”

��Goodnight!” I turn and quickly close my door, knowing Harry was not going to be the first to leave. Despite my head telling me not to, I turn and peep through the peephole. He’s still leaning against his doorframe, head bowed, running his hand through his hair. I watch him mutter something and then go in. I stay there until the automatic light switches off and then sink to the floor.

Harry. Friendly, funny, neighbour Harry. He’d dressed my bloody feet, served me beer, and then kissed me.

I touch my lips. I wasn’t even mad about it. This was going to be complicated no doubt, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

***

I manage to avoid Harry for a week. Which is a pretty impressive feat given our doors nearly open onto each others.

But he catches me on the lift after work one day. There’s already two others beside me and Harry nearly misses the lift, slipping in just as it’s closing. He does a double take when he sees me.

“Hey.”

“Hey!” Everything was normal. Everything was fine.

“Smart choice of shoes.”

We look down at my Stan Smiths.

“I’ve learned my lesson…for now.” I look back up at the row of numbers. The lift stops on floor 5 and the couple get out.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He states simply when the door closes.

“I have not!” I finally look at him and nearly lose my breath. When did he become so attractive?!

“We see each other almost every day living the way we do. And you’re telling me we managed to miss each other for a week?”

I shrug, “it’s been a weird week.”

“When did the weird week start?”

Saved by the bell. The doors open to our floors with a ding, but Harry blocks me from my front door.

“Are you serious?” I try to sidestep him but he stays in my path.

“We should talk.”

“We’re talking now.”

“C’mon.” He sighs and moves out of my way. I sigh myself before opening my door and leaving it open behind me. He takes the hint.

“I want to apologize for that night.” Harry says. “I was just feeling vulnerable and it shouldn’t have happened-“

“You’re joking right? I was going on about how good you were and I got a little too into it I think. I totally kissed you so I’m sorry. For making it weird-“

“I kissed you,” Harry tries to correct me.

“No I kissed you so I should apolog-“

“No.” Harry cuts me off.

“Why are we arguing about this?” I throw my hands up. We’re standing in the entryway going back and forth about this. It was stupid. “We’re both sorry. It shouldn’t have happened. Let’s just move on okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees. “So we’re friends? You’re not going to avoid me in the building?”

“No.” I put my hands on my hips. “Cuz I wasn’t avoiding you in the first place.”

He laughs, throwing his head back and my breath catches. I lied. I wasn’t sorry I kissed him but I was sorry it ruined our friendship. Damnit.

“You’re impossible.”

“I thought I was the real thing?” I ask without thinking.

Slightly healed, but still bruised foot, directly in mouth!!!

“Impossible things can be real,” Harry’s mood changes. He stands taller and he takes a step towards me. “Do…do you want us to just move on?”

I don’t know how to answer that.

“I…we live right next to each other Harry. It’s-“

“Unconventional but not impossible.”

“Impossible.”

“But it can still be real.”

I can’t help it. I grin at how serious he was being with his play on words. He was serious about this though. It scared me a little.

“A date.”

“What about it?” I ask.

“We go on a date, see how things are. It they’re weird we go back to friends like we always were. If it’s good…”

“Okay. How about Friday?” I wanted this as much as it seemed like he wanted it. Dating was hard, apps were impossible. This good and kind man standing in front of me was impossible and real.

“Friday’s perfect. Wednesday would be even better.”

“Today is Wednesday.” I say before realizing what he meant.

“It is.”

“Okay. Pick me up at 7?”

“I’ll be on time.” Harry’s grin is contagious.

“Great.” I watch him walk back to the door.

“One favour?” He asks. I ask him what it is. “Wear something pink?”

“Most definitely.” My heart surges and I feel seen. So seen.

I think he was the real thing too. Impossibly real. And possibly something more than neighbourly friends.

Excited and hopeful were an understatement. I couldn’t wait.

[angelic-sturniolos111]

“I’m on live right now…” 🔴

You and Chris have been secretly dating for months and have been making your best efforts to hide your relationship from the internet. You want to surprise your boyfriend by visiting him during tour. Internet fame, poor timing, and Nick’s big mouth end up exposing the truth between you and Chris.

chris sturniolo x fem! reader

reader is a small influencer, and best friends with Nick

warnings: cursing, some angst

author’s note: currently working on “Matt’s Teammate” pt. 2 so checkout pt. 1 if you haven’t already!

You haven’t seen Chris in about two months since tour started, and you were really missing him. He always made sure to shoot you cute texts during the day, call you nearly every morning, and FaceTime at night after the shows. Still, he was busy, and you could tell tour and being away from you was a lot for him to be juggling at once.

You had started a YouTube channel about two years back, and really just documented your life. Somehow, your weekly life updates seemed to gain popularity, and soon you had nearly 200k subscribers. That’s when you were contacted by Z Star Digital, a company dedicated to young and upcoming content creators. You flew out to LA to meet with a team of professionals who offered you a contract with their company that you accepted, and that same week you attended your first Z Star Digital event to get exposed to the other creators in the franchise. You met Nick early on at the start of the event before meeting Matt or Chris. You had been following the triplets for a while, and they were just about to hit 1m subscribers. Nick hit it off with you instantly, and the two of you were attached at the hip the entire event. You and Nick became friends after this night, and hung out every time you were in LA (which also meant you were hanging out with his brothers). It took Chris a long time to ask you out which was agonizing considering you had been crushing on him before the two of you even met. Before making anything official you two had a long talk about your feelings for one another, and how you could make your dating life as private as possible. That was ten months ago, and you’ve both managed to not expose your relationship to the media. Not yet, at least.

With Nick’s help you managed to fly out to Florida to see Chris in his last few shows of the tour. Chris was in the lead, and you wanted to see his last few shows to hopefully be there if he won. You wanted to keep your visit a secret from Chris to surprise him (which also meant keeping it a secret from Matt because he’s awful at keeping secrets and somehow would’ve 100% told Chris you were coming). So you and Nick had been sneakily texting and calling back and forth getting you from the airport to their hotel.

Hey I’m downstairs but I don’t have a key to get up the elevator. Can you please swing by the lobby and bring me up? Thx 💞 You text Nick. Heart nearly thumping out of your chest from excitement.

Yeah ofc give me two minutes!

Chris’s POV:

“My Uber Eats is here I’m gonna run downstairs and get it be right back.” Nick says getting up to leave the room.

“K. Chris do you need the shower right now or can I hop in?” Matt asks.

“Nah man it’s all yours I showered before the show today.” [if ykyk 🤪]

Nick leaves, and Matt goes to shower, leaving me by myself. I pick up my phone to FaceTime Y/N, and it gets declined straight away. Weird. Maybe she’s showering too— which in that case I wish she WOULD answer. I opened Instagram and decided to start a live stream to give fans some updates on tour, and maybe steal some of Nick’s food for the camera. Before I even started talking there were a couple thousand fans viewing the live.

“Sup guys! Just wanted to come on here and give you some updates. Team Orange is in the lead, and if Matt win’s these next two Florida shows we’ll be tied and have to hold a tie-breaker. That’s pretty exciting actually I’d love for that to happen. Uhh yeah so Tril is gonna be on tour soon so go follow him and check that out. I’ll probably—”

“YOU’RE GIRLFRIEND HAS ARRIVEDDDD!” Nick sings as he bursts through the door with Y/N trailing behind him. My heart skips a beat and my jaw drops.

“I’m on live right now…” was the only thing I managed to say. Nick and Y/N’s mouths were now agape with mine. I snatch my phone and swipe out of Instagram as fast as I can ending the live.

Y/N’s POV:

“Shit Chris I’m sorry. Maybe no one caught me saying that…”

“Nick are you fucking stupid? You sang that shit at the top of your lungs and I had twelve thousand people watching! God damnit Nick, what the fuck?” Chris screams at Nick. Keeping our relationship private is sacred to Chris, and telling the fandom he has a girlfriend has always been one of his biggest fears.

“Don’t yell at me like that! It’s not like I knew you were on live?! I was trying to be a good brother by surprising you with your girlfriend— who is standing right here by the way and didn’t come all the way here to watch us freaking argue!” Nick retorts as he moves aside letting Chris get a full look at me.

“Umm. Surprise?” I say shyly. This is definitely not the reunion I pictured in my head. Chris let’s out a deep sigh and his shoulders relax.

“Nick’s right. I’m really so happy you’re here I needed to see you…” Chris says as he wraps his arms tightly around me, and I do the same in return. He leaves light kisses all over my cheeks and forehead. “I missed you so much baby.”

“I missed you more my love.” I say in return. I can see the concerned and defeated look on his face as I pull away from our hug. “Look, we were going to tell your fans eventually. I’m honestly surprised we went this long without spilling the news. We’ll navigate through this together and figure something out, okay love?” Chris’s eyes soften as he looks down at me.

“You’re right. I know you’re right… I love you.” He says sincerely planting a sweet, soft kiss on my lips.

“I love you too, Chris.”

The cute moment you were sharing with your boyfriend was interrupted by the sound of a sliding glass door. You turn to see Matt coming out of the bathroom in a robe.

“What the hell is with all the yelling? I was in there for like six minutes and— oh shit! Hey Y/N!” Matt says excitingly as he looks up to see you.

“Hey Matt.” You laugh, knowing he is completely out of the loop right now.

Matt walks over to his nightstand and picks up his phone, a confused look on his face once the screen lights up as he sees how many notifications he’s gotten. He looks concentrated as he scrolls through his phone for a moment.

YOU’RE GIRLFRIEND HAS ARRIVVEDDD!

I’m on live right now…

You hear the recording play through Matt’s phone, and his jaw drops too.

“Ohhhhh shit. Nick you’re a fucking moron.” Matt says and Nick throws his hands up in the air in defeat making the four of you laugh.

**********

Hope you enjoyed this one! I wrote this when I couldn’t sleep and I haven’t proofread any of this just yet so my apologies for any errors lol.

- Kay 🩶

[raineandsky]

#114

The last thing the hero remembers is someone shoving them into a white van—and frankly, with a last memory like that, they’re expecting to wake up in a grimy jail, or maybe some weird torture basement.

What they aren’t expecting is to wake up in an actual bed, in an actual room. There’s actual windows, for god’s sake, and unbarred. They woke up ten minutes ago, and spent about six of those minutes revelling in how comfortable the bed is before realising they should at least try to get out.

They're in the midst of fiddling with the latch on the window—conveniently impossible to open, they notice—when the criminal behind this weird situation decides to make an appearance.

“Good to see you awake,” the villain says cheerfully, then, with a little more apprehension, “and on your feet.”

The hero at least has the courtesy to stop trying to break out. “What the hell do you want, [Villain]?”

The villain’s bright smile doesn’t move. They carefully shut the door behind them. “I don’t want anything. I’m doing you a favour.”

From the lavish bed and actual walking space in here, the hero can kind of see that. “I seriously doubt you are doing me a favour.”

“When was the last time you slept in a bed that comfortable?”

A long time ago. The hero can even barely remember. It feels like they’ve always been a hero. Always been a little uncomfortable. “Last night, thank you very much.”

The hum the villain gives that is so disbelieving it’s painful. “I don’t like the agency,” they say after a moment, “and as a result I didn’t like you. I just kind of… bunched you in with them.”

“Well, yeah.” The hero shuffles awkwardly. “Probably because I work for them.”

“But exactly! You know I hate the modern working world.” The villain smiles, like everything is obvious. It’s really not. “I saw you as an equal to the agency, but you’re not, are you? You’re under them.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying.”

The villain’s not done. “You’re on their whim. You’re not an ally to them, you’re a victim.”

There’s a long silence in which the hero tries valiantly to process what the villain just said. “I think you’re a little confused, [Villain], I’m not—”

“When did you last have any free time? Enjoy life? See friends? I bet the agency doesn’t let you have friends.”

“I have friends!”

“Yeah? Who?”

“There’s… heroes.”

“Hm.” The villain smirks. “Only allowed to hang out with people they approve of, then.”

The hero returns that with a scowl. “Look,” the villain continues gently, “you can do a lot better than the agency. You’re better than all of this.”

“I’m not becoming a criminal.”

“I’m not saying that.” The villain shifts their gaze to the window the hero was just trying to open. “I’m just suggesting… I don’t know. Go do something that actually puts some good out there.”

“And you’re telling me this, of all people.”

The villain laughs at that. The hero smiles too—it is weird to get a morality lesson from someone who notoriously doesn’t have any. “Hey, you do the good stuff and I’ll stick to the bad stuff. Only good if there’s bad and vice versa, right?”

The villain opens the door, clearly considering their point made. “You really think the agency’s that bad?” the hero blurts.

“I don’t think there’s anything worse.” The villain idly runs their hand over the grooves in the door handle for a moment. “You have a lot of potential, [Hero]. I think I’d like to see what it’s like to fight you in your prime rather than as the agency’s lapdog.”

The hero nods sagely. “This is for personal gain, then.”

“Of course it is!” The villain grins. It’s a lot more genuine than their usual victorious smirk. “Everything I do is for personal gain, you know that.”

The hero can’t help but smile gratefully as the villain shuts the door behind them. Maybe they can think on it. Maybe they can consider their options, here, in this lovely little room that's more than they’ve had in years.

If giving the hero a nice bed and a beautiful view is for personal gain, then the villain should be selfish more often.

[shanastoryteller]

Merry Christmas Grandma!! Three faced goddess was so cool?!? I need to know what happens next!🎅🏻☃️

a continuations of 1 2

Tony thinks that it’s probably selfish of him (knows that it’s selfish of him) but he never wanted to be king.

It wasn’t even an option, really. Greg was so much older than him and hated him from the day he was born. He thought that a spare made him expendable and he’d always hated that, even though Tony was so clearly not planned.

He’d been right, in the end.

There should have been more of them, Tony should have grown up with plenty of siblings, because everyone says that the Starks rule by divine right and the lack of Starks really makes the devout nervous. But his mother had struggled to have Greg and ten years later they’d thought having Tony really would kill her.

Before the accident and he’d had a crown forced on his head, he’d thought that would be his real contribution to the kingdom. Marrying who he was told and having a half dozen or so kids to run through the castle so people would stop fretting.

Then he was the last Stark left alive and there was a war and even though he knew he had a duty to secure the line of succession, it just didn’t seem possible. Turning a foreign royal or one of his own ambitious nobles into a princess and mother of his children had sounded fine, had been something he’d discussed with Rhodey as they plotted and planned how to live their lives outside the constraints of propriety.

But making one of them his queen? Impossible.

He needs someone he can trust to rule, in case the worst should happen. He needs someone who he can trust to rule even if it shouldn’t, so he has the freedom to actually help with this war that he’s found himself in the middle of instead of staying safe and useless in the castle.

Rhodey could help manage his soldiers and plan their battles and would stay by his side every minute that he could, but Tony needed something more, something that he never would have needed if he’d simply stayed a prince.

He needed a wife he could trust.

He got so, so lucky with Pepper.

“I met your champion,” she says, curled into his side with her head on his chest. He always runs hot now with the star living under his skin. It’s a cold night but they’re only covered by a sheet, trapping the heat he gives off around them. “Very pretty.”

“Hey,” he says, but he’s smiling. “He is that. Does he seem like he’s doing okay? I feel bad having him fight so soon, but he insisted. I guess it’s familiar.”

“War is war,” she agrees. “Yes. He spoke fondly of you.”

He blinks down at her, perplexed. “He did?”

Pepper’s lips twitch. “Edward you. He did make a pointed comment about the king’s absence that I graciously ignored.”

He saw Steve literally two days ago! But he is missing some important information. “It’s not my fault I met him as Edward first! You know they found him at the edge of the North border and he literally fought his way through battle that was in his way? Who does that? If I showed up seventy years in the future I’d need a stiff drink and a nap before anything else not to jump into work.”

“You know he needs the distraction,” she says. He’s trying to work on that but it’s hard when there’s a literal war going on. When it’s over, they’ll all get a chance to rest. “You could tell him the truth.”

No one knows the truth, not all of it, except for Rhodey and Pepper. “He already worries about me too much – both as Edward and the Iron Mage. If he knows not only are they same person, but also the king he’s duty bound to serve and protect, it’ll make things complicated. Too many conflicting orders.”

“Yeah,” Pepper says, soft and teasing, “that will make things complicated.”

[redroomreflections]

Not Easily Broken Chapter 5

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Reader go through a tragic divorce

Masterlist | General Masterlist

5/10

Note: Yes, it's getting finished besties.

W/c: 7.4k (this was a bitch to edit just so you know!)

Rating: M (Minors DNI; angst, fluff, smut, heartbreak, heart fix? the best ending for them coming soon)

“And Mommy, I went to the park, we played on the swings. I went so high. Not even Mama could grab me.” Emma gestured with her hands somewhere beyond the camera. You smiled at the expression on her face as she described to you what her day was like. You were just returning home from the gym when you received a Facetime call from Natasha. You quickly answered it thinking it was an emergency. Nope. It was just Emma missing you. You could tell that time apart tore through her as the five-year-old tried to understand the current family dynamics. Not that it was easy for you to understand. Still, you listened to her tell stories just like she always did. Slightly out of breath and a lot of emotion. She held the phone in her shaky hands as she bounced around her bed. You’re not sure you could get her to sit down if you tried.

“You didn’t go that high,” Ryan’s ‘know-it-all’ tone surprised you. It was classic sibling bickering. Only this time you had a front-row seat. You could see Emma hold the camera in place as she frowned over at her brother.

“How do you know? You were over on the slides.” Emma said.

“I could still see,” Ryan climbed onto the bed to bounce with his sister. You could see his hair flopping in a corner of the frame. You wish they would just set you up somewhere you could see. Not that either of them was professional on the proper lighting and angles. All you could see was bouncing and their breathless bickering. Until there was a knock at the door, Emma bounced onto her bottom to look innocently at whoever interrupted their playtime.

“Okay, you two, time for bed,” Natasha said. She held onto the doorknob as she watched them deflate.

“We are still talking to Mommy,” Emma pouted. “Can we have just five more minutes?”

“Oh, you said that ten minutes ago.” Natasha matched her pout. “Say goodnight to Mommy.”

“Goodnight Mommy,” Emma said. She passed the phone to Ryan before stumping out of his bedroom and into her own. She was stopped in her tracks by Natasha as she scooped the little girl into her arms. She kissed along her cheeks, and forehead, before raising her a bit higher to press kisses against her belly. Emma’s laughter filled the room as Ryan watched them with his smile. You couldn’t help but feel that familiar loneliness resurfacing. You wanted to be there with them. You belong there with them.

“Mommy, are you coming to my game on Wednesday?” Ryan spoke over the giggles coming from Emma. They seemed to be further away now. Natasha was carrying her to her bedroom.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You promised. A promise you were ensuring you would keep.

“If we win, can we get ice cream?” Ryan smiled hopefully.

“I will get you three scoops no matter if you win or not.” You replied. At his smile, you felt a bit better. You wouldn’t let him down this time. There was silence as you both enjoyed each other’s virtual company. He crawled under the covers, somehow keeping the phone in his hold before he fixed the camera to show his face again. “Are you all warm and cozy?”

“Yeah,” Ryan nodded. He paused before speaking again. “I want you to come to stay with us again, Mommy. Then we could have another sleepover. Like we had in Florida.”

“I’d like that so much, Ryan.” You said sincerely. “I knew you liked those sleepovers.”

“Of course,” Ryan shrugged. “I like it when everyone is happy. It’s always fun.” He said in a way that made him seem so much older. He sounded bigger than his seven years of life. He was always worrying about everyone else’s feelings.

Natasha chose that moment to enter his room again. She stood by the doorway with her arms folded against her chest. She allowed Ryan to have his moment with you. As the oldest child, it was easy for him to step into the background and let Emma have her moments. You both were always reminding him that his feelings and interests mattered too.

Turns out neither of you had anything to say. He held the phone, clearly stalling his bedtime so that he could get a few more moments with you. Finally, Natasha intervened. You could tell she secretly wanted to talk with you too.

“Okay, tell Mommy goodnight,” Natasha instructed. She ambled over to his bed to hold out her hand.

“Goodnight, Mommy,” Ryan said lowly. He reluctantly passed the phone to Natasha before sliding further under the covers. He waited for his kiss goodnight before turning towards the wall. You could see Natasha turn off his bedroom light and close the door. She shuffled down the hallway, wisps of her hair flying freely in her messy bun, as she walked towards her bedroom. She settled onto her bed, crossing her legs before looking down at the camera.

“Hey you,” You smile. The lighting in the bedroom cast a warm glow against her skin. Her reading glasses sit perched on the top of her head as she leans back against the headboard. She doesn’t need them all the time but you figure she’s had a long day. She smiles lazily into the camera before returning your greeting. You mirror her position on the other side of town.

“Hi back,” She smiles.

“Do you need to be tucked in too?” You joke and she snorts.

“I haven’t needed to be tucked in in a long time, Romanoff,” The way she uses the last name for you causes your heart to flutter. If that were possible. Her voice is a bit raspier. A bit huskier. You scan her face and the top of her shoulders. She’s wearing a thin purple tank top. You can see the way her skin flushes at your heated gaze.

“So, about the no-sex thing?” You try. She raises a brow for you to continue. “Did that include phone sex?”

“Hmm?” Natasha pretends to take a moment to think.

“Because I think I would be able to stay awake for that,” You quip.

“Oh yeah?” Natasha asks. She moves to grab a pillow from your forgotten side of the bed. She props the phone up, fluffing the pillow for the correct angle, before laying on her side. “What did you have in mind?” The ball is in your court. She’s certainly entertaining you and your horniness. She props herself up on her elbow, cradling her head with her hand, as she looks at you expectantly.

“I think a nip slip wouldn’t be so bad,” You suggest. You’re not serious. Not 100% at least. It’s not like you haven’t had phone sex before. Back when she would have long missions, or you would be away on a business trip, you had taken to sending each other racy texts or faceless nudes. It’s how you kept things alive and “spicy”. Not that you ever needed it.

“You’re always so obsessed with my breasts,” Natasha comments. She doesn’t care all that much. She likes the attention. From you and only you.

“They’re nice breasts,” You shrug.

“What do I get out of this?” Natasha decides she’ll continue to play along. This is the least sexy amount of flirting you’ve done but it still manages to get a rise out of you. You like it this way. There’s no expectation to be something you’re not. There’s no expectation to get back to a flame that has long died down. At least for the time being. You’d rather not think about what that means.

“Um,” You bring your left hand to your chin. You pretend to think before grinning mischievously. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Natasha laughs this time. She shakes her head before pulling at the strap of her top.

“You have yourself a deal,” Natasha says. She fingers along the strap, pulling it down from her arm teasingly. She bites her lip, watching the way your pupils dilate, as she finally removes the side. She sits up on her bottom. The anticipation is killing you as you wait for her to show you what you’ve been waiting for. Natasha pushes the other strap from her shoulder. She rolls her eyes as you settle further back into the pillows. Typical. Making her go first. Natasha raises her hands to push the shirt down her abdomen. More skin is exposed until you can see the top of her breasts. God, you wish she wouldn’t tease you.

The pink of her nipples takes you by surprise just before the screen goes black. You let out an audible sound of shock as you rise from the pillows. You tap the screen of your phone to see if you still have half a battery. Natasha’s phone has died. You thumb through the screen of your phone to get back to her name only for it to show up unavailable. You sigh in frustration. Maybe a shower will cool you off. You drop your phone onto the bed with a promise to text her back when you’re out. You needed to cool off.

The steam from the shower doesn’t seem to help you. You scrub your skin, relieving yourself of the day’s grime, as you think about Natasha. You miss her. You want her next to you. Not only for sex. It’s never been just sex for you. You want to feel her breathing against the back of your neck when she decides to be the big spoon. You want her too warm limbs pressed against your calves. You want her steady hand resting in the valley between your breasts. You want Natasha.

You get out of the shower feeling refreshed. You brush your teeth. The feeling of loneliness fills you once again. No one is here to lie with you. There’s no one here to wake up to. No one to keep the darkness in your mind away. You’re here all alone and you can’t help but think that you deserve it. You’re the culprit after all. You’re the one that tore apart your family. You’re the one that pushed everyone away in exchange for work. Everything comes down to you.

As you finish your skincare routine, you can’t help but wonder if things will change. Would you change? Your first counseling session is tomorrow and you want more than anything to work things out. Natasha is too great of a woman to pass up. She’s too much of your heart for you to throw away. Like you’ve been doing. You shut off your bathroom light and crawl back under the covers of your bed. It’s much too big to have for yourself.

You fumble around for the phone and tap the screen alive. There are four messages from Natasha. You swipe the unlock screen, using FACE ID to open it, as you tap the first message. “Sorry my phone died,” The message reads with an attachment.

It’s a series of pictures. The anticipation kills you as you wait for the HD versions to load. Your eyes almost pop out of your head as Natasha poses for the camera. Damn. If she ever wanted to quit her day job as a spy to become a photographer you would support her decision one thousand percent. Okay, you’re being a bit dramatic but these are good.

She’s on her side, in the same position as before, only this time she’s naked save for her panties. They’re a thin bit of silk with lace trim in the color black. You take in the whole picture. The way her left leg is bent just slightly, her left arm stretched across her breasts, as she lies faceless in the picture. She’s not showing anything but to you it is everything. Damn indeed.

You immediately swipe to the next wanting to see the other photos. This one is a bit more personal. Her lips are the highlight of this one. She’s closer to the camera, her mouth slightly open, as her tongue peeks from behind her perfectly white teeth. Only Natasha could make this pose sexy. She manages to make everything sexy. Your eyes trail down to find the tops of her breasts hidden once again as she poses.

You’re extremely thankful that while these are sexy, Natasha trusts you enough to send them to you. You know she’s put herself in a vulnerable position. She’s throwing herself out there and you can’t help but feel elated. The next picture makes you audibly gasp. The camera is positioned further down. Her nipple stands rosy and hard as she pinches it between her index finger and thumb. Her wrist lies against the breast cupping it as she balances the phone with the other hand. In the background, you can see the look of pleasure on her face. She’s sensitive. Her breasts have always been sensitive. Even to her touch.

You don’t realize your hand has traveled to the waistband of your underwear until you feel your wetness at the tip of your fingers. You miss her. You need her. You open your legs wider, as you skirt past your clit to dip your fingers inside your opening. There’s no need to get ready. She should be here right now. You imagine the way she would feel inside of you. You imagine the curl of your fingers is hers. You imagine that morning at the hotel and how she’d taken initiative.

Damn Natasha and her sexy pictures. You know she’s not expecting pictures back but you feel inclined to send them. You push the sports bra over your breast, balancing the phone in one hand, as you arch your back just so. You quickly snap the picture before sending another one showcasing the bump of your hand inside of your panties. You’re not sure you can wait for her to reply as you push another finger inside of yourself. You pump at an increasingly fast pace as you imagine it’s Natasha here in bed with you. You clench hard around your fingers at the thought of her body pressed against yours.

There’s a vibration from your phone just as you reach that spongey spot inside of yourself. You raise the phone to look through narrowed eyes. She’s calling again. You move a shaky thumb to the green phone button to answer it.

“Nat,” You whimper.

“You couldn’t wait for the phone to charge?” She says in a light scold. You shake your head no.

“Well, I want you to slow down.” Natasha begins. You whimper again at her voice as she husks. “Shh, I want to come with you.” She purrs. This prompts a gush of wetness as you force yourself to slow down. It’s rare for Natasha to take over in the bedroom and when she does it’s phenomenal. You don’t want to think about how long it’s been since you’ve truly been intimate. All you can think about is the chase of your current orgasm.

“Want you,” You whine.

“I know,” Natasha breathes. “Want you too.” Natasha fumbles with the camera as she flips onto her stomach. She props the phone up on the side of her again and for a second your fingers are still inside of you as you watch her. She’s naked this time as the sheets cover her from the waist down. You wish so badly that she would let it slip away. You watch as her left hand slips under the covers. She arches her back with her face pressed into the pillow.

She’s not. She won’t. She is.

You try to keep your eyes open as the moment overtakes you. Natasha’s lips fall open as she slides her fingers into herself. You can see the subtle movements of her hand under the covers and the outline of her perfectly rounded bottom. She lets out a choked noise as she adjusts to the fullness of her fingers.

“Nat, open your eyes,” You beg. Her thick lashes flutter open and you’re thrown by how dark her eyes are at the moment.

“I’m ‘supposed to be in charge.” She sputters as she ruts against her fingers.

“You’re doing such a good job of that, baby.” You encourage. “Tell me what you want me to do,” You say. Her brows knit together as she attempts to form words.

“I want to see you too,” She manages. You quickly push your panties from your body, moaning at the loss of your fingers, as you toss your pillows to the side. You prop up the phone to show off your body.

“G-good,” Natasha says.

“Now what?” You ask.

“I’m not gonna last,” Natasha swallows. “I want you to push inside of yourself. Gently.” You do as told. It’s much easier this time around. “Wanna hear you.” She mentions. She begins to rock her hips as she rides her fingers. You don’t hold back as you match her pace. The sight in front of you is too much as you watch Natasha hump against the covers. She doesn’t swallow her moans, though conscious of little ears, as she breathes. “Can’t wait to have you inside me.” She babbles. “Been so long.” She continues. “How does it feel, Zaya?” She questions as you pump your fingers faster. You can feel your hips jump at the thought of being inside Natasha again. “Zaya,” it’s such a sweet nickname despite how “dirty” you’re being. You manage to look at the phone again. Feeling your walls clench around your fingers as you watch Natasha rock against herself.

“So good,” You moan.

“When we fuck, I want you to use the big one,” Natasha confesses. You immediately know what she’s talking about. The strap-on. “Want to feel it inside me for a week.” Natasha arches her back more as her movements become frantic. Her hair is held by the tie draped over her shoulders and the pillow as she moves. “Want you to fill me.”

She still has it. Not that you expected her to just throw it away. She’s talking big game right now. Natasha has never been able to fully take that strap with ease no matter how much you’ve both tried. It’s bordering 8 inches. Not too big where it hurts but the girth is. The way it fills her. She likes the challenge and so do you.

“You still have it?” You ask through your thrusts.

“I tried to use it on myself,” She admits and you’re sure you’d died and gone to heaven. “Couldn’t come. Not without you.” She gasps. You can feel the arrival of your orgasm as Natasha tells you about her time with the strap. “Wouldn’t fit.” She shakes her head.

“Shit,” You whine as the last part of her statement sends you into your orgasm head first. You don’t know which way is up or down as your eyes snap shut. Your legs lock up and your back arches to an impossible level. From somewhere back down on earth you can hear Natasha’s moans as she climaxes. There’s a solid thirty seconds before the grip your body has on your fingers loosens. It’s another thirty seconds before you can relax your legs and pull out. When you finally do open your eyes to look over at the phone, Natasha’s green ones, are looking back at you lazily.

“Were you telling the truth?” You ask. She lifts her head giving you a satisfied smirk. “About the strap?”

“I was,” Natasha dares to blush. As confident as she is in bed, she always has that shyness that you find so endearing. “I tried but I couldn’t get it past the first three inches.” You believe her. It’s always taken some extensive foreplay and at least one orgasm for her to take it. Your mind flashes back to the time she insisted on riding you to the ends of the earth and back. Her form. Her stamina. Always a ten out of ten. Natasha can tell where your mind is going and she smirks again. “You need to sleep.”

“How can I when you’ve told me that?” You look at her incredulously.

“Well the faster you go to sleep, the quicker you get to see me.” She reminds you. The counseling session is in the morning. Right.

“You should have started with that,” You quip ignoring the nervousness of tomorrow. You watch as Natasha shifts, her hand still laid under her, and suddenly you’re made aware of something.

“Nat,” You ask and she hums in response as her eyes flutter closed. “Are you still inside of yourself?”

“Mhmm,” She nods sleepily. “Too sensitive to move,” She mumbles. Did she want to kill you?

“Baby, you need to get up and pee. Then we can sleep.” Her eyes snap open at your words. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep. I promise.” This time you mean it. Natasha nods again as she lifts her lower half to slowly remove her fingers from herself. She can’t help but whimper at the loss.

“You too,” She tilts her chin up. You rush to the bathroom to clean yourself up and wash your hands before returning to the bed. Natasha is much slower as she enters the frame again. She lies on her side again to face you.

“Y/n,” She says.

“Yes, Tasha?”

“Can you promise me something,” Her tone is more serious and she’s suddenly more awake than before. “If at any point you feel any of this is too much. You tell me.” Her gaze is piercing as she waits for you to respond. “Don’t let it fester. Don’t leave me in the dark. If we need to pause on whatever this is right now, we do. Don’t hide.”

You bite your lip. You hate that she even has to say this. Given your track record, you’re not surprised.

“I promise, baby.” You murmur. “I love you.” You say and Natasha smiles.

“I love you too.”

You can tell sleep is overtaking her now as she plugs the phone into its charger before leaving it against the pillow. You watch her for a bit longer than necessary as she slips into sleep so easily.

You wouldn’t mess this up. Not this time.

*********************************

One thing Natasha didn’t expect from her family when informing them that she would be attending couples counseling with you - was their reluctance. She sat in her car, her sunglasses pushed to the top of her head, as she listened to them talk through the speakers of her car. Her iPhone remained in the cupholder as she traced her fingers over the edges. She could hear the sound of a pin drop with how silent the other occupants on the phone were.

“Hello?” She asked attempting to hide the annoyance in her tone. She glanced around the parking lot of the office building. She’s been here for the better part of ten minutes. After dropping off the children at school she headed here. Part of it was to keep herself in check and talk with her family without the worry of traffic. Now she’s glad she did. There’s no sign of you just yet and she hopes you find a parking spot in time. She would hate to be late.

“It’s pretty packed for a Monday morning,” She muses to herself. She could feel the tension deep in her bones as she tried to calm herself.

“Yes, Natasha, we are still here.” It was Melina’s soft voice that spoke first. Natasha glanced towards the touchscreen radio of her car. She was currently on a three-way call with the Russian members of her family. The names Mama and Yelena in both English and Russian sat unmoving across the screen. “We are just surprised is all.”

Natasha imagined her holding up the phone to an ear as Alexei tried to hold in his thoughts.

“Surprised? We’re fucking shocked is what we are,” Yelena breathes. She doesn’t hold back. While Natasha appreciated her sister’s bluntness she didn’t find it helpful at this moment.

“Yelena,” Melina scolded her. There was an eye roll somewhere in there.

“What?” Yelena’s voice boomed through the speakers. “Just last year, Natasha came crying to us. Utterly fucking destroyed might I add. Telling us that her marriage was over. Y/n left her with their two kids to do who knows what with god knows who. We were left to pick up the pieces and you mean to tell me all of that was for nothing?”

Natasha listens to her family bicker about her relationship. She understands what Yelena is saying. She might be right on this one. As surprising as it may be, she has her reasons. There’s still a part of her that believes your relationship could work. Sue her for holding on to that.

“Yeah, what she said,” Alexei finally joined it. “I don’t forget. I would like to break her puny little arms still.”

Natasha’s brow raised in amusement as a smirk tugged at her lips. She didn’t think your arms were puny.

“Alexei, you’re not going to break my wife’s arms,” Natasha says drily.

“Wife?” Yelena comments at the same time that Melina scolds her husband in the background. “I can’t believe this.”

Natasha licks her lips in annoyance. If there’s one thing she could never do was stand up to her family. In the rare moments that she did, she would blow up. She doesn’t need that right now.

“I think what Natasha is saying is that she and y/n are willing to work on their mistakes,” Melina chooses her words carefully. “I do just like the rest of you that their split was terrible. We were all rooting for the both of you. I think if you two are going to make it work we support that. Even if we have our reservations.”

“Reservations?” Yelena asks incredulously. “I don’t have reservations. I’m pissed about it is what I am. I don’t think it’s a good idea to go back to someone who has shown time and time again how much she doesn’t care.” That’s the part that sends tiny knives through Natasha’s heart.

“Please,” She mutters but it’s loud enough for them to hear. “I know how you all feel. I know you’re still mad at her and part of me is too. That other part of me still wants so badly for this to work. I owe it to myself to see it through. I owe it to Ryan and Emma, too.” Just as she finishes there’s rapping on her window. She glances up to find you giving her a small wave. She raises a finger to tell you to wait and you give her a small smile before walking over to the front of the car. “I have to go but please keep an open mind. I need your support.”

“Of course, big girl,” Melina says easily. She hears a sound akin to whack and suddenly Alexei joins in. “I will.”

“Еле́на?” Natasha asks.

Yelena smacks her lip and Natasha can tell there’s another eye roll at the other end of the line.

“Okay fine,” She relents. “I can’t say that I won’t poison her drink if she tries something else.”

“I will hold you to that,” Natasha laughs. “I have to go but I love you all so much.” She says before rushing to hang up the phone. She doesn’t want to leave you waiting any longer. She presses the button to turn off her car as she quickly stuffs her phone inside of her pockets. Even after all this time, she refuses to carry a purse. She opens the door of the car, giving you another smile, before slamming it shut.

“Hey,” You say softly as she continues to walk until she’s standing right in front of you. The height difference is still so endearing. She looks up at you with a shy smile before stretching her neck to kiss you. It’s soft and so damn sweet. “Did you sleep well?”

“I slept fine,” Natasha pulls back.

“Good,” You respond. You take a look at the building to the side of you before turning back to her inquisitive eyes. “Ready to go and have our entire relationship picked apart?”

She nods. She’s been in therapy before. She knows what it entails. She can’t say she’s that big of a fan but she wants this to work. She needs this to work.

*********************

When you sit down on the couch of the therapist's office you don’t intentionally mean to sit so far apart. You’re not on opposite ends of the couch. Natasha is mere inches away from you. If needed you can reach out and touch her. You sit with a rigid posture and fidgety eyes. Natasha ever the calm one sits with her legs crossed and a relaxed form. You’re a bit jealous of the fact that she’s always able to play it so cool. You look around the room of the office to ground yourself. The therapist, Cheryl, sits across from you shuffling papers together before she can begin. You notice the plaques on the wall, framed in a deep brown shade, hung up with pride. The walls are painted soft gray with white trim. The couch is comfy, new, and a bit stiff. It hasn’t been sat on much as a testament to its recent purchase. You adjust in your seat to test this theory and Cheryl notices. She looks up at you with something sort of like a smile.

“Oh, the entire office just got new furniture last week,” She mentions. Finally, she folds the papers and flips to an open page in her pad. “Now I want to begin by getting to know you both a little bit. From your intake papers, I understand that you have been divorced for almost nine months now but you’re seeking reconciliation.” She glances up from her pad to confirm. You nod. She looks back down. “I want to know your origin story. How did Y/n and Natasha begin? Then we can go ahead into more detail.”

She waits patiently for either of you to start. You glance at Natasha and she gives you the okay to speak. You were fine going first.

“Natasha and I met almost twelve? Twelve years ago at Stark Tower.” You start looking to Natasha for confirmation. She gives a subtle nod. “I was recently appointed creative director working alongside Tony Stark. As you know she’s an Avenger. Initially, we didn’t have that much contact. I was simply there to take in what Tony wanted. Um, I think I was three months into the job before we officially met. Tony wanted to go over some of the marketing for his latest gadget. Usually, a creative director just oversees the project from end to finish. With Tony, it’s everything.” You talk with your hands and suddenly you’re a bit self-conscious about that. “We had lunch in his lounge and Natasha walked in. She introduced herself, didn’t say much, she left after that. It was so quick.”

“Was this the first time you saw her?”

“Yes,” You answer.

“It wasn’t the first time I saw her,” Natasha offers. “It was at least a week before that. She was on her phone at one of the luncheons Tony was having. She was talking to her mom or something of that sort. She was complaining about Tony even with him a few feet away. Something about that interested me. How unafraid she was of the consequences with him standing right there.”

Natasha stops to let you continue the story.

“I don’t know how it was for Natasha but I… I fell in love the moment she held out her hand for me to shake,” You admit. You lick your lips before starting again. “I wanted her in every way.” There’s no sense of lying. “So I spent more time at the office than working from home. I would ask Tony about her. I would hope that I would get a chance to see her more.”

“It was pretty much the same for me,” Natasha says. “I tried to be around more. Usually, I would, um, make myself scarce. Product of my childhood. I stayed out of the way. With Y/N, for some reason, I didn’t feel I had to do that.”

“Our first kiss was at one of Tony Stark’s many, many parties.” You describe. “It was in the kitchen and I remember feeling so happy. I was also a bit nervous. How could a woman like her ever want someone like me?”

“Someone like you?” Cheryl hangs on to your words. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” You shrug. “I wasn’t very put together. I was very open and brash and she was more collected. More grown-up. Like she had her entire life together.”

“And you didn’t? You were a young creative director,” Cherly mentions.

“I didn’t feel like it at the moment,” You say and she writes something down on her pad. “So, anyway, neither of us had been in a relationship where we were one hundred percent serious about the other person. Everything felt so right with Natasha. It felt easy. To love her. It happened so easily.”

“I feel that way too,” Natasha agrees.

“Sounds like a beautiful love story,” Cheryl drops her pen for just a second. “Do you always talk in tandem like that? Like finishing the story for each other.”

You and Natasha blink. You hadn’t noticed it. You guess that’s what eleven years together would do.

“I find it cute,” Cheryl assures you. “Now, you have two children together correct?” She glances at her notes. “Ryan and Emma?”

“Yes,” Natasha answers.

“Great,” She mutters to herself. “So, I have my notes here and I guess I would like to ask what do you think the problems are in your relationship?” At your look she rephrases. “I am wondering what caused you two to divorce in the first place?”

“Several things really,” You say.

“We grew apart,” Natasha begins. “I don’t want to play the blame game. It’s just that for the past few years, y/n has been tied up with work. A lot.”

You nod. That’s a given she would tell this. “I think for a while we were just skirting by on being busy. The both of us.” You emphasize. “We lead such busy lives that we, mainly me, spent more time putting effort into that instead of putting effort into our relationship. I felt that I couldn't make her happy. We were fighting more. I was miserable. I don’t want to speak for her but it just became too much at once.” Cheryl scribbles on her notepad.

“Natasha, do you agree with this?” Cheryl asks.

Natasha nods. “Yes.”

“So what I’m hearing is that somewhere your lives got so busy that at some point there was a disconnect?” Cheryl summarizes. “Is there something that you think initiated this change?”

“I think it was after we had kids,” You say reluctantly. “Suddenly, we were balancing our careers, our relationship, and then kids. It was like in every direction there was always something. It’s a lot to say you can successfully juggle all of those. Something which I struggling with.”

“I think…. I agree.” Natasha thinks. “To an extent. My job offers me a bit more time off. Though it’s not always all at once. Since I’m traveling so much it was easy to curate our lives around that.”

“And you travel for work too?” Cheryl directs her question to you.

“I do,” You confirm. “Not as much. Well, not now, anyway. I took a sabbatical.” Cheryl’s eyes widen as she writes it down. “It was my own choice. I felt that I was neglecting my family. I - when Natasha suggested counseling it was something I knew I had to do.”

“Why?” Cheryl’s curious tone is nonjudgemental.

“For the reason, I said before,” You shift. “I was spending way more time there than necessary.”

“Are those your words or someone else,” A noise catches in your throat and she clarifies. “I just want to make sure I’m understanding the bigger picture.”

“They’re both,” You say.

“It was a concern that came up,” Natasha says. “The constant working wasn’t a problem at first. At least, I think it wasn’t. When we were first dating it was easier. It was simple. We could take entire weekends off. We would plan dates. She would come to spend the night with me in the tower. It’s like she made time and put effort into our relationship.”

“Of course, marriage and just dating are two separate hurricanes, I like to say.” Cheryl agrees.

“Which is kind of my concern,” Natasha’s brow furrows. “That it was easier. I mean, I didn’t come with the expectation that everything would be, that’s not what I’m saying. I just…”

“Felt that marriage would work better for us than it did,” You finish. “Considering both of our pasts, issues with abandonment, intimacy, all of it. We put so much work into it until we didn’t. I think we both had these expectations.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think with us it was a sort of push and pull,” You say. You look to see if Natasha is still with you and for the most part, she is. “As easy as it was, I felt for a while that Natasha was emotionally unavailable in the beginning. Which we worked on. Obviously. Then with me, I was sort of guarded. I wanted to protect a lot of our relationship and what we had which just turned into unrealistic expectations for each other. Which prompted our first break up.” You both remember the heartbreak of that one. It was within the first few months of dating. You wanted to commit and Natasha didn’t. You already had her heart. Why did you need more?

“What are the expectations of your relationship?” Cheryl asks. “Are they realistic now versus that time?”

There’s a pause as both of you think of what to say.

“I expect stability, time, romance,” Natasha lists off. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Honesty.”

“Same,” You cross your legs. “I also expect patience and understanding,”

“What?” Natasha asks. “What part of me has not been either of those things?”

“I’m not saying you haven’t been, Tasha.” You assure her. “I’m just saying those are what I expect. It’s not a dig.”

“What if you felt that way, y/n?” Cheryl prompts. “Would you be willing, to be honest with Natasha and tell her that?”

“Yes, of course,” You say.

“And Natasha would you be honest with y/n if any of your expectations weren’t being met?”

“Yes,” Natasha says. You must have made a look as Cheryl catches it painting her Inkpen towards you.

“Y/n, do you not agree?”

“No, I,” You fumble. “I do to a certain degree. Natasha is just fine expressing her feelings. Often it's way after the fact. She lets things simmer for a while.”

“Natasha do you?”

“I do,” Natasha allows herself to show that insecurity. “It’s the way I was raised. Don’t show emotion and don’t bring up conflict. It’s, it’s nothing but I’m not how everyone thinks. Sure, I can put someone in their place but I can’t stand up for myself. That’s not the issue. The issue is not wanting there to be conflict when it’s quiet. I guess.”

“Y/n, how does that make you feel?” It’s a classic cliche therapist question.

“It kind of ticks me off,” You admit. “I want her to tell me things she’s felt beforehand. A lot of the times she says I leave her in the dark but I feel that way too.”

Cheryl writes something down again. She takes a bit longer to do it this time.

“So, from what we have discussed so far today, Natasha you feel unheard and maybe a bit neglected?” Cheryl tilts her head and Natasha gives a subtle nod. She’s right on the money. “And y/n, you are a bit unclear how you feel but you seem to be feeling like you’re stretched thin and struggling with how to make Natasha happy while also keeping your own identity?”

“You got it,” You say.

“Okay,” Cheryl says. “So, I know we don’t have a lot of time here. Just a couple more minutes. I want to ask you what are your goals for couples therapy?”

“I want one of our goals to be better communication,” You say first. “Then maybe better methods of handling whatever conflict there may be.”

“I second that,” Natasha folds her arms under her chest. “I also want to better understand our relationship and each other. I want us to find and talk about the root of our problems.”

“Those sound like very realistic expectations,” Cheryl makes a list on her notepad. “I have a couple more questions before I’ll let you go. My major one is are you having sex?”

There’s a sense of discomfort coming from both of you. Not because you’re embarrassed. You’re both very private people and you’re not exactly willing to talk about your sex life or lack thereof.

“No, kind of?” Natasha says. “We haven’t completely been together for sex in almost three years.”

“There have been some instances where we have been intimate but it’s not--”

“Very satisfactory?”

“Yes,” You shake your head. “We weren’t able to finish since we always seem to get interrupted. We uh, we both decided that we wouldn't have sex until we worked through some of our problems.”

“I hear a lot of couples say that,” Cheryl nods. “I think while it is a great feat there are many benefits of a healthy sexual relationship in couples. It can improve your self-confidence, it could be a way of showing someone how much you love them, a way to bond with your partner.”

“So you’re saying have more sex?”

“In so many words,” Cheryl sets down her pad. “I think if it’s a goal of yours not to have sex then that is perfectly fine. There are plenty of ways to also share in the intimacy of that without full-blown intercourse.” Like phone sex but you won’t bring that up to her.

“Like?”

“Kissing, simply touching each other, a bath together, dry humping,” Her bluntness almost has the two of you blushing. “Massages. Mutual Masturbation. The list is quite endless.” She stands from her chair and you follow her with your eyes. She grabs two sheets of paper and hands them to you both.

Your eyes scan over the sheet finding questions and blanks to be filled in. “The Relationship Assessment? It looks like homework.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Cheryl gives a grin. “For therapy to work inside you must be doing the work out there. So this is the first assignment. Finish this and then find something to do that you both enjoy. Sexual or no sexual.”

“And we bring this back for our next session?” Natasha asks.

“Yes,” Cheryl glances over to the clock. “This time together is to relearn each other. Just as if you were dating again.”

You reach over to grab Natasha’s hand. She clasps yours while reading over the sheet again.

“Your time is up, I will see you next week.” Cheryl ends.

Guess you had work to do.

---> next part

[jo-speaks]

talk too much

in which…

Trevor realizes fem! reader is just like him.

Trevor and Quinn were in the living room of the infamous Michigan lake house. Quinn had unfortunately gotten there the same day Trevor did, and was now victim to one of Trevor’s rants.

“So when is Jack getting here with his girl?” Trevor asked, finally ending his hour-long rant about the flight to the lake house. 

Quinn rubbed his eyes, “They should be here any minute now. And also, she’s not his girlfriend.” Trevor gave Quinn a confused look, “Really?” “Trevor. We’ve all known her for ten years. If they were gonna date, they would’ve done so by now.” “I guess you’re right.” “Also, if she were to date any one of us, it would probably be you.” The boy raised his eyebrows, “Why do you say that?” “Because you both talk too damn much.” Quinn said, taking a sip of his water. 

The timing of his words couldn’t have been more perfect. The boys heard footsteps and the familiar sound of your voice was getting closer and closer to the door. Quinn let out a sigh of relief, getting up to open the door for you and Jack. 

As soon as Jack stepped foot in the house, he dropped his bags and ran straight for the living room. He planted face down onto the couch and let out a long groan, causing Trevor to laugh. 

“What’s wrong with you?” He asked. 

Jack turned his head to look at Trevor, “She’s just like you, bro. I love her, but holy shit.”

The boys knew you loved to talk, it was one of the things they loved about you and what drew them to become friends with you all those years ago. But sometimes, you didn’t know when to stop. 

They were never really annoyed with it, always ready to listen to whatever was on your mind at that moment, but sometimes their brains needed a little rest before they were able to process anything you said. 

Trevor was the only one who hadn’t realized this about you, probably because he was the exact same way. He thought you talked just the right amount and was surprised when you were able to sit down through his long hour talks without complaining. 

Quinn had walked into the living room dragging Jack’s bags with him while you followed behind with yours. You had both decided that getting the bags in your rooms was a task you’d deal with later. So for now, you set your bags down and pulled Quinn into a hug. 

“Hey Trevor!” You greeted, pulling away from Quinn to hug the taller boy.

He gladly returned it, “Hi Y/N. Any clue why Jack’s pouting right now?” You laughed at his comment, “I was telling him about my flight. Craziest thing-”

Jack and Quinn both groaned for the same, yet different reasons. Jack had already heard this story, the four hour long drive from the airport giving you plenty of time to talk his ear off, and Quinn had just got done listening to Trevor talk about the exact same thing. 

“How about we go to the boat? Luke said it’s ready to go.” Jack stated, trying to avoid hearing about your flight again. 

A warm feeling rose to your face, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. You smiled and nodded, following the boys out towards the boat. 

Trevor pulled you back gently, separating you from the other two. “I’d love to hear about your flight.” “Really?”

He nodded, “Yeah. As long as you let me talk about mine.”

~✩~

The four of you spent the rest of the day out on the boat, tired out from all the wakesurfing you did.

Deciding to call it a night, you all headed back inside the house. Since everyone was dry by this point, the boys laid down on the couch, while you headed upstairs to shower. 

Stepping into the bathroom, you already felt relaxed before even stepping under the water. You pulled your hair out of its up-do then pulled your shirt over your head. Not realizing you hadn’t locked the door, the sound of it opening made you jump. 

“Oh! I’m so…” Trevor began, losing his train of thought when he saw you in nothing but a bra. 

Neither one of you moved, too stunned with what was happening. After a few seconds, he blinked rapidly, before apologizing and backing out of the bathroom. 

“Wait!” You called out. 

Trevor stopped in his tracks, focusing his attention on you yet again.

“Thanks for listening to me today. I know I’m a bit… much sometimes.” He let out a soft laugh, “I don’t think you’re too much. I think you’re perfect.” He took a few steps closer to you, “In many ways.”

You cupped his face with your hand, rubbing your thumb gently against his cheek. His eyes fell to your lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss you at that moment. So he did. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, which you instantly returned. 

It became heated quickly, his hands wandering the rest of your body. His hands found the back of your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter, finding a home between your legs as they wrapped around his waist. 

You pulled away breathlessly, “Join me?”

[togrowoldinv]

Reconnecting

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

It’s been ten years since you’ve seen Wanda. A lot has changed for her

Note: This is a soft one. Enjoy it!

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

You were always certain that Wanda Maximoff is the love of your life. She was your best friend in college, and you always felt like there was something more.

But it takes two people to start a life together. And you never told her how you felt.

You watched her marry a man as you stood by her side as her maid of honor. She was happy with him. You knew that much was true.

But still you longed for the woman. Eventually, her husband caught air of it and he told you to stay away from Wanda. You didn’t have much choice but to do so.

Ten years have passed and you haven’t so much as seen the woman on the street, but when you go into a restaurant for lunch today she’s sitting there in a corner booth.

You know it’s her. It has to be her.

Approaching her table cautiously, you overhear her speaking to two boys you hadn’t seen before.

“Boys, you can get milkshakes today,” she tells them. “If you promise to be good for Uncle P later.”

A couple of responses come from the kids. Wanda glances up at the feeling of someone coming towards her.

Her eyes catch yours before she quickly looks away. Could it be you after all of these years, she wonders.

“Hi Wanda,” you speak first. She looks into your eyes again. It’s really you. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi- hi y/n,” Wanda says, her voice cracking from the shock of seeing you again.

“How are you?” You ask her. “It’s been so long.”

“Yeah, it has,” Wanda agrees. “I’m doing okay.”

You’re about to speak again when one of the boys asks who you are.

“Oh, I’m y/n. An old friend of Wanda’s,” you introduce yourself.

“I’m Tommy and this is my brother Billy,” the boy says. “Wanda is our mom.”

Of course she is. Wanda always dreamt of being a mother. And you always knew she’d be a damn good one.

“It’s very nice to meet you boys,” you reply. “I’ll leave you to it. Good to see you again, Wanda.”

You begin to walk away when Wanda calls after you.

“Y/n, do you still have the same number?” She asks. You nod. “I’d like to see you again soon. To catch up?”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” you say. You flash her a smile.

After all of these years, you truly would love to reconnect with the woman. She texts you later that night and asks if you want to meet her for coffee. You agree easily.

The next morning you get dressed in an old college tee you’re pretty sure began as Wanda’s and some pants.

Wanda is early to the coffee shop. You walk to her table and she stands to greet you.

“You look nice,” you tell her. She’s wearing a black dress that frames her body well.

“Thank you,” she says, a tinge of pink on her cheeks. “I’ve got a meeting later.”

You order a drink and settle at the table with her. Neither of you know what to say first.

“So, how have you been Max? I mean other than you having the boys. How old are they?” You ask her.

“They’re 10,” Wanda says. “Twins.”

“Like you and Pietro. How sweet,” you remark. “I’m really happy for you. I know you always wanted to be a mom.”

“It’s the best,” she says. “Most days.”

“Not all?”

“Not anymore. I’m on my own,” Wanda says.

You notice there’s still a ring on her finger. But the look on Wanda’s face tells you something has happened.

“Oh Wands, I’m so sorry,” you say.

“It’s alright. It was sudden. One day he was okay and the next he was gone,” Wanda says, barely scratching the surface of the grief that tries to bury her. “About a year and half ago.”

“Can I- is it okay if I hug you now?” You ask her.

She nods and you cross the table to wrap her into a hug. Years of missing each other and grief of your own friendship makes the moment heavy.

Wanda cries into your neck as you rub her back soothingly. It feels like no time has passed but at the same time like you’re completely different people now.

“I missed you,” Wanda says through her tears.

“I missed you too,” you say.

She pulls away from your neck, but you keep your arms around her. You give her a small, reassuring smile.

“Would you want to come over for dinner sometime?” Wanda asks. “After yesterday, I told the boys about how much fun we had in college. They want to get to know you.”

“I’d love too,” you say. “As long as you’re cool with me telling them all about you back then.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Wanda says, a chuckle following her words. “Tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night,” you agree.

Soon, you say goodbye to the woman for the day. And you have to admit you miss her since you’ve left.

It’s late in the night when you send her a text. It’s not risky in content, but it’s risky in reaching out to her.

Your phone rings two minutes later.

“Wanda?” You answer it. “I wasn’t expecting you to call me.”

“I was up,” she says.

“Stressed?” You ask. She usually was when she couldn’t sleep.

“Very. What are you doing right now?”

“Laying in bed thinking about us,” you reply. “About you.”

Your hear Wanda take a deep breath on the other end of the line.

“Was there an us?” She asks. Taking another her breath, continues, “Is there an us?”

“Wanda,” you breathe out. “You must’ve known at least partially that I loved you.”

“I think I tried to ignore it,” Wanda admits. “I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want to possibly not be friends with you, but then you left anyways.”

“He asked me to leave,” you say. “I didn’t want to do it.”

“I was worried about that,” Wanda says. “That he asked you to. It felt so sudden.”

Wanda’s breath is shaky. She is finally letting herself feel everything.

“I never would’ve left you.”

“I know,” she says. “I was about to tell you I was pregnant when you disappeared.”

“Wanda,” you mumble. There’s silence on the line.

“Can you come over?” She asks you.

“Now?”

“Yes please.”

You throw on some clothes and drive to the address Wanda had texted you. Just about ten minutes down the road from your house.

When you get there, your hands shake with nerves. You really couldn’t tell how Wanda was feeling. But you weren’t going to say no to seeing her again.

Just as you’re about to knock on the door, Wanda opens it wide. She steps outside.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hi,” she greets you. “The boys are asleep so I thought we could talk out here.”

She gestures to the swing on the front porch. You sit down next to her.

“I was going to ask you to be their godmother, you know,” Wanda says.

“I would’ve loved that.”

Wanda nods. You take a good look at her in the front porch light. She’s older, but she still looks the same. Her green eyes grab your attention, but her warm smile keeps you drawn to her. Wanda has always been so kind.

She notices you examining her face, but you don’t feign any embarrassment. You just lean in closer to her.

“I can’t ever get over you. I’m here. And it’s torture being so close and not being able to kiss you,” you tell her.

“So kiss me then,” Wanda says. It’s music to your ears.

Over fifteen years of longing comes to fruition with the feeling of her lips on yours. Wanda sighs in content against your lips. Being with you feels so safe, so warm.

The kiss becomes heated and Wanda pulls at your shirt.

“Come inside?” She asks.

“I dreamt of the day you’d ask me that,” you say. Wanda answers with another kiss to your lips.

You stand up together and walk inside her house.

Maybe Wanda Maximoff is the love of your life after all.

[harryforvogue]

“This is so nice,” Harry murmurs, staring up at the ceiling. He’s sure that if he keeps his head back against the couch like this for a few minutes longer, he’ll develop a crick in his neck, but that thought seems far away as his fiancée continues to assault his jaw and jugular with soft, yet pointed kisses. His hand rests on the back of her head, her hair spilling over his fingers, and the press of her thighs against his keeping him awake.

Mia pulls away to frown at him. “I’ve been kissing you for ten minutes and all you have to say is ‘this is nice’?”

He smiles down at her, the hand in her hair traveling to cup her cheek. “You are so nice, I meant.”

“You’re right,” she says, looking pleased. “I am.” And then she ducks her head and continues kissing his collarbones.

He’s half sprawled on the couch with his legs wide, and she’s directly on top of him. The collar of his shirt is open, his tie undone, and he’s pretty sure that somewhere between entering their house and Mia basically pouncing on him, she managed to undo the button and zipper of his pants.

Harry sighs softly, melting into the soft presses of her lips. He imagines how his neck must look right now, riddled with lipstick stains and slight marks from her nipping. He’s not entirely sure what’s gotten into her, but he’s not complaining.

Today, Harry is thirty.

Mia calls it the "hot age", which he’s unfamiliar with, but if it gets this type of treatment, who is he to argue?

His hair was carefully done before they attended dinner, but now, it’s a complete mess. By Mia’s orders, he’s not cut his hair for several months now, and without any product, it falls into his eyes. Her face lights up whenever he comes out of the shower and has to tuck the curls behind his ears to avoid getting his face all wet. Some days, it’s hard to scrape her off of him. He’s even been late a few times to work because of it. If he actually had to answer to someone, it may have been a problem.

“I love you,” Mia suddenly mumbles against his collar. 

Not realizing he’s closed them, Harry opens his eyes and glances down at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She’s quiet. And then: “I’m really happy I get to see you at 30.”

He runs a thumb over her cheek. “What do you mean?”

She turns her head into his neck. “I mean – well. Eight years ago, I didn’t think I’d see you at 25, much less 30.”

“Didn’t think I’d be in your life?”

“Yeah.” 

Harry rests his chin on the top of her head. “There have been a few bumps, hm?”

(They don’t really talk about their break up much these days. Mia saw Harry struggle with accepting it and moving on from it for a very long time. Now, they’re both at ease, it seems.)

“Mhm,” Mia says. She bites down on his shoulder gently. “I hope I get to see you at 35. And 40. And 50. And 100.”

He laughs again though his heart is heavy in his chest. “Think you’ll still love me at 40 and 50 and 100? Doubt I'll be too hot then.”

She raises her head then, and Harry is surprised to see her pretty eyelashes sticking together with tears. He immediately stops smiling and puts his palms over her eyes, wiping away the moisture. He leaves a streak of mascara down her face, but that matters little right now.

Mia holds his open collar, bunching up the fabric between her fingers. She leans close, sliding her nose against his. “I wish,” she whispers, “I could put into words what I feel for you. And how it grows every time I wake up next to you. It is so–” she takes a breath, “unbearable sometimes.”

Harry swallows, too stunned for words. Mia kisses him softly, trailing her fingers down his chest, resting her fists against his butterfly tattoo. He kisses her back, pushing off the back of the couch to lean into her as well, pressing their hearts together. At some point through the kisses, his fingers become tangled in her hair. Mia pulls away to take a breath. 

When he releases her, their chests rise and fall hard with their breaths. Mia rests her forehead on Harry’s, a smile twisting onto her lips. “Happy birthday, Harry.”

He surges forward and kisses her again.